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16
The Limit of the Line.
(Continued from Page 11.)
into her. You are not jealous of her —are you, Prin
cess”?
“I don’t know. I wish to forget her, please. She
never loved you.”
“Um! Do you”?
She bent down and kissed him.
“I think that we’d best separate,” she said, a
little lump in her throat. “I . . . We’ve got beyond
the limit of the danger line . . . into' deep water . .
haven’t we? What made me kiss you? I never did
that before! Why doesn’t your indignant mother
flounce into the room —and pull my hair? They usu
ally do that, or something like it, In the love-stories
don’t they”?
“It’s the girl’s mother, I believe,” he said coolly.
“Really? I believe it is the girl’s mother. Do
you wish me to save my self-respect . . . and tell
you that I thought my bracelet was unfastened. But
that won’t do —will it? I did more than fasten my
bracelet. It was horrid of me —wasn’t it”?
“No,” he vowed, “it was gentlemanly. I wish
you’d repeat it, in spite of that Village Heiress, and
all the balance.”
“I can’t,” she declared. “I think that we’d best
ring for the ices—don’t you? There is still a ghost
of a chance to get back, to get hold of the safety
rope, and put our little feet among the sandy places,
where it’s not over our heads.”
“Cousins,” he said judicially, “in moments of
extreme ecstasy, sometimes kiss each other. Then
there is Shirley. I’ll have to get my ring back, you
know. Suppose I marry her? It’s a queer, droll
game, life”!
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The Golden Age for September 16, 1909.
Her arms tightened convulsively about him.
“I don’t think that she loves you.”
“Do you, Princess”?
She laid her flushed cheek against his. Then she
slid off the chair-arm, and went to look up at the
stars.
“To be glad of life,” she quoted, “because it gives
you a chance to look up at the stars. Dr. Van Dyke
tells us that, you know. And, also, ‘to be glad of
life, because it gives you a chance to love’”!
“Have you a chance to love, Princess”? Ford
struck a match and lighted his favorite long leaf
Havana.
She clasped her hands behind her, her eyes on
the unsearchable glory of the stars.
“The ghost of a chance, “she said, piteously. “The
ghost of a chance”!
Then her mood changed.
“I am afraid that you will brood over that Village
Heiress all your days, Gregg. Who was she? Who
was she? Oh”! tearing at the diamonds around her
white throat, “I can’t breathe, when I think of that
woman. I vow, I can’t.”
She was dry-eyed enough now —and furious, hold
ing the collar of diamonds in her hand, as if she
would hurl them through the window, on to the dark
sward below. Her head erect, her dark eyes, scin
tillating with gold light, she seemed a Priestess of
Diana returned to earth. Whirling from one window
to the other, her white satin swirled about her, her
breath coming fast, all her soul concentrated in a
single glance, she sent Ford a challenge, that brought
him to his feet.
“I’ll drive that red-headed plebian from your
heart, or die! Do you understand”?
Mrs. Ford looked into the room. Ford removed his
cigar from his mouth, nonchalant.lv.
“Good evening, Governess.”
“Good evening, my son. Have you been teasing
Ethel, unmercifully”?
“Unmercifully? Let’s see —have I, Ethel”?
Miss Ford refastened her diamond collar, and
opened her fan.
“I got beyond the limit of the line, Aunt Imogene,”
a soft flush mantling her face and throat. “And, I
kissed him! You can spank me, and put me to bed
—if you like.”
Mrs. Ford laughed, gathered the audacious sin
ner into her mantronly arms, and waltzed with her
out of the room.
“vVatch. out! Governess,” Ford called, “you’ll get
a thrill.
Presently, Miss Ford swept back into the room.
She seated herself at the grand Knabe piano, glanc
ed at Ford over her shoulder, and struck the open
ing bars of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, scintilat
ed, cleverly, to the close, where the great Master
of melody, thru the magic bars of the immortal
Sonata, speaks of the victory of the soul, in spite
of all externals, that tho blind, we must achieve, tho
deaf, we must rise to greatness, and tho poor, we
must keep the faith invincible in God and his
goodness.
“I never knew it was so grand, before,” he mu&ed,
his eyes upon the blue-black web of her hair.
She nodded, placed a vocal number on the rack,
and sung, bravely, tenderly, passionately:
“O dry those tears,
And calm those fears,
Sorrow will be sunshine, tomorrow”!
(To be Continued.)
