Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1912-01-11
CHAPTER V. CONTINUED. J.

love to me-" systematically. Ilfee
days, and he was SO glileless that he
never asked my name. But in Monte
Carlo. as you know, che asks only.
your bankers name" ~
And your purpose?''
1T is still mine, dear. Do you real
ize that we haven't see each other IN
four months, and that you haven't
offere d to kiss me?'' ~.a.. .a 49,
Did he go away without writing to
you about that money! W. -
Mrs. Chedsoye calmly plucked out
the inturned fingers of her gloves. Il
believe did receive note lncloslng
his bankers address, but, unfortunate
ly, in the confusion of returning to
Paris. I lost it. My memory has al
ways been trial to me" sadly.
Since when?' coldly. ''There is
not woman living with keener
memory than yours ..,,.
You flatter me. In, affairs that in
terest me. perhaps 49,.
"Ycu never meant to pay him. 1t Is
horrible ~ -"
"My dear Fortune how you jump at
conclusions! Did l not offer him
draft the very first thing?'
Knowing that such moment he
could not possibly accept ?" derisive-
ly. Sometimes l hate you!" -. ~
''In these days tilial devotion is
lost art -, :.-. r. ~.
."No, no; it is flower parents have
ceased to cultivate
And there was in the tone strain
ed note which described an intense
longing to he loved. For If George
Percival Algernon Jones was lonely
young man, it was the result OF his
own blindness: whereas Fortune
Chedsoye turned hither and thither in
search of that which she never could
find The wide Lybian desert held
upon it's face q loneliness, a desola-
ton, less mournful than that which
reigned within her heart.
+. Hush, We are growing sentl-
mental, warned the mother. Besides
I believe we are attracting attention
Her glance swept half-Circle COM
placently.
Pardon me! | should be sorry to
draw attention to you, knowing how
you abhor it,"
my child, learn from me: temper is
the arch-enemy CT smooth complex
ions. Jones--it makes you laugh
p, TT is a homely, honest name"
81 grant that But Percival Alger-
non Jones!, Mrs: Chedsoye laughed
softly. It was one of those pleasant
sounds that caused persons within
hearing to wait for it to occur again:
Come: let us go up to the room. 1t
is dull, dusty journey in from Port
Said.''
Alone, Fortune was certain that for
her mother her heart knew nothing
but hate. Neglect. indifference, in
Justice, misunderstanding, the chill re-,
pellence that always met the least out
reaching of the child's affections, the
unaccountable disappearances, the ter
or of the unknown. the blank wall OF
ignorance behind which she was al
ways kept, upon these hate had Dulld-
ed her dark and brooding retreat. Yet
never did the mother come within the
radius of her sight that she did not fall
under the spell Of strange fascination:
enchanting, fight against 1t how she
might. A kindly touch OF the hand,
single mothersmile, and she would
have flung her arms about the other
wOman's neck. ..
J. But the touch and the mother
smile never came. She knew,
she understood: she wasn't wanted,
she hadn't been wanted in the
beginning: to her mother she
was as the young of animals, interest
ing only up to that time when they
could stand alone. That the mother
never made and held feminine friend
ships was in nowise astonishing.
Beauty and charm, such as she pos
sessed; served imm ediately to stimu-
late envy in other women's hearts.
And that men of all stations in life
flocked about her, why, 1t is the
eternal tribute demanded of beauty:
Here and there the men were not all
the daughter might have wished. Often
they burnt sweet flattery at her
shrine, tentatively; but as she coolly
stamped out these incipient fires,
they at length came to regard her as
one regards the beauty of frosted
window, as thing to admire ana
praise in passing. One ache always
abided: the bitter knowledge that had
she met in kind smile for smile and
Jest for Jest she might have been her
mothers boon companion. But deep
hack in some hidden chamber Of her
heart Law a secret dread of such
SIoD, a uI01u w "hSiiSSN ~
strove to analyze it. ran from under
her investigating touch. as little balls
of quicksilver run from under the
pressure Of thumb.
. She was never without the comforts
of life, well-fed, well-dressed, we'll
housed. and othen her mother flung
her some jeweled trinket which (again
that sense of menace) she put away,
hut never wore. The bright periods
were when they left her in the little
villa near Mentone, with no one but
her old and faithful nurse. There, with
her horse, her books and her flowers.
she was at peace. Week into week and
month into month she was let be.
Never a letter came, save from some
former schooImate who was coming
over and wanted letters of introduce
ton to dukes and duchesses. If she
smiled over these letters it was with
melancholy; for the dukes and
duchesses. who fell within her singular
orbit, were not the sort to whom one
gave letters of introduction.
Where her mother went she never