Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-02-07

Ambrose reclined upon an easy char,
with Chicot. well fed and happy. upon
his knee. Opposite to him sat Christine
watching the pair with an interest which
she found it hard to account for. even &c
herself.
You are happy, Christine?" Ambrose
asked, suddenly.
'Of course not she answered. No
one ever is. especially when they expect
to be. \ few months ago i plodded the
streets with you, and my feet ached and
l was cold to the bone. l was sick &c
death of coarse clothes, sick to death OF
our struggling life. This is what
dreamed of then. dreamed of and prayed
fora home, warm, luxurious decent
clothes. servants. plenty to eat and drink
And now l have them. Ambrose. as yo,
see, and find that it doesn't make much
difference. Take a cigarette. Ambrose
You love good tobacco. These should
Ambrose helped himself from tin box
at his side Perhaps" he said, thought
fully, lit is because you are not ricf
enough. Christine" he added. with a
curious CLEAN in his eyes. ''supposins
Christine sighed. Il am beginning to
think" she said, a little doubtfully. "tha,
there are other things"
There is nothing" Ambrose said. grim
you have enough of it. When [ say
enough of it. / mean great deal--mil-
lions, Christine, millions!''
will it buy me friends?" she asked. a
little bitterly. II have beautiful rooms
here plenty to eat and drink, the sort OF
clothes that like, but 1 am very lonely
Ambrose. am lonely half the time
He looked at her steadfastly. There
was an uneasy seriousness in his race
His eyes seemed almost dilated. -
think" he said. that you have, after all
something of the spirit of the vagabond
in your blood. Our life," he continued
speaking half to himself. was not al
ways so miserable as in London. Dowr
in the south there was sunshine: sunshine
always, dry roads, green fields, blue skies
the song of birds, and fruit, bread and
red wine at least, always for the asking
Christine we We're mad to come here.
Mad" she echoed. ''Oh. l wonder.
Can you doubt it, he asked. almos,
fiercely 1T was an evil day that brough,
us across the channel. that set us tramp
ing about the streets of London. we
starved here on what would have kept us
for a week in the simpler places.
1T was I who insisted on coming, she
said, thoughtfully. II wonder If l am
sorry?"
IF you are not" he answered, God
knows that you should be. There, from
day to day. we were at least natural. We
sang and we made music, we rejoiced
with the haryesters. and bowed our heads
before the simple coffin carried along the
straight white road We lived with the
people there, Christine. Their JOYS were
ours, and their sorrows. Here there is ne
one to care if we die tomorrow; no one
that is to say, who counts
You are right, Ambrose she said
Sometimes / am tired of my beautiful
rooms, my dresses and my carriage
Sometimes l would give them all for a
day of the old sunshine
Ambrose leaned little forward in his
chair. His long fingers were nervously
interlaced. His voice shook. christine,
he said, "let us go back. I swear to you
that there shall be no more suffering,
that you shall have enough to buy pretty
clothes, the best food and wine. You
shall know no suffering: you shall sing
only when you like. Only come. This
life is not good for either of us, and it
will be worse
How do you mean worse?" she asked.
Il mean.' he answered, that Marcel
is here-Marcel and Pierre. They will
track you down. Christine. They will find
out where you are. and they will come
and demand share of all that you have.
Christine. let us go away. Let us go
further .afeld. say to Italy. We can be
hidden there
why hide?' she asked What is
there to hide from?''
There was moments silence. Am