The Prescott daily news., 1913-11-01

req SHADES and
heap of roses.
This wouldn't be bad at a hunt dinner
with the men in pink, but tonight it's
unearthly. There is only one man
here who doesn't look fiorid sinner"
She followed his eyes down the
table, and they indicated a man of
aboutsthirty, whose profile alone was
visible to them"
He is very handsome" said
Marion.
Il suppose he said, "your soul is
just like that-a glimmering white
ness, with here and there your good
works burning like little candles"
Marion laughed. And you want
me to believe" said she, that yours
is as completely black"
No" said he, mot black-only
scarlet. And, after all, l would rath-
er you believe nothing at all about
me-
"Why?" asked Marion.
Well said he, you are a debu-
tante, and your illusions must not
be shattered
IF they are false?" she asked.
illusions are no more false than
anything else" said he. Miss La
mont, you remind me very much of
a friend of mine. l haven't seen him
for six years until today. There
wasn't an illusion he didn't enshrine
In the lofty temple of his thoughts.
When he was eighteen he was happy
burning incense before his ideals that
he wasn't good for much else. The
next year a friend went back on
him-forged his name, and disap-
peared.
He foreswore friendship. took up
philanthropy, and went to work In
mission church, where he fell in
love with one of the girls in the
choir. Her mother kept shop,
but what did 1t matter? Not bit
to my friend. 1t brought about a
quarrel with his father, though,
who disinherited him and died. You
can guess that the relatives kept the
money and turned up their noses at
the little saleslady BY this time
most of my friends illusions were
gone. Experience is an iconoclast.
The temple had been desecrated, and
the sacred images had been thrown
down. There was only one shrine
left, and here he had placed little
golden figure of saint. 1t was love
he worshiped, and with that left he
scarcely seemed to miss friends or
father money or position. After all,
a chapel does as we'll to pray in as a
cathedral. He was perfectly happy
till his pretty chorister went on the
stage, took boys part in comic
opera, and married the tenor
He should have been glad to have
escaped" said Marion.
Il don't think he took that view.
1t wasn't that he regretted her; but
you see, Miss Lamont, she had stolen
mis- golden saint. For the hundredth
time / congratulated myself that my
mental bric-a-b rac was inferior and
dispensable. There was my friend
with a long life before him and no
taste for living. l think he would
have ended it, only he has a great
deal Of persistency hates to beg of,
wants to carry out what he begins.
So he pulled himself together, looked
out for hard things to do, made life
an intellectual gymnasium. culti-
waited a distaste for women. studied
Russian, and buried himself in 81
IBERIA for six years"
He stopped and turned to Marion.
There" he said, you have the his
tory of the man with the lost
IDEAL"
She looked at him rather strangely.
rs that all?" she asked.
Not quite he answered. Il met
him again today. and l find that
once more the altar Is illumined and
the service going on as before.
Some one has restored his golden Inn
age"
Why" said Marion. that Is the
best part of the story"
There was a CULVER In her voice.
and a brightness like tears on her
lower lids. She was looking down
the table at the man they had mo-
ticed before, and his eyes were fixed
on her face. adoringly.