Evening star., 1923-10-28

ders. "And we followed suit l sup
pose" She paused. "At least 1 have.
I'm rather ashamed of my selfishness.
But, after all, we have had the money
to enter into this self-indulgent life.
A woman has to express herself some
how, my dear"
my heavens he exclaimed.
We'll, what do you expect, john"
she inquired as casually as stranger.
During dinner I admit 1 was touched.
There seemed SO much tragedy and
! ruin. But we're no worse of than
other smart people. are we? Don't
look so dumpy. John. Why should you
complain? You've had your success"
He growled from the back of his
throat-ra thing at bay.
Enough Of this" she commanded,
tits fearfully unsophisticated of you
to treat it so seriously. 1t was COM
ing to you. 1t has been coming to
you for years.
81 wonder how many men are MAX
ing the same mistake"
Thousands" she answered, playing
with her necklace, "Oh, thousands
He stopped a sentence on his tongue
and tried to think. All he could say
at last was this: IF you knew where
l have ended"
He would tell her. 1t would be
splendid satire. They were ruined.
Everything must go. He could reach
her by this truth. She had become,
without his ever awakening to it, the
fr
it was impossible! He said: "Our
love-" and paused.
"Ouf what?" she inquired cynically.
"You don't mean that you don't love
me?"
"Of course, love you, John. dear"
She laughed mirthlessly. What diff
ference did 1t make to you whether
loved you or didn't? It's strange 1T
has suddenly become SO interesting
and vital to you. Men are so blind!
1 suppose you really believe that I
like to hear you drumming all over
the house with your finger tips"
Finger tips?"
"Of course. You think Of your busi-
ness, I suppose, and drum with your
finger tips. You drum at breakfast on
the chair arm. And when you're read
ing in the evening you drum on your
shirt front, and you drum and twiddle
your fingers on every table you pass.
You may be amused, but / believe
drumming with finger nails ought to
be a legal defense to a charge of
murder"
fCHE cast q glance toward the CELL
| y ing as If asking heaven to give
her patience. "And then, my dear, you
say at the end Of every sentence: II
you know what mean?' with rising
infection which is enough to infuriate
q saint"
He was aghast.
These are things we almost never
see in those we love. Love is a kind
of anesthetic, my dear. 1t would i'm
mensely soften a thousand irritations
which make q person want to fly.
When we reach our ages" She
cleared her throat and finished: But
especially when the thing you call
our love has meant nothing to you,
and you have let 1t die--well, really.
what is there to say? It Is better for
US to face the truth, isn't it?'
Bertillon sensed the bitter fact. He
had come to the we'll thirsting. The
we'll was dry. This was ruin. It had
not come when Polar Forge crashed.
1t had not come from the outside. 1t
had come from himself. He himself
was ruin!
He raised his eyes slowly. His wife
was looking straight at him. Was
there anxiety now in her eyes? "what
what can I do nowT" he asked
feebly.
TITS rather late for me to tell you" +"
she said. Rather late. isn't It? There's
Cynthia and there's Ted"
"And little Alice" he added with a
trembling voice.
There's nothing the matter with
her." his wife asserted.
She did not know.
well, you see that,it's impossible -
she concluded.
He was trying to remember when
| last he had sought and found an en-
try into his wife's heart, into her
| confidence. into her friendship.
: Heavens! Was 1t SO long ago.? Had