Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1922-05-12

.hHuoeth eyes feN.
There was a thrill of disappointm
at her heart Of which she was desper-
ately ashamed. How had she ever been
so foolish as to imagine for one mo.
nent that romance had at last found
ITS way into her life? She caught sight
OF her reflection in long mirror on
the wall and a little shiver went through
her. She had forgotten how dowdy and
unattractive she was. What madness
to Imagine that Royston had been inHu-
enced by anything save kindly pity.
Il dare say his wife is very NICE"
she said with m effort.
Dolly laughed cynically.
is every goose swan to you?" she
asked. You'll soon find out your mis-
!eke II you stay in town long, my dear.
nSys!on, raSaIe. ...,, wife is an awful person
NOBODY Will know her and he's ashamed
and he never speaks about her."
Ashamed Of her ~ Elizabeth fal.
tered. and her eyes sought again the
merciless truth of the mirror and the
reflection Of her own slim figure in its
too long frock and country made shoes.
She could not conceive that Royston's
Wlfe could be as unsmart as she was
And what, therefore. must he have
thought Of her?
Have you--have you eyer seen her?'
she faltered.
Dolly began to pull the pins from
her beautifully dressed hair. She nod
ded, sitting pawn.
.1es-.Oh, yes, I've seen ncr.''
rs she-is she pretty?' Elizabeth
asked.
Pretty! Good Lord, no. She makes
up and she's common. Heaven knows
why he married her. Not that he's
anything very much himself, but"
she broke of rs Mrs. Mason came
quickly into the room.
She carried telegram in her hand,
and her cold face was disturbed. She
looked at Elizabeth.
Ihis wire came tonight--when we
were out; we had only Just left the
mouse. 1t Is from some one of the name
OF Sneath. am sorry, Elizabeth, but
your Ss uncle died this morning-quite
Elizabeth had no love for her uncle.
but she turned white beneath the shock
OF the bluntly broken news.
Dead she whispered. It seemed
impossible. The old, cross grained man
was the only relative she had ever
known: She felt as If the bottom had
suddenly fallen out Of the world.
What was to become Of her? The
same thought had flashed uncomfort.
ably into her aunt's mind.
Now l suppose shall have to take
her to live with me-" she was think.
ing angrily. Such a dowdy trump,
too; too, What on garth shall do with
Elizabeth's Uncle Dies
But aloud she said, trying to infusc
something of kindness into her voice
1t is a shock, Of course. but YOU
must bear up, Elizabeth: we must all
die some day, and he was an old
man."
Elizabeth hardly heard she was
standing, white-l Tipped, twisting her
hands nervously together.
After q moment she said dully:t
So-after ALL shall have to 20
home"
Mrs. Mason looked at her sharply.
Go home. Why. certainly you will.
Surely you owe him certain amount of
respect and gratitude he has brought
you up from childhood; there will be
many things to arrange and to attend
TO. suppose l must come down to
the funcral-it's unfortunate. most un-
fortunate. Black is so unbecOming.'
Its absurd to 60 into black at ALL"
Dolly said sharply. why, l only saw
Uncle Robert once in my life it's alb.
Surd to think of going into mourning.
If Elizabeth likes to, Of course, it's her
own affair. Well, I'm going to bed
good night"
Elizabeth followed her aunt on to
the landing. She spoke to her appeal.
ingly:
''shall I-when shall I have to co."
she asked.
There is a train about 8 in the morn.
ing Mrs. Mason answered. Pack
your things tonight and will see that |
you are called in good time. Good |
night She bent for Elizabeth to kiss
Ter cheek. but the girl still fingered.
"Will you--shall you be coming with
ne tomorrow
Mrs. Mason raised her brows.
with you-tomorrow? Good gra-
'ious. no, it's impossible! You must
ct me know what arrangements are
made and will come down for the fu-
ieral. There is sure to be a solicitor
o attend to everything for you. The
whole affair Is most unfOrtunate--oc.
:urring just now when we have so
many engagements
She crossed the landing to her own
DOM, leaving Elizabeth standing alone,
She had never felt so unwanted In
Ter life; the thought Of the future
illed her with dread.
She had not loved Robert Couyers,
'ut at any rate he had been some one
o whom to turn for advice and pro.
ection now there was nobody left.
She went to her r0om-the smallest
ind least pretentious room In the house
lad she only. known it--and sat down
N the side of the bed.
The excitement and happiness Of the
vening had fallen from her. and she
cit cold and miserable.
For little while she had stood on
he threshold Of the world to which she
lad SO often lOnged to belong and now
he gates, which had seemed slowly to
e opening to her, had closed again in
er face.
She had to 20 back home-back
o a chcerless home where the silence of
eath would make things more unbear-
bic than ever before--back to monot.
my and the drudgery and-Walter
sheath.
1t had been he who had sent the tel.
gram--poor Walter! Elizabeth knew
hat he would be glad to see her, and
hat few hours earlier she had thought
II him with very real longing, but not
low! lie was part Of the life from
which she had imagined she had been
bout to escape--part of the life which
eemed the duller and more distasteful
~ contrast with that short hour with
Pat Royston.
Elizabeth looked down at her little
eet in their ugly shoes.
She felt like Cinderella returned from