New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1914-05-17

40. Kitty. not the nlghtdrcs5. D,llls ~.
my blue silk chamber robe. Slia" S'' "P
and read.
Helen L siIcnccd her with look. "And then
YOU may go, Kitty. will finish undressing
''1 "a hot water bottle for Madame Your
olortr;c VIBRATOR" asked the girl helplcSSiy.
@No. mo- am not i'll. ! only WISH 70 DC
alone
aYour book"
Helen took the novel and opened 1t on the
marker She pretended to read under thG
~, Gqbt Of the clcctrolicr while the gIrl
carefuiiv hung her clothing on the forms IN
the closet and laid out upon the bed the
dainty. lacc-trimmci gown.
~Vill YOU never go, Kitty;
The girl hastily finished her task ana
closed the door with a bang. Helen hung
the hook from her with an angry gesture
Then She clasped her hands about her knees
and sat looking far into space.
WHY" she asked herself aloud, as If con
w ring a part, why should he rise up
ont of the past on this night OF all nights 10
damn me with those eyes"
She unclasped her hands and fell to study
mo her rings. one Of them a diamond Soll-
,airc another a plain band of gold, as II
from them she sought an answer.
~Whv. she continued, couldn't you have
left us happy in the delusion that all my
dreams had come true;
The rings not answering, she claspcd her
hands in her lap, her snuous shoulders
thrown forward. her eyes looking tar away.
Il IS her attitude, you will recall, in the last
big scene Of The Rungs of the Ladder.
where Uilda Crosswavs, when she had scaled
fine topmost rung Of the ladder of Ambition,
* suddenly brought face to face with herself
when She learns. after it is too late, that her
,r,e mission in life was Love, not Fame;
tbat all the time she has been climbing bind
IL She has loved. worshipcd the very man
whose life she had 50 sclhshly bhghiei.
Helen Brinslcvs voice as she spoke, was
vibrant with that suppressed emotion Tor
which the public pays her 50 lavlshly.
@Thc LADDER You were the first rung OF
that ladder Owen. | tramplcd YOU under
foot TO reach the next rung. | scaled the
ladder over your heart. | made you the
hidcous loathcsomc thing you are tonight.
You cannot punish me. | have been my
own punishment. tramplcd my own heart
down with yours. The rungs OF the ladder;
| have climbed them. Success: Fame;
What are they worth beside one precious
drop from that bleeding heart No. am
punished enough, bccausc-Owen love
youl' ,,t
She smiled bitterly as she found herself
repeating the lines OF the play. Pshaw.
There's no sincerity in me. | wonder II 1t
really was my own heart, and not the heart
Of Hilda Crossways, that | tore to pieces
tonight and exhibited 10 the morbid gaze Of
the public;
\ sudden suspicion crossed her mind that
brought with it a flush Of anger. Handel
how could he have known what was in my
heart? How could that moncy-Soakci BRAN
Of his know that it was my lite-ny life, AMI
not the life of EIilda-that he was capital
ling? But if he did know, which he GER
'ainlv could not, would his intamy be any
less than minc3 i not Success my god just
as much as Money is his; Have | not pa
radcd my own heart, my own finest, most
holy instincts Of womanhood, for the enter
tainmcnt of the rabblc, | have won the
world: but have lost my own soul.
The same wan, bitter smile came INTO her
face as she found herself again drifting for
her sentiment into the lines of the play, IA
nervous shrug of the sinuous shoulders; then
a shivcr Of nerves ran all through her body.
No. il was not nervousness: It was drai
from somewhere blowing directly on her
back. Had that careless, impudcnt Kitty
left window open? She turned, with an
= 1 ! i