The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1911-04-07

man may never forget, ana among
them surely Is the Renaissance of
youth. And that was why John
O'Neill had drawn apart to seek
among the exotic blooms of the per-
fume laden court the healing Of his
doubt.
But, with the facing Of his problem,
he must, of course, be logical. Yes;
he would be quite frank with himself
There should be no delicacy nor false
modesty in his open dealing with this
question He was an artist and
gentleman-also, as such, he was
pauper. He knew that the realization
of his best efforts could take place
but for certain things. These things
Mrs. Strathfeld de Witt was now in
a Dosition to offer him. She had not
in so many words told him so, but he
knew from covert hint and glance and
from the more open revelation of
friends, that Natalie, the youngest
daughter, along with the financial and
social gifts which she would undenia-
bly, bring, was his for the asking.
was a fne-looking girl, we'll formed,
with a head crowned with coil upon
coil of heavy auburn hair. A dozen
artists had painted Natalie, in ball
gown. in street gown, with her spaniel,
in masquerade costume. Without
question, Natalie de Witt was beau
tiful girl, but-and the man con-
demned himself even though he knew
his analysis was justified-she was
great. beautiful, over-petted, over-fed
piece of animal femininity. She had
no spark of her mothers cleverness,
no glimmer of her wit. Her life had
been thought out for her from the be-
ginning, and she was too sapless a
thing to dream now Of rebellion, too
lazy to do other than drift onward
with the current. If he asked her,
she would consent, and she was at
least too inanimate a creature to in
terfere in later life with any of his
dreams. Why ask for more? If she
brought no inspiration, at least she
would bring no disturbing element.
There would be leisure and some
peace. Why ask for more?
O'Neill stood now upon his feet, de-
termined and quite done with argu-
ment. It was all so simple, so easy
and quite inevitable If he brought
the w.t. the cleverness to the house
hold, she in turn would bring the
money, the tangible means of ex-
istence. If he brought the great
thoughts, the inspiration of genius,
she, on her side, would furnish the
leisure wherein to make good his
dreams. If he attracted the circle Of
artists and poets, she would furnish,
as her mother before her, hospitality
and unstinted wealth, the allurements
of comfort and ease.
And yet, John O'Neill stood, mo-
tionless as a stone image, bound fast
amid the towering ferns and fra
grant orange trees. Why did he not
seek at once the famous beauty?
There could be no doubt as to her at
titude, loving daughter of doting
mother. Why, then, fearing no re-
buff, did he not go at once and offer
her his hand and heart?
A little thing, quite insignificant
and beside the point, yet still bearing
on his early youth, held him. A tiny
letter, now resting next his heart,
redolent of old days and past, sweet
memories.
John, it is you that our mother
g oP ~ tr, al D.
John, and I, too. 1t is the sight Of
your face we both be wanting.
John, is it not strange that Rosie
will not marry the rich MacVey, for
all he courts her still and will not
go" that was a part of 1t.
There was music now In the room
beyond--a violin and piano, following
one another, laughing, leaping and
romping, glittering on through mex
pressible mazes Of technical spendor.
The man listened, and gradually his
eyes hardened again, his brain the
master of his heart. Yes; he was
born to all this sort Of thingl 1t
was foolish, unutterably mad to dwell
on the long dead past. He would bury
1t all now, his life would swing on in
perfect harmony, effortless, brilliant
and we'll controlled. He would write
his Aunt Katrine this very night, and
how proud they would be to hear Of
this great match. He stepped for
ward to seek the girl beyond.
Then he paused again. A fresh,
ycung vOioo was raised. clear, pierre