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Show SHORT STORY A . SPIRIT IN THE FLESH. The Senator was cosy In one of the secluded Oriental corners off Mrs. Al-den's Al-den's large reception-room. Beside him seemed to float an Intangible. Indefinable Indefin-able white mist Was it a dream? or was It reality? Dare he reach out his hand and grasp It, or would It at his gentlest touch softly melt away? Now It seemed for the moment to be resting lightly, breathlessly, a mass of gold, a flush of pink, poised on shoulders, glistening glis-tening gleaming which seemed to rise from endless billows of misty white. Mrs. Hardy had introduced them only a few moments before, and had fumbled her name. Mrs. Hardy always fumbled names. He wondered what it was. Indeed, so eager had he been to learn, and when he found himself cornered cor-nered with the young woman, he was quite calm In face of such calamity. The Senator avoided young creatures usually, but this one was different from all the rest. Already they were chatting chat-ting and laughing, "gossiping." smiled the Senator to himself, "like two old women." He couldn't remember that he had ever been guilty of such conduct before. They discussed each woman in turn, as they peeped at them from behind the curtain, where thy sat. Mrs. Aldes's gown. Mrs. Bradway's hair. Mrs, Brown's Jewels. Those Jewels, she said, were worth an enormous sum. "How much?" asked the practical Senator. She breathed, almost reverently, a fabulous sum. "How would you feel with all that on you?" "L'ra-um," came the ecstatic answer through closed lips. He turned and looked at her, slowly shaking his head. "No, never, that would make you, then, a little like the rest of them earthy." They were reaping again. "I wonder where the authoress. Miss Mitford, Is? I hold the evening in dread because of her." - "Why?" she asked. "Oh, these spinster1 writers always corner and bore us to death, with ethics, philosophy and what not they want the inside workins of this snd that you wouldn't understand they're a great nuisance." he sighed. A gleam of seriousness came into the heavily lidded, blue eyes. "It seems," she said slowly, "as if men like you, and others, who are In the midst of this great life, would freely free-ly give a little of their knowledge to a woman, who cannot learn these things, save through the experience of others." "But why do women bother with such things! Why can't they all be sweet and gay? Why:" ho exclaimed. "I have had more genuine pleasure talking talk-ing frills and furbelows behind this curtain here with you tonight, than I ever had in all my life, talking with one of those learned, bachelor women." "Then you think a woman's mind ought not to rise above the ruffle of her petticoat?" ' He made no answer and she went on. "This authoress you speak of as a spinster, is she old?" "Yes," emphatically. "The paptr stated she was only. In her twenties and beautiful." "Bother, she bribed the papers. She is old and ugly." The sweetest music he ever heard came in ripples from her red. red lips. "You have never seen her," she cried, "yet you know it here. I suppose." She clasped her hands together and pressed them lightly over her heart. "Right there and there." He pointed to his head. "Oh. oh," came in little Rasps. "No doubt you are right." She entered into in-to his spirit. "She is freckled I know," she cried. "Freckled." he nodded. "And there's something not exactly hers here." she fumbled her mass of gold. The nod continued. "And her her beautiful, pearly "False," he muttered. "Ah. poor thing, she has only a soul! A creature, hairless, spotted, toothless, yet with a woman's unconquerable desire de-sire for friends and love, she builds in the rtalniH of her imagination, a world of her own. Dead ones spring up about her; she loves them tenderly, deeply and secretly, which Is the most beautiful beauti-ful of all, and as their beauties grow upon her day after day. she feels the seltlshness of her secret and in the spirit of self sacrifice, reluctantly shares these dear ones with the world." "Great Scott! you make me fidgety." He turned to her with a new look in his eyes. "When Miss Mitford comes I will tell her all 1 know, everything, I might even write out some of the exciting ex-citing events I have seen. Her spirits are always searching for new adventures, adven-tures, aren't they?" She looked at h!m and smiled. The smile was his undoing, lie bent closer over her. "I wonder if you are real." he whispered, whis-pered, "all these years I have dreamed of you beautiful, alluring, elusive at night you gently shadow me. at noon you sweetly mock yet always when I reach out to clasp and hold, you flee my grasp and I am left alone. Tonight I have found my spirit II have spirits, too, you see) in the flesh, yet I dare not try to touch one wave of that mlBty cloud you float In. Tell me are you real or have you only come. In flesh, to mock me?" The curtains parted and Mrs. Alden looked in. Both arose to their feet a little awkwardly. awk-wardly. - "Miss Mitford!" she exclaimed. "I have been looking everywhere the president is asking to meet you, come." She turned to go. Miss Mitford started to follow, when she felt her hnnd clasped In two strong ones and drawn tightly to a bearded cheek. "Miss Mitford." he whispered savagely. savage-ly. "I shall never let you go unless you tell me when you will forgive." "When forgiveness has been earned," she flashed back, but so sweetly that he felt the kindness beneath. Elisabeth C. Jackson In Madame. |