The Mena weekly star., 1913-04-17


 to Paris, lost it. My memory hoe always been trial to me-" sadly
 Since when?" coldly. There Is no. a woman living with keener memory than yours"
 You fiatter me. In affairs that in- terest me, perhaps"
 is horrible"
 My dear Fortune, how you jutnp at conclusions! Did I not offer him A draft the very first thing?"
 Knowing that at such a moment he could not possibly accept it?" da- r1sively. Sometimes I hate youl"
 Nln these days filial devotion is A lost art" " =
 No, no; 1t Is flower parents have ceased to cultivate"
 And there was in the tone a strained note which described an in- tense longing to be loved. For if George Percival Algernon Jones was lonely young man, it was the result or his own blindness; whereas Fortune Chedsoye turned hither and thither in search of that which she never could md. The wide Lybian desert held upon It's face loneliness, a desolation. less mournful than that which reigned within her heart.
 Hush! We are growing sentiment. al" warned the mother Besides. I believe we are attracting attention. |" Her glance swept half-circle con- placently.
 Pardon me! I should be sorry to draw attention to you, knowing how you abhor it."
 My child, learn from me; temper is the arch-enemy of smooth complex. ions. Jones-it makes you laugh"
 Tt is a homely, honest name"
 T 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. It 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 repellence that always met the least outreaching of the child's affections, the unaccountable disappearance the terror of the unknown, the blank wall of ignorance behind which she was always kept, upon these hate had builded her dark and breeding re- treat. 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 it how she might. A kindly touch of the hand, single mother smile, and she would have flung her arms about the other womans neck.
 But the touch and the mother-smile never came. She knew, she under stood; she wasn't wanted, she hadn't been wanted in the beginning; to her mother she was as the young of anil mals, interesting only up to that time when they could stand alone. That the mother never made and held feminine friendships was in nowise astonishing. Beauty and charm, such as she possessed, served immediately to stimulate envy in other women's hearts. And that men of all stations in life flocked about her, why, it Is the eternal tribute demanded of beau ty. 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 a frosted window, as a thing to admire and praise In passing. One ache always sbided; 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 back in some hidden chamber of her heart lay secret dread of such a step, a dread which, whenever she strove to analyze 1t, 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, welldressed, we'll housed, and often her mother flung her some jeweled trinket which (again that sense of menace) she put away, but 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 from some former schoolmate who was coming over and wanted letters of introduction to dukes and duchess es. If she smiled over these letters 1t 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 had the least idea. She might be In any of the great ports of the world, anywhere between New York and Port Said. The major generally dis appeared at the same time. Then, perhaps. she'd come back from a pleasant tram-ride over to Nice and find them both at tie villa. maid and luggage Mayhap a night or two, and off they'd go again; never wsrd about their former joL l.ey, uneom- municative, rather quiet, These ab- senees, together with the undemon- strative reappears rces, used to hurt ,,.... a,oo1f,,iI. If onNa har a