Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-08-23
THE EVENING STORY.
Spring Fashions.
Copyright. 1913, by W. Werner,

Copyright. 1918, by W. Werner.)
Mrs. Santee lay comfortably in bed.
1t was a huge bed, with four posts of
piano-finished mahogany. lowered
silk comforter cuddled Mrs. Santee and
two monogrammed pillows were under
her head. window was open and the
soft, cool air flowed in about her. There
was stiffness in the room as well as lux
ury. And Mrs. Santee lay at peace.
She had lain that way a long time. An
illness had put her in bed, but she was
no longer Ill. She did not even look i'll.
There was a faint flush on her high
cheekbones. Her hands had a firm,
healthy look as they lay relaxed upon
the counterpart. Her eyes were closed.
Mrs. Santee had always been delicate.
Moreover, because of this she had always
had her own way. When she could not
have her own way she went to bed and
got 1t. Rose could see to everything
downstairs. Faithful service was her
rightfnl due in return for having brought
great strapping girl into the world. And
while Rose was busy about her mother $
person she was not likely to have much
time to think about marriage. Mrs.
Santee was determined Rose should not
marry. And the only way she could
work out her plan was by staying in bed
and keeping Rose in attendance upon her.
To be sure, she had to have doctor
in waiting. But she had been very par
tfcular about her selection of a doctor.
None of the flippant, young new school
fellows for her, who would make love
to Rose the second time they came. No;
she had chosen DR.. Gordon He was
forty and plain and a woman hater. 1.-THE
old Crouch" she called him. Rose
wouldn't >be able to hatch up much
romance about 'the old Crouch" He
would not look at Rose. So Mrs. Santee
rested content and enjoyed her long
siesta
The door opened gently and Rose en-
tered. She had finished the morning
work downstairs and had come up to
see if her mother wanted anything. Rose
was tall and slim, the kind of girl who
looks best in skinny skirt and severely
tailored white shirt waist. She had
wavy black hair and dark gray eyes and
fine, sweet features. She was not pretty,
but she had an air of style that was bet
ter than prettineSS.
Resting, mother?" Rose asked. She
went to the window. twitching fold Of
the curtain into place. On distant ten
mis- court quartet of young people were
playing a brisk game. She could hear
their shouts and laughter, could see the
flash Of the rackets I'm the sun. And she
sighed. There was where she longed to
be, not cooped up indoors with sick
mother. Yet she knew what her duty
was and rebelled against 1t In her mind
occasionally.
Rose believed her mother was really
i'll. With her own boundless young
strength and energy she could not UNI
derstand how anybody could stay in bed
through such lovely spring weather as
this without being seriously indisposed.
She could not think of any calamity more
fearful Detailing one, especially in spring
time. For herself she envied the vigor-
GUS young folks in the tennis court. The
strong daughter of a sick mother must
use her strength in only one way, and
that was to make sickness less of a
burden. Rose bent over and kissed her
mother. Dear, what can I do for your