The Washington times., 1925-01-10
By Eleanor Meherin
-ne Biggest and Best Story Os
Her Career.
CHAPTER LXXXI.
Futile Wait for Dane.

A Futile WAIT Tor lane.
ArORA drew her hands sharply
M together, waiting with
4 " strained, angry heart. She
expected him to plead; to begin
again.
He reached to the chair and
picked up hfs hat, rubbing his
sleeve in a vacant slow way over
the band. without raising his
eyes, without one backward,
glance he went out of the room.
= she felt twisting, sick, cold
dying in her thoughts. She heard
the door close-listened miserably
to its failing echo-wafted, expect.
ing q return.
She crept to the window, past
ing her face against the chilly
glass, holding the curtain that
one looking up might not see.
He had his hat pulled. down
over his eyes, his hands dug in
his pockets. He went hurling
himself with a hostile swiftness
down the hill.
She raised the window-won-
dered If the sound reached him.
He swung round the corner-was
gone.
She had sent him away from
her; had shouted: "Go!' After
the three fun sweet years he had
given her. Her heart covered in
q shame; it sank with a miserable
despair.
1t brought before her the ten
der, laughing eyes looking down
at her that first time they met at
the dance-his young solemn dear
ness when he gave her his picture
and said he felt that they were
already married-and again when
he put the little ring on her fin
ger.
She sank lower and lower in
the chair, turning her face
against the cushion. He would
come back. He knew she was
only quick and impulsive-knew
she wouldn't mean that. She
waited all afternoon, linnping in
frenzy when the phone rang. It
was he to call her up!
Visions Harass.
Hours passed in an unbrolen
stiffness; fear lodged in q living
load on her breasts. She wondered
where he was; what he was doing.
She recalled ugly stories Of men
whe went out and got drunk,
searching out desperate women
and throwing to the winds all
pride and honor. She grew weak
fancying Dane, his hat pulled over
his eyes stalking through some
narrow. darkened street, a girl in
q ribald hat at his side.
He might do this. Three years
he had remained true to those
boyish promises; kept his faith be-
cause he thought she was keeping
hers. Now, when he believed she
had failed: when he went away In
that murderous despondence-?
She pushed this fear frantica1ly
from her. But she lay awake that
night and 1t walked upon her
again and again. No matter
what he did. he was justified. No
matter what he did, it would be
her fault.
But she cried with a sense OF
irreparable and cruel loss.
Sunday they were to have
driven to Los Gatos and look over
the site where Mickey Grant and
Connie were to build their little
summer cottage. Ten o'clock
11-12-no word. Sally went to
Belvedere. Sun strewed throbbing
yellow beams across the walls;
flowers dropped petals on the
rugs.
At 4 o'clock, the listening quiet,
the drowsy Sabbath peace hum.
ming from room to room grew
heavy like an iron lid bearing
her down and down.
She went to the phone and
called his house. He wasn't there.
No-he wasn't expected later.
He'd been called away yesterday
afternoon.
This news confirmed her stark
fears. He had done some unholy,
desperate thing.
Because her suffering gnawed
so incessantly she turned it's tooth
on him. Why had he come with
those accusations. giving her no
chance? And at a time when she
was in pain and not equal to de-