The Daily Ardmoreite. [volume] (Ardmore, Okla.) 1893-current, 1915-03-07


She replied without hesitation
There is no such man, James. You
may be sure of that"
Il am confident that can hold your
love against the future, but no man IS
vital enough to compete with the past.
Love doesn't really die, you know. II
a man cannot hold a wOman's love
against all newcomers, he deserves TO
lose it. 1t doesn't follow. however, that
he can protect himself against the
man who appears out OF the past and
claims his own"
you speak as though the past had
played you an evil trick" she said
He did not mince words. Years
ago a man came out of the past and
took from me the woman | loved and
cherished"
"Your-your wife," she asked in a
voice suddenly lowered.
yes" he said quietly.
She was silent for long time. Il
wonder at your courage in taking the
risk again" she said
81 think | wonder at it myself" said
he. "No, | am not afraid" he went on,
as If convincing himself that there
was no risk. Il shall make you love
me to the end, Yvonne. | am not
afraid. But why do you not ask me
for all the wretched story?'
1T is not unlike all stories Of its
kind, my dear" she said with an in
difference that amazed him. They
are all alike. Why should ask? No,
| do not ask you for your story, James.
Sometime you may tell me, but not to-
day. | shouldn't mind hearing it if it
were an original tale, but God knows
it isn't. It's as old as the Nile. But
you may tell me more about your son.
Is he like you, or like his mother"
Broods lips were compressed. Il
can't say that he is like either OF us"
he said shortly. She raised her eye
brows slightly.
"Ah," she said THAT makes quite
a difference. Perhaps, after all, shall
be interested in the story" Her man
ner was so casual, so serenely matter
of-fact, that he could hardly restrain
the sharp exclamation of annoyance
that rose to his lips.
He bit his lip and allowed the frank
insinuation to go unanswered. He
consoed himself with the thought that
she must have spoken in jest, with
out intention. He had the uncomfort-
able feeling that she would make light
of his story, too, when the time came
for revelations. A curious doubt took
root in his mind; would he ever be
able to understand the nature of this
woman whom he loved and who ap-
peared to love him so unreservedly?
As time went on. the doubt became a
conviction. She was utterly beyond
comprehension.
The charm and beauty of the new
mistress of James Broods heart and
home we're to become tie talk of the
town. Already, in the first month of
her reign, she had drawn TO the old
house the attention not only of the
parasites who feed on novelty, but of
families that had long since given up
Brood as a representative figure in the
circle into which he had been born.
The restoration was slow at first, as
it naturally would be. The new Mrs.
Brood came upon the scene as a
strange star appears suddenly in the
skies TO excite and mystify the unsus-
pecting world. She seemed to have
come from nowhere, and yet like the
new planet, she suddenly filled an ap-
pointed spot in the armament.
It cannot be said that she conquered,
for that would be to imply design on
her part Possibly she considered the
game unworthy of the effort. She re-
garded herself as superior to all these
people, a surviving estimate of them
selves that most Europeans enjoy;
therefore what was she to gain, saving
a certain amount of amusement, by
contact with her husbands friends?
In truth, Yvonne Brood despised
Americans. She made small pre-
tense of liking them. The rather close
ly knit circle of Partisan aristocracy
which she affected is known to toll
crate but not to invite the society of
even the best of Americans. She was
no larger than her environment. Her
views upon and her attitude toward
the Americans were not created by
her but for her The fact that James
Brood had reached the inner shrine of
French self-worship no doubt put him
in a class apart from all other Ameri-
cans, so far as she was concerned. At
least it may account for an apparent
inconsistency, in that she married him
without much hesitation.
Her waInest friend and admirer-
one might almost say slave-was Fred
eric Brood. She had transformed him.
He was no longer the silent, moody
youth of other days, but an eager, i'm
petuous playmate whose principal OBJ
ject in life was to amuse her. If any
one had tried to convince him that he
ever could have regarded Mrs. Des-
mond's dethronement and deDarture