Evening star., 1915-04-11

not; but TO Bill aSlOnlSnment ne Ducklcd
down to hard work in his uncle's offices,
and to all appearances became the usual
hard, absorbed, machine-ike American
business man. His sartorial attributes
underwent decided revolution: he was no
longer lily of the field but "A matter-of
factly dressed worker. Bill noticed that
even his handkerchiefs these days were
monogramless. And Pelham, who ad-
mircd in Others those qualities he did not
possess, marveled at the power of woman,
and wisely kept his perfumed, loungng,
irritating personality out of his friends
way.
He looked thoughtful, however, when
he learned that Tom was really making
headway in his labors, had cut society and
turned philanthropic. In short, there
wasn't doubt that his erstwhile chum
had passed from the innocuous idleness of
rich mans ne'er-do-well son into gem
uine purposeful, WORTHWHILE manhood.
That little matter Of his fathers legacy
had indeed worked a surprising change.
RUT in March the fever in Toms veins
- broke control. All these months he
had forced himself to put Godiva Heath
out of mind and had toiled with the des-
peration of one who fights to stave off the
wolf fangs of memory. OF course Godiva
had married her cousin, and equally of
course she hadn't written him anything
about it because she feared to see him
again. As if he'd intrude the skeleton of
his grief at their marriage feast! He hoped
she was happy He was glad Dad had
I al, NJ
the cruX of the matter-he longed for her
until his very heartbeats seemed to keep
time to her name, and every breath he
drew was an agony of desire. And for
ever the burning thrill of that first and
last kiss was upon his lips
Then one windy, leaden day in early
spring Tom swung himself from the train
at Octen Station, and plodded up through
the bare-branched maple avenue alone.
Just the sight of the old gray house would
case his hurt, he thought with that para
doxcal human instinct which makes one
press the sackcloth closer to his shrinking
flesh.
The fish fountain was there, cold hnd
waterless in the dull March weather; but
no red and gold flowers bloomed, and the
house was still. She was away, of course.
And Tom leaned against the comfortless
gray balustrade and let the desolation of
it all trickle over him. How he loved her!
And she-hadn't cared
just inside someone began to Sing soft
ly, "Some Day He'll Come, from Ma
dame Butterfly Tom jumped violently,
and turning ran up the steps and in at the
front door without even waiting to ring.
Had the window been OPEN history might
have repeated itself. But when he reached
the library threshold he stopped, feeling
very, very foolish, and stood there hesitat-
ing, while tall and slight figure in blue
came across the room to him, the gray
eyes strangely alight.
"rom, she stretched out her hands.
al knew you'd come, some day!"
Tom stammered wretchedly, "l am glad
to see you again, Mrs.-Mrs. Leonard
THEN Godiva Heath laughed out. And
the undeniable wstful sorrow of her
countenance went quickly into shy happi-
ness 81 am not Mrs. Leonard, she said.
II didn't marry Gaspard. We hadn't met
for five years, and when he came he didn't
like me at all. He'd been carrying about
a mental pictllre of the Shy woodland yiO-