The First Quarrel.. .

Free Lance, Volume III, Issue 141, 14 March 1903, Page 17

The First Quarrel. . .

DOROTHY and I were engaged. Were I to speak w ith the tongues of men and of angels I could not sa> moie I had known her but a inontih — but why apologise? Would 3ou pass by a pearl simply because you had not seem it for w eeks upon youi daily w alk 9 But, as one William Shakespeare, late of Avon, England, once remarked, the course ot tiue love never did run smooth. Ours didn't The first jolt came as I sat on the piazza of the beach-house one evening solacing myself with a cigar and the delicious breeze, and thinking — well, wondering where Dorothy could be. Suddenly mine host's young incorrigible came tearing up, and gave me to understand, through a series of exciting gestures, that Miss Lawler, to wit, Dorothy, was in trouble upstairs. There w as no room to set it down to the young hopeful's jokes, and I rolled out of mv chair and ran upstairs, three steps at a time. Dorothy's room, was on the second floor, at the end of the wing. I sped do>w u this dark corridor until I reached her door, which stood wide open. There I was stopped by a cry that seemed to be w rung out by the most passionate grief. Perhaps I sihould not have been stopped, especially as the cry was not addressed to me. But stopped I was, there m the shadow. The next moment Dorothy came across the room. A clinging white gown enveloped her figure. Her long brown hair was streaming down her back in a distinctly wild way , her eyes flashed, and I could plainly see the heaving of her bosom under the light stuff that covered it. In her hands she crushed a letter — amd I shrank still further back. She looked enthral lingly beautiful, and I did not wonder that she stood so long before her full-len<rth mirror. Then her lips began to twitch at the corners, her brows arched in. distress, her nostrils quivered, and a little catching of the breath reached my ears. My love was crying ' She was also pressing that letter to her lips. 'Oh, Bob, Bob, Bob why don't you come 3 Why don't you come?" I heard in accents soft but despairing. "Day after day, week after week, I have tricked my heart into song and laughter by w hisipenng 'Bob is coming ' Bob is coming 1 ' But you do not come, and I cannot trick my heart any longer Will you never come, Bob 9 Shall I forever lie down with this prayer on my lips 9 Shall I forever rise with this dull pain 9 Are you with some other woman now, dear 9 After all you have said, all you have written, I cannot believe it." She ceased, and wiped her eyes. After a little, she took a photograph from the dressing-table, and gazed at it with fond mtentness for fully a minute. Tlumi she smiled. Bob, I'm a naughty girl!" she crooned softly. "I ought not to doubt voa. I know you will come back. Don't look so solemn, love' Please don't' Smile a little for the poor girl — just a little. sweet, so that she may know you aire not angry. Won't 5 Then she'll kiss you and you can't help yourself." I did not wait for the kiss. I slunk dow n the hall like some wretch doomed to the gallows. I could not believe it real. I was sure the morning would show it nothing but a dream, and that Dorothy and I would bathe in the surf, and nde on the beach the same as ever. Dorothy did not come down stairs that nigrht, and I was glad of it. But the next morning, as I lay in a hammock she came up to me with a, song on her lips She drew up a chair close to me, and, glancing coquettishly to right and lift, to see that no eyes were upon us, she bent her head and gave me a morning kiss. — a dainty, bird-like touch. There is a good bit of the tiger yet left in the best of us. My veins at tli at moment throbbed with a murderous passion, and I felt that I should inevitably throttle her. Yet I did not I looked her calmly in the eye I believe I even smiled. Her eyes never wavered. Instead a kind of love>-mist spread over them, and she kissed me a/gain, very tenderly, two or three times. Her exquisite hypocrisy gave me a kind of mental paralysis, and for a moment I w as as barren of thoughts as an imbecile 'Fred, what would I do if you should die 9 " she whispered, tremulously. ' Do you love me so much?" I asked and, strive as I would, I could put no significance into my tones. 'So much, dear," she answered solemnly, "that the grave with you will be preferable to a grave with another." "Too much ever to deceive me?" I managed to say. 'Ah, you know I do, boy." 'And have you never deceived me 9 " I continued 'Never," she answered: but I fancied

I detected a quickening of her bieath which was falling upon mv clieek "Nevei," I repeated, and I knew fiom the stern nag of my voice that nuuihood was returning. She flushed unmistakably, and a look of fright filled her eyes — flight that before would ha\e wiung nn heart., but now only stung me to fury"Never but once," she faltered piteous ly. clinging to m- hand. I fiercely shook off her grasp. ''What was it?" I demanded. "Oh, Fred, I intended to tell you, and I will, but not yet, don't make me tell it yet," she pleaded. "Now or never," I said inexorably. I did not imagine she w ould be so firm. Threats, cajoleiry, pleadmg, weie all in vain. She would not tell. Then a better feeling came over me, and I said — ■ "Dorothy, I asked you to confess, not that I might love you more for that is impossible, but that I might still inspect you. You have shut yourself out from even that. Yesteiday I learned your secret by chance, and it must for ever act as a bar between us " She tried to smile, and I believe she thought I was jesting, but when she saw no answering smile upon my li^s, no mirth, in m" hard eyes she grew white and rigid. Even in that critical moment, as I looked at her pitiable emotion, a siren fascination, that banished pride, self-respect, and all, tempted me for a. moment to take her in my arms, if only for the last time, and shamelessly forget all. "Is it all over?" she asked, in hollowtones. "All over," I answered. "Do you think me bad ?" she asked, brokenly. "Do you think you are good ? " I asked scornfully. "I am good sw^eet heart," she wanted, desperately, throwing herself half upon me.. "I swear it before God' I should have told you in the beginning, but every day made it harder Even then I should have told you if you had not said something so slightingly, so cruel' to me — about.— <about — " "About whom 9" I asked. "About actresses," she answered, in a low hopeless tone. The light broke in upon me. I took her in my arms, and held her so tightly to my heart, that we seemed, in body and spirit, to be one. I had overheard her rehearsing. — Adelaide "Quiz."