Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1911-08-29
CHAPTER 1.
The World Well Lost.

street-one of the many cells in
crowded hive-that is, a cheap Boston
lodging-house. Only one window light
ed the apartment and from 1t nothing
could be seen save back yards and
faded brick walls, and shed-tops hung
with strings of frozen clothes, and
haunted by all the felines of the neigh
borhood. The door opened on mar
row landing along which the feet OF
dodgers coming and going beat a con-
tinual and monotonous tattoo. Every
room, however humble, has, like every
individual, a character of it's own. In
this one. dire confusion and discomfort
reigned.
A coal fire, burning in an ugly, air
tight stove, warmed the arctic atmos-
phere. The ingram carpet was full OF
holes-dangerous traps for unwary
feet. In one corner stood cradle, from
which proceeded at times the moan OF
q sick child; in another was a table,
Uttered with empty soda bottles,
stumps of cigars, powder and rouge
mock pearls and tinsel, soothing-syrup
and stale sandwiches. The chairs and
sofa, all OF worn-out hair cloth, were
strewn with articles of female apparel
ribbons, slippers, brief skirts much
spangled, cheap gilt ornaments and
artificial flowers. A stage-dress, half
finished. trailed on the worn carpet,
with the needle still sticking in its airy
white folds.
To the orderly eye the general effect
of this miscellaneous apartment was
not agreeable. Plainly its presiding
genius had a mind unbiased by rules,
and a soul that dirt and disorder could
not dismay.
She was standing now before an old
mirror, tilted forward from the wall,
so as to reflect her whole petite fgure-
a creature so pretty, that to look at her
was to forget all her sins and short
comings-and of these Iris Greylock
had the full share of ordinary mortals.
She was a little flashing brunette
with big, velvety black eyes set In
small, pearly face, and soft, dark hair
curling like a child's all over her
charming head. She had dimpled red
mouth that could be fretful and mullsn
enough on provocation, weak chln
and a phenomenally slender figure. In
public this young creature was known
as Sylphide. a ballet-girl in second
class theatre; in private she was
wife and mother-one, too, who had, as
she herself asserted, much to suffer
ard endure.
"Tra-la-la!" she hummed, as she
gathered up her rather untidy skirts
from a pair of the frailest, loveliest
feet that ever twinkled on the boards
of a stage. "Tra-la-la! and she sur
veyed her own charming image in the
glass. 81 wonder If l shall have any
bouquets thrown to me tonight. l
wonder If he will be there, in that
right-hand box, ogling me through his
glass, and turning the other dancers
green with envy. Well, l am pretty
and l will be admired! What Is lie
without admiration? When ones home
is a dreary den, up two pair back, and
when ones husband is the most dis
agreeable of men; this world would be
a bowling wilderness, indeed, but TOT
the ballet and the lights and the music
and the compliments"
A plaintive cry from the cradle.
Mrs. Iris paid no heed to it. The last
thing on earth which had power 10
move her was the voice Of her own
child. There, in front of the old,
cracked glass, she suddenly began TO
whirl around on the tips of her toes
like a bit Of thistle down in the wlno.
The soft color leaped into her oval
cheek. a great light into her velVety
black eyes. With her little head COCK
ed on one side, and the gathered skirts
held away from her tiny feet, she pois-
ed and foated and swayed in a very
poem of motion.
"Kenyon says l will yet be rag
lioni or a Fanny Elsler," she muttered'
contracting her fair brows unpleasant
". That's fiattery, of course; and yet'
might might-were it not for ROD
ert and the baby to hold me back, ana
drag me down.
The sentence ended with nervous
cry, for, looking into the glass at that
moment. Mrs. Iris saw mirrored there
another face-blonde, bearded-lower-
ing with wrath. It's owner had just
entered the chamber, and was leaning
against the door, surveying the pretty
dancer with anything but pleased air.
"Oh. dance on" he said, dryly, when
he found himself discovered; dance
bv all means, Iris; don't let me disturb
Won. What is life worth if one cannot
dance?"
The human butterfly before the glass
made a pretty pirOuette, and theh
came down squarely on her tiny feet'
How you frighten one!" she pouted'
why do you creep upon me IN thls
disagreeable way? l must practice my
steps somewhere. Time was when my
husband was proud of my talent as
danseuse. 1t was in the ballet that ne
first fell in love with me"
He slowly advanced into the middle
of the room, a handsome fellow
scarcely past twenty, and wearing an
unmistakable air of birth and breed
ing. hut his blond, clear-cut face was
ru6Ied now and embittered, and great
vexation of spirit looked out OF MS
blood shOtten eyes.
MY taste has improved since thai
day." he answered, roughly; all
scarcely the fool which | then was
Iris
How fiattering. Many thanks bu'
if my husband has ceased to admire
me-
He finished the sentence for her.
There are plenty of other men to
do it in his stead"
She flung back her saucy head.
Yes. But pray do not speak $" ioud
Robert-you will wake the child ana II
there is one thing more dreadful than
another it is to have that little vixen