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Show HRh' f Mis A.jrtorhilf 's Vietoos. mwMmK I (BY TOM MAMOX.) HoPp! Miek of outward charm attaches to this kP UdOimVto young person that one forgets in gazing HHff )btMr tlwt the i not ao real as he seems. HHE" "I did not came," I said, "to ask you the history mwlfr 3our e' r tllat h beM1 mad Plaln to me in HKp' the oelNty qImhuu of the papers, nor yet to in- Hfi Quire about your future, for I believe that has al- H ready been determined upon, but I should really IKjIt" 4Htew just what your secret opinion is about Hk7 yourMtf, Bad your position in that particular strata HBI ' of society In which you And yourself. If I should HH go entirely by that striking line of Kipling's: HgH 'Tike Ooloasl'a lady and Judy O'Grady HH Are sisters under the skin,' H9H I urtjlrt easily infer that, after all, you are but a' PgH isontftn, and thus arrive at my own conclusions, LW jH jBaQssreA from niy experience with your sex in gen- fflm Miss Penelope regarded me with a mild look of H' concern. B am 'tff're off your trolley a bit," she said. "Here,1 B 1 taMevfc-arree nippy. I hate highballs, but I find a b. H I nd m. is a good leveler after dancing until four G. WM 3., and this may put you on your feet." IB pj H, Csasd at her in some surprise. B ( TBYery day," I said, "I learn something new WM . ; about women, but this is rather startling. Here WL i j )jNm are, a member of the smart set, daughter of B millions, graduate of Miss Pilikin's school on upper B Fifh avenue, and somehow, I had an idea you mm , were a 'hothouse plant, a sort of lay figure for for- eign noblemen to negotiate for with a mind like B i the quatrains in a magazine used here and there B m .rte fill up odd spaces." B g "Oh, come off!" said Miss Penelope. "I'm ex- B p aetty like the rest of the push I'm in for a good B pi , Uat while the wheel spins, for tomorrow I may be m ' I 'Myself with yesterday's seven thousand years.' H I m -Pupa, and mamma, you know, have all kinds of B 'moaey, and I'm burning it to beat the band. I B '), 'toady te tkem, as a matter of course, to make them H - !have a proper pride in me, but I get up my own Bfl j gowns, pick my own crowd, keep myself in condl- fl tion, of course, because it pays, play th races on B l' the quiet, run around the world a little, and keep B f! myself from being bored the best way I know how. B When I've sowed my wild oats I mean to settle B ; down, marry some real, live Lord, with a pedigree B at least as long as my favorite hunter, and live in g I, j London town. Have a cork tip?" "You're a -wonder," I exclamed. "Really, now, Miss Penelope, I never dreamed you were like this. Bl Alas! I fear I have wasted a lot of foolish sentl- i memt n yu-" 1 j "You silly thing!" she exclaimed. "But for fair B 4 now, what did you think I was a wax doll a (piece of saleable property?" A tear glistened in my eye at the recollection. , "Well, no," I replied. "Not exactly that But B you knew, pondering on the sociological conditions B in 'general, my mind has often gone out to you, B perhaps In sympathy, perhaps in pity. To use your B f own language, 'I sized you up,' first as a young, B I innocent creature, with an undeveloped heart, a B I certain amount of misplaced education, who had B been, the victim of circumstances. I said: 'Here B I is a young girl so hemmed in by artificiality, by B I -mere glitter, by conventionality in a word, by B w the Almighty ollar, that she can never be a true B f woman. She grows up with a tender, loving heart, jB that longs to be true to itself, but is prevented by B I the very conditions that surround it. The result B I is that she is obliged to sacrifice herself to this W I Moloch, and, secretly longing for the simplicity of B i Arcadia, passes her life in vain regrets.' " B Miss Penelope lifted her dainty "hands in deri- H B , "What awful rot!" she exclaimed. "My dear kmm ' B boy, you are in a bad way. Now don't fool yourself. your-self. I'm having the best time in the world." "But, seriously, now," I abserved, "how about that heart of yours? Wasn't it once a fluttering, tender, palpitating, young thing, with real longings?" long-ings?" My far friend got up and, coming over to my chair, lifted a taper finger in mild protest. "My dear boy, I have always been above such a deplorable weakness." New York Life. |
