The Bon Homme County independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1904-1913, 1912-04-18
The HEART OF A WOMAN
BY BARONESS ORGY.
Author of "The Scarlet Pimperne" "Petticoat RuIev Etc
CHAPTER /.
WHICH TELLS OF A VERY COM
MONPLICE INCIDENT.

49, AOeoh tiNiS was olllllS
I'm the room at this moment to stand
up afterward before her as dumb wit
ness to a moments possible weakness.
Less than nothing in fact; space might
have spoken and recalled that mo-
ment . infinite |nothingness might
at some future time have brought
back the emo of ii but these
dumb, lmpasslVe objects! . the
fountain pen between her fingers! The
dull. embarrassing hotel furniture COW
cred in red velvet-an uninviting red
that repealed dreaminess and peace!
The ormolu clock which had ceased
long ago to mark the passage OF time,
wearied-as it no doubt was, poor thing
by the monCtonous burden of a
bronze Psyche gazing on her shiny
brown charms, in an utterly blank and
unrefiective bronze mirror, while OBJ
viously ~bcmoaning the fracture Of one
of her smooth bronze thighs! Indeed
Louisa might well have given way to
that overmastering feeling Of excite
ment before all these things. They
would neither see nor hear. They
would never deride, for they could new
er remember.
But a wood fire cracked on the small
hearth n and those citron
colored carnations were ~favorite flow
ers of his . and his picture did
stand on the top Of hat Ugly little
huis Philippe bureau . No! No!
1t would do to gush, for these
things Would see . and, though they
might not remember, they would re-
mind.
And Louisa counted herself one of
the strong ones of this earth. Just
think Of her name. Have you ever
known a Louisa who gushed? Who
called herself the happiest woman. on
earth? Who thought of a man-just
an ordinary man, mind you-as the
host tho hnnHcnrnnSf sha fr,,n,t 49,.
most perfect hero Of romano tina ever
threw a radiance over the entire prosy
world of the goth century?
Louisas, believe me, do no such
things. The Mays and the Floras, the
Lady Barbaras and Lady Edithas, look
their lily white hands together and
raising violet eyes to the patterned
ceiling paper above them, they exclaim:
"Oh. my hero and my king!"
But Louisas would only look ridicul-
u If they behaved like that . . .
Louisa Harris, too! Louisa. the
eldest of three sisters, the daughter of
a wealthy English gentleman with a
fine estate In Kent, an assured position,
no troubles no cares, nothing in her
life to make 1t sad, or sordid or inter-
estlng . . Louisa Harris and ro-
nance! -. Why, she was not even
hair of rudy gold. The latter was
brown and the former were gray.
How could romance come in the way of
gray eyes, and OF a girl named Louisa?
Can you conceive, for instance, one
OF those adorable detrimentals Of low
degree n empty pocket who have a
way or arous1ng love In the hearts of
the beautiful daughters of irascible mil
honaires. can o conceive such an in
teresting parsonage, / say falling in
love with Louisa Harris?
confess that l cannot. To begin
with. dear, kind Squire Harris was not
lrascible, and penniless owners Of ro-
mantle personalities were not on his
visiting list.
Therefore Louisa, living a prosy life
or luxury, got up every morning, ate
a copious breakfast. walked out with
the dogs, hunted in the autumn, skated
In the winter, did the London season.
and played tennis In the summer, just
as hundreds and hundreds Of other
well born, well bred English girls of
average means, average positions, aver
g Quotations, hunt, dance, and play
tennis throughout the length and
breadth OF this country.
There was NJ room for romance in
such a life, no time for 1t. The life
itself was SO full already-so full OF the
humdrum Of daily rounds, of common
tasks. that the heart which beat with
such ordinary regularity in the SEEM
ingly ordinary breast of a very ordinary
girl did so all unconscious of the in
tense pathos which underlay his very
ordinary existence.
Vaguely Louisa knew that some
where, beyond even the lane OF dreams,
there lay, all unknown, all mysterious,
a glorious world Of romance: a uni
verse peopled by girlish imaginings,
and the sensitive, creating thoughts OF
poets. by the gallopinE ph-ntasies of
super-excited brains, and thu vague
longings Of ambitious souls; a universe
wherein dwelt alike the memories of
those who have loved and the hopes
of those who suffer. But when she
thought of it all, she did so as one who
from the arid plain gaZes on the cool
streams and golden minarets which the
lalry Fate Morgana conjures on the
horizon far away. She looked on II as
all unreal n altogether beyond her
ken. She shut her yes to the beautiful
mirage, her heart against its childish
~yearnings.
Such things did not exist. They
were not for her-Louisa Harris. The
little kitchen maid at the court who, on
Sunday evenings. went off giggling, her
chubby face glowing with pride and the
result Of recent additions, on the arm
OF Jim the third gardener, knew more
ABOUT that world OF omance than well
bred, well born young ladies' ever
dreamed Of in their commonplace
philosophy.
And Louisa Harris had always shut
down the book which spoke Of such
impossible things, and counted herself
one of the strong ones of the earth.
Therefore now, with Luke's letter in
her hand, in which he tells her in a
very few words that he loves her be-
yond anything on earth, and that he
only waits the day when he can call
her his own, his very owd dearly loved
wife, why should Louisa-prosy, healthy
minded, healthy bodied Louisa-sud-
denly imagine that the whole world is
transfigured THAT the hotel room is q
KIND of e-chamber to heaven THAT
the red velvet, uncompromising chairs
are clouds of a roseate hue and that
the bronze Psyche with the broker
thigh is the elusive fairy who, with
Morgana Like wand, hath conjured up
this mirage of glorious visions which
mayhap would vanish again before
long.
She went up to tine window and rest
ed her forehead against the cool pane,
She might be ever SO strong, she
could not help her forehead feeling hot
and her eyes being full of tears-tears
that did not hurt as they fell.
Outside the weather was indeed
prosy and commonplace. Rain was
coming down in torrents and beating
against the newspaper kiosk over the
way, On the roofs of tramways and
~taXi-autos, making the electric light
peep dimly through the veil Of wet,
drowning, by it's incessant patter, to
winch tho DlIcto nj IN NnNanlhar GALA