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Show . narm can coma from tkat, surely " I thought. , A little later I was sluing- at the pisuo j singing. Blanche Doyle cum up with i her gushing compliments. Much to her amazement, I received them gracefully and kept tip a quick repartee. 1 ruui that j time she sought my company on every oc-; oc-; casion, much to my discomfort; but, "If I i was to be a success, 1 must receive every ' one cordially. It would bo unwise to Incur In-cur such a woman's displeasure; and then ' sdio would bo having boon; not enough horse racing and belling, consequently a ' limited number of spoils," 1 argued. I "Miss Hortoh." she said to mo the day of Vice President Hendricks' reception, "1 aiu compelled to lcavo this pine to-rlav. to-rlav. A gentleman friend of mine will be hero for the ball to-night may I leave 1 hint in your careY' 1 hesitated, a dozen thoughts rushing In confusion through my brain. "Who was he?" "IVdsof a feather," etc "What would Neil think?" Hut I smothered my conscience iulo tho coiiclu-. coiiclu-. sion, "Perhaps Ml never see him again." 1 had written of the dear old vice president presi-dent a sonnet iu The Fountain House News, for which he complimented uui wilh the place next to his wife at tho ro-, ro-, repiiou that night. 1 wore on this ooca- sioii, over memorable to nio a simple costume cos-tume of while silk and mull, with diamond dia-mond ornaments. During tho evening a bell boy handed me a card which lead "For Miss Kunice I Wtch, introducing Mr. Fred Malone." Them was a fatality iu thai meeting. He was the handsomest man 1 ever saw, and proved, as )ou know, the most fasciualiiig. 1 After the reception came the genua!. 1 liil with him. was showcivd with favora, while tho tuber girls of iny town took a hack .seat, wondered and looked greon wil h envy. As Fivd Ma lone bade me good night on I he dimly lighted stairway he took my hand and kissed it. I didn't reprove him, hut felt tho liot blivod rush to my face. 1 entered my ( room, went straight. 1o the mirror a i woman's way, you know to see how my bangs had stood the whirl of tho evening. ! A dee blush still mantled my cheek, 1 j cast, my eyes down. "F.unlco Dortch," 1 I said to myself, "can this be vouT Tho bu-! bu-! perior woman, as you are called, what has ! Come over youT Kliimie! tShume!" i That night I spent iu tossing, cudeuv-! cudeuv-! oring to nick my conscience to sleep. , Fred Malone spent the entire summer , at Waukesha and was all devotion, so ! much against my f taker's will that he took mo away. Fred followed on tin next, train, met mo in Chicago ohl don't shrink from me, Misslo, fur I'm not wicked at heart. 1 married Fred Malou that very day; yes, and will bo true to him, for he is my husband, though 1 am called "the gambler's wife," and ibe blmine of it. n'sts uiHin niv life. BELLE OF THE SEASON. "All aboard for Bethesda spring, Silurian, Silu-rian, Arcadian, or down town!" Ah, Missie, as 1 sit rocking aud singing sing-ing lullabies to my lit lie one here, wait ing for Fred through the midnight hours, that monotonous cry of tho "buss men" comes to nie in my reveries like a cold wave, causing my very blood to chill with remorse! re-morse! Hut come, take this easy chair, aud I'll tell yon all about it, for you art; an old friend and 1 can trust you. Uive me your hand. Yon know it was a wuy of J mine when we wen deskmtites at school to hold hands; somehow 1 could study I hotter. Hut mv story. After you left us Neil MeOoull, a bril-liant, bril-liant, rich young lawyer, came to Ward : with us, aiid read law wilh father. .Insi : at that time there seemed to be. a lull in i the alTairs of the young people of the 1 town. A new man in town spread like i wild fire, and ho at ouco became the oh-j oh-j served of all observers, uud gave material . for talk for days after. All sought his : acquaintance. Even those of our sex who hud been put on the list of "passe," ; and had retired from the field, rallied ' from their places of retreat, armed themselves them-selves afresh with men smiles and reentered re-entered the struggle. Tho anxious mothers, moth-ers, too, brought up the rear, urging t hem on with ' 'it may bo your last chance make well of it you will bo forever for-ever laid on the shelf soon" and like ox- pressions equally as encouraging. Hut Neil was equal to the emergency. Ho at once ensconced himself in a strong fort of indifference, and kept the new ac-, ac-, quuintances under subjection by mild and I unrelenting reserve. Ho wasn't slow to I take in the situation. J I was a young and motherless girl, nn-: nn-: dor the control of an old maid aunt, you know. I It would have been a great shock to her i poor nerves had I received attention from i the unnish Youmr Americas of tho town. My father disinherited mo, and poor Neil McCoull took brain fever and died soon after. Think of it, MissioV I've-got to go to judgment with the death of that grand man on my sun), Oh, (hid, have mercy The diamonds which spoke bo eloquently elo-quently of wealth, as they glittered from my oars and throat one year agoto-night, t ho night of t ho Hendricks bull, the night I met Fred Malone, now Hpeak as eloquently, elo-quently, from tho pawn broker's shop, of poverty present, lint I've learned tin-great tin-great lesson of charity, for when I bo pure Innocent girls, superior girls, tampering tam-pering wilh tho world and sacrificing their womanliness at Us shrine of applause ap-plause and attention, pit v rather than condemn them. They remind me of tl poor sorceress whu entwines tho serpent about her throat, confident of her power of control, but alus! in the moment when she least expects It, it slicks its deadly fangs into her vitalsi Ah, yes, Missie, I was tho hello of tho season that year, a short season of two months, hut It has cost me my life's bappi hu s h, there's Fred Oh, Ood, and drunk again! Ella May Powell in Atlanta Constitution. as she termed theiu, as other girls of my ago did. But ignorance was bliss wit h nie. 1 had never known anything about such things and eared less. I loved my books, was retiring and shy in my disposition. dispo-sition. Neil, living in tho house with me, soon became a constant companion. He wrs liko an older brother to nio. lie helped me with my st udics and taught mo to rido aud drive. This over attention of Neil's to such an unpretentious creature-as creature-as I was quite disgusted t he interested daughters and anxious mothers of the town. Time flow. I was a graduate with the highest honors. Neil delivered the commencement com-mencement address and diplomas. 1 was proud of him, but ho wus more so of mo. Ho had always called me little sweetheart, sweet-heart, and I had treated It as a little joke, but on this occasion ho kissed me surrounded sur-rounded by my laurels. Was ever kiss like that? Ho road in my tell talo eyes that which made his heart throb with joy. I afterward posed for an artist who saw me on that night. The picture Is labeled "The Sweet Citrl (iraduale," and received special mention at the Paris salon last year. A year afterward father and I were at Waukesha for tho summer. Several of our society belles were also there. Neil had joined us for a Bhort time. One glorious evening, just as tho fire flies were trimming their lampB for the falling shadows, he sat with me at the base of Crescent spring and read to me "The Buried Life," by Mathew Arnold. It was his confession to mo, and to my heart they were the most beautiful Hues ever penned by a poet. As ho finished reading, read-ing, a voice in the pavilion above me said, and bo distinctly that I could hear it: "Who is this Miss Dortch of your town? She is beautiful and sings like a nightingale, night-ingale, but ssemB indifferent to society V" I recognized the speaker to be Blanche Doyle, a New York woman who had spent much of her timo abroad, and who had realized a round sum from playing roulette at Monte Carlo. She was a typical typi-cal woman of fashion magnificent figure, blondined hair, cosmetics in profusion, bnt rather coarse featured. Dancing came as natural to her feet as the latest scandal to her lips. To bo stared at was the height of ner ambition, and to bo mobbed by the men her acme of bliss; yet she possessed tact, most potent of social qualities. "Oh, she is one of the goody-goody girls," replied one of tho belleB from our town. "The men call her sweet, but content con-tent themselves with admiring her from a distance, there's nothing exciting in knowing know-ing her better. Sho gets in with all the old people, her slow ways suit them, she wastes her smiles on the pauper, and is styled a superior woman. Dear me! These superior women how stupid they arel For my part I prefer to ignore these stiff, conventional laws of propriety and have a good timo." When they had gone Neil began ft o make comparisons in my favor. He Baid I was truthful, Innocent and pure, and oh, his confidence In me only death could break. He said good-by to me that night, but was happy, for I had promised to marry him on my return home in the autumn. He had gone, and two months more of tho eummer. How should I spend it? When that question entered my mind, the tempter entered my heart, sJowly but surely. The conversation I had heard still lingered with mo. "I believe I'll show these people what a stupid, Indifferent Indif-ferent girl can do whon ohe takes a notion. no-tion. There's nothing to bo done but 1 make myself excessively agreeable to peonle I have nothing better to do; no |