Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-03-23

the eH0 OF the terrace ne went acrOSS
| the fagstones to her.
Good morning" he said, and he could
hardly have said less.
What a beautiful old place it is,' she
said. pleasantly. Il wonder whether you
know how lucky you are to have been
\ born here"
It's old certainly he said, land ex-
tremely shabby
| That's part of the charm" she said.
But look at the new garden. Miss I'm
lderwood and made that. We put in all
| thing"
She was talking without a trace of
! embarrassment
He liked her voice. he liked the turn of
| her head. he liked her eyes-he had
Away liked her eyes.
Il do not like you at ALL he said in
wardly.
But he stayed talking with her in the
little wood of orange trees till she went
to her work in the library.
Dislike her he might, but it was i'm
possible not to talk to her, as it is not
| to answer an amiable and intelligent
| child. Not that she was childish or even
| childlike, but she seemed so unconscious
or any reason why she should not talk to
| him.
1t was one day when the haze OF the
| great heat turned the woods blue and
the far hills violet that they stood by
| the broken balustrade Of the terrace.
Her eyes were fixed on the wood-the
wood.
! II wonder" he said suddenly, "why
you blushed so when my aunt introduced
me to YOU"
She blushed again now.
| why was it?' he urged
II did hope you hadn't noticed" she
said
Noticed? My dear Miss Grantham, no
one could have helped noticing 1t. Was
| It surprise at seeing some one else there
| having tea?"
He gave her that loophole because sud
denly he found that he was sorry for her.
NO" she said, avoiding the loophole,
1T wasn't surprise, because. Of course,
l knew you were coming. But / didn't
| knoV it would be YOU
He wished then very earnestly that he
had not begun to ask questions.
"Oh. never mind" he said quickly. ut
doesn't matter"
mo, no." she said eagerly "Pve often
wanted to tell you. [ knew you'd noticed.
1t was because / met you once at the
British Museum-of course. you don't re-
member it,
But, of course, do" he interrupted.
Il hoped you wouldn't" she said, ''be-
cause / stared at you. I really honestly
didn't know. I'd done it till afterward.
and then-when I saw you at the tea on
| the lawn here-I remembered"
But why did you stare at me, as you
call tin the museum, / mean?"
Il don't know" she said very earnestly.
| ct was as IL I'd seen you before and
been looking for you. and then suddenly
there you were. 1t does sound most
frightfufly silly. Do you think one ever
| has moments when one is quite mad?
II do" he said earnestly, II do, indeed;
| I've had moments when I've fancied the
most extraordinary things. But they've
not been true" he added stoutly.
And now he was quite certain that the
hollow in the wood and the sleeping blue
figure and the round arm and all the rest
| Of 1t had been only a vision-queer and
unaccountable but still vision. The GER
titude made a new heaven and a new
earth for him.
He and she and the father worked hard
| at the book. often late into the night, but
there were golden mornings and silver
evenings.
The aunt and the father looked on and
saw that.more and more, in all the hours
that the book did not claim, the two were
together. And they were glad.
Then came the wet day. 'Philomela COW
cred her head and ran through the rain
and the wild west wind to the stone sum-
mer house at the end Of the terrace.
"Philomela," he said; his voice was
low.
Yes she said.
''Philomela." he said again, ''is there
any one else?''
NO." said she.
Then he touched her lips. and knew at
the touch that 1t was not for the first
time. That-in the wood.it had not been
a vision. It had been real-real as this.
real as his despair.
Yet he would be sure.
"Philomela," he said her name for the
third time. "have you ever fallen asleep
in wood?''
YES. said she, and once more the
crimson flush covered neck and brow and
ears.
'In that wood?" It lay below them,
drenched in misty desolation.
'"The day came homer"
"Yes."
God. forgive you," he said: turned and
left her.
He went for a long walk in the rain.
That night at dinner the aunt and the
father were surprised to learn that Ne
Vile was going to town by the early
train in the morning; it was uncertain
when he would return. He should go by
the 6:15. before any Of them were up:
He stayed up late that night, packing
everything in q raging fury Of energy.
He had loved her-he did love her-and
she was-that.
1t must have been in the morning
when. the fire Of resentment beginning to
burn lower. he found suddenly that he
dining room and lit the candles on the
mantelpiece. Something moved close to
him.
who's there?" he asked The candles
turned clear. and Philomela rose from the
big chair that was his fathers.
"What on earth are you doing here?" he
asked roughly.
.'Tm waiting to see you off," she said
''You know I've got to speaEeto you. It
can't end like this. People don't do such
things
what things?'
Leave women as you left me after
oh. how dared you kiss me?'
II might ask the same question:" he
sneered.
you might?
"Yes," he said, brutally. "Ahd will ask
1t. How dared you kiss me? Down there
in the wood. How dared You put your
arm around a strangers neck and draw
his head down till he kissed your"
'I-you think I did that?"
II know tt"
"But how-when|
"You know well enough-the day I
came home"
But" she said. slowly, and her eyes did
not finch from his, IF you know this
you've always known it. Then why-all
this time-"'
II couldn't believe it. thought after
ward it must have been q hallucination'
Then If you couldn't believe 1t then,
why believe 1t now?" Her voice was cold |
Because l kissed you again-fooI that
1 was When I felt your lips I knew it |
was not the first time-I knew"
Listen to me-" she said. I'm going |
to tell you the truth. don't care whether |
lit