Beverly banner. [volume] (Beverly, N.J.) 1877-1964, 1924-09-19

with a curious usefulness.
And suddenly, with an unaccus'
toned flush of color in his face, the
question sprang into his heart full
formed. Suppose such girl could
come to care for a man like him?
Where could he find anything better,
or sweeter, or more rich in promise
for the years to come? He was tired
of the old life, he had never really
cared for the false standards. the SUI
perfcial women, the intriguing, shall
low girls, the show and glitter and
cost. To put his arm about that love-
ly young body, to feel her close to him
as she raised her flowerlike face for
his kiss, to see Ellen in the sort OF
gowns he could design for her,
crouched beside studio fire-cross-
ing an old garden in spring Moth
Ing In months had so stirred his old
delight in living as the thought Of
pleasing her, spelling her, finding the
untouched deeps of her Joy alwaye
fresh.
! Suddenly the plan was born. PARISH
They would go to Paris, and there
they could both work, and could make
for themselves life nothing short Of
the IDEAL A dim old studio, one of
those clever maids who delight in the
cooking art, summers idling in Brit
tany or Holland. And the lovely young
Mrs. Josselyn, picture in gypsy hats
and summer smocks, or velvet, child
ish winter gowns, would fill his life
with sweetness, and inspiration, and
everything that was clean and good
and honest.
He crossed the porch to the door Of
the ballroom as the dance ended, and
met her, in the group Of girls and
boys who were coming out for
breath of cooler air. She was talking
to another girl, but she saw the
strange man, and turned her bright
eyes curiously toward him. Then she
stopped speaking, and one hand went
with quick gesture to her heart, and
in the dimness he saw her white
breast rise suddenly, and her lips part
a little.
He got her hand and held 1t, and
still she did not speak, merely stood
breathing high, and looking steadily
at him.
Gibbs found his own voice curiously
unmanageable. He cleared his throat.
"Ellen" he said.
Another dance began and another.
and yet another. And through them
all Ellen and Gibbs sat on the dark
porch, over the softly moving water,
and talked with that desperate deep
relief that pilgrims know who find
fresh, Icy springs after the parching
desert, or mothers know who weep be-
side the bedside of the child that will
live.
1t seemed to Ellen that all her life
had been only a preparation for that
talk. Sometimes he made her laugh,
and she would flash him look from
averted blue eyes, and bring all her
dimples into sudden play, and often
she made him laugh, and would regard
him with delicious childish serious
ness until his mirth was explained.
But for the most part they were seri-
Gus, there was much to explain, much
that was sad and poignantly sweet to
remember, and with eloquent looks
and monosyllables they relived 1t all,
and found it inexhaustibly wonderful
and strange.
And at midnight Ellen was driven
away, by Leonard Henshaw, her hand
still warm from the touch of Gibbs
big hand, her shoulder still feeling the
pressure of his protective arm, her
heart and mind and soul In a whiri of
starshine. She undressed wrapped in
sort Of love for the gown and the
| and lay down on her small white bad
and extinguished her light so prompt
| ly that her restless aunt, in the next
room. felt sensation of gratitude.
| But Ellen had no time to waste with
sleep tonight.
Nor did Gibbs sleep. He sat out
| side his stateroom far into the morn-
ing, smoking, thinking smoking again.
At about four o'clock, when a faint
hint of dawn was glimmering into the
darkness, George, Senior, looked
yawning out.
'For the Lords sake-old mani"
II know-Fm coming now" Gibbs
arose, cold, yawning and stretching.
II know" he apologized, smiling. And
coming near to the tousled and pa
jama-clad form of his friend he said
with certain boyish appeal in his
voice: "Pm awfully happy about
something, George, and awfully-sort
of scared. Wish me luck, old mani"