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Show When Love Was Calling By DOROTHY DOUGLAS " (Copyright.) GILROY sat down in the semi-darkness of his library and prepared to listen, for the Inst time alone, to the voice he loved best In all the world. After that, when he had heard each record, he would destroy them all. An hour previously he had posted the letter to Mildred Catwiu, asking her to become his wife. The die was already cast and he would henceforth endeavor to put dreams of his boyhood boy-hood sweetheart completely from his life ; but not before he had heard once again each of her glorious songs and there were many of them. His lonely feast of music would last long Into ' the night. "It seemed but yesterday though a full 15 years had passed that he and Mary Atwood had wandered arm in arm through the sweet-smelling country coun-try lanes and he had pleaded with her to marry him. "I know as well as If It were written writ-ten on the sands," she had told him, "that If we marry now I will utterly fail to carry out my ideals In music. If you will wait for me I will love no one but you." But Gilroy, in his immature reasoning reason-ing and the heat of youth, had turned from her. He wanted her then or not at all. If she loved her voice better than she loved him she must choose her own way. Mary had chosen, and In all the 15 years they had not so much as spoken, written or heard of each other's movements. move-ments. " Of course Gilroy knew of Mary At-wood's At-wood's success as nearly all the music-loving world did. But he knew not where she was nor would he have followed had he known. However, Mildred Catwin was a lovable wee thing, and no doubt they would be tremendously happy and some day he would tell her all about Mary. Mary's songs at seventeen had been, "Won't You Tell Me Why, Robin?" "In the Gloaming," "The Lost Chord," "Ye Banks and Braes," and Gilroy had managed to secure them all for his gramophone. He was so deep in his dreams and so regretful of their imminent passing pass-ing that he was only half conscious that a voice, not that of the gramophone, gramo-phone, was singing through "Won't You Tell Me Why, Robin?" Gilroy's heart thumped against his side and he gripped the arms of his chair in a tensity of emotion that he had not known for years. For Gilroy's name was Robin and the emotion in that voice told him that Mary Atwood was in the same building calling to him. He must go. Down the elevator he went and swiftly to the office of the apartment house to make inquiry. A lady had arrived during the afternoon, yes her name was not, however, Atwood. Gilroy's heart sank. Was It then not his Mary? Or worse still, was it Mary and she was married? He could not contemplate the thought and rushed off to the rooms mentioned by the clerk. She opened the door to her suite of rooms and Gilroy found himself In the grip of an emotion that held him silent. "Robin Robin Adair," she cried, using the old pet name. ''ily Mary," was all Gilroy could say, and then Mary was in his arms and she was trembling and Gilroy cnnld nnlv hold hpr el-;e "It was really you listening to my voice?" she asked presently; "it doesn't seem possible. The Great Hand of Fale Isn't it, Robin?" Her voice was unsteady. "I have listened to your voice ever since the first record came out and In my soul I have heard it before that." She was leading him Into her spacious spa-cious sitting room. "And now tell me everything. I am hungry to hear you talk. I sneaked into the country under un-der an assumed r.r.me so that I might have a few months away from my public they demand so much of me." "Y'oa are not married?" She looked wistfully at him. "I told you 15 years ago I would always love you, Robin." j Suddenly Robin realized the terror j of the situation. His letter of proposal pro-posal to Mildred was even then in her hands no doubt she was writing him her answer and Gilroy knew It .' would be "yes." j "Mary, my own," he said swiftly, ! "I have had no one in the depths of my heart, sleeping or waking, for 15 ' years, and now, now when I had given ! up hope of your seeking me out, I have asked another girl to become my j wife. I have never wanted to seek you because I felt too unworthy and I small. Now I know I have beer, a i first-class Idiot. I shall love you al- j was-." i Mary was .struggling to keep from crying out, but in a moment she 1 smiled. i "Ilohip, my dear. There is no powei ! to keep irue I,, vers jip.-trt in the spirit j nnd I f, ei -rrt;.:ii ih:,t f:ile will in j some way ;.'ive us to r :n-i oilier." : "Yon vrre -Mv.-.tyn f;,::!:fui. .jitPy i I" Knlj'n y. vl i:,io ili,. rlepths ol his pnekot fur the irfv :t:ili!f eig;, re! t n ' that he filt hr- nn;.-i l:;;ve under sires? i and siid.l-i;ly ,;s f:lf.,. went a dull 1 crimson n i riumph.mt rrim.n. how- j ever. He drew f . -r L :m envelope. It was smmpffj and a dd.-f.-se-l. "Mary! I didn't p. .st it !" |