Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1915-04-18

W http ~. IL IL d lONtlN tIlIIS. w nat q
lot of time and thought she has spent in
selecting a present for me! She must
have cared very much for my father"
Page" Her mothers voice Interrupt
ted her harshly, while she stole fright
ened glance at Dean. "How do you-how
could you possibly know anything of that
Old, forgotten affair.""
"Oh, Mother, must | remind you that
| am not of your generation? How could
| fail to know such secret? People whs-
per still that you and Father couldn't
agree, and that you We're living unhap-
PLY when he fell in love with your best
friend, widow. They parted and every
one says that is the reason she lives in
Europe, and they also say that it was
only after that-that my father began to
well, drink so heavily"
only dear Page" Deans voice broke in
coolly, "if you were not so much excited
| am sure that you would be the first to
notice that your remarks are in poor taste;
and don't you think that you are also be-
ing rather ncedlessly unkind to your
mother"
al am not being needessly cruel to my
mother" she said. at is simply that she
olii HoNS CoIIlC w d pOlul Ill llIe Wnef6
some of our pharisaical conventions have
got to fall to the ground by their own
weight. There's something real among
the three of us here tonight, something
that we've all been pushing out of sight
and shutting up in dark closets; but it's
got to be brought out to the light now,
some way or other. feel that it is out
of our hands now, and don't care how
Mother looks at me, Stanley, nor what
you say. What is vital in human relations
is never in bad taste.
She walked swiftly over to another table
and took from it beautiful bowl
"This too was sent anonymously; but
you knew, Mother, you knew the moment
you saw it from whom it came, and your
face changed and softened. Your eyes
filled with tears, and you said involun-
tarily and under your breath, How sweet
of him!' And for once you were not Just
the stunning Mrs. Amberley.. You looked
like a woman who could love and suffer.
And all day you've been going about with
that soft, little dream in your ewes.
Mother, this is your present, not mine.
] shall keep this, her fingers closed over
the pendant at her throat, "and | shall
wear it. This belongs to me; but shall
never take the potpourri jar from YOU.
It," her voice trembled, "is filled with
ashes of roses-od, sweet memories
yours, Mother!'
MRS. AMBERLEY had turned about
- in her chair so that her face was
hidden from both of the others. She still
pressed her handkerchief to her mouth,
and there was something in her attitude
which showed that she shrank from and
resented her daughters undesired intru-
sion into her past which was, to her, both
secret and sacred.
"Don't!' she cried sharply. "You have
no right! Oh realize now as l have
never done before that there is no real
sympathy, no understanding, between
you and me! There never has been. But
that this should have come to me now,
after all my sacrifces."
"Sacrifces!' cried the girl, and stood
arrested, gazing at her mother strangely.
ayes, sacrifices that you can never
dream Of" For the first time in many
years Mrs Amberley surrendered herself
to her feelings. Invountarily, uncon-
sciously, she discarded her charming