Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-12-25
DID THE END JUSTIFY?
By OLIVIA HOWARD DUNBAR.

compassionately said nothing. While
she was still unable to go out, I stayed
with her most of the time, and Sioney
Fennell would come in and stay for
she became stronger became more dis
turbed. There should have been plans
for her leaving us, and there were none
The icy fogs that stole ose to her win
dows were importunate enough in re-
m1nding her; but she gayly turned her
face from them Then, suddenly, I knew
the reason for her heedlessness.
1t was an evening that We three had
sat for long time talking in Constance
Larcher's studio, or rather, she and Sid
to say. listened. AT last Sidney left us
and went to the piano. For once 1 did
not follow his music, for he was play
ing composition of his own that 1 had
heard a good many times; sat think
ing. rather of Constance Larcher, wln-
dering whether 1 ought not to speak seri-
ously to her that very night, and learn
what she was planning to do. In my
perplexity l looked suddenly toward her,
as though the sight of her might help
me- She sat bending forward. her who
attitude and atmosphere that of a woman
unconscious. completely off her guard.
And in that face that always before had
been so composed and undertaking was
a ,a Kind OF rapture-nothing less. She was
looking at Sidney Fennell turned
quickly away, a sudden terror whirling
through my head, and left the room, pre-
tending stupidity that 1 had heard Dick
come in.
Men are fond of calling women inscrut-
able. and from the fallacious character
CT their deductions l suppose they must
really ma them so. But the difficulty
must lie in the eyes of men, since to one
another women are not inscrutable. 1t
seemed to me. 1 remember. an appalling
thing that after the incident have men,
toned Constance Larcher should have
been as defenseless as she was against
my fortunately friendly vision. Without
any deliberate effort. any actual prying,
! saw into her sheltered heart as read
lily as though She had been the crudest
girl. 1t was not that her friendliness to
Sidney was not as disarming. her conven-
tlonal punctiliCiusness as complete, as
> these had been before. 1t was her shield
and her charm that Constance Larcher
was SO beautifully initiated In the most
elaborate niceties of civilized intercourse
She was seldom utterly spontaneous, so
much of her energy being given to
adapting herself to persons or subjects
to bridging marshy spots or avoiding
steep ones. great deal of time, in
short. she was delightfully."-, considerably
untruthful. She was. therefore, wonder
fully equipped for keeping her secret,
and least of all the world could Sidney
himself have guessed it: Yet through
all our light, inconsequent days together.
whether we were drinking tea, or sitting
at concert. or buying laces, a COM
modify of which Constance seemed to
have an inordinate need-her life was so
filled with graceful inutilities!-I was al
ways able to feel throbbing within her
that which I think she would, at that
time. have died to conceal.
Her passion may have been but scant-
lily nourished; such passions usually are
once or twice a week she and Sidney
went to the opera together and it was
scarcely oftener that he came to her
studio or that they met in mine. Yet
her senses were sleeplessy alert for him.
Her hands would futter ever SO slightly
at the sound of his step. her eyes dart
their sudden, rapturous flight: and if she
heard him come in or out her ANNA
ton in talking Of something that did
not concern him would become unnatur-
ally intense.
knowledge 1T was very womanlike,
fear, that / could not keep from talking
to Sidney of Miss Larcher I longed
to test. to probe him. to know If by any
chance it could be possible
My first rather bungling attempt was
made shortly after the evening | have
spoken of. Dick had gone out after dim
ner. leaving us alone, Sidney and !, and
as we sat talking imagined he looked
rather anXiously toward the door.
She's not coming I smiled at him.
oh, You mean--"
Miss Larcher.'
shes at the opera ?"
II believe so. think YOU miss her,
Sidney. when she isn't about
He did not understand this chal-
lenge. did not take ii up for all he
said was: How jolly it's been having
her here. One gets so tired of that
droning old Neil Gillespie"
What YOU thinking Of, | told
him, is that Neil Gillespie always gets
the better of YOU in your enraged discus
sions. and that Miss Larcher is too po
lite to. Naturally, you enjoy her free
dom from masculine pig-headednesS.'
Sidney laughed. Il agree with one i'm
plcatiOn of your ill-natured remark,
Adela'' he said. Miss Larcher is
mos, unusually feminine type of woman.
It's charming the way she doesn't Sug-
gest emancipa ton
looked rather sharply at him. "Thats
precisely the beauty of her." / agreed.
Every day ! admire more that plant
Graciousness of hers. 1t makes me feel
so strongly ! added. a little sentiment
tally, that she ought never to know
pain. that she is woman made for hap
piness.
Sidney was silent for a moment. ITO
tell Won the truth. the boy then as
tonished me by bursting out, that's the
chief reason I've liked her-for her sym
pathetic quality. | imagined she made
you happier, you're such good friends.
You know. Adela. YOU are lonely"
OF course. Sidney could not help KNOW
ing about Dick and me- but he ought not.
[ thought, to have referred to it, and |
was both angry and touched that he did
so. | felt my cheeks burning and the
tears coming to my eyes, and / knew
that we must talk of something else.
Suppose YOU play something. Sidney
managed to say. and we talked
more that night of Constance Larcher.
But neither that nor any of the later
talks that / had with him gave me any
radely liking that he had for her was
how otherwise could this untred boy
have felt toward a woman faded. al
ready little pitiful, already suggesting
opportunities outlived.
/ faced all this, every aspect of IT. and
not least did I face the deservingness of
dear Sidney himself. the cruelty, per-
haps. of merely using him, for however
desirable an end And still l could not
force myself to take disciplinary at
titude, to determine that Constance
Larcher was too old for Il romantic i'll
fatuation, and that she must be helped
to renounCe. As only a broken hearted
woman can I longed to happiness,
to have it realized outside my own dis
appointed life. Her courage was SO per-
feet, her gay little heroisms so unfail-
ing, that | could not bear she should
be denied. I wished devoutly for her
happiness. | wished for it much that
did what may have been great wrong.
oh, the nights I have lain and wonder
ed the nights I shall yet lie and wonder
till | die? Was 1t a cruel sinful thing
that / did or. as it seemed to me then,