The Connecticut labor press. (New Haven, Conn.) 191?-1921, 1919-11-22

! an AmbersOn-and believe you're too
| proud! You're too proud to care for
a man who could write such a letter
as that!" He stopped, faced her, and
| spoke with more self-control: "Well,
what are you going to do about it,
| motherY'
George was right about his mothers
being proud. And even when she
laughed with negro gardener, or even
! those few times in her life when peo-
! pie saw her weep, Isabel had a proud
| 1ook-something that was Independent
| and graceful and strong. But she did
not have it now: She leaned against
| the wall, beside his dressing table, and
seemed beset with humility and with
weakness. Her head dropped.
"What answer are you going to
make to such a letter." George de-
manded. like judge on the bench.
I'll don't quite know, DEAR she
murmured.
"You don't?'' he cried seYou-
WATT" she begged him. "Pm So
confused"
II want to know what you're going
| to write him. Do you think if you
did what he wants you to could
| bear to stay another day in this town,
mother? Do you think could ever
bear even to see you again If you
married him? I'd want to, but you
surely know just-couldn't! j
She made a futile gesture, and
seemed to breathe with difficulty. II
Il wasn't-Quite sure" she faltered,
to be married-even before. knowing
how you feel about it. I wasn't even
sure it was quite fair TOTO Eugene.
have-I seem to have that family
trouble-like father's-that I spoke
to you about once" She managed a
deprecatory little dry laugh ''Not
that 1t amounts to much, but wasn't
at all sure that it would be fair to
him. Marrying doesn't mean so much,
after all-nOt at my age. It's enough
to know that-that people think of
you-and to see them. I thought we
were all-oh, pretty happy the way
thugs were, and don't think it would
mean giving up a great deal for him
or me, either, If we just went on as
we have been. II see him almost
every day, and
''Mother!' Georges voice was loud
and stern. 'Do you think you could
go one seeing him after this!"
She had been talking helpIessly
enough before; her tone was little
more broken now. '*Not-not even
see himT''
"How could your" George cried.
Mother. II seems to me that If he
ever set foot in this house again
oh! I can't speak of it! Could you
see him. knowing what talk it makes
every time he turns into this street,
snd knowing what that means to me y
Oh, don't understand all thiS-I
don't! II you told me, a year ago,
that such things were going to hap
pen, I'd have thought you were in
sane-and row believe amir
Then, after preliminary gesture of
despair, as though he meant harm to
the ceiling, he flung himself heavily,
face downward, upon the bed. His
anguish was none the less real for
its vehemence; and the stricken lady
came to him instantly and bent over
him, once more Unfolding him in her
arms. She said nothing, but suddenly
her tears fell upon his head; she saw
them, and seemed to be startled.
"Oh. this won't DOR she said "Pve'
never let you see me cry before, ex-
cept when your father died. I
mustn't!'
And she ran from the room
a little while after she had
gone, George rose and began solemnly |
to dress for dinner.
He sat gauntly at the dinner table
with Fanny to partake of a meal
throughout which neither spoke Isl
abel had sent word ''not to watt for
her, an injunction it was as well they
obeyed, for she did not come at all.
But with the renewal Of sustenance
furnished to his system, some relax |
alton must have occurred within the |
high-strung George. Dinner was not |
quite finished when, without warning,
sleep hit him hard. His burning eyes
could no longer restrain the lids above |
them his head Saggtd beyond con-
troll: and he got his feet, and went !
1urching upstairs, yawning with ex- |
haustion- From the door of his room, |
which he closed mechanically, with his |
eyes shut, he went blindly to his bed,
fell upon 1t soddenly, and slept-with |
his face full upturned to the light.
It was after midnight |
when he woke, and the room was dark. |
He had not dreamed, but he woke with |
the sense that somebody or something |
had been with him while he slept
somebody or something infinitely COM |
passionate: somebody or something in
hnftely protective, that would let him |
come to no harm and to no grief.
he got up, and pressed the light on. |
Pinned to the cover of his dressing ia |
BILE was a square envelope, with the !
words, 'sFor you, dear" written in |
pencil upon it. But the message in !
side was in ink. little smudged here
and there.
81 have been out to the mail box,
darling. with a letter I've written to |
Eugene, and he'll have 1t in the morn |
ing. 1t would be unfair not to let !
him know at once, and my decision |
could not change II waited. It would
always be the same. I think it Is
a little better for me to write to you.
like this, instead OF waiting till you
wake up and then telling you, because
nd