Evening star., 1927-03-20

bought it.
1t had lain in a drawer 70
~ three whole years. and she ha
never worn 1t. 1t did not, a
hey say in the little shops, look like
her. 1t was not in the least her kint
Uf thing.
Sometimes she touched it, feeling
about in the drawer for something
else. Sometimes she even said II
herself that she would send il to this
one or that for Christmas. or birth
day-yet she never did send it away
She couldn't quite bring herself tC
the act
She never wore it, But she kept 1t
And she was not one to keep things
without reason. 1t rather annoyed
her sometimes--to remember how
much she had paid for it--never
having worn it.
She kept it, slightly scornful both
of II and of herself. She felt it might
serve at least one useful purpose. il
might remind her not to be such a
fool-neXt time. Not to buy a thing
and take it home with her merely
because its texture careSsed her fin.
gers, its color drugged her eyes.
When she found it she had been
looking for a sensible muffier. That
alone was enough to show the innate
absurdity of her buying such perish.
able trash. That it hadn't proved per.
ishable was owing entirely to the fact
that 1t had lain three sheltered years
under piles of black and gray silk
stockings, fine linen handkerchiefs,
gray gloves and white.
Black and gray and white--those
were her proper shadings, like fine
wash drawing or a delicately pointed
etching. The scarf was purple as
tropic skies at midnight. Sheer as
cobweb. but brocaded its entire length
in large. loose-petaled flowers which
gave II a velvety roughness ineffablv
exquisite to feel. Silver ami umber
and green. violet and orange and rcse
those were the strange, blurred f.ow-
ers which blossomed on the purple
scarf.
No wonder Isabel couldn't war IT!
No woman named Isabel could. Least
of all, an Isabel like Isabel Sheridan
whose fetish 1t was to be at all times
fastidiously inconspicuous, who alb
horred extremes in garment or be-
havior as affronting the aristocratic
sense, marring the inherited back
ground.
TSABEL'S ancestors had lived in
II great, high-ceilinged houses. set in
Wlu6 RdTu0uS, Icill SdSSo. ~
altered Isabel's conception Of her own
obliged nobility not at all that she
lived in a small apartment in brown.
stone gully of a street, with on9 maid
to look after her, with O. fireplace, 1t is
true lin a town where fireplaces are
dearer than any pound Of fiesfl, with
built-in bookcases and squat, mellow
lamps. but still an apartment, not
house.
isabel earned the apartment by the
sweat Of her smooth, white brow. She
wrote books for girls, which brought
her in a rather comfortable income
and delightful, If somewhat anemic.
verse. It brought her in nothing
much at all. An occasional bit OF
politeness from an elderly editor, per-
haps.
Elderly editors, where Isabel was
concerned, sufficed, apparently, for
masculine contact. By virtue per-
haps of the books for girls, she was
what is known as "a woman's wo-
man." spending long, solitary, con-
tented hours alone in the apartment
of an evening, going to concerts alone,
going to theaters with other women.
which in the minds of some shame
less sisters is as good as alone.
There was, of course, Jefferson
Poole-but as his grandfather chanced
to have been Isabel's grandfather's
overseer, and his grandmother Isabels
grandmother English maid, he could
scarcely have been said to count in
Isabel's ordered existence.
She allowed him-since they hap
pened to live in the same city-to sit
by her fire twice a month or so that
was all. And she felt 1t, at that, a
concession. He did not keep his
hands as a gentleman should. The
long, strong, nervous fingers were
stained with nicotine, sometimes
speakable ties and was apt to go
shiny at the elbows. From choice as
well as necessity. OF course, oc-
casionally, he achieved a bit of work
that even Isabel admitted was out of
the ordinary. So far out of the ordi-
nary that nobody wanted it.
with your knowledge of black and
white" she had once reproached him
aloof1y, 'you could get all the work
you could handle-if only you would
keep at it. Why will you mess about
in colors?"
Because love EN-" said Jefferson
Poole shortly.
He had rather charming mouth
and narrow. skeptical, smiling black
eyes When he looked at Isabel the
mouth tipped down at one corner and
he ran a hand through his dark hair
with a gesture which to him spelled
evaporation; to her, cheap melo-
drama
why do you grind out those terri
Bile, untrue sagas of distorted adoles-
cence?"
when l could be writing Loves
Awakening'?" inquired Isabel coldly.
Il fancy you fia tier yourself, my
dear" said Jefferson Poole, "but Wen
let that pass. Point Is, we each have
our Land of Cockayne, our unre-
Quilted affection. our thwarted career.
j want to paint: you want to write.
We're both failures"
Isabel whitened with rage. she held
her smooth. brown head in the air.
She frightened her lips. She withdrew
an intangible loveliness from her face
as one withdraws a candle from a
window.
II make an excellent living" she
said.
so does a cook" said jefferson
Poole. With a good deal more rea-
son for boasting"
CHE showed him the door that time.
~ but he came back in a week. He
had no pride, the grandson Of the
Overseer and the English maid-he al
ways came back, offering by way of
explanation:
IAN the other women in the world
are so clever. Your simplicity rests
me. Isabel
She knew when he talked of other
women he was on familiar ground. He
knew his subject. She had on her
rare visits to his studio. which was on
a squalid street in a pseudo.artistic
part of town, seen incontroverTible evi
nf fef1aipfF1a tnfaracf--a hook nf
silly poems, marked. initiated wavily;
hyacinths in a paper.frilled pot be-
meath the north light.
h,n ynap-aven aahel knpW--nO Snap n