The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1916-10-12
Something
Desperate
It Brought About a Change Be-
tween Sylvia and Max
~ JEANNE OLIVE LORZEAUx

The moonlight and her beauty
softened the scorn of her glance
when she saw that it was Max who
had been sent back for her. She
sat alone in Jack Burroughs stalled
machine. Jack and his wife had
walked in, being due at an import
ant function.
"You" Sylvia's tone matched the
intention Of her glance.
"Even /, Sylvia" he replied with
a rueful grin. "Fate is sometimes
decent. A fellow has to risk what
welcome is coming to him."
ut was horrid of the Burroughs
to send you, but they had to get to
that dinner, l suppose! My ankle
still refuses to let me walk far, or
I'd have gone with them ~afoot."
Tall and fair, cap in hand, he
was standing with an offered hand
to help her down and into his own
little runabout. But she did not
move. His glance followed hers to
the cleaning object held ~fearfully
in her lap. He took both hands
and pistol as she explained.
"Jack would leave it when I in
sisted on their going and sending
back the first respectable person
they met
Thanks! Are you coming?" He
pocketed the weapon. But she only
removed her big hat and veil.
"You know why Pm afraid!
You're worse than a pistol. l can't
trust YOU" Her tone was quite seri-
Gus. "Next time you ask me to
marry you | shall do something des-
perate! | would almost prefer stay
ing here alone. Oh, Max, would
YOU, for once, take me straight
home? And behave? You used to
be nice when we were children"
81 won't propose, in the car, |
promise. But | will not take you
straight home-it's too early-you
and the moon are too divinely fair.
| don't want to behave especially,
but since l must / will. ! will vary
the program by asking you not
Will you have me?' but why is it
that you won't have me?' Come"
Finally she reached him her hand,
but without excuse he suddenly
took her in his arms and lifted her
to his ear. For a few minutes they
sped along with the June breezes
freshening on their faces. At length
he spoke frankly, quietly:
"Sylvia, let's talk it over. l may
have annoyed you'll may have
made a fool of myself imploring you
to be mine times innumerable, like
a comic opera hero with the same
old song. l don't know how to say it
many ways. 1t all comes to the
same thing-marriage or not. But
/ love you"
1t pleased him to be whimsical,
and Sylvia laughed. 1t was a change
from the dead serious, anyway. He
was never modest about his real
worth. He continued:
81 am lovable, too, with an affec-
Tomato disposition. What is the
matter, Sylvia2 Please tell me. /
will not ask you again-in the car
Il promised-and never again at
all, once | see you do not love me.
You have never fatty denied that,
you know"
He turned his face away that she
might speak freely if she would.
Not that she had ever been embar-
raised with him; he wished she
had. At last she spoke:
"You bring this on yourself. /
don't feel polite. You always make
me so irritable and ~unlovely. | want
to fly when ! see you coming. !
came out with the Burroughses to
be rid of you and to save them from
each others company. | can't tell
you just why it is, but the sight OF
you makes me contrary and | can
not say what you want Inc to-" :.
Speeding a little more, he turned
to her coolly.
"You are never unlovely, Sylvia.
Just how do I irritate your"
They glided on through the soft
dusk between the dark, sweet
breathing woods and lighter mead
ON lands. On and on they came,
nearer to the city, whose myriad
lights seemed to flash toward them
from the dim hills.
"And you make me think when
don't want to-. It's like pushing
something away that you do not
want to come too close. simply
don't seem to want to be married.
p. She stopped short.
"Is that it? Of course you have
to decide that. What is it you DO
want in your life, Sylvia? To grow
old alone? Your aunt won't always
live. Do you know of anything that
would hn . satisfactory substitute