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Show I BY ANY OTHER NAME. I Katheiine looked up from the letter in her fl hand, as Moore came out on the veranda; below . H them the smooth beach sloped down to the ocean, lying blue and still in the afternoon sunlight. fl "It is from an aunt of John's," Katherine said, a frown wrinkling her forehead. "She is coming to make me a visit. I have never seen her. We fl were married abroad, you know, and when wo fl came home, went directly West, where John died: I Since 1 returned East I have scarcely heard frci I her'" "You wish she were not coming?" fl Katherine nodded frankly. "It will be awk- H ward, and she does not approve of what I am B going to do." B Moore laughed. "That lets me in too. I be- B gin to object myself." B "She's rather set, John called it; and has al- B ways lived in that little out-of-the-world country B village. It almost broke her heart when John B married 'a poor, useless, fly-away thing,' I am B quoting." B "I certainly disapprove of any one who dis- B approves of you, Kitty," B "I must see those people off on that 4:30 train; B I can't ask you to come, the bus will be full." B Moore went with her to the foot of the stair- B way; then picking up a novel, came back to the B end of the veranda. B Half an hour later, a cab from the dapot B drove up to the house; its sole passenger a little B woman, bonneted and gowned after a law of her B own and surrounded by a heterogeneous amount B of luggage. B "This be's Mrs. Bradley's?" the new comer B asked. B Moore assured her that it was, and helped her fl to alight. fl She beamed approvingly. "Shure you're the B thoughtful body; it's grateful I be. Could I see fl Kitty?" B "I am sorry; she is out." Moore knew now H who she was. fl "Then I can't see Kitty. Will it be for long?" fl "About an hour. Shall I ring for some one B to show you your room; or would you like to wait B here it's very cool and pleasant?" fl "Shure an' that would be foine if the missis B didn't moind," the little stranger answered. fl That "shure" sent cold shivers through B Moore there was more than a suspicion of B brogue about the old woman's speech. He remem- fl bered having heard that John Bradley came of B Irish parentage; of good family, he had under- fl stood. He realized now how little he knew of fl the man Kitty had married. fl "Kitty's well fixed," the aunt said, looking B about her. "Would you be knowin' her?" fl "For a good many years." fl "That's quare and Johnny, my nephew?" fl Moore replied that he had not had that pleas- fl ure. fl "I foine lad I'm thinkin' she's not bad to fl look at?" fl Moore thought of Katherine tall, graceful, fl fair. B "Johnny was clean daft about her. He sent fl me her photygraf. A goodlooking piece, there but high-handed an' pert." H Moore stiffened. fl "I'm wonderin' what the silly fellow's like B slio's takin' now. Faith an I'm sorry for him." B Moore smiled involuntarily. The situation fl was developing fast "Do I look as if I needed fl Pity?" he asked. fl "You be'n't goin' to marry Kitty?" B "I hope to have that honor." B "Honor, indade. It ain't fair to John. She treated him that shameful. I shouldn't think you would want to marry her, at all and she a di- vorced woman, too with a husband livin'." fl Moore sprang to his feet. Kitty a divorcee not a widow. John Bradley living not dead. The garden borders below were making the most surprising: evolutions. "I've given you a morsel to chew on, what won't be to your likin'," the aunt said. "But it's for your good and God's truth. She married poor Johnny for his bit of money, and made his life a burden to him, 'til she set him free. He's silly afther her still says 'twas part his fault, which it wasn't, an' sent me here to patch things up. We'd got wind as how she was meanin' to marry again which it was a wicked law, gave her the right." The words had been poured out with an intensity inten-sity and speed impossible to check. To Moore they had come like so many blows ."Excuse me," he gasped at last and made his escape down the steps, and across to the beach. In the shelter of the low straggling sand dunes, he threw himself down to think. Kitty's silence regarding her married life her hurried trip West her reticence since his own prolonged absence from the country his lack of news concerning her her dislike of this visit from John's aunt. It was plain enough horribly so. And Kitty, how she must have suffered to make such deception possible. All the man's allegiance returned in double force. She must she would confide in him now. As for her being to blame, he laughed at the idea. Yet it was terrible Kitty a divorcee. He took a round about way back to the house, going at once to his rooms. Standing, dressed for dinner, by an open window, he caught the sound of a voice, already too familiar, in a court below. "You're actin' fair disgraceful, Kitty, treatin' me in this stand-off fashion me that's traveled all these miles to see you." The answer, unheard itself, called forth a sharp reply. "Not call you Kitty! It's the name John gave me I wish to goodness me nor him had never learned to call you anythin'." Moore moved away. Katherine's picture looked wistfully up at him from the writing-table. How had she ever managed to get herself so in tangled with those people. There was no shadow of trouble in Katherine's Kather-ine's dark eyes when Moore entered the flower-scented flower-scented drawing-room. She was talking and laughing, surrounded by a group of new arrivals. John's aunt was not in the room. "Ma tante does not appear," Katherine told Moore. It seemed to the latter that there never had been such a long wearisome dinner. Nor for some time afterwards could he get Katherine to himself. At last she stood beside him on the quiet veranda. "Dear," he said, laying a hand on hers, as it rested on the railing. "I know so little of your life all these years your marriage?" She shuddered: "Don't, please not yet." Moore said nothing. Katherine broke the silence. "There was another arrival this afternoon. The aunt of one of the maids a pretty girl whom I thought unmarried, but who is actually divorced. Her husband was a John,. too, and her name is Katy a whole chapter of coincidents. The poor girl is engaged to the coachman and that dreadful dread-ful aunt insists on her breaking' it off at once." Moore broke into a wild laugh. "I beg your pardon, dear," he said, "it's such a queer mix-up." It often puzzled Katherine but from that night Moore was never known to call her Kitty again. EMILIA ELLIOTT. |