By George Munson
(Copyright, 1916, W. G. Chapman.)
Harry Lawson sighed and, pushing
back the half-finished" letter, looked
drearily out of the hotel window. A
carriage was driving up to the door.
The sun was shining, the trees and
shrubs looked their best that bright
July day. And the letter was to his
fiancee, May Denton.
He sighed again. They had been
engaged nearly a year, and during
that time there had been ample op
portunity for his passion to cool. He
had been a young man of many
sweethearts and he had seen many
new faces since the engagement.
There seemed no chance of marriage
for months to come. And he had
come to the conclusion that it was
all a ghastly mistake.
She had ceased to show interest in
him. Her kisses were perfunctory.
Her letters already had the manner
of the matron. All the romance
which had made her seem the most
wonderful girl in the world had gone
out of their lives.
Yet he told himself that he was
not to blame. He had loved her de
votedly for months. It was the dis
covery that the freshness was worn
off the engagement that started him
thinking. And now he did not know
what to write about
He had gone to the little hotel for
a three days' holiday without telling
her of his plan. He wanted to think
over the situation. Business cares
were thickening around him, and he
felt the necessity of a change of
scene, of being alone even for the
week-end. Then, when he had made
his decision, he would take up the
burden of life again.
Of course it was unthinkable that
he should jilt her. Such an idea had
never entered his mind. But if she,
too, had ceased to care for him if
he could come to that conclusion
He had hinted at it in his let
ter and he had been trying to form
it so that he should not hurt her feel
ings. He would have given anything
to have discovered the state of May's
Suddenly he sat motionless, listen
ing with amazement to two voices
beneath the window. One of them
sounded like May's. At last he rose
and looked cautiously out. One of
two women who had seated -them-
Looking After Them
selves'bn the porch beneath was May
the other was her friend, Julia.
Sandow, whom Harry knew slightly
and had always vaguely disliked. He
had felt that Julia had taken an an
tipathy toward him. He had won
dered whether she had anything to
do with the change in May.
They had evidently just arrived,
for the carriage that had brought
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