The Washington times., 1936-12-04


diplomatic service.
It might be anywhere. She let
herself dream of places that had
attracted her in travel books. Ro-
mantle names. Moscow. ConStan-
tinoble. Rome. Madrid.
He wouldn't want to go alone.
He'd send for her. She imagined
the diffident little note he'd write:
I'm off for Constantinople, next
month, to take the post I've been
hoping for. I dare say it will be
quite lonely life, for there
wouldn't be time to come to the
States for you, and, Of course, l
wouldn't ask you to come that
long distance to join me, and
marry me there. 1t wouldn't be
the thing to ask.
But if you should happen to
think it would be all right, could
get away long enough to meet you
in Paris, and we could be married
there, and have a few days to-
gether on the coast, in some little
village in Normally. I'm not ask
ing you to come, dear, but if you
should-just if you should think
it would be all right, then you
cable me? Oh, Jan-will you?"
1t was perfect nonsense, OF
course. She knew that all the
time. Btu she could almost see
the letter in her hands, almost
feel it.
It was more real than the people
she rode to work with on the street
cars, more real than Evelyn and
her complaints about the tenants.
More real than anything but work.
Because she dared not do other
wise, Jan didn't let herself even
think of Lowell between the hours
of 9 and 5. She forced him out
of her head. AS she rode up Mont
gomery Street, entered the marble
and steel doorway of the imposing
structure that housed the offices
of Jones, Wing and Murchln, she
deliberately shut out the dreams
that had walked with her every
inch of the way.
She was strictly business now.
They were pleased with her, Mr..
Bean and Mr.. Murchin. They
spoke flattering, but vaguely, Of a
raise-when things got better.
Jan wasn't too impatient for it.
She was glad enough to have job.
She knew too many girls who were
still hanging around the business
school, coming back to "brush up"
after another supposedly perman-
ent job that turned out to be
temporary after all. She could still
remember the days when Dorathea
had waited in employment offices,
and the people who had promised
to call her later, and never did.
Maybe it was fortunate that she
was plain. People seemed nervous
of too pretty girl in business.
And then, thinking of the day
that she'd be through with busi-
ness forever, the day that Lowell
would send for her, she'd look in
the mirror and her heart would
sink. She, a diplomats wife. . :.
A diplomats wife, obscure, shy, not
even pretty.
Sometimes the waiting was al
most more than she could endure.
Mail was so slow. Lowell's letters
so far apart. Sometimes she al
most hated the postman, who
walked so deliberately up the hill,
who dropped letters into the box
with such maddening indifference,
just as if letters were letters and
one from Lowell worth no more
than all the rest!
She had every letter he'd ever
written her. She'd get them all
out, read them all over, compar-
ing them, one with the other. I
Were they getting colder, less en-
dearing? No, a little more re.
strained perhaps, showing the ef- |
feet of more work, showing that
he wasn't a boy any more. but
that was all That was ALL
Most of all, she worried about |
her mother. Evelyn hadn't been
herself these last months, since
Dorathea sailed. She, too,
watched the mail. When the first |
letter came, meager enough to
show that Dorathea had more
than letters on her mind, ami
mated enough to show that she
was really thrilled to death with
the trip, Evelyn was first jubilant,
then depressed.
She seemed to have lost interest
in everything. There we're no
more boy friends. She no longer
flirted with the butcher and the
baker and the paper boy. Little
lines formed around her eyes, she
didn't fuss over complexion and
hair and hands. She wore an old
black crepe dress everywhere.
(TO Be COntinued)
Copyright. 1888. by King FsatursP