The Monmouth inquirer., 1926-08-05
Larkspur and
Lilies
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
BY RUBY DOUGLAS
(copyright.)
So a GARDEN is a lonesome
A spot" quoted Angela, idly.

among the lovely cOlors and fragrance
without being poignantly reminded of
the days when Tom Wall had shared
Iife's beautiful things with her. She
never stood In the glow of wonder
full sunset, she could not step out into
silvery moonlit night without being
stabbed by haunting memories of mo-
ments with him who had gone.
''Pm always believing he will re-
turn" she said whimsically to herself
today. 1T seems as if the paths of
those who have been as close as we
were must cross again."
A soft summer breeze stirred the
fragrance Of the lilies. She covered
her face with her hands. "Oh," she
breathed, nothing so wildly recalls
memories to me as fragrance.
Those lilies
1t had been In this very corner that
they had first admitted their love
nearly six years ago. She had seen
love become visible in his eyes, like
some tangible thing, as he stood
watching her among the tall blue flow
ers of her garden. And she had
known then that she, too, truly loved
him.
For two years they had been happy,
the two wonder years of her life as
she looked back. Then, as they trod
carelessly the pathway that should
have led them into eternal happiness,
they had stumbled. The obstacle was
not hidden menace but one that
many had fallen upon before them.
They should have seen it. 1t was the
old, old rock over which lovers from
time immemorial have stumbled into
lonely pathways. Jealousy, it is
called.
Neither had been jealous of the
friends or associates of the other.
Their faith seemed too firm for that.
1t had been selfish lack of under
standing of just how much a man
should mean in woman's life, what
time should be his, what thought,
what effort. He had believed with
many of his male forebears that when
woman loved she should care for
nothing else but to please the man
she loved.
Angela had always been an artist
of sort. She had reached a sue
cessful position In the field Of decora-
tion-f1owers were her inspiration,
and it was in floral designs for fab
RIGS that she had succeeded.
Tom Wall had felt that this was
only temporary passion of hers and
that she would drop her work entirely
when she married him. He had tax
en- it for granted, SO thoroughly, old
time male was he.
So they had quarreled-a little at
first, then violently. Angela would
not give up work that involved the
gift that had been given her and that
her father and mother had festered
and through which she had enjoyed
great measure of success.
'4Then," Tom had said, sadly but
definitely one night as they stood by
the gate, 81 may as well leave you
to your art-your career"
She had never heard from him
again. Friends told her he had gone
to France to take up work he had
become interested in when he was in
the war.
Many of her motifs traced long
spikes Of larkspur and, mingling with
them, Madonna lilies. 1t was with this
motif that she worked in her studio
day after day on floral design for an.
American silk that was to be exhibit
ed in Paris that autumn.
Weeks passed by and she did not
hear from the governors of the Paris
exposition who had charge of the for
eign designs. She began to be dis
couraged
On a chilly moonlight night she sar
In the window of her studio looking
out over the now leafiess garden. The
late post had arrived and letter had
been brought to her. She had scarce
ly looked up as the maid had placed 1t
on her table The maid had long
known that she need not expect nod
of thanks or even of recognition when
Miss Angela seemed to be thinking in
uSI SluulO
After awhile she took up the letter.
It had a French stamp In the soft
light of her studio lamp she read it.
1t was from Tom. He had been at
the exposition and had seen her work.
He had recognized the flowers from
their" garden. Four years had taught
him much of life and loneliness
the need of her love How had he
ever been selfish enough to want her
to submerge a talent that was so
wonderful? Could she-would she
forgive him? Did she still care?
The letter went on to say many
things that were as music to the ears
of Angela. He had given her cable
addresses hopeful had he been aft
er seeing that she had made their
flowers the motif for such wonderful
work.
Angela, far from pensive and
thoughtful now, dashed down the
stairway and to the telephone. She
sent cable at once to Tom, forgiy-
ing him in more words than were nee