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011CE m a LIFETimE 1 ” ***“-_ > N Illvitrationt by Charlet La Salle SHE DREW AWAY QUICKLY. SOMEONE WAS COMING DOWN THE MOONLIT PATH A down-to-earth kind of person soars to glamorous heights — for a moment by Matt Taylor // ■ T’s all right — really," Frank I Garvin said to his wife. I "Why not invite him here?” 1 He had lowered his paper, and was staring straight ahead across the lake from his big chair on the porch. She stood behind him, frowning. "Are you that sure of me, Frank?" she said. "I'm that sure of realities. You can keep a dream alive for five years only because it is a dream. It’s that long since you've seen Bruce. He was a glamorous, interesting young artist then. You thought you were in love — ” »HI7„ ...-Tfiihn/ln'tkum for that silly quarrel — ” He nodded gravely. “We’ll say, then, that you were in love. But not seeing him, you’ve idealized him. You’re only in love with the mem ory of him now — and memory can play shabby tricks. So I’d rather you’d meet him. I’ll lay my bet on reality. If I win, you’ll be happier with me. And if I lose — well, it’s your life. Peg.” She smiled down at him. He was a thick-set man of thirty, perpetu ally calm and logical and wise. For a woman who sought security, there was no better husband. He was the most dependable of men. She had married him for security, after the broken bits of her inspired romance had crashed at her feet. Knowing the truth, and content with it, he had accepted her. He was the kind who did not ask too much of life. “You’re being terribly decent about this,” she said quietly. "No more than you. Some women would have seen him clandestinely. They'd scheme and plot, and that’s the surest way to make a mess of things. You told me the first time he phoned after he came back from abroad.” “I had made up my mind I would never see him.” But you ve wan tea to. 1 coma ten. “Yes—I'm afraid I have,” she said thoughtfully. "It’s insane. Because I have you and you're — ” He gave a growl and waved his hand. “I’m the down-to-earth kind. And most people, especially women, want to soar on wings.” "Can’t they — ever?” she asked. “Not many, I’m afraid. Our kind of life — the steady, level-headed kind — that's what most marriages are. I've been content with it, Peg. I want you to be. The other thing — the up-in-the-clouds tiring — is only for some people. They’re the lucky — or the unlucky — ones. I don’t know which.” “But I'm not one of them?” “If you’ll invite him here,” he said calmly, “we may find out." They rode together to meet the morning train. Bruce was coming with his young sister, Jean, who was sharing his Park Avenue apartment with him. He had been very success ful abroad. The invitation had gone through Jean. Peg Garvin still thought of her as Bruce's awkward and shy kid sister, although they had met occasionally in recent years. They were a distinctive couple, that brother and sister, among the crowd of distinctive people who piled from the train at the lake resort station. He was tall, perfectly groomed, and eager as a boy. The girl was pretty, but more subdued. Garvin, holding back a little, watched casually as Peg greeted the sister, and extended her hand to Bruce. Then he came forward, calm and unhurried. “I’m mighty glad you could come,’’ he said evenly, returning Bruce a smile. They rode home together as though it were to be the most inconsequential of week-ends. Peg suggested a swim after lunch; but Garvin, pleading that the water chilled him so early in the season, sat it out. He sat with Bruce’s sister, who said she did not swim, and they talked, stretched out on deck chairs. He watched Peg, a vivid, flashing figure in her green suit, and the tall, blond Bruce, as they dove together from the wharf and later sat on the float. Garvin smiled un concernedly, and chatted with the quiet, thoughtful girl beside him. Before he realized it, the others were back, calling to him to dress for dinner. They tried some bridge that evening, but the game soon palled. Peg and Bruce strolled forth to see the lake by moonlight, and Garvin and the girl were alone again. She remem bered him. she said, from the commuter's train years ago. She had been attending art school in the city when he was starting in business. “But you never noticed me,” she said. “I was such a gawky kid.” “I was afraid of girls then, couldn’t talk to them Never learned, for that matter.” The others rejoined them. "You weren’t gone long,” Garvin said. Peg looked at him with some surprise. “It was more than an hour,” she informed him. They played golf the next day. Peg and Bruce were partners, and they went another eighteen by themselves after the others quit. Garvin and Jean loafed on the clubhouse porch. Back at the house, they dressed hurriedly and returned for the club's dinner dance. It was late in the evening when Garvin, dancing with Jean, noticed that the other two had disappeared. "The garden is pretty at night,” he explained, smiling. “Shall we have a look?” Jean said. They walked slowly across the lawns, and looked through trees upon the lake. Garvin stopped short and threw away his cigarette. He turned to the girl. She stood beside him quietly, as though waiting. In the moonlight he could see her serious grey eyes quite dearly ... What happened was a tremendous surprise to him. He drew her toward him, and kissed her eagerly. He experienced then, a unique sensation. Never before had he been free of this earth; never before had he been so completely uncalmed, illogical, and unwise. He stepped away, breathless. She met his frightened eyes gravely, with a faint, tender smile. “You do understand, don’t you. Jean?” he said. QHp nnHHoH clrtu/lv “AnH nnHprktanH^" “Jean!” He moved toward her, but she drew away quickly. Someone was coming down the moonlit path. It was Peg, who gave Garvin a quick, re assuring smile, and turned to Jean. "I’m so sorry,” she said. “We'll have to leave. Bruce says he’s had a wire. They 'phoned from the house, I believe. There's a late train, and Bruce thinks he'd better ...” They had shaken hands all around. Mr. and Mrs. Garvin stood at the platform and waved to their departing guests. Jean, at the win dow, raised her hand in a feeble salute as the train began to move. Bruce, beside her, his face dark and sullen, gave a thin smile and looked away. Peg settled back in the car beside her hus band. “He’s gone!” she said. "Oh, I’m so glad!” She laughed lightly. "I hurt his vanity, Frank. He was like a spoiled child.” Garvin raced the car and threw it into high gear. you were rigni, clear, sne saia, noiamg his arm. "And I was so wrong. Dreams are tricky things. I could never love him. I could never give you up, dear!” "No,” he said gruffly. "Of course not.” The train whistle came to them. It sounded rather plaintive in the night. "Down-to-earth is best, Frank,” she said. ' ‘The other may come to some people, but ” — she clung more firmly to his arm, for she knew now how much she needed him — "but not to us.” The train whistle was very faint. Garvin kicked at the accelerator and the motor’s hum swelled, so that he could not hear the train. "No.” he said grimly. “Not to us.” For he was the most dependable of men. Tim End