New-York tribune., 1920-10-31

nukn vechothe
thing else-something you haven't

thing else-something you haven't
told me-"
"No, there isn't" said Dorothy
shortly. Then instantly contradicted
herself. 81 had letter from father
this morning. He's furious about
Herbert. Herbert's gone off and
done something-father doesn't say
what, either because he thinks I'll
know or because it's too bad to tell
me. But it must be pretty bad, be-
cause father says he's not been re-
appointed principal for next year.
He's going to leave Centrepolis, if he
hasn't already. And father lays it
all to me. Maybe he's right. I don't
know. Heavens !'-this with glance
at her watch-"1'vc got to fly" And
she applied cloture to the debate by
going into the bathroom and turning
on the water.
TN1D retreated to the studio.
T. She flew to the telephone.
But Bob, they told her at
the Office, had left ten minutes
before. , At that she slumped
into her chair, trembling, a little
sick, and still half incredulous, try
ing to gather herself together for
one more appeal to Dorothy. When
her chum finally appeared in the
studio doorway this feeling of in
credulity became stronger than ever.
Dorothy had decked herself for
the sacrifice in the prettiest, smart
est clothes she had; hat, shoes-she
was perfect to the minutest detail.
All traces of tears had been washed
away. She looked as cool-serene-
lovely as the June day outdoors.
"Ill be back sometime" she said.
"1've got my key"
"You're really going to do it,"
Enid asked. you're going to tell
him tonight"
Dorothy didn't even speak-just
nodded.
Enid said then, gravely:
dorothy, will you do something
for me-just for me, because you're
fond of me-just because Pm so un-
happy about this, and it seems so
dreadful to me? Will you wait a
week and think it over?"
A curious sort of smile, half
tender, half ironic, flashed across
Dorothy's face. "I'll tell you why
WON'T" she said, "if that'll do
just as well. It's because you really
think I'm right. The proof Of it is
that you're doing the same thing to
Bob that Fenton is doing to me-"
Enid cried out in Mortified amaze
ment, "Dorothy!"
"Oh, not exactly the same," Dor
othy conceded, "but that's what it
comes to. You're sacrificing his
happiness to your talent. You love
him, and you hate to make him un-
happy, but you go on doing it just
the same. If that thing"-she
nodded toward the lump of mud and
wire on the modelling stand-"t "turns
out as we'll as you hope it will-gets
prize and people say it's a work
Of genius-why, you will feel that
way all the more. Even if you
marry him, you say your works got
to come first. And that means any
thing that will help your work
make it better. 1t isn't very nice
for Bob, nor very good for him
either, | suppose. But Bob's like
me. His happiness isn't very i'm
portant. You must believe that or
you'd have married him months ago.
Oh, I'm late already! Goodby, dear"
And she came across and kissed an
utterly paralyzed Enid on the cheek.
She was sitting there just as Dor
othy left her when Bob came in an
hour later. =.
N OROTHY met her poet pune
- tually upon the minute of
their rendezvous, and pro-
ceeded with him to the park by
streetcar, arriving there at quar-
ter to six. Half way out they man
aged to get a seat together, and
she braced herself to tell him that
she'd decided to marry him, and
that it might as we'll be tomorrow
But before she could get out the
first word Fenton himself began to
talk.
He was going out to the park pri-
marily, he said, to get impressions