A Shadow of

Evening Post, Volume LXVIII, Issue 98, 22 October 1904, Page 10

A Shadow of

The great man rose from his armchair, stretched himself, and yawned. The minutes passed, and eventually his thoughts flew off at a tangent to hie forthcoming marriage, and somehow the prospect was not a pleasant one. He had cpurted and won fame as a physician ; he poasecsed health and wealth, and had yet to see hia 46th summer. But marriage! And he returned to his chair again. The door opened ooitly, and a footman came in. Musgrave sat up and rubbed his eye?. "Awfully sleepy weather 4 thin!" he ejaculated.

"Yes, sir. And a lady to see you, sir. Here's her card." " 'Miss Hope Kempson : the Casino Theatre,' " he read aloud. "Rather wellknown actress, isn't she?" "Don't know, sir." "Well, show her in, Huggins." The man retired, and a few minutes later a woman entered the room. She was tall and stylishly dressed. Musgrave thought her pretty. "Good afternoon!" he oaid formally. "Good afternoon ! May I sit down ?" "0, do! Pray pardon my thoughtlessness !" She took the armchair opposite his own, and dropped languidly into it. Then she began to pick her gloves nervously. Musgrave studied her face enquiringly, till she looked up and met his eyes. "I have come to — to congratulate you," she said, "Indeed ! Upon what ?" "Your forthcoming marriage." "0, yes ! But I hardly ccc " He paused awkwardly. "How it concerns me ? Precisely 1 It doesn't concern me in the least— now." "Then it did!" "Once, perhaps. Things have changed since those days," "Pardon me, Miss Kempson, but you speak enigmatically. Please explain." "If you do not know, I would rather not. You must think it slrange conduct on my part to come to you like this and congratulate you upon a private affair. I thought you would have remembered, though. Still, it does not matter. It is merely a. shadow of yesterday, to yo. v past and gone, perhaps, but some shadows do not pass away co easily — with women." "But I have never seen you before," said Musgrave, uneasily. "I think you have. But I was different then; at the bottom of the ladder, now almost at the top." Musgrave started. "Go on !" he said, scanning her face with apprehension under the electric light. "A ballet girl is not an ideal mate for a young doctor." He jumped to his feet and leaned against the overmantel. "You are not "Yes, unfortunately for myself, I am. The same woman who, under the name of Violet Gilman, danced nightly in tlte cx r travaganza. Rather curious how fate plays with some of us when we're down. A man came into my life and made me love him as I could never love another; then he suddenly discovered that he must eitner abandon me or his ambitions. Like a man, he chose the .former course." Musgrave fell back' in his chair with a groan. "But that was years ago," he murmured. "True; but years cannot efface a woman's love — when she really loves. A strange chance threw fortune across my path. I changed my name, snatched at it, and — voila! I have not come here to upbraid you, though, perhaps— l love you still." "Good heavens!" "But you're to be married shortly. I do not wish you to give me back what you stole from me. I will go." "Star!" he cried hoarsely. "Well?" "I did not expect this, and — and — I'm sorry. But it may be that I do not regret your visit to-night." "And why not?" "In the days of hot youth we toy with love and often caet aside our old playthings. Not till we grow older do we realise the stern, the bitter reality <jf it— unless our eyes are prematurely opened in the Breach of Promise Court. If not, in later years we sometimes long for the old plaything, the broken toy!" She looked at him musingly. "You never really cared " "Perhaps I have always done so — perhaps I do now !" "It is too late. Two women are implicated. They invariably are. One must suffer. I have done so already. I may as well continue to do so until the end of the chapter." He crossed the room and seized her hand. "Vio — Hope, I love you! You thought •me a brute. I was, and am a brute. I had ambitions. I have achieved them, but I am not happy. I never could be really happy with— her! I knew it long ago. I know it better than eVer now." She tore herself away with a little sob, and left the room. He heard her footsteps on the parquetry floor. Then the hail door opened and closed again. She had gone, and with her the last gleam of the sunshine tnat had broken upon him and vanished a* quickly. The man entered the drawing-room ly"Reginald! 0, what do you think? That wrefceaed Mme. Richards has written to eav she cannot possibly make my trousseau! Just the way with these women who've got on in the world; they forget the stepping-stones that helped them. It seems as if we wejre fated to be unlucky, dear." "Yes, it doee." "And now I've got But, what's the matter? How glum you look!" "Do I? Well, Mabel, I want you to listen to a little story. Will you? It will interest you." "Will 'it? Then I'm all attention." He took a chair and folded his arms. "Once upon a time — that's the proper way to begin, isn't it?" "A fairy tale, yee. Is it a fairy tale?" "There was a young man, and he fell in love," he continued, evasively. "How silly of him." "Well, he had ambitions, and the girl wasn't quite the thing — socially. She was a ballet girl, in fact, so he threw her over. In due time his ambitions were realised, and, what's more, the ballet girl ' became a great actress. He didn't know of this, although he still loved her in a strange sort of way. But in the meantime he became engaged to another girl, whom he thought he loved." "0, Reg, bow truly awful ! I hope you won't do a thing like that." "And then the other woman reappeared, | and " He paused and glanoed at her face, for the words chok*d him. A strange light dawned in her eyes, and her lips began to quiver. Then she stood up and faced him. "I release you from your engagement, 1 ' she said. "What do you mean?" "You have told me -r our life story." He rose silently and went to the window, and befjan tapping on the pane. He heard a muffled sigh, but it was not repeated. "Perhaps — perhaps I like some one else, tpo," she said at length in a far-off voice. "Better than you do me?" he asked eagerly, as he turned sharply on his heel. • She did not reply. * "0, if you only did !" , "Perhaps I do.'" < "Mabel — Miss Rivers, you mean what you say ?" "Ye-es." "Then why should we make each other miserable by marrying? You love some one else, and so do I. Shall we dissolve partnership by mutual consent?" "If you like. Yes, under the circumstances it would be better if we did. At any rate., our engagement must not continue.'.' She had removed the ring from her finger. ' . . • , , "Diamonds are' rtoij. worth much without real lqve,," she said bitterly. "You will take, it back?" "If you wish it. I will pawn it for the benefit of the local hospital," he said, with a forced laugh. "Then we had better say' good-bye." "Good-bye." He touched her hand and glanced : nto her eyes. There were tears hi them. The next instant he left the room.

"I Hed to him because — I lore hiii !" she moaned, and buried her face in her hands. "What an ideal match!" chirped Mni Hend ricks, as she sipped her coffee in the reception-room after the bride and bridegroom had departed. "And how lovely she ia, to be sure ! And what a dream of a dress she went away in ! Isn't she per--feet, Miss Rivers?" "She is pretty, certainly, and acts well, I believe. « "Charmingly ! I suppose it's a case of love at first sight?" "I really cannot tell." "It must have been. Were I a man 1 should have fallen in love with her my. self. And he is ao handsome, too." "Is he?" "Yes ; it is an- ideal match. Of course, you know them both well." "No ; but I have me* Mr. Ktusgrave be. fore." She bent her head to remove a piece of cotton from her skirt. "Some women are lucky." piped Mrs. Hendricks, as she laid aside her cup. "Yes. Some women are," the girl replied in a strange voice.— <W. Newman Flower, in Chicago Tribune.