New-York tribune. [volume], June 05, 1904, Page 9, Image 35

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"VEAX, wh.. was the Brookdale genius.
; J ru in the happiest n 1 which it is
pvaifenatto experience, as he left
where he had been calling. It
.; white, moonlit night, and he was in love.
A known her only two weeks, to be sate, but
if genius recognises the truth in flashes. He
convinced as lie ran down the little flight
from the terrace to the street that now at
alter twenty-six years his heart had found a
be. his mind an affinity. And Bach a mate -s.
her swaying height and her crown of tine,
r. so adorable with the laughter and the pen
of her violet eyes: Dean was overjoyed t.>
I thai there were violet eyes in a world where be
. ': >;>ent twenty-six years seeing only bine and brown
And how captivating was the faint, mysterious
ng i 'f her lips!
Dean shuddered to think what life might
been for him had not Clarice oome to
visit her cousin. Mrs. Tail .ell. He must have
down to his grave without having once
known the joy of utter ounprt heiision. i i
-he understood! How delicately -he
expressed her understanding — with a sigh, a
quick lifting of her heavy, fringed lids, a
mule, a note struck on the piano!
Word-, lie felt, looking Lack at the mel
lowly lighted windows, were almost mm
between them. Was he a Philistine.
that he must wait for the banalities <-f
speech? She had ronfreand her love — -he
knew that she had nonfrssfd it — with •
abandon, what reserve, with generosity,
what dignity! —when she had turn«l to him
suddenly after her exquisite playing of that
song of Schubert, and had lifted to him ■
that had all the longing • >f the music in their
depths. Perhaps that was tin- moment for
■ 'ken— that breathless, thr
bing moment in which he realized the truth
L 1 both of them. Hut no' Speech w<
ned that wordless avowaL To
morrow he would go and would offer hi •
tlu- formal currency of talk the devotion of
hi- life, the fruit of his genius. He ■
a>k her to play again f< >r him : he * •
rat the piano, and at the moment
a ■ 'i yearning swelled
•lie mu-i< . he would cover her hands uj
'ie keys and he Would say — -
It seemed to Dean that a soft, little lav
$ mded on the air when be had peached this
I nt in his plan. It was Rose's laugh with
gentle, sisterly jeer in it: and Rose's
supplied his declaration; "Yes, what
will you take to stop playing? I offer you
my hand, my heart, my life—" Conf<
Rose! She always mocked. To be sure, she
had always mocked tenderly!
■! was about to turn the corner. H<
Jo. .ked back for a moment's farewell to the
shrine. But the window> were already dark.
And '.t seemed to him that Ro-c- voice said:
" 1. en an aninity must have beauty sleep,
dear boy!** He was irritated. Rose, even in
the -peeches which his imagination supplied
her. should be more sympathetic.
Still, it was going to be hard on Rose. He
and she had been so much together all 'heir
lives. It had come of l>eing next-door neigh*
bors. of omrse. She would undoubtedly feel
such hurt as one who is a favorite sister feds
when the inevitable moment eumes of -ur
rendering her brother to the conquering
woman. He must try to assuage that
hurt f<»r Ro-e. He would tell her — in a sonn-'.
TH-rhaps, for he felt that he had a wry pretty -kill
with sonnets — how dear she was to bun, how dear
she always would be, how integral a : art of his life.
" Think iv t. .liar frifli. that with \h> fade,"
he began. Then he rememl>ered that Rose frequently
smiled at his sonnets. Confound Rose! And yet. and
yet. she would suffer He must break it to her very,
very gently.
There was a light shining in the sitting-room of the
Fallows' house. Perhaps Rose was still up. If -he
was, what time so lit as this for telling her the news
that friendship was down and out, and that love
had come? He could never fed more fluent, more
ncing more inspired. He Stood on the sidewalk
gave the whistle that they had used from childhood
to (all each other to conference. Against the curtain
v.a instantly silhouetted a Blender figure. Then the
curtain ran up. Rose was at home. It was the signal
that he might enter. By the way, he- had not seen
R in two weeks. He did not remember when ln-forc
SUNDAY MAGAZINE for JUNE 5. 1904
By Aiminie O'Mag^ini
bo long a period had elapsed between their meetings.
Rose would be hurt. He must break it to her very,
very gently.
She opened the door f< >r him herself.
"It is disgracefully late." she said. "I am sitting
up t<>r lather. He's gone to the primaries. Stay until
he r. i!!ii - 1 i.uk "
He followed her into the shabby, bright, orderly
pitting room Oppressed with the sense of the im
portance '•!" his communication, he was dumb. He
looked at her silky, brown head, direct, gray eves
with no trick of \uU >r lashes, sensitive mouth that
had something pathetic in its bravery and merriment.
Urn Found Hiro^c-lf on Ili^ ttri..-. li.fwrtr Her
Father and the primaries indeed! Father and the
dull and the bar and the gaming table thereof! That
was what made the lips s<> tremulous. And be did
not recall wring Rose so pale in a lonjy time.
"You're tired. Rose,'" h<- began accusingly.
A flush ran over Rose's face. Then she laughed:
"You didn't whittle to tell me that."
Rom.- was often subtly irritating, with that habit of
hers of brushing aside preliminaries and jjoin^ straight
to the heart of things. Dean, obstinate, suddenly
believed that he had come in chiefly to see how she
looked.
"I came in just for that," he declared. Then Rose
looked him full in the face, and he felt the folly of
lying to h<-r. or indeed to himself in her presence.
Her father must have been uncommonly bad lately.
She was even more worn than he had at tirst perceived.
Hang the man! Why should he worry Rose? Why
should anyone hurt Rose' He himself, Dean, must
be very careful, very gentle with her, the little sister
of his heart.
Hi- began: "You're rijjht, Ro3e dear. You always
He began: "You're ri^ht, Ro^e dear. You always
PI <li.l come in to till you something else.
t I hate to see you looking so white
and worn. We've been friends and chums
so k>ng that I feel— oh, you know— a pro
prietary regard for you."
Rose gave her attention to the stocking she was
"Of course." she said "We both feel that way."
"Nothing that affects you can ever be indifferent
to me." pursued Dean, warming to his work. "And
nothing that affects me, I know, can be indifferent
to you."
"Nothing," said Rose, but in the middle of the word
there was a fall from matter-of-fact assent to— what
sort <»f loneliness and yearning? Surely he must be
very gentle with her!
He was. He was a bit long-winded in reaching his
point; but Rose seemed content to listen
while he recalled each bond that united them
— the joint crimes, the joint punishments, of
childhood, the simultaneous epidemics in
both nurseries, the quarantine that threw
them entirely upon each other. His heart
grew tenderer and tenderer as he remem
bered.
"It was you who drove me to ell, -go
when I was for loafing at home and embark
ing at once upon literature -you haven't
forgotten that I"
"Oh, you w.mld have gone anyway!"
"And you who mad.- me send those first
little essays to the 'Millenium.' \<>u always
liked my critical work better than my
poetry, Rost — I mean my verses."
Ro ■■ dimpled. "And don't the editors?"
she asked.
11. could not be wounded by her raillery.
He could ii"! ■ ■ break the spell which
reminiscences had woven by delivering an
oration on the crudeness of the editorial
standard in ver c !!■■ was going to tell her
that- all the intimate, common life was end-
It w.is noi for him to take offense,
eyes, v md the ro. .m,
idenly caught sight of a photograph on
the man lei shelf. He pave a little exclama
■ isure as he mo\ ed t< ward it.
"Why, it's Brownson, g 1. old Brown
■ ' ' he cried.
V- ," said X' • •■ |uietly.
".\ new one! When did he send it?"
"He br< iught it. He came home last week
i m a ■ isit."
"And never cam.- near me!" There was
real hurt in Dean's voice
"Hi- was hire f. >r only our day, and you.
I thmk. were very much engaged, very
busy," said Rom- quietly. "Hi- has had a
call to a church in Minneapolis. He wanted
to talk it over with- with someone — "
"With you. you mean!" cried Dean, sud
denly furious.
"Well then, with me," answered Rose.
There was tense defiance in her low voice,
in her very calmness of bearing. Dean
stared at her. heavily. Was he to be shut
out of her interest, to be put away, to be
detached, for this man in Minneapolis? He
would not bear it!
"Did you — oh, why don't you tell me*
Why do you put me through this torture of
uncertainty? Are you going to Minneapolis?
Are you — "
"You have no right to talk to me in
this way." declared Rose.
"No right ?" sneered Dean. "No, I suppose
not! With a woman the notary's seal must be anixed
to a bond of friendship before she will acknowledge that
it has any rights. No right? What unworthy non
sense you talk! You know that I haye 1 You know
that if you throw me over now — Ah. Rose, you know
I love you! I can't lose you. I can't give you up.
You are ali that holds me to sanity and goodness and
Belf-respect. Don't tell me, don't tell me that— Till
me whatever is true, dear. I'm an unmanly beast 1 "
Rose's eyes were shining, and her face upturned to
his was like a flower in sudden sunshine.
"Ah, you foolish, foolish, blind one!" she laughed.
Anil her laugh was the very essence of love and longing.
Dean realized, in some substratum of his mind,
that it was grotesquely out of date, but he found
himself on his knees before her, her hands in his.
"You know that I'm a selfish fool. Rose, a poser, a
sentimentalist, not worthy of you for a second?"
"I know that you're all I want," whispered Rose.
"And that — oh my dear, my dear'" she sobbed,
burying her face upon his shoulder, "I have been so
unhappy, am! so jealous!"
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