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Making Mother Over
BEAUTY SECRETS OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN j
WITHIN THE LAW
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX
Little Viola Dana, “The Poor Little Rich Girl," Talks to Girls in Their Teens
A Powerful Story of Adventure, Intringe and Love
W HEN a girl reaches 16, And her
head Is turned as easily as
thistledown, for the reason
thAt It Ik almost as light, she becomes
possessed with the belief that she is
superior to her family, a delusion In
which her foolishly fond parents un
consciously encourage her.
She is her parents’ own child; that
is a stubborn fact that even romantic
theories of being the stolen offspring
of royalty, of which she has read in
the fairy tales, can't conquer. She is
a rare blossom on a parent stem that
looks like n weed, and she wonde r; i
that there Is no explanation of such
• phenomenon.
s She learns a* an earlier age than
one would guess that she can’t change
her father. She can rule him, and
does. but. being a man, he is satisfied
to be what he is. He admits his off
spring is a rare blossom, but does not
for a moment think that the father
stern is a weed.
Mother is different. One reason is
that, she is a woman and knows not
that self-content that is wrapped
around a man like the bandages
around a mummy. And a greater
reason is that «he is Mother, and,
'therefore, humble. She also recog
nizes that her offspring Is a rare blos
som. the quick eyes of her love mak
ing this discovery the moment her
baby daughter was first laid in her
arms. Because of her love she makes
humble comparison, and knows als »
that she is a weed.
She doesn't resent her daughter's
air of superiority, but weakly and
foolishly encourages it. thereby turn
ing that little thistledown head a
little further out of place.
She Is Displeased.
Naturally the conditions that exist
in a home where a girl has been
permitted to think she is a princess
c'o not please her. and she begins, the
process of making over, alternating
her work of reformation between the
parlor and mother, the former receiv
ing serious attention when she x-
pects company and the latter engag
ing her energies all the time.
Mother’s methods of pronunciation
are not those In use how. and she is
corrected and called old-fashioned, a
term that loses its sweetness when a
princess daughter applies it. Mother
is too tired when night cornea to put
on more becoming clothes, and dough'
ter begins at the wrone end of the
reformation by complaining about her
mother’s appearance Instead of at
taining the same end by making the
work lighter.
The family purse will not support
more than one peacock. Mother i»
glad to give daughter that ro'ya 1
plumage, and the girl accepts, and
later complains when she struts
around that her mother Is not dresse'i
as well as other mothers she knows,
forgetting that in those families thefe
arc* no Reacocks and the sum alloted
for royal plumage is more Justly di
vided.
I do not want girls to cease in this
reform of making mother over, but I
want them to go at It in a better way.
One can't change a mother's old-style
clothes into new by complaining, but
the change can be wrought by buying
mother new clothes. If $10 is given a
girl for a new hat and mother says
she will make last season’s do. the
daughter can make mother over by
giving her the new hat and wearing
the old herself.
Another Way.
If mother shows the unbecoming
traces of hard labor, another way Is
offered for making her over by taking
the burden of the home off her shoul
ders.
If the latest whim In a ribbon. :■
tie. hat. gloves, dress or shoes will
improve daughter, wouldn't they nls.
Improve mother, and Isn’t her need of
improvement greater? One has the
adornment of youth and needs little;
the other is showing all the disfigur
ing marks of time and needs eveiv
assistance pretty clothes may give.
Make mother over by making her
think more of herself and less of oth
ers! Such a reformation will be gooi
for the whole family, but don't, girls.
1 implore, go at this reformation In a
high-handed, selfish way. Have pride
in her and she will begin to have the
pride in herself of which many years
of monotonous and unappreciated
household work have robbed her.
Make her over! Make her young
and pretty and carefree again, and
use In working the transformation
the fairy wand of Love!
Seeing the Pictures
W DM AN with Cerise Hat (em
bracing woman with headgear
of bright violet)—Oh, aren't the
pictures too dear? I'm crazy about
them. Agnes! Just a little bit of powder
on the side of your nose, dear There—
it's off. but you rubbed off the rouge,
, too. Such atmosphere, don't you think?
No, of course. I can't make out *what
that one means that looks like a mud
puddle stirred up with a stick, but I
am sure it is something perfectly won
derful if only I could comprehend it!”
Woman with Bright Violet Hat—It
certainly makes one feel so advanced
to see things like these! Why, I can
'remember when I used to think a pic-
should really he a picture of some
thing instead of merely a symbol of a
thought., Goodness! Will you look at
that dress—the one just coming in!
Such things ought to he restricted by
* Sweet Young Thing (in a flimsy floppy
suit)—Perfectly beautiful! I simply love
that picture!
Second Sweet Young Thing -So do I
Isn't it glorious to think there is an
artist living who can paint a bale of
shingles? If you look at it hard enough
with your head tilted you get the queer
est sort of feeling! Something like be
ing seasick and falling out of a window-
at the same time! The man who did
that is a genius. Wouldn’t you simply
love to know him?”
On His Nerves.
Square Shouldered Man (wUh an ex
pression of pain on his face) l^ct s get
out of here, Genevieve. If I stay any
longer I’ll say things, and then the long
haired freaks sprinkled about would
hang me to one of the staircase pillars
and put a frame around me and call the
result an impressionistic study of an
apple pie. I expect I’d look just as
much like a pie as a human being. Oh,
help! See that one in the corner—the
purple woman with blue spots on her
against a scrambled background."
Genevieve—"For goodness’ sake, hush!
Don’t let people know you're so abso
lutely Ignorant. George! You’ve got to
see this exhibit, because you’ve got to
be able to talk about it, and the sooner
you do so the quicker you'll be through!
'You don’t suppose any one really likes
these pictures, do you? You’re not the
only one that’s suffering! Come on!"
Square Shouldered Man—"I’ll bet that
purple woman is suffering. Gosh!"
Angel Child—"Ma, 1 want a drink, I
want a drink, ma! Say. ma. why can’t
1 have a dr”
His Mother (Jerking him along)—
"Willie, if I hear another word out of
‘ you T’ll take you into a corner and
whip you good! Here, I left all that
sewing and brought you just for your
own good, so you’d love pictures, and
then you act this wav! Look at the
pictures and”—
Angel Child—"Aw, I’d rather go to
a nickel show! Say, T want a drink"
Confiding Young Creature (attended
by pale youth in extreme garb) "But
when your pictures are exhibited, Ar
thur, is the time we’ll see orowds! If
they only knew what a genius you are!
The idea of these daubs, when you have
done such marvelous things!”
Pale Youth (modestly)—"Well, it’d be
kind of tough on these chaps if I spring
them now. l/et them have their day—
I can afford to wait!"
Confiding Young Creature—"Arthur,
you are the noblest man alive! You
need some one to push you forward—
you never do justice to yourself or to
your art!"
It Was Plenty.
Woman with Cerise Hat—"There, I’ve
made the rounds. My head aches, but
I don’t see why. Do you know, there
are three pictures back there which I
am sure hung upside down?"
Woman with Bright Violet Hat—"I
don’t care if they are—my shoe hurts
awfully. I don’t mind saying that I
think the pictures are crazy, and we
are all geese for wasting time look
ing at ’em!”
Woman with Cerise Hat—"And you
the president of our culture club! My
dear! I think it's just your shoe."
Woman with Bright Velvet Hat—
"Well, it’s something—and whatever it
is. it’s plenty!"
Up-to-Date Jokes
A wealthy gentleman who owns a
country seat on one occasion nearly
lost his mother-in-law, who fell into
a river which flows through his es
tate. He announced the narrow es
cape to his friends, expecting their
congratulations.
One of them—an old bachelor—
wrote as follows:
"I always told you that river was
too shallow.”
* *
Visitor—I understand that you had
an amateur dramatic performance in
the town hall last night?
Native-Yes; the Sock and Buskin
Club played "Little Mae, or the
Mountain Mystery."
' Ah! And what was the mystery?’’
"As near as I could make out, the
mystery was how the audience stood
it till the last act was over."
• * *
Maud—I've just heard of a case
where a man married a girl on his
deathbed, so that she could have his
millions when he was gone. Could
you love a girl like that?
Jack—That's just the kind of a girl
I could love. What's the girl’s ad
dress?
* * •
Bill—He used to be a lawbreaker,
hut he’s changed now.
Jim—Keeps within the law now’,
does he?
Bill—Oh, yes; and keeps within the
jail, too.
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Entrances!
By LILIAN LAUFERTY.
I F you were only fifteen and had
already begun climbing the high
ladder that lead* to succena, would
you be simple and natural and truly
sweet? Little Viola Dana has not
come to the lofty estate of "Sweet
Sixteen” yet. but she has already
worked her way from music hall
dancing and "movies” and vaudeville
skits to the enviable position of "A
regular Broadway star." And the
earnest little girl means to climb
higher and higher, and be right at
the top of her chosen profession some
day if hard work can win her way to
the top.
In her dainty pink dressing room at
the Hudson Theater in New York the
15-year-old star of "The Poor Little
Rich Girl" looks like a real little rose
bud of a girl—just as real a little girl
as the Gwendolyn whose life she has
stepped out of after living it for
three hours.
She was pulling black silk stock
ing* over little bare feet and ankles
as I came in, and with the sweetest,
unself-consciousness she shook back
her soft brown curls and rose to greet
me with a mixture of childish en-
things. Girls who are willing to just
stand still aren’t ever truly pretty,
are they?”
The little star’s eyes glowed with
earnestness.
Yes, those wonderful, deep eyes are
green, and she frankly confesses it
"Maybe that's Jealousy/' she
laughed. "1 am Jeelous if the people 1
love don’t love me enough and show
it. You have to be worthy of it. or
you don’t get it. And some day everj
girl wants to be found worthy of the
biggest love. She wants to marry. 1
do!"
She believes in simple clothes
for young girls-
thuaiasm and w-omanly grace.
"Did Gwenny make you cry?” she
asked.
"YOU did,” I answered, deliberately.
"Oh. that was Gwenny,” said little
Miss Dana. "It isn’t Viola Dana out
there in the play—she Just gets to be
Gwendolyn.” «
Not Self-Conscious.
"Then, of course, you aren't self-
conscious if you are living your
part?” I questioned with assurance.
“Oh, no. Children on the stage
have to be so careful about that,”
said this naive child. ‘ Some of them
do well, and they are told so, and
think about it all the time, and get
to be such stilted little things They
just MINCE through their parts and
act affected everywhere you meet
them. That Isn’t a bit attractive—do
you think so?”
“What do you think of simplicity
and sweetness and naturalness as
prime necessities for attractiveness?
That takes in your 'unself-conscious-
nese," I said.
Miss Viola gave the matter her
earnest consideration. She is to all
intents and purposes a dear child—
but ten years of stage experience—
ten years of work with growing
ideals and ambitions have given her
a serious quality bespeaking delight
fully the woman she will be in a few
years.
'T think they are all very important,
and if you keep busy and live sen
sibly and think nice thoughts perhaps
you can get to be simple and sweet
—for, of course, no girl who is un
natural is a bit attractive "
"Then you believe in simple clothes
for voung "iris?”
"Yes, indeed—but I do like pretty
SYNOPSIS.
Mary Turner, becoming an orphan,
is thrown on her own resources. She
finds work at the Emporium, a de
partment store owned by Edward
Gilder; Is accused of the theft of
silks and sent to prison, though In
nocent. She tells George Demareat.
Gilder's bead lawyer, that the way
to stop thievery is to pay a living
wage In prison she learned from
fellow convicts why girls go wrong.
She understands their point of view
and sympathises with them. Aggie
Lynch, a convict friend of Mary’s at
Bumsing, sees good "possibilities"
for her in the world of crime. Upon
Mary’s release the slogan "once a
criminal always one," prevents her
from securing work She is contin
ually hounded and In desperation
throws herself Into the North River.
Joe Garson, a forger, rescues her and
keeps her add Aggie in luxury,
though living chaste lives. Mary
reads that a famous financier escapes
prison through keeping within the
letter of the law. She follows his ex
ample and becomes the leader of a
band of swindlers, roffbing only the
unscrupulous Qll^r ton Dick
meets and loves Mary, who seeks to
wreak vengeance on the father
through the son. Aggie poses as her
cousin, and they pretend to be re
spectabl*. They are visited by De
tective Cassidy, who tries to scare
Mary Into leaving town through
threats He Is laughed at for his
pains, because sho was "within the
law " The detective, before leaving
again, fells Aggie and Joe Oarson
that "there'll he trouble" for them
unless they get out of town.
Now go on with the story
Items of Interest
As an illustration of w hat the Bible
output of the Oxford University Press
involves, it might be mentioned that
the skins of 100,000 animals are used
every year for the covers of Oxford
Bibles alone, and 400,000 sheets of
gold are required for the gilt lettering
A stock of handkerchiefs has been
purchased for the use of French dep
uties. Whenever a member has for
gotten h1s handkerchief he will only-
have to ask an usher for one. There
will be no fee, and if the deputy for
gets to return the handkerchief noth
ing will be said.
A wild boar’s tusk, on which the
Lord’s Prayer and the Apostles’ Creed
had been cut with a krls, or Malayan
dagger, was presented as a wedding
gift to hi* American teacher by a
young Igorrote Filipino at Dagu-
pan, Luzon
In France the army death rate is
nearly six times as high as our own.
clothes—clothes that suit you. Are
mine simple enough, do you think?"
pointing to a dainty little green frock
and a soft greatcoat of brown that
just matched her own chestnut curls.
A very girly leghorn hat w’ent with
it—and 1 could fancy Miss Viola
looking like the dear little girl she is.
instead of the silly, near-young-lady
that some girls fancy they c»n ape
more successfully than they can real
ize the flowerlike sweetness of their
own precious never-to-come-again-
youth.
“Girls have to be serious about the
qualities they want to cultivate," 1
said, after I had paid due tribute to
the embryo woman wanting sartorial
praise. "Does keeping well and strong
require constant attention and sacri
fice?”
'Well, I think you can’t have every
thing. You can’t have all the fun
you want end do well the thing you
want to do, too. Now, I have to have
lots of sleep, and if I go along to a
party after the theater my voice
Voices need such a lot of care to
keep them in good condition. I take a
sounds strained and horrid next day.
glass of malted milk before the the
ater and another afterward and give
up the things I like—chocolate frap-
pes. and foolish combjnations, like
lobster salad and lemonade, won’t do
for the girl who wants to accomplish
things."
"Do you call late suppers and choc
olate frappes a great sacrificeI in
quired.
"Well, I like things that aren’t good
for me," was the frank answer; "but
I think it’s worth while giving up all
the little separate pleasures that only
stay a minute in order to have a cletr
complexion, and a clear Voice and a
well body.
"You see. I truly want to be great
some day; T want to go on and on
and be some one who counts. And
I’m dreaming of that sometimes even
when T’m with my books or playing
my violin.
"I know that if I truly want to
get on I shall have to DO It. Just
wishing about It. won’t work.”
Deep Philosophy.
Deep philosophy for fifteen; and ye:
the girls who are soon to be women
must all choose whether they will
live for the Joy of a fleeting second
or for the "durable satisfactions" that
make life worth while. *
"Have you set some one as your
model?” I asked. "Are you working
toward a goal, or have you a live
ideal whose success you want o
equal ?”
"Not a bit of it.” said Viola Dam
"I’ve got to be myself, anyway—and
I'd lots rather be truly myself. I don't
want to imitate. I just want to mak**
my own self do bigger and bigger
things all the time.
"People ought to express themselves
all the time. I think. Instead of imi
Miss Dana as she looks on and off the stage.
tating some one else—in clothes and
voices and thoughts. Thoughts are
so wonderful, I think—nice ones give
such a sweet expression to the eyes
—they Just shine through them. I
love strong. interesting faces—the
kind that belong to people who do
and fuller life, aren’t you? Work —
great sucres*—and marriage?”I asked.
"Oh, yes," said this rich little wise
girl. "I want to keep my body well
and strong, and to train my mind to
get a great deal out of life—and to
put something into it. too.”
The Tyranny of Criticism
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
T HE Kingdom of Childhood is
peopled with wicked elves,
ghosts, ogres and hobgoblins,
and we hide our heads under the bed
covers and long to be grown up that
we may vanquish them, little know
ing that the Land of Grow r n-Ups has
a greater terror.
It is the tyranny of criticism, and
its name is "What Will Folks Say?"
"No,” a girl says, "1 ftm not going
to the party. I w r ant to go. but I
would have to wear my last season’s
party dress, and what would folks
say ?’’
"We can not afford to give that
dinner," a woman will frankly con
fess, “but if I don’t pay my social
obligations what will folks say?"
The sickness had been long, painful
and costly, and when at last (he suf
ferer was mercifully released the fam
ily realized that the long siege had
materially diminished the bank ac
count. There were doctors’, drug
gists'. undertaker’s and nurses' bills
to pay, leaving scant protection
against want. "Rut we must buy
mourning," the family declares, "for
if we don’t, what will folks say?"
Once Again.
A girl realizes that her lover has
grown cold. Perhaps, down in her
heart, she also realizes that she is
not so fond of him. but she refuses t»>
give him up as long as cajolery and
tears will hold him. "I don’t want
any one to think I have been jilted,"
she says, "and if he stops coming here
what will* folks say?”
It is this tyranny of criticism that
is the hobgoblin of the grown-ups,
as fearful and real as the ghosts that
clanked their chains about our heels
in childhood. We hide our trembling
heads under the covers, just as wt
did then, and lose all sense of reason
because of the great ogre we have
fooli’shly conjured to torment us.
’ We are not honest, we are not nat
ural. wc are distressingly self-con
scious, we are not kind, we are cow
ardly hypocrites in the presence of
a hobgoblin that has no real exist
ence. "What will folks say?” you
plead in defense of foolishness. Did
you ever realize that you arc of the
"folks" to whom you credit such
powers of condemnation? And do
you, as one of the "folks,” despise and
condemn the woman who wears an
old garment because she can not af
ford a new? Do you look with an
air of superiority at any honesty
that dares to be honest? Don’t you
really envy the spirit of the woman
who can rise above ail consciousness
of clothes?
Your Reply.
You will reply that you don’t con
demn such a person, but that others
do. And in saying this, you declare
you are better than others. My dear,
you are not. We are all very much
alike. No one who is worth knowing
puts the outward show above the in
ward worth. If your friends are more
friendly when you are a coward, a
hypocrite, and extravagant, then they
are not the kind of friends worth hav
ing, and it is cheapening a very pre
cious word to call them so.
If you meet a woman you like, and
whom you would enjoy knowing bet
ter, and hesitate to invite that woman
to your house because hers Is finer,
then you do not give her credit for
being broad-minded, and are narrow-
gauged yourself. It is the personal
ity that counts; not Its background
or adornment.
And unless you can show yourself
so strong, so broad, so big. that your
test question Is "Is it right?" and not
“What will folks say?” you are no
further advanced mentally than the
child that hides its head under the
covers at every unusual sound.
Copyright. 1913, by the H K Fly Com
pany. The play "Within the I^aw” Is
I copyrighted by Mr. Veiller and this
! noveMzatlon of it is published by his
permission. The American Play Com-
i pany is the sole proprietor of the ex
clusive rights of the representation
and performance of "Within the Law"
In all languages.
By MARVIN DANA from the
Play of BAYARD VEILLER.
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
There wa* not the change of a fea-
i ture in the face of the woman who
listened to the accusation. Her eyes
steadfastly retained their clear gaze
into his; her voice was still coldly
formal, as before.
"If It’s blackmail. Mr. Irwin, why
don’t you consult the police?" she
inquired, with manifest disdain. Mary
turned to the maid, who now entered
in response to the bell she had sound
ed a minute before. "Fanny, will you
ask Miss Lynch to come in, please?"
Then she faced the lawyer again, with
an aloofness of manner that was con
temptuous. "Really, Mr. Irwin,” she
drawled, why don’t you take this
matter to the police?”
[ The reply was uttered with con-
I spicuouR exasperation.
Police Wouldn’t Keep It Secret.
"You know perfectly well," the law
yer said bitterly, "that General Hast
ings can not afford such publicity. His
position would be jeopardized.”
"Oh, as for that,” Mary suggested
evenly, and now there was a trace of
flippancy in her fashion of speaking,
"I am sure the police would keep
your complaint a secret. Really, you
know, Mr. Irwin, I think you had bet
ter take your trouble to the police,
rather than to me. You will get much
more sympathy from them.”
The lawyer sprang up, with an air
of sudden determination.
"Very well, I will then," he declared,
sternly. "I will.”
Mary, from her vantage point at
the desk across from him, smiled a
smile that would have been very en
gaging to any man under more favor
able circumstances, and she pushed
in his direction the telephone that
stood there.
"3100 Spring," she remarked en
couragingly. "will bring an officer al
most immediately.” She leaned back
in her chair and surveyed the baffled
man amusedly.
The lawyer was furious over the
failure of his effort to intimidate this
extraordinarily self-possessed young
woman, who made a mock of his
eveiw thrust. But he was by no
means at the end of his resources.
"Nevertheless." he rejoined, "you
know perfectly well that General
Hastings never promised to marry
this girl. You know He broke
off as Aggie entered the drawing
reoirh
Now. the girl was demure in seem
ing almost beyond belief, a childish
creature, very fair and dainty, guile
less surely, with those untroubled
eyes of blue, those softly curving
lips of warmest red and the more del
icate bloom in the rounded cheeks.
There were the charms 6f innocence
and simplicity in the manner of her
as she stopped Just within the door
way, whence she regarded Mary with
a timid, pleading gaze, her slender
little form poised lightly as if for
flight.
“Did you- want me, dear?" she
asked. There was something half-
plaintive in the modulated cadences
of the query.
"Agnes." Mary answered affection
ately, "this is Mr. Irwin, who has
come to see you in behalf of Gen
eral Hastings.”
"Oh!” the girl murmured, her
voice quivering a little, as the law
yer. after a short nod, dropped again
into’his . c eat; "oh, I’m so frightened!"
She hurried, fluttering, to a low stool
behind the desk, beside Mary’s chair,
and there she sank down, drooping
slightly, and catching hold of one of
Mary’s hands as if in mute pleading
for protection against the fear that
beset her chaste soul.
"Nonsense!” Mary exclaimed sooth
ingly. "There’* really nothing at all
to be frightened about, my dear
child." Her voice w r as that with
which one seek* to cajole a terrified
infant. "You mustn’t be afraid, Ag
nes. Mr. Irwin says that General
Hastings did not promise to marry
you. Of course, you understand, my
dear, that under no circumstances
must you say anything that isn’t
strictly true and that, if he did no:
promise to marry you, you have no
case—none at all. Now. Agnes, tell
me; did General Hastings promise to
marry you ?"
"Oh, yes—oh, yes, indeed!” Aggie
cried, faiteringly. "And I wish he
w\>uld. He’s such a delightful old
gentleman!'' As she spoke, the girl
let go Mary’* hand and clasped her
own together ecstatically.
He Scowled Disgustedly.
The legal representative of the de
lightful old gentleman scowled dis
gustedly at this outburst. His voice
was portentous, as he put a ques
tion.
"Was that promise made in writ
ing?”
"No,” Aggie answered, gushingly.
"But all his letters were in writing,
you know. Such wonderful letters!”
She raised her blue eysh toward the
ceiling in a naive rapture. "So ten
der and so—er—interesting!" Some
how, the inflection on the last word
did not altogether suggest the ingen
uous.
"Yes, yes. I dare say,” Irwin
agreed, hastily, with some evidences
of chagrin. He had no intention of
dwelling on that feature of the let
ters, concerning which he had no
doubt whatsoever, since he knew the
amorous general very well, indeed.
They would be interesting, beyond
shadow of questioning, horridly in
teresting. Such was the confessed
opinion of the swain himself who had
written them in his folly—horriblv
interesting to all the reading public
of the country, since the general was
a conspicuous figure.
Alary intervened with a suavity
that infuriated the lawyer almost be
yond endurance.
"But you’re quite sure, Agnes,” she
questioned gently, "that Genera!
Hastings did promise to marry you?"
The candor of her manner was per
fect.
And the answer of Aggie was given
with a like convincing emphasis.
"Oh, yes!" she declared, tensely.
"Why, I would swear to it.” The
limpid eyes, so appealing in their soft
lusters, went first to Mary, then gazed
trustingly into those, of the routed at
torney.
"You see. Mr. Irwin, she would
swear to that." emphasized Mary.
"Were beaten,” he confessed, de
jectedly, turning his glance toward
Mary, whom, plainly, he regarded as
his real adversary in the combat on
his client’s behalf. "I’m going to be
quite f*-ank with*you. Miss Turner,
quite frank,” he stated with more gen
iality, though with a very crestfallen
air. Somehow, indeed, there was Just
a shade too much of the crestfallen
•in the fashion of his utterance, and
the woman whom he addressed
watched warily as he continued. "We
can’t afford any scandal, so we re go
ing to settle at your own terms.” He
paused expectant v. but Mary offered
no comment; only maintained her
alert scrutiny of the man. The law
yer, therefore, leaned forward with
a semblance of frank eagerness. In
stantly, Aggie had become agog with
greedily blissful anticipations, and
she uttered a slight ejaculation of
joy; but Irwin paid no heed to her.
He was occupied in taking from his
pocket a thick bill case, and from this
presently a sheaf of banknote*, which
he laid on the desk before Mary, with
a little laugh of discomfiture over
having been beaten in the contest.
As he did so, Aggie thrust forth an
avaricious hand, but it was caught
and held by Mary before it reached
above the top of the desk, and the
avaricious gesture passed unobserved
by the attorney.
"We can’t fight where ladles are
concerned,” he went on, assuming, as
best he might contrive, a chivalrous
tone. "So, if you will just hand over
General Hastings’ letters, why, here’s*
your money.”
Much to the speaker’s surprise,
there followed an interval of silence,
and his puzzlement showed in the
knitting of his brows. "You have the
letters, haven’t you?” he demanded,
abruptly.
Aggie coyly took a thick bundle
from its resting place on her rounded
bosom.
"They never leate me,” she mur
mured, with dulcet passion. There
was in her voice a suggestion of deso
lation—a desolation that ‘was ithe
blighting effect of letting the cher
ished missives go from her.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
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through this critical period should
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change of life.
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T
Be Sure That You Read the First
Installment of the New Story
FTT^ri rp<\ o
niernve
K>C7Tj
&
raktorter
Which Will Appear on The Georgian’s
Magazine Page Next WEDNESDAY