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BEHIND CLOSED DOORS One of the Greatest Mystery Stones Ever Written Freaks of Fashion ^ Paris Styles That Would Cause a Sensation on Peachtree THE SIGNS OF LOVE By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. Great Food For Children You can’t give your children Faust Spaghetti too often—it is one of tne few foods that is extremely nutritious and very easily digested. It is a rich gluten food—gluten makes and develops muscle, bone and flesh. A 1 Oc package of FAUST SPAGHETTI contains as much nutrition as 4 lbs. of beef—ask your doctor. In sealed packages. Write for free recipe book. At mil grocers’—Se and 10c packages. MAULL BROS. St Unis. Mo. By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. (Copyright. 1913. by Anno Katharint Green.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. “To G«nevfeve, then, my first words were regarding my work; but when I saw that she would never give me this without her sympathies were in some way enlisted, I ceased speaking of my qualifications as a dressmaker and en tered upon my personal history. I be gan by telling her that I had a sick mother and that this mother had an in consolable grief; that she pined for a child who did not even know she had such a mother in existence. And with this for a text I told the whole story, with Just an omission of names, watch ing her face for the dawning realization which I anticipated seeing there. But it did not come. She listened patient ly as she had probably done a hundred times before, to what she considered a tale of distress, and not tilT I asked her, in what I meant to be a significant tone, whether she knew any young lady in her own social circle to whom these facts could apply, did she show the least agi tation. Then indeed she did turn upon me and requested me to lift my veil, and when. I ignored her demand, sat gazing with something like a wakening apprehension in her eyes. "Then I thought the time had come to speak plainly, and, laying aside all disguise, I observed simply: " ‘It is your mother I have been talk ing about, and it is your sister who is speaking to you. Pardon me if I have not broken this gently enough to you. I am little used to such matters and the secret will not stay with me. I can not see my own flesh and blood and hold back the truth any longer. “And what did she say? Not what I expected. Instead of looking stunned, humiliated or angry, she merely gave me a steady glance and asked what proof I had in support of this astound ing assertion. " The best in the world,’ I replied, and tearing off my veil I stood before her. * * • * * • "It was a strange experience, that in terview. After the first astonishment and gush of emotion was over, she showed an unexpected interest in the situation and questioned me so fully that my stay became prolonged, and I grew anxious and prayed her to let me go. But she was too much interested, and would know just how we lived, and whom we had for our friends. Then we must compare ourselves in the mir ror, and try on each other’s gloves, and submit to other tests to show we were precisely alike. And we found that though there was an amazing similarity in details as well as general effect, her hands were a little smaller and her dim ples not so pronounced. Our feet, on>fie contrary, were the same size, and w T hen she had put upon me one of her hats that was lying near, I did not know whether it was she or myself who smiTed upon me from the glass. "Meantime it appeared that she was not so much disturbed by the news as she was excited by it. She had found something to interest her she said, and promised to go and visit her mother the next day. As for the work I wished from her I should have it, as it would give her the best excuse in the world for visiting me. And so the one sister became dressmaker to the other, and a series of visits began, destined to end in what we least expected at that hour— desperate tragedy, "My sister had given no intimation of risking the inheritance she expected from her reputed parents by any dis closure to them of the knowledge which had been communicated to her; so that I was in nowise surprised when she ap peared next day as heavily veiled as 1 had been in visiting her. But what did astonish me was the eagerness with which she entered into relations that must have seemed far from elegant after her experience with the Gretorex family. Was it that in my mother’s passionate embrace she felt a warmth of love that she had hitherto missed? It may be, but I ralhfer think it was owing to the in fluence which Dr. Molesworth’s strange, sad eyes had updn her even at that •arly day. “He was my mother’s physician and had been in the habit of visiting her daily. On this day he came as usual, and receiving no reply to his knock fancied that my mother was asleep, and so ooened the door softly and came in. "The first we knew of his presence he was before us, and as we had sup posed the door locked, we were utterly taken by surprise, and were as we thought lost, for my sister was without her veil and I was standing by her side in a position to bring out the like ness between us to its fulleet extent. "But Genevieve, who had most to lose, showed neither chagrin nor alarm. Now when the w'hole matter had been explained, as it presently was by my mother, did she utter one protest or seem in any way distressed. She had looked at the doctor and he had looked at her, and as the fruit of that look Genevieve Gretorex became a changed woman. "I did not suspect it at first, but gradually the truth dawned upon me and I marveled. For not only could I see nothing in the doctor especially attractive, but I did see in the pros pect which her expected marriage open ed out before her all that a woman’s heart could desire, were she poor as myself or rich as my more favored sis ter. “For I was often at Mr. Gretorex’s house now, and in one of my visits I had seen Dr. Cameron, and though I was too filled with the idea that he was the destined bridegroom of my sis ter to understand the feelings which his kind eyes and frank smile awakened. I did not think there was anything more In the world for Genevieve to aak for, ind compared more than ever her gay and glorious existence with the sad and desolate one promised me by my moth- »r s rapidly approaching death. •But she showed no such satisfaction with her lot, but rather looked with en vy upon mine, which she called a free one. And so the days went by and my mother's end grew near, and finally the very' day came, and Genevieve did not know it and could not come if she did. for others were grouped about that bed, and we could not both stand there with out our secret being disclosed. "Yet I felt that my mother would nev er die happy without seeing her, and loving my mother, I took at last a sudden resolve, and whispemig in her car that I would fetch her darlihg I left her with a look of gratitude on her face, and going by the shortest road to Mr. Gretorex’s house, happily found my sister at home. When I proposed that she should put on my cloak and hat and thus equipped, go back to my moth er's side for the blessing there await ing her, she seized upon the idea' with avidity and lost no time in carrying out this plan, though it meant the leaving of myself in her place. "She went and met her fate, for the doctor was in that room of death; and when all was over—for my mother died on Genevieve’s breast—he took her to his heart and told her that he loved her and asked her to be his wife. Do not think he did this under any mis apprehension as ot who she was. He knew the rich woman from the poor girl no matter in what garb she was ar rayed. I ftay rich woman, but I do not mean that Julius Molesworth was mer cenary, exactly. He had no great long ing for money, nor would his love have faltered if she had come to him com pletely penniless. "But what he did feel was the dis tinction which money had created about her; the consciousness that she was a rich man's daughter, and must give up a lordlv home and surroundings the most delightful, if she would come to him. And his pride reveled in this thought and created a halo about her till he thought he loved her. and what was worse, made her think he did. “For she loved him wholly and with out any reserve, and^was wretched at the prospect of keeping her engagement to Dr. Cameron, and asked me more than once if I could see any way out of it. But I could not. The prepara tions for marriage were being made, and every ^me looked forward to a great and splendid wedding. What else could she do but fulfill the expectations of people! And yet it all seemed dread ful; for wit^ a pertinacity that argued hope, she stnl cherished her interest in Dr. Molesworth, sending him messages and keping him. as it were, waiting for the answer his indecision promised. At last she told me what the situation | had suggested to her. Heedless of the astonishment, the delight, the confu sion into which her words threw me, she pointed out the ease with which matters could be arranged if she were in my place, and I in hers. And then j between laughter and earnest, looked | at me and said: "I have had my due share of what you call the pleasures of wealth. Sup pose you now take yours.’ "It was a thought which at once found echo in my weak and dissatisfied breast. The old longings, the old jealousy, the old sense of having been supplanted in my rights by a freak of the woman who chose the infant whom my mother meant to keep, rushed upon me with re doubled force; and though I could not think she would lend herself seriously to such a scheme, I found myself thrill ing and blushing as if it had been a reality I contemplated, instead of some humorous supposition. "She noticed this, and laughing with the first touch of true merriment I had ever detected in her voice, proposed that we should experiment a little. So having interchanged our clothing, we subjected ourselves to the tests already described in my sister’s diary, and find ing them so unexpectedly successful be gan to consider in real earnest the question as to whether we might not interchange positions without danger of detection. "The idea once cherished held us enthralled. Neither could part from it, and though my risk seemed the greater I felt within me such a glow of cour age—you will probably call it presump tion—that I only asked for the moment to come when I might throw aside the garb and habits of poor dreaming Mil dred Farley forever and be in truth ^hat I hafi so often seen myself in fan cy, the elegant and gracious lady who called Mr. and Mrs. Gretorex father and mother, and would soon call that man of men, Dr. Cameron, by the still dear er title of husband. For I may acknowl edge it now, my whole girlish fancy was filled with the image of my sister’s betrothed, though I had only seen him for a few passing moments. I had that feeling for him which comes but once to girl and woman, and though it lacked depth, as any such mere dream must do, it possessed that fervor which lends an ideal glow to the most everyday experiences. What, then, did it not add to that prospective moment when un der every influence calculated to charm an ambitious nature, I was to make this sudden leap from poverty to riches, la bor to ease, and what moved me more than all the rest, from a state of great insignificance to a position that would call forth every latent energy of my soul. "My sister was equally in earnest, but had more apprehension than I. I consequently studied to keep her spir its up. and succeeded, especially after I had had a successful interview with Mr. and Mrs. Gretorex and Dr. Cameron. This last, which w r e naturally dreaded most, had been a real triumph,' and placed me in a condition of content that njade all and everything I had to do, easy. "You have heard already something about the final preparations we made. I will, therefore, add no more to this por tion of my tale than the assurance that I never regarded the part I was to play, lightly. That I knew what would be required of me and did my utmost to meet those requirements. That I gave what time I had td study, and subjected myself in all regards to my sister’s criti cism and advice. And when, in pursu ance of our plan, we stole away to gether, and taking rooms in a strange town, poured our souls into one another, so to speak, it was with the intent on my part to honor with every grace and virtue of which I was capable the posi tion 1 was about to assume. To Be Continued Monday. By JOHN JAMESON. I T was a monument, as large as a suburban garden, as tall as a fac tory chimney, covered with vege tables, fruits and flowers, twigs and foliage. It was quite a garden, in deed, and only needed -a table and a few chairs to make the resemblance perfect. It had cost its weight m gold. It was the most magnificent hat in the world. Etienne had been waiting for it ill morning, impatient and feverish. She was going on a visit to the Males- troux! Immensely rich people, and Etienne did not want to be less styl ishly dressed than their daughter. And at last the hat came In an enor mous box, which it was almost im possible to get through the door. And now Etienne was standing in front of her mirror, her Ups pressed tightly together, and tried to put It on right. At last she was satisfied and fas tened it with two enormous hatpins as long as foils. "Do you think it look® chic?’’ she asked her mother, who came in ju3t then. "Yes—but don’t you think It Just a little too large?’’ "Why, mother, you won’t call that a large hat; It is just medium sized. Besides, large hats are the only ones that are becoming to me." "Well, I suppose you ought to know,” said Mme. Laurier. “But hur ry up, now, dear. It Is nearly 5 and we must not keep them waiting." When they got down to the car riage, it was found that it was neces sary to open it, as Etienne could not possibly get through the door. "It must be a large hat, you must admit, Etienne, when you can not get into a carriage with it,” said Mm \ Laurier. "Oh. you do not know what you are talking about, mother. It the latest style and everybody will tell you so.” "Everybody? Hardly I I know at least one who will not like it, I am sure.” "Who?” "Koger.” "Of course, he won’t. He always has unpleasant things to say about everything.’’ Roger Marcy was a childhood friend of Etienne’s. They had always been together. But lately they were both inclined to say unpleasant things whenever they met, and Mme. Laurier. tCho had always hoped they would marry, had quite given up all hope of it now. Her prophecy proved correct. As soon as they had arrived at Males- troux’si Etienne found herself face to face with Roger, who exclaimed: "Milles tonnerres! What an enor mous hat. Doesn't it make you feel as if you were in the country? Quite a pleasant sensation, I am sure, when you are in Paris in midwinter.” "Don’t you think it Is chic and stylish?” "Awful! It is monstrous.’’ "But I can’t wear anything but large hats." . "I never met anyone else who thinks so.” "But I won’t wear any other kirid.” “Are you quite sure?” Etienne did. not mind that Roger criticised her ideas, plans and actions, or even her taste in literature, but that he should criticise her taste in dressing hurt her vanity. “I tell you, I shall never wear any other kind of hats,” she said, and stamped her foot, "and you last of all are able to make me change my taste.” "Just wait and see,” he said. "I ; will bet you anything you like that some day I shall make you wear a pretty little hat.” "Is It a bet?” "Yes.” "Good. I accept." The two young people parted with out saying good-bye. Usually Roger was not affected by anything, but to-day his heart was beating like a trip hammer when he went to see Etienne, with whom he had not exchanged a word since they parted, two months before. He was sorry that he had annoyed her. Why did it amuse him to be un pleasant to her? She was beautiful, charming and bright. And he knew vf/ry well that he could not do with out her. He racked his brain to find a way to make up with her, and when he thought he had found one he went to a florist’s and bought a bouquet of flowers. He hud been waiting five minutes when Etienne came in. “Why, I had no idea it was you. How nice of you to come to see us." She, too, had come to the same re sult and was anxious to make up, and her little heart went thumping when she saw him. "I have come to have a serious talk with you, Etienne.” "Really?” "Yes, and I may as well admit that I do not know how to begin. When two people have known each other as long as we have there are things that are very difficult to say. You are ftfraid they will not be taken se riously. Will vou promise not to laugh at me, Etienne?" "That I will, Roger.” "Then, listen! I love you, IStienne. love you with all the strength of my heart and I want you to be even CHICHESTER S PILLS 1IIK DIAMOND HKANB. Ls4Im( Ask 7«ui “ < hUket-lcr’i IMi Tills In R»4 and l>o*-s, sealed with Take no other. Huy or joai BriSflat. Avk for CIM-< 'll;KB-TFRU piaVond khaki* nuVr,;“ & years k nown as Best, Safest. A1 ways Reliabls SOLD BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHERE These pictures represent the latest fads, fancies and freaks of the Paris imagination run riot. Every one is just enough over done to be impossible for the woman of refined good taste— and yet a little less over-orna mentation and over-accentua tion might easily remove them from the freak class to the smart and chic order, thereby making them possible on any American street. The first figure is an outgrowth of the lampshade overskirt: from a hip yoke that ends in a' broad tuck there are two six-inch ac cordion plaitings that stand out about the knee like a little child’s starched petticoats. Narrow black moire ribbon starts under the Eton collar and ties in with the front bow of the girdle sash. Figure 2 has a “weskit” coatee and under panel in the slit skirt developed in flowered chintz. The little vest and un dersleeves of moussline add a dainty touch to a costume that becomes too daringly large through the suggestive line and arrangement of the underskirt. The girl of Figure 3, with her broad caped military coat caught loosely about her, wears one of the new Spanish sailors tip-tilted a bit too much. But for the woman of clear-cut features and sense enough to wear her hat on her head instead of her right ear, the Spanish sailor offers a very attractive solution of the outing hat problem. Figure 4 wears one of the very objectionable new “Botticelli” figure dresses. It is of white net heavily embroidered in Colbert work and made over a charmeuse foundation. Both skirt and waist-line are slightly elevated in front, and the result is the new slouch figure on exagger ated lines. The wide girdle of cherry satin widens at one side to meet the V-neck with cross set rows of tulle, as a finish at the throat. —Ohl VETTJS. more than a friend t*> me. I want you to be my wife, Etienne.” She did not answer. He took her silence to mean a refusal and said: "I see, then, that you do not love me.” "You are mistaken,” she said hotly. “I love you, too, but that knowledge has come to me so suddenly, as if a veil in front of my eyes had sudden ly been torn asunder.” "Then you will accept my little bouquet ?” She opened the tissue paper. "You see what flowers those are. Just a few orange blossoms to put in your hair—the smallest but also the prettiest hat in all the world. Will you wear It?” Etienne’s eyes beamed as she replied: "1 will wear it, Roger, on aur wedding day.” Woman Every Is Interacted aad should know about the wonderful Marvel Douche Ask roerdrnreiet for if he oannot sup ply the MARVEL, accept no other, but Bend stamp for book. lteuL£ktiAiaiiUI.L “The moods of love are like the wind; “Ami none know whenee or why they rise.** —COVENTRY PATMORE. j 4 Y f >w,” writes some lover ev- ery day in the week, “can I tell if she loves me?” "He Is very nice to me and wants to be with me every evening, but he never says a word about love,” writes some distressed little girl. "How can I tell if he loves me? What are the signs of love?” They are as varied and interesting and uncertain as the signs of a storm or a fair day, and no one can de scribe the symptoms in one man’s case that will apply to the symptoms in another. Love is not like the measles. "Love,” rhymes Pakenham Beatty, "comes to some with smiling eyes and comes with tears to some; for some Love sings, for some Love sighs, for some Love’s lips are dumb." Two persons will stand before a wonderful scene. One will burst into exclamations of pleasure and admira tion, exhausting his vocabulary and growing almost maudlin in his at tempt to express his delight. The other will stand dumb with awe at the miracle, yet no one may say that his admiration is less than his noisy neighbor’s. ^ Some Signs. It is the same with Love. Some laugh from morning till night, and pass into dreamland with smiles on their faces, and others seern almost paralyzed through awe of this great wonder that life has brought them. And there are others who will agree with John P. Brown, who wrote: "The sign of those who are tormented by Love’s passion is tears; above ali, of that lover who finds none to sym pathize with him.” If there are any who imagine that the dimensions and capacity of the heart may be measured as one meas ures the capacity and dimensions of a cistern, let him learn to the con trary from as great an authority on Love as Marie Corelli: "Facts and figures,” she writes, "can to a certain extent he relied on. but the fluctuating humors and vagaries of a man and woman in love wdth each other are beyond the most precise calculations of the skilled mathematician. For it often happens that when they seem to ba coldest, they are warmest—and cases have been known where they have taken the greatest pains to avoid each other at a time when they have most deeply longed to be together.” The Perverse Imp. Sometimes witn the perversity ot the human heart, which no one can explain or account for, girls and boys assume their w r orst behavior, and are In their most unattractive moQds, when in the presence of those they long to attract. It is as if they put on a garment the seamy side oul w'hen the occasion calls for the finest apparel. The girl who knows the man she loves abominates slang will use more when he is present than on any other occasion. Men are rudest when gen tleness is the trait their lady love* admire most. Loudest when sllencs is more appealing and pugnacious when the little girl whose favor they seek is a lover of peaee. So one may not define this tender passion as if it were as tangible as a spring hat or a rock wall, nor at tempt to describe It. The glorious characteristic of love and its univer sal trait Is that somewhere, some how, it finds expression at last. It may be strangely dumb In the be ginning, so dumb the little heart that waits for its avowal begins to ache, but the dumbest love breaks silence at last, and when the time comes the Joy more than compensates for the waiting. To be sure that it is love, the lore for life, and not the little Imp which masquerades as love, and which has its origin more In a fervid Imagina tion than In the heart, apply to the sentiment that is crowding every other emotion out of your being, this test poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: “Unless you ean think, when th« song is done. No other is soft in the rhythm; Unless you rani feel, when left by One, That all men else go with him; Unless you t an know, when upraised by his breath, That your beauty itself wants proving; Unless you can swear, ‘For life, or death /*— Oh, fear to call it loving ” The saintly poet, George Herbert had an impatient temper to begin with, but conquered it so completely that no one suspected his early fault. People may say that these exam ples are too high for every day fol lowing. but do we not all know from personal experience of some one among our own friends or dear ones who has achieved a sunny heart by conquest In spite of fiery ordeals, vexations and sorrows; some one whose smile and cheerful words and voice made "sunshine In a shady place?” It may be claimed that this achievement comes only to mature persons. Young persons say "it isn’t easy to look at life that way. We want to enjoy ourselves. We can’t be bothered being helpful and use ful. We have too many worries. We want things and can’t get thepn. ’ Well, what is gained by being discon tented, selfish and growing hard and cold? What is gained in even doing kindnesses grudgingly instead of lov ingly? A young girl is in my mind whose delicate health, vicissitudes of for tune, discouragements and disap pointments never daunted her brave, wholesome spirit. Some one said to her, "when she entered a room her coming was a ray of sunshine.” Something in her winning manner, her voice, her presence, her loving heart, diffused a happy influence and won for her the affection of every one. This bright warm sunshine of the heart is within the reach of all. This element of joyfulness Is well w’orth cultivating. Jean Ingelow writes of it: Take Joy home And make a place in thy great heart for her, And give her time to grow and cher ish her! Then will she come and often sing to thee. By MRS. FRANK LEARNED. Author of "Etiquette In New York To day.” A SECRET in life worth discov ering is how to achieve a sun ny temper. Many persons will say that a sunny temper is a gift, a temperament, a natural endow ment. There are persons who are born with it. Strange to say, they have not always the influence of those who have achieved it by the con quest of irritability, selfishness, ego tism, or by a determination to see the sunshine or the clear blue of the sky in spite of clouds casting shad ows. We know that sunshine iS\ an ex cellent tonic, and that we are/able to do better work in less time when in vigorated by fresh air and sunshine. We are apt to forget that there is a sunshine that is independent of the weather, and we can cultivate living in it for our own Joy and the hap piness of others. It Is the sunshine of a cheerful spirit. Everything is made easier by it ana every one who comes under its influence is helped. Sunshine gi<res color and beauty to the world, health and joy to all living things, and it kills disease germs. The sullen morose, pessimistic person is truly to be pitied in suffering from the disease germs of bad temper, selfishness, moods, grievances, de pressed spirits and a habit of carry ing worries into social life. Very many instances might be given to those who have been of greatest use and influence through achieving a sunny temper. St. Paul w'as naturally Irritable and sharp of speech, but he learned to feel the deepest joy and to give joy. Con stantly in his waitings we find the word "joy.” St. Francis of Assisi charmed a rude age by the bright ness and kindness of his character. The Most Beautiful Hat Extant A Love Story About Feminine Headgear A Sunny Temper KODAKS TIm Blit —4 •stam ina That Oan ft* Sratf Eaobnan Filina and 'on- Plata atocti irautur auppllm. „ .tea for out-of-town ''uatrunara. Send for Catalog and Prloo Lfot. A. K. HAWKES CO. K D °°A* u Whit«h«u at.. Atlanta. Go,