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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!" 9