Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1911-02-14

Barbara felt the blood staining hel
cheeks. So that was Phil" the brother
of whom Austen Ware had told her
The name called up thoughts that had
obtruded themselves in the moment she
saw the white yacht lying at anchor
and which since then she had wilfully
thrust from her mind. Her gaze stud
led the handsome, youthful form, noting
the bold, restless glance, the dissipateo
lines of the comedy face. with sudden
distaste A twang from the orchestra
recalled her, as the curtain was looped
back for the Miyako Odori, the Dance
OF the Capital"
Il 1t was Barbara's introduction TO q
native orchestra and at first it's strum-
mings and squeakings, its lack of modes
and Of harmony, its odd barbaric phras-
ing, infected her with q bad desire to
laugh. But gradually there came to
her the hint OF undergraduates when
she had listened to Haru's samisen in
the garden-and with it an overpower-
ing sense OF suggestion. 1t was the
remote cry OF occult passions, a twit-
tering of ghostly shadows, the wailing
of an Oriental sphinx whom time had
abandoned to the eternal desert. 1t had
in 1T melancholy and the enigma Of the
ages. 1t wiped away the ugly modern
European buildings, the western cos
and left Barbara looking into the naked
heart OF the east, old, intent, and full
Of mystical meaning.
The parted curtain swung together
and Qaunt seated himself at Barbara's
side. do you like 1t, ever so Hitler
he asked.
Ever so much!'
'I wonder IL you are going to like me,
too he said, so softly that no one else
heard.
She felt her color coming as she an
swered: I why, of course How could
help 1T. when you plan things like this
for me?"
IT have at last found my meter; give
me more things to do
Very well. When will you take me
to see your Japanese house7"
For a second Daunt hesitated. The
little native house in the Street-of-the-
Misty-Valley was a sentimental place to
him. There he had worked out the
models of his first Glider; there he had
talked with his Princess of Dreams, his
Lady of the Many-Colored Fires" The
glimpse of Phil had reminded him that
it now had a tenant. When he showed
1t to Barbara, 1t should not be with Phil
in possession.
She noted the hesitation, and, some
entail ethics the suggestion was gauch-
erie, waved the matter lightly aside.
You are just going to say one of these
days. Please don't. When 1 was little
that always meant never. 1 withdraw
the motlon-but what is this coming?'
A boy was ascending the platform. He
bowed and laid box of thin implanted
wood at Daunts feet. 1t contained a
kakemono, or wall-painting, rolled and
tied with red-and-white cord of twist
er rice paper. Daunt read the accom-
panying card.
Miss Happy for a-Thousand
Years." he said, presents her compli-
ments to the illustrious strangers She
is the star. The gift Is a pretty custom,
isn't 1t, even If It is advertisement. Here
comes the lady herself to present her
thanks for our distinguished patrc.Ar
age"
She bowed low before them, smiling,
her small piquant face powdered white
as mistletoe-berries above her carmine-
painted lips. Daunt unrolled the kalSe-
mono, revealing a delicately- painted
cluster of butterflies. He chatted with
! her In the vernacular, and she replied