The Press., 1920-09-02
The Lady of the Violets
By Frances A. Schneider

(G. 1920. by Mcclure Newspaper syndicatel
 They were alone together in the big studio, Jack Hammond and his friend, Nesbit; and Hammond had been show ing the latter-recently returned from abroad-some of his latest canvases.
 Heres just one thing more want you to see, Nes,' said Hammond plac- ing portrait on the easel.
 Nesbit stood back and looked. The portrait was that of girl,> the figure thrown into relief by some dark dra pery behind it. The face was one of warm flesh tints; of exquisite curves and modelings, and the eyes, a blue gray, shadowed by dark brows and lashes, looked out half smiling from beneath very glory of red-gOld hair. It was face to think and dream about.
 How does 1t strike you?" asked Hammond, watching his friends wrapt consideration.
 "As a very beautiful portrait" re- turned Nesbit. "Who's the girl?"
 "I call the picture The Lady of the Violets,'" said the artist.
 'Um-m-picturesqu but indefinite" commented his friend.
 Come, sit down, and while you study the portrait I'll tell you how and where I met the original. Will you smoke? Sit here," and Hammond placed an easy chair for Nesbit, while he himself lounged in the cushioned window seat.
 About a year ago-soon after my return from France, and while my arm (touching his left arm) was still bothering mel made up my mind suddenly one evening to go to show at the Royal. It was late when I reached the theater, and, the play being a popular one, the house was pretty well sold out. However, I secured seat in the parquet. The box office official was just showing my change and ticket through the window of his little den, when I suddenly be- came aware of a faint, elusive fra grance of violets and turning to see where it came from, caught sight of lady and gentleman hurriedly enter ing the vestibule of the theater.
 ''The girl was bareheaded, save for that glorious covering of red-gold hair I have tried vainly to reproduce in the portrait, and was carrying a great bunch of violets in her hand, and, above the pale, shimmerng folds of the long wrap she wore, her face rose fiower-lil1e. The Spirit of the Gar den,' she might be called, 1 thought; or, better yet, the Lady of the Vio- lets
 "Just as she passed me, attracted probably by the intensity of my gaze for I had forgotten my manners and was staring-she turned her lovely eyes toward me and gave me a fleet ing, rather naughty glance; then she and her companion disappeared through one of the doors leading to the auditorium, leaving me with my pulses perceptibly quickened and a faint per fume of violets in my nostrils. Gath ering up my change and ticket, wait ed moment and then followed
 "The first act was half over as l grOped my way to my seat. In the dimness of the auditorium I sought in vain for the lady of the violets and her escort; but after the curtain went down and the lights up picked them out, seated in the orchestra circle, not far from the aisle near which my own seat was located. The girls face was turned toward her companion, and she was smiling; and I remember wonder ing what such a namby-pamby fellow as he looked, could possibly say to amuse her. While I was thinking thus and gazing rather fixedly at the glory of the lady'S hair, a sort of dmneSs seemed to creep between me and the object of my interest. So undefned was 1t at first that thought my eyes were at fault, and rubbed them vigor- ously; but presently the dimness grew into haze and with it's greater dens- ity came an unmistakable, pungent odOr. Others perceived this, too, and there was a restless stir throughout the audience. Heads were turned un- easily and I heard half-suppressed ex- clamations-haSty questions whis- | pered answers. Suddenly as I sat look ing uncertainty about me, from just dDoFc the euI ldill tileIe looueu d iSHt puff of smoke that wavered across the | space below the central chandelier and cast perceptible shadow on the audi torium. At this, some fool in the gal lery shouted 'Fire'
 "Well, Mes, you know what that cry would mean in a big, overcrowded | theater! The audience was on it's feet | In a moment, struggling and fighting for the exit doors. AS I got up, I | caught sight of a-terror-stricken man, pale-faced and wild-eyed, fighting his way desperately up the aisle. It was