The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1915-07-22

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be denied.
And again there were the wild. riot
Gus airs that she had played with Few
erelli. her ~soft-eyei music master! Ac-
cursed ajrs-accursed and accusing!
He gave orders that these airs were
not to be played, but failed TO make
his command convincing for the rea-
son that he could not bring himself TO
the point Of explaining why they were
distasteful to him. When Frederic
thoughtlessly whistled or hummed
fragments of those prescribed airs, he
considered himself justified in COM
handing him to stop on the preteXt
that they were disturbing, but he could
not use the same excuse for checking
the song on the lips of his gay and i'm
pulsive wife. Sometimes he wondered
why she persisted when she knew that
he was annoyed. Her airy little apollo
gies for her forgetfulness were of no
consequence, for within the hour her
memory was almost sure to be at fault
again.
rs there anything wrong with my
hair, Mr.. Brood?" asked Lydia, with a
nervous little laugh.
They were in the study and it was
ten o'clock of a wet nigh. in April. OF
late, he had required her to spend the
evenings with him in a strenuous eff
fort to complete the final chapters of
the journal. He had declared his in
tention to go abroad with his wife as
o o as the manuscript was completed.
Lydia's willingness to devote the extra
hours to his enterprise would have
pleased him vastly II he had not been
afflicted by the same sense of unrest
and uneasiness that made incessant
labor a boon to her as well as to him.
Her query followed n long period of
silence on his part. He had been sug-
read them to him, and there were fire.
quent lulls when she made the changes
as directed. Without looking at him.
she felt rather than knew that he was
regarding her fiXedly from his position
opposite. The scrutiny was disturb
ing to her.
Brood started guiltily. Your hair?"
he exclaimed. "Oh, / see. You women
always feel that something is wrong
with it. | was thinking of something
else, however. Forgive my stupidity.
We can't afford to waste tic?e in think
ing you know, and | am q pretty bad
offender. It's nearly half-past ten.
We've been hard at it since eight
O'Clock. Time to knock off. ! will
walk around to your apartment with
you, my dear. 1t looks like an all.
night rain"
He went up to the window and
pulled the curtains aside. Her eyes
followed him.
He was staring down into the court,
his fingers grasping the curtains in a
rigid grip. He did not reply. There
was a light in the windows opening
out upon Yvonne's balcony.
Il fancy Frederic has come in from
the concert" he said slowly. He will
take you home, Lydia. You'd like that
better, eh?"
He turned toward her and she
paused in the nervous collecting of her
papers. His eyes were as hard as steel.
his lips were set.
please don't ask Frederic to-" she
began hurriedly.
"They must have left early" he
muttered. glancing at his watch. Re-
turning to the table he struck the big,
melodious gong a couple of sharp
blows. For the first time in her recol-
lection, 1t sounded a jangling. discord-
ant note. as of Impotence. Ranjab ap.
peared IN the doorway. Have Mrs.
Brood and Mr.. FreGertc returned. Ran
jab?"
Yes. sahib. At ten o'clock"
IF Mr.. Frederic is in his room send
him to me-"
HE is not in his room. sahib."
The two, master and man, looked at
each other steadily for a moment.
Something passed between them.
Tell him that Miss Desmond is
ready to go home"
Yes. sahib." The curtain fell.
Il prefer to go home alone. Mr..
Brood" said Lydia, her eyes flashing.
why did you send" /.
And why not?" he demanded harsh
ly. She WINGED and he was a: once
sorry. Forgive me. l am tired and
Ia bit And you too are tired.
You've been working too steadily at
this miserable job. my dear child.
Thank heaven, II will soon be over.
Pray sit down. Frederic will soon be
here
Il am not tired" she protested stub
borniy. II love the work. You don't