Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1915-06-29
FALSE WITNESS y E5 ERHggR AZ .5: R7gysEszH WE! s.
The story girl altered through The 'rcono

e that hard TO believe. l had better no
say more or might say too much.
! "Good-by. Martin dear; can't expec
, you to forgive me, but don't hate me.
have made YOU give up your ship, and al
, Tor this! But I'm not sorry for that, be
cause ! feel that have at least restored
YOU TO your proper sphere. So l ma,
nave done you some good. after all
everything seems very rotten, doesn't II
don't know why we humans go OF
living.
Please don't try to see me or write tc
me again. Forget that 1 ever existed
Maud"
"P. ST. left one or two things in my
cabin. would like you to keep them
unless, you hate me too much. Good-by' .
Arrol drew deep breath and sat down
TO realize what had happened. He had
expected this. He had felt the blow inn
pending all that day. Yet IT fell with
none the less force TITS a facer' he
heard himself mutter.
"Will you come up to the club?" his
brother called to him from the passage;
I've got a note from a man saying he
would be there tonight / don't feel In
clined to turn in so early"
Thanks, no." Martin replied In steady
voice; 'I feel dashed sleepy and shall
turn in. Hope you'll have a good time"
He heard the door close and Richard
! descending the stairs. He stood UP and
made a few PAGES about the room. He
had never felt like this before.
What exactly did he feel? Solitude had
/ made him introspectve, and he found
himself considering his own emotions in
| detached way. A sense of irreparable
| loss-that was IL. Something tremcn-
dously good and important had gone from
hm-he was ever so much less life was
ever so much less. He wondered II a
man might not feel something like this
when he was struck or lost his limbs.
II was no good worrying about such
catastrophe once II had happened, and
he knew. OF course, that he would get used
to II, still
The sailor stroked his chin thoughtfully.
He was aware of n dull ache through his
whole being. Yes, II was a rude shock,
this loss OF her, a shock from which II
would take long time to recover. Mean
time he must expect IL to hurt a little.
Again he thought of physical shocks, of
amputations people suffered a
good deal Immediately after them, but in
time the pain went or they got used to
1t. Sometimes. though they didn't. II
went on aching all their lives It struck
him that he was suffering more than he
had ever done before in his whole life
Certainly more than at the trial Then
he had been sure OF an acquittal. 1t was
extraordinary that he should feel so
wretched, seeing that nothing was actu-
ally hurting him.
Every lover had known this, he SUD-
posed. He recalled n score of light say
ings, some of them frankly comic. Never
run after a girl or bus-there's sure to
be another along presently" That was
very droll and, Of course, quite true But |
though he twisted his lips into a wry
smile, he failed to derive any comfort |
from the aphorism
Well. never mind about his feelings
what was to be done? 1t was no use TO |
read her letter over again because he
knew It by heart. She wrote as II she
loved him. Why, then, did she throw him
over? because, OF course her people |
wouldn't tolerate the idea. 1t was that |
accursed woman, her mother. Well, not |
necessarily. The admiral had relatives, |
brother In the army and a sister who |
had married a peer. They might believe |
in his guilt and have made a row. He |
could see them, how they would look at |
1t. OF course. he wasn't a desirable match |
for Maud from any point of view.
Should he take Maud at her word? His
nature said no-a big no. He was not |
the man TO give up what he wanted |
without struggle. At least he fancied |
he was not that sort OF man now. Thlr-
teen years ago he had been softer He
thought with wonder OF his disgusted
abandonment of his career, of his flight |
before sneers and suspicious looks. He
would not have fed now, not II every
passerby had shouted murderer in his
ear. He had acquired new canons, new
standards of conduct without thinking
about them. He had fancled himself IN
love once or twice in those boyish days
How would he have behaved in such a |
crisis as this? He would have acquiesced
in his dismissal, he supposed, bowed his
head and gone away. He looked back
af In
the dark blue uniform and felt for him
the bitterest scorn. He was not going
to give up the girl he loved without a
jolly good fight, unless he had II from
her own lips that she didn't love him;
and as for the cloud OF suspicion, he
would blow It sky-high, rend 1t, dissi-
pate II.
Yes, but that might be it-that she had
ces,-ed to love him and had not the heart
10 say so. He had told her himself that
once she got back to her normal sur
she would look on him with
other eyes. Perhaps that had happened,
He wished he knew more about girls of
her sort. He strove to recall what he
knew of them years ago II was not !
much. He had been rather a shy young
ster. He had told a woman once that he
had given up flirting for the reason that
the English had given up dueling-that
they took II too seriously. More expert
ence would have been useful TO him. AS
TO the women he had met since, he could
find there no common ground for COM
parison. Girls, he heard. never meant
what they said. Somehow, though he
could not believe Maud would have writ
ten that letter unless she meant 1t.
There was no address on the letter. The
DostmRrk was Brighton. He considered
was a large town. He might
spend days down there and never see
her. She might have left the town by
this time. After all, any letter he sent
TO EdgWorth Square would be sure to
reach her. But would she read his LETT
tersf