Evening Express

Being a Woman, He laid the magazine down. "That is a good bit of work," he said, "one of the cleverest thiegs you have done. How came you to write it?" She laughed softly. "r knew you would Itsk. I said to myself, he will scarcely recog- lise it as mine." "True! for you to be the author of an pfcenee little love song, where one can almost •al the heart beating, the warm blood leap- ing, seems to me slightly incongruous." ? "And yet I am no Puritan." lu "In one sense—no; but you, nevertheless, embody my idea. of the self-controlled woman of the world-a. woman 'who will never let passion sway nor feeling govern her actions." "Being a oold woman," she said, "a criti- jism like yours will necessarily not phase me." "When did a criticism of mine ever phase you?" he retorted. "You are too confident, too self-assured for that." "What a disagreeable sort of a person I must be," she mused. "How can you bear to be with me ? Do you come to see me from jure kindness—because you do not wish to around me? Surely you can find no pleasure di talking to one so unfeeling." "Nevertheless I do; I rarely leave this aouse without registering a vow never to re- turn, but as surely as the day comes round 1 find myself once more ringing at your gate." ".No doubt, ringing several times before admitted, she laughed; "but you, who be- Jieve in sentiment, 'will forgive poor Maxwell; he is in love with one of the maids, and is, therefore, incapacitated for the trifling duties «f every day." "Doubtless you find the case interesting '.from a psychological point of view?" "I do. Mamma wishes to dismiss thenv both, but I have begged that they be allowed ■to remain. I tell you this to show you what >n overflowing fund of sympathy I possess— 'to let you see how little you have appreciated 'the nobler attributes of my character." "Wùatver else I have done," he said, "I lave never under-rated your facility for turn- ing things into ridicule. It is a fatal gift- that of seeing always the comic side of life. It is all well enough while you are young, ibut some day 'Some day, I know not 'when or how,' she hummed, "by that time, my friend, I will ibave grown so indifferent to everything that rothing will matter much one way or the other. In the meanwhile, 'vive la. baga- telle "And is it to be always thus?" be cried. "Will vou never grow weary of the husks of life? Will you never crave something better 'han admiration and tlatterv-the mere surface pleasures of a society woman's existence? Have you not sometimes thought there would be more happiness in love ?" She lifted her eyes. "So you think, then, t have not been loved?" She got up, and from the drawer of a cabi. net took out a book of photographs. "I aan going to ci? an unconventional thing," she S-ftL, 'fieri she was seated again, "but you ao not know any of these men, so there can be no breach of confidence. Come here"- f.™. Phoned him to the ottoman at her side. This man, she touched the first picture lightly, "is a distinguished Northern physi- cian. I met him one summer in Canada. We were both of us off for a rest (sometimes people are at their best then); be that as it may. we saw a good deal of each other, and before we parted in the autumn he offered me—more than friendship." "He has a fine face," he said. j "TTug other is a lawyer who graduated with distinction irom a celebrated Eastern college; he has a clear and logical mind, one that cannot be deceived by mere appearances. He also—' She turned the page. inis boyish-looking fellow is the only son of an English nobleman. I might have been lady and oated my letters from 'Some- L Tor from town bouse- in -London had I desired. The dark-haired foreigner is a Russian—the De Vaures intro- duced hjm to me in Paris he has written several articles on the American woman's femininity. The man in uniform is a German -but why go on?" flicking the pages slightlv. I have gained my point, have I not? You believe now that I occasionally inspire affec- tion ?" Her tone was wistful, though she smiled. °iW yoU mi8UIK,-erxtand me," he criecF. ^ou know very well I never said you were incapable of awaking affection (you can make any man love you if you wish),'but the game oace won, the conquest made, and your in- terst in the affair wanes—that is what I com- plain of, your incapacity for appreciating a tnans devotion." ° She did not answer. The roses on her breast trembled, the hand holding the book clasped it a trifle closer. "Of all these men," he went on, "was there cone whom you could care for, no one whose pleadings awoke a responsive echo in your 'heart? Your heart!'—scournfully—"whv ahould I speak of what you do not possess?" <( True,' she echoed, leaning towards him; "king ago, ere I had grown so world-wise, or learned to guard and fence, to weigh and ponder—I gave my heart away Gave it away to one who valued the gift so lightly that he scarcely realised that it was his. And are you so lost to chivalry that you would aock me for my poverty?" "Margaret!" he exclaimed. "I, who look at sentiment from a psycho- logical point of view—who care only for the Surface pleasures of a society woman's exis- tence—who see the ridiculous side of life and not its pathos—have all these years fed my fancy on a dream?" He passed his hand over his brow. "Are you in earnest? Is not this some Jest to torture me ? I cannot believe the man lives who is indifferent to your affection. Pej-haps you wrong him, perhaps he is awk- ward at expressing his deeper emotions it may be that you are so dear to him that he fears to lose your friendship in asking for your love. It may be that he puts so poor an estimate upon himself that in his wildest dreams he cannot imagine your caring for iim. Who knows?—perhaps at this moment he loves you with all his strength, yet dares not speak, for fear of your waving him aside as something of little worth." "You plead his ease well," she said. "One might imagine that, in your day, you had known what it was to let vanity stand in! the way of happiness. Tell me-if you cared for a woman—cared for her enough to ask her to be your wife, would you (loving her like •his) hold your peace because, forsooth, you did not feel sure what her answer would be ?" "Assuredly," he said. "Cruel, ungenerous!" she cried, springing to her feet. "You would, not tell her when, even thcugh she guessed the truth, being a woman, she could not apeak ? Oh, I know what you would say-I have heard the old tale before: 'Any woman can make a man propose to her.' That is not true. Let her overstep the bounds ever so slightly, en- courage him a trifle too much, show him too plainly what her heart is, and he turns from her in disgust. Ah, if the day should come when you find yourself in the place of a character we have conjured up-I pray you, of your goodness, tell her the truth." He took a half step towards her. "Margaret." he said, and his voice fal- tered, "do with me what you will-I love you There was a moment*? silence—a silence fraught with feeling. Then she lifted her eyes. They were full of tears. "If I could," she said in a low voice, "I would turn vour 'words off with a laush pretend, as I have done with many, that I thought you were only in jest; out the time for that is past. I can play a part no longer. Archie" (the old name fell tenderly from her lips), "hear from me what you might have guessed long ago-I have loved you all my life." v