Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-05-19

| realized 1t before: he mad always accepted
her as a matter of course, sort of resident
incarnation of truth; but he had been quite
willing that she should be truth not quite
comprehended. She was a comfortable girl
to confde in, was Peggy. Yes, he was even
now thinking how he would write her all
about his latest affair" How foolish the
word seemed now! But how could he? The
ship took almost week to cross; then an
other and another-"Ye gods" he cried. at
will take nearly month to get an answer,
even if she replies at once
Had he not been away a year at a time
often before and never thought anything of
it, Why should he care now? Why this
sudden change? Wasn't he going over on
the same steamer with the girl whom he had
| just declared himself "crazy" about? 1t was
his own choosing only what a fool he had
been, not to have seen the gold in front of
his very eyes, and here he was chasing after
a bit of silver. Bright, It's true' he cried;
but it seemed leaden fancy to the man in his
present state.
OF his own volition he was leaving behind
the churr of his life, the girl who had been
his staff and stay ever since his knicker-
booker days.
"Oh, how blind I've BEEN" he cried.
"What a clod she must think me, and what
| a conceited ass she must believe me-hear-
| ing me rattle on like a harebrained idiot
about girl that is merely playing with mel
And after his experience, that too hurt.
He realized now, however, that it was merely
case of pique. He had wanted what he
thought he could not get-merely because
he had thought he could not get it. And
now, if it were all suddenly his, what would
he do with it?
| When he compared his former feelings
with this new sensation with which his every
fiber thrilled, he was dumbfounded.
But what right had he to believe that the
girl could look upon him with anything but
the old eye of friendship? How would she
take him in this new light, this novel role2
At the thought, he felt sick at heart, and
cursed this thing called friendship, which
ever goes hand in hand with perfect love.
| He felt almost as if he had been betrayed,
and he dropped his head into his hands.
He sat very still, and after awhile the mind
that had been lying half dormant, giving
way to its enemy, Passion, came back, and
the man began to think coherently.
And as he thought his vision cleared, and
he realized that if he might win his hearts
DESIRE he must be worthy of her. And he
drew himself up-and Purpose, a new friend,
was gazing out of his eye, and his already
firm chin looked squarer.
| When this determination took hold of
him, he felt as of old when on the football
field, that it was win or die.
| He now took down all the pictures of the
fairer sex with which his room was adorned
and opening the bottom drawer of his bureau
threw them into it, all excepting Margaret
Alliston's This he placed where he could
see it the first thing upon waking. Then he
realized that he had taken off his coat, and
he put it on again, and coming back, bowed
before the picture.
Sleep was out of the question. He walked
up and down for long while; then he
thought he would go to the library, where
everything was quiet, and where he had 50
lately babe his lady farewell. Perhaps a
book, taken at random there, would tran
quillize him.
| V/HEN Westbury entered the library, he
W stopped a moment and wondered why
| he had not read more of the books with
which its spacious shelves were filled, in
stead of riding around playing polo and lead
ing cotillions. What did his life all amount
| to, anyway
| He was about to seat himself, when he
suddenly became conscious that there was
someone else in the room. A cold chill crept
up his spine at the presence of the unknown;
but, being a man, he merely cenched his
| hands and took quick step forward, and
waited. He peeped round the room, until