The Detroit times. [volume] (Detroit, Mich.) 1903-1920, 1913-10-09

vited to the dance. Why wasn't he
going? Could II be true? Had the
artist tried his luck and lost? All,
II fate were as kind as that. He let
Harrigan depart alone.
Why not? What did he care? What
II the father had been a fighter for
prizes! What IL the mother was pos
sessed with misguided desire to
shine socially? What mattered Il II
they had once resided In an obscure
tenement In great city, and that
grandfathers were as far back as
they could 90 with any certainty? Was
he not his own master? What titled
woman of his acquaintance whose
Iorepears had been powerful in the
days OF the Borgias, was not di
III the presence OF this wonderful
MAID 10 whom all things had been
nj Tor royal crown, let alone a
simple baronial tiara such as he
could provide.
Inc mother favored him a little. OF
this he was reasonably certain: mn
the moods OF the daughter were dim.
cult to discover or to follow.
Tonight! The round moon was ria.
ing palely over Lecco; the moon mis-.
tress OF love and tides, toward whom
all men and maids must look, though
only Eros knows why! Evidently
there was no answer to the Italian :
question. for he faced about and walk.
cd moodily toward the entrance. Here
he paused. looking up at the empty
window. Again a snatch of song
ID SOln min nhn ,
What a beautiful thing indeed. Pas
sionately he longed for the old days,
when by his physical prowess alone
OFT man won his lady. Diplomacy,
torrents OF words, sly little tricks, SUD-
terfuges, adroitness, stolen glances,
careless touches Of the hand: by
these must maid be won today.
When she was happy she sang, when
she was sad. when she was only mis-
chievous. She was just as likely to
cling . terra addio when she was hap
py as . sole milo when she was sad.
SO, how was man to know the right
approach to her variant moods? Sigh
Ing deeply, he went on to his room,
to change his Piccadilly suit for an
other which was supposed to be the
last word in the matter of evening
dress.
Below, In the village, man entered
the Grand Hotel. He was tall, blond,
rosy-cheeked. He carried himself like
one used to military service; also,
ike one used to giving peremptory or
ders. The porter bowed, the director
bowed, and the proprietor himself be-
came living carpenters square, hing
ed. The porter and the director rec
ognized parsonage; the proprietor
recognized the man. 1t was of no con-
sequence that the new arrival called
himself Herr ROsen. He was assign
ed TO suite OF rooms, and on return
ing to the bureau the proprietor
sQuinted his eyes abstractedly. He
knew every woman of importance at
that time residing on the Point. Ger
tainly 1t could be none OF these. Him.
mel! He struck his hands together.
So that was 1t: the singer. He re-
called the hints in certain newspaper
paragraphs, the little tales with the
names left to the imagination. SO
that was 1t?
What woman! Men looked at her
and went mad. And not so long ago
one had abducted her in Paris. The
proprietor threw up his hands in de-
spair. What was going to happen to
the peace of this bucolic spot? The
youth permitted nothing to stand in
his way, and the singers father was
a retired fighter with boxing gloves.