The Press., 1911-02-15

one seemed to have anything more to say she bid them good night and went to her room.
 The elder Miss Fullerton, who had followed her, began angrily and hur- riedly:
 "I have been very patient with you, Dora Fullerton. have tried repri- mand and persuasion when you have undertaken these foolish and disgrace full projects. But I have let this af- fair go far enough. You are not go- ing to marry that low down actor"
 seMr. Holcomb," said Dora calmly, ''is not a low down actor, and I am going to marry him.''
 "You are going to drag the name of Fullerton into the gutter"
 ssYou ought to be the last one in the ! world to say that, Aunt Cornelia," said the girl cheerfully, ''inasmuch as I am going to change it. I am as proud of the name of Fullerton as you are, as proud of my father as you are. And I shall be equally proud of the name of Holcomb and equally proud of my husband"
 Aunt Cornelia stood up and glared at her. Had she been a man her emo- tions would have found relief in pro- 1 fanity. As it was, she simply stam- mered with rage and then said slow ly, vinGictively:
 "It serves us right. opposed my brothers marriage to your mother. Gpgosed bis t0htn0 yoW ir1-yoW aoho aoere | 4sSt bis child, y0W 10EO cGnte to Ws 1ottboNt
 name and bGVe been nothing but tcorYy Np to noto-sohen you are dis- grGee,''
 The girl looked at her blankly.
 She had never had any love for this relative, but had been brought up to respect her and her motives, and, i though there were times when the reign was bitter and cruel, Aunt Cor l nelia's right to dominate her had al- ways been a serious matter with her. i Ehe had never seen her so passion dtely angry before. Although she knew vaguely that something horrible
 was being told her, she could only | feel that 1t was the result of an un' governable temper.
 "You mustn't say things like that, she exclaimed when she had recovered | from her amazement. "My father will never forgive you"
 "Your father!' sneered Aunt Cornelia. | .sNo one knows who your father was. l Your mother was my brothers wife, but she ran away from him and got 1 divorce, and two years after she got her divorce you were born in Paris"
 "You know you are lying, Aunt Cor nelia."
 "Why should I lie to you. you fool? | Wouldn't I be found out in the morn lngY wouldn't my brother tell the truth to you?"
 | s"He weuld," sobbed the girl, now utterly helpless, "and he will" ooh, perhaps he'll try to gloss 1t over," pursued the charitable spinster
 "Perhaps he'll try to make it easy for you, as he has done all these years supporting you, worrying about you, educating you, you ingrate!'
 The girl sat up on the bed upon | which she had thrown herself "I think" she said, pulling herself | together, ''that there is no need of our continuing this conversation. If what | ycu sHy is true-and, God help me, I believe it is. for even you couldn't in l vent lie like that-there is no need | of our remaining in the same room | longer than is necessary. I want to be alone, Please go to your own room" aAnd now you can marry your actor if4gou like" was the parting shot as Dora held the door open for her. For three hours the girl sat with her hands clasped over her knees, staring about the room. The first flood of tears that had come when she fen that what Cornelia Fullerton had told her was true she now regretted.
 There was nothing to weep over, she argued to herself. Her emotions were not of the kind that could find com fort in so usual, so childish a way. Had Vavin seen her then he would have said indeed that she had a Napo- leonic courage, the strong jaw and the clear eye. On this of all nights, when she had been most happy, when the world was opening up to her new realms of content and freedom-on this night she had to learn that the mother whom she had grown to love through the oft decried faults had borne her in dtsgrace-that she was an outcast without even name. That was sure ly too remarkable thing to be let down with tears.
 She must first see her father-her father! She threw back her head and laughed. Her father! Who was this man who had disgraced --r mother? She would like to see him.
 But first she must see Professor Full lerton. She must have him tell her if this was true. And then-what then The idea of suicide came to her, and the girl grftted her teeth and dismiss ed it almost as the suggestion arose But Holcomb- No; she wouldn't mar. ry him. He was too f1ne-too good. It wouldn't make any difference to him that, of course she knew-but it would make a difference to her. It would make difference to her children, if she had children, and there came little gulp in her throat, and she al- most gave way to tears that might have been a better outlet than this fierce cogitation.
 If Fullerton told her it was true she would go away from New York. She would go somewhere out west-join some stock company.
 No; that wouldn't do. It was the theater that had ruined her mother. Oh, the merciless truth of it all! Aunt 1 Cornelia had been right all the time l She would take up some other business and earn her living. She would make l money enough to pay back Professor Fullerton for her education. She start ed planning immediately. What busi- ness could she get in? Two or three of her companions at college were writing for magazines and newspa- pers She would do that. She would