The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1910-04-13
THE EVENING STORY
Sir Hugh.
LBy Edith Gray.1

daughters and wives of the millionaire
settlers of the lovely suburb OF Llyn-
wood, along with their cousins and
aunts and the usual contingent OF so
ciety folk from the city, Miss Clinton
regardless OF Judgment from without,
continued in her much lamented course
However, she lost thereby not one whit
of the love of the small children OF the
district.
Not that the charming daughter of
the former rector of st. James as
ISOLATED with cocks and patron1zed
coachmen. indiscriminately and with
out distinction. even though she old
have a way of discovering. now ana
then, among the lower strata OF the
exclusive suburb indications of gen
tleness of manner. Of general unset
fishness and sweetness of character,
often so Iamentably lacking IN their
social betters. This girl had strange
and lovely power Of summoning from
all she touched the very best In
thought and deed, and many an orig1-
nal word Of comment many a solid bit
of phflogorhy, did she extract by subtle
means from those she called her
friends. 1t is true that the wiser and
more penetrating Of the dull-eyed up
Ter class conflded among themselves
that AiIeen Clinton's purposes, in this
study of human character, were not
altogether altruistic- "She writes" they
whispered, 'for magazines, and seeks
material"
entirely excused on that score, and
many q cutting snub-to her amuse-
ment be it said. however-did she re-
ceive from women who, in time Of trou-
BILE were only too ready to call on her
for add.
However. there was one estate,
owned by a certain Lloyd Cover1y,
where Miss Clinton was never made
to doubt her welcome Again and
again. in her cross-country rambles'
she passed through the great gate
way, beneath the arching elns, on her
way to the house beyond. The courtly
host and his invalid wife were always
cverjoyed TO see the radiant girl, but,
invariably her most sympathetic self
that was foremost in prominence as
she turned from the broad drive. on
her homeward trips. hurrying along
the box-hedged pathway in the direc-
ton Of the conservatory door beyond.
For here, amidst trelliSes of sn1lax and
nodding rosebuds. among boxes Of car
nations and frail. sweet pansy flowers
her brave friend Hugh held sway.
Hugh Mcdonnell was no common
gardener, no more shipper of shoots
and sprays, neither was he Keen
eyed exp1ainer Of temperatures, nor
scientific exploiter of theories, strange
and new. This Hugh had intellect, his
broad brow and deep-set eyes would
have betrayed that to the girl at once,
even If his unusual purity of dict1on
and remarkable knowledge of the
worlds affairs had not from the first
attracted her. The girl used to watch
him, wondering, as his fingers fastened
strayfng tendrillS and transplanted ten
der shoots, how mans hands could
remain so fine, so shapely in spite Of
the roughening strain of rigorous gar
den work. Truly, the man was gen.
t1eman, not merely, as some folks
classify with patronizing smile and up
ward lift of brow, lone of natures gen.
ara1 e1r11
tleman.
Aileen's conviction of this mans
origin had often led her to talk of Hugh
amidst the luxurieS of the drawing
room beyond. But her host could tell
her nothing of the man, save that when
he came, his credentials had been good
and that for ten years he had served
them faithfully and well. He had
thwarted all attempts at conversation
concerning his former life and his mas
ter had respected his secrets. Yet
though Lloyd Coverly knew that the
gardener was superior to his surround
ings, he did not enshroud his past with
the glamour and mystery Of romance.
as the girl was wont to do.
The little invalid wife, frail and sweet
as the fragrant spray Of heliotrope
within her slender hand, spoke con-
clusively one day from her favorite
place before the fire, 'You and L
Aileen, KNOWN spite of Lloyd's stu
pidity-that there was a woman once,
brave and SWEEP and true, and so our
Scotchman is q gentleman and always
will be. His mask is clever, but so fine
and good a man could never quite de-
ceive. I wish that you would make a
story of it, dear"
The words occurred again to the girl
as she hurried, several days later, along
the bleak stretch of wind-swept road,
and caused her to laugh a little for
sheer scorn of her small art. A story
of it! Why. who would dare to touch
the hawless Hugh?-Sir Hugh, as she
named him in her heart-and spoil his
tale with the bungling of mere words?
She laughed again as she turned down
the familiar path toward the green
house door beyond.
She found the man today, bending
low over a box of discarded castaways,
the floral rubbish from the house above.
The margueriteS were untouched with
stain, and to the girl unaccustomed to
prodiga,ity the carnations looked sweet
all regardless, and the girl saw with
surprise that he was selecting, one by
one the 1ily-of-the-valley sprays, all
torn and dropping though they were.
Quite innocently, Aileen stepped for
ward, and felt a traitor and ashamed
to see the secret of Hugh's heart writ
in the pale, drawn face above his task.
Hugh Mcdonnell would never have
unbent to any one, surely last Of all to
that person who might consciously
strive to gain his confidence, but as he
turned and saw the outpouring of his
loart's secret reflected in the tender
eyes Of the girl before him, his conf
dence rose up to meet her sympathy.
Miss Aileen," he said, simply, unem-
barrassed, and at ease, they were her
flowers, my dear"
Her flowers! oh, far-seeing, little
Mistress Invalid! The girls brain
swan, revolving at the bitterness, yet
even now her heart rejoiced in his
full confidence.
For Hugh, the gardener, the man of
work. the underling and servant, told
the strange story of his lowering to
the girl beside him. And as he talked
the great Scotch house seemed even