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\ PSYCHICAL ROMANCE.
A Love Story. 0„ :>s had never appalled John He hid overcome a goodly p ;n strugle to make his for - it material obstructions were ff,,; nt from the intangible barrier which now confrorrt . -id caused an abrupt stoppage ,, ^ eager wooing. . . b >a a fi^sh and blood rival ‘w ,m he was called upon to cope. ! w,-a. ! have marshaled his forces I ,... - *r 1 to rout the enemy in ' but this e the rial presence birti and set at naught all his -■n \nrrfences. \ rv sorry, John, but you ■ ! ; ,v it is.” Dorothy said, d not understand and said so. n> a--'ired him that she liked v .~r tlv'.n any earthly man, and ■ 5.une breath informed him r is impossible for her to marry . is for thousands of years been spiritually wedded to Or •ved in the next higher plane, turies she had been gradually v - par r it* Orion's world, and % ‘l-*’ h, r nr sent earthly life, she , : . living singly here, progress «:> ti.s sphere. ’v>'".'i-- common-sense, practical t w.is puzzled. * v ! > 1 m an to say that you in - ..'r to marry in—er well—this \ s-.ence?" John asked. • uopese you had not found out , > ether world fellow, you , kept your promi;-: and mar , \ " John in»iuired. v had made several attempts to , ir her position, and this time determined to understand it, ‘ ’ i as much as his ordinary intellect r then answered, slowly: V v l suppose so. It would have1 r error, bti^ then all mortals com • errors.” smiled grimly, th'n rather rong-ly said: ! Rvmj to me that if Orvon had *• n k.nd enough to wait for you so ’ -is he oer'ainly could not object to i • nsirr} nc me. for I do not expect tii . ve one century.” mi Jvhn! How can you talk so? T h ive already been so sensible. I i «f! v i would -urely understand,” c ed Dorothy, in a hurt voice. ! hr. made no answer. He fingered v .v silently for a few minutes, gaz rg earnestly a" the maker’s name in t of inspiration. At las: he rose. Poro.hy glanced at him furtively. T •? wus a suspicion of tears in her f ;i: blue eyfcs. "Must you go?” she ask'd timidly. John ’coked down at the golden dead th igt fully. "I think l might as well.” wi^h you comprehended me bet Maybe you would if you should 1 this." and she held out Marie Cor * Romance of Two Worlds.” I snould think i: wou.d take years ' t • : ling and htnking on all abstruse no : to reach your fate.” J-o'hn re p'ed; btrt he took the book. Oh ' Net *t all It is so ,np>. If you w »uld only h come or.e of us veu would be much happier, and perhaps— rerhaps yv>*i migh1 find your twin flame « is waiting for you and then-” Dor v -poke eagerly, bu: John interrupt ed her. "No, Dorothy. T might, study from row until I were an Old man and l j II beiicv' that i* was preordained i" Dorothy Wilton was to be my wife.” he spoke lightly, but his eyes i ' grave. “But. good-hv. Do:. I’m g back to San Francisco to-mor r v ” and he held out his hand. N’er so soon!" she cried anxiously, i s lid you had come home to stay, go. Let’s be friends as we used to he” \ ' rfo all women insist upon re : g tvje mI lovers as friends. I T . r?" John asked. fbr you have always been my he?t ’’ ■ John. I thought you would up d m® in this. JVhen fr ~ her objected to my joining Prof. ' las*. I always said you would ?-p eve r oven thought you might • ms.- The last was spok-'n in a r oning rope. i win join tne oin humbug ? (lood-by,” and he was gone. ■ TV^'hy. John only called Prof. - a humbug. but in his mind h> i h:m all the opprobrious ho could recall. v i’ was bard on John. John a n live with pretty Mo Wilton ' ■ a boy. When he left Boston , ' s,'h 'ol and wen: West ro mak-' his T • Pc-rothy had prom s d to be his v [ ; Wilton shook their !' i ’hirkrng that as both were s n i were likely ro be separated : •* Pme, that time would ei.h r iha- the r affection was but a - 0l:- of that, standing the best | ' ar. 1 s-pan., ion. would prove i ’ si. did not. interfere. , , tPn years John came hack to : ' cirl sweetheart grown to a " -mart. Shortly before his ■ •k Perothy had joined a class in j r 'nd socie*ies for psychical . S te had become thoroughly . wh their principles and was • convinced that she. like Zara, in mtn.-e of the Two Worlds.” ned to go through this lifa - 1 S»: 1« I bv her spirru.i! af- i v- v Or von. Wilton besought her daughter ■peculiar." and John exhaust :: ' powers of reason and per B’tt Dorothy was firm, hap- ‘ ' '-‘lief tha' Orvon. taking cog ;v' her heroic struggles, smiled and spoke words of eneour to her in her dreams, tended the class regularly. | , ; . " rewarded by walking home Porothy and dining at the Wil rr,- distressing question of ? John was settled, Dorothy be , ' " old bright self and rarely subjects other than mundane. ° of rhings might be delight 1 k-rothy, but John writhed in >• very gay in Boston that win , 1 Pa‘>-nt John had his doses of -ji sweetened by balls, at which V danced as gayly as though n<* ne' r soared to regions un r :n jacked his brain for some con argument It never occurred • V ' !’bt that sooner or later her r: ' -d end, hut he wanted to hasten l had a private talk with Prof. John announced one evening. 1 know he must have helped *: .rT?ade a face.Dorothy always ilim as though he were a sick attach in need of aid. 1 He convinced me that I have John watched Dorothy an affinity." as he spoke. -I am so glad.” and Dorothy drop ped the pile of music she was examin ing. John was thankful for an opportun ity to hide his face. While he slowly gathered up the music, he continued: ‘ Her spirit name is Aveil.” ••Then he released your spirit, and now you kuow how it is to have your other se'.f n another sphere.” John looked up quickly, but instant ly turned again to the music. Did he only fancy that Dorothy's tone was ra-h^r relieved when she found that his affinity was not earthly? At times John hated himself for the remarkable experience he related to Dorothy. Rut he quoted Aveil at all opportune and inopportune moments. It was with secret satisfaction that he noted the forced interest Dorothy ac corded to these recitals. He also ob served that she was greatly disturbed that her message- from Orvon werj becoming less frequent than of old. At last John concluded that the time for his master-stroke had arrived. He presented himself one evening with a very serious face. "Dorothy, 1 have bad nows,” he said, sorrowfully. “You are not going away?” anx iously. “Worse than that.” “Do tell me what it is,” Dorothy im plored. "Aveil has deserted me,” John an nounced solemnly. Dorothy did not seem greatly im pressed. A relieved look came into hot startled eyes. “You mean she has ceased to guide you. 1* will he only for a short time. You must endeavor to give more atten tion to a higher plane of thought, and Dorothy smiled serenely. “No. Aveil came to m; herself and gave me my release.” "Yes,” sympathetically. "She discovered that my neari "as divided and so advised me to follow her good example by mating with somo one on my own plane.” Dorothy blushed and grew confused. In all h*r psychic exp rience she had never heard anything so extraordinary. She knew that nun were but mortal, and at times grew weary of worshiping at the shrine of a far-off star; but that the more enlightened being of a higher world should counsel such a proceed ing was astounding. "Orvon has not been with me as con stantly as he used to be.” sh? said" slow ly. "I fear tha; earthly pleasures have so engrossed my mind that he is dis pleased." John was possessed- with an unholy desire to laugh uproariously. Had he been a woman he would have consid ered that he was bordering on hysteria. 1 was so ridiculously incongruous. Do t thy’s tone and words and Dorothy's dimpled face. His voice had a faint tinge, of laughter in it as he said: "Dorothy, 1 fear cur heavenly guard ians have conspired against us. Av il has deserted n: for one who claims that his ear aly s€*lf has not taken him seri ously enough. And isn’t it strange, his j nam= is Orvon?” With a despairing cry. “Orvon!” Do rothy fell sens less at John’s feet. John had not calculated how deep a root even an unnatural fancy could take in a sensitive, highly strung mind. He lookM in dismay at the effect of his words. All through the week that Dorothy shut h* rself up with her rent illusion and refused to see him John called him - -If a "brute” and vowed that if she . vrr forgave him she might join all the societies for the cultivation of a stato proper o induce communications with ch-T planets and he would be content. But John had not yet learned that it . easier to shatter an idol than to rear one. For 'he vmo being Dorothy’s light hearted gayety was dispelled, and try as she might she could not again enter the happy’* tram of mind fr >m which she had been sorud ly shaken. She was like a child who. when same teoprac'lcal person destroys its bclici in Santa (Mans, vainly tries to restore tha eld illusion, bur finds it impossible. At firs; she shrank from John as thi mrhor of all her sufferings, but soon •die began to pi y him: and at last, when .1 hn went back to San Francisco, Do mtiiv went with him.—St. Louis Repub lic. o WHO IS DR. OTTMAN? Dr. Ottman. formerly of New York, now of Columbus. O., is recognizor! and acknowledged as one of the foremost spoojaljs's of the age. His knowledge - medicine and its application in the curing of all functional and organic d:> was rained by years of tedious toil in many of the best hospitals of >' h the old and new world, together w h an extended and thorough course in the best schools of medicine jn the world. He not only is peculiarly fitted by this knowledge, but combines with it in a marked degree, an inherent and in born natural ability. So great is this made manifest that the sufferer whom h > ♦ let 3 to treat Is indeed fortunate, for almost invariably he effects a cure even though the ailing one may have de spaired of hope—been given up by oth ers to die. Dr. Ottman has yielded to .he importuning of friends and patients alike, and consented to visit this com munity. aff rding a 'hance to thus-' who desire it to consult freely with him. He will visit Bridgeport. Sherman House. Tu sday. May 19. Bellaire. Globe Hotel, Wednesday. May 20, In the private par lor of th^ above hotels from 0 a. m. to S p. m. One day only. Consultation free and strictly confidential. -o GLARING TON. Clarington. Ohio. Muv K.—Ttev. J. R. Manly and family are spending a few days with relatives at East Liverpool, Cliio. Miss Isla Sr nforcl is Ih? guest of rela tives at Piti-burg. Wm. H. Roughner, of Wheeling, was in town Tucsh.y. Mrs. Lawrence Heity, of V.’b,»’>ng. is the guest of rclri-'cs an 1 friends here. Miss Daisy Lopp is visiting her aunt, Mrs. Annie Zink, at East Liverpool. Mrs. C. C. Rodgers is with relatives at Pittsburg. Monroe Council No. 3S. Daughters of Liberty, will give an ice cream and strawberry festival at the town hall Saturday evening. May 30th. Proceeds for the benfit of the Council. -o AN IMMENSE DEVIL FISH. A devil fish, measuring fift.cn and one half feet from the tip of one of his eight arms to the tip of another and ten feet from the top of h s head io the tip of his longest arm. was killed in the channel at Santa Barbart, Ca1.. b> two boys a few days ago. If wis tle» largest devil fish ever caught :u those waters.— Philadelphia Ledger. ■ lill fill The Hioless Miss in Her Early Teens Gets Consideration This Year From Modistes. Travelling and Boating — Figured Green Taffeta Silk and Side Panels of Yellow with Lace Points— Scotch Plaid Ginghams Glorified. Yokes of Batiste Over Ooral Silk with Wide Fichu of the Silk Draped at the Side—Girls of Many Seasons Gladly Copy Them. (Copyright. 180*1. by Rvman Interview Syndicate.) My pilgrimages to the, shops this week have been in behalf of the much abused growing girl. 1 never have felt that it was the fault of the girl, but the fault of a fashion that never for a moment considers tho growing, developing girl. Costumers devote a great deal of time to the mak ing of dainty little conceptions for tho small children, and the grown girls “IN SIMPLE BATISTES AND WASH ST1 KS TASTEFULLY MADE THEY CAN BE AS GRACEFUL AS THEIR ELDERS." , have no end of charming styles to choose from. One shop here in Paris has made a specialty of creating becoming gowns for young misses, especially summer gowns. And I took a great deal of in terest in looking at the display. BATISTE POPULAR. Ecru batiste will be a very popular material for seaside gowns, as it poss esses the rare virtue of not fading, even in strong sunlight. Then, with a change of ribbon belt and collars, the gown can be rejuvenat'd at any time. A very dressy gown for a young girl was made of figured green taffeta silk. The skirt was a full godet. and on each side of the middle gore were points of i batiste over pale yellow silk. The bod ] ice had a pointed yoke of batiste over the yellow silk, and the figured silk ! was fulled in at he shoulder and under j arm seam and brought together at the front in a butterfly frill. Over the elbow sleeve of batiste.lined with the yellow silk, was draped anoth er full sleeve of the figured taffeta. The collar and girdle of the gown were of hunter's green velvet. Another gown I saw that was made of plaid Scotch gingham is particularly adapted to slender, undeveloped figures. The material, which was a big plaid, with the prevailing colors, fawn and brown, was cut on the bias. There was a yoke of pierced batiste over coral silk, ami draped around it was a fichu of plain batiste with a wide ruffle of the same that fastened at one side. The waist was without tucks and the fullness was drawn down into a wide crush belt of maroon velvet. The sleeves were full bishop sleeves with a narrow cuff of pierced batiste over the coral silk. All the fullness of the skirt was confined at the hips in bunches of six tucks that extended down about four inches from the belt. LAWN GOWNS. A dainty dress for a lawn party was fashioned of organdie with a design in apricot on a pale green background, to be worn over a auricot silk slip. The bodice was made with a wide box plait overlapping a high girdle of liberty silk in a soft shade of apricot. From the shoulder seams came straps of the silk, which ended in rosettes over bow's of pale green mousseline de soie. The skirt was hung so that there was a i wide box plait at the front and the rest of the fullness was gathered very full over the hips and at the back. What they termed a piazza gown was made of cream Swiss with a blue polka dot. The yoke was of embroidered mousseline de soie and the big revers that turned from it were of plain Swiss, edged with rutiles of the mousseline de soie. Where the full blous waist open ed at the side there was a big bow of sapphire velvet and a crush girdle of the samp. Over the two seams of the front gore were ruffles of the mousseline de soie. reaching a trifle above the knees, with a bow of sapphire velvet as a finish. BOATING DRESSES. For boating there was a go wo of duck that was very chic. The skirt and vest of the suit were of red and white plaid duck made on the bias. The jacket of white duck was very short with strap ped seams and very large pointed re vera trimmed with red buttons. There was a dress in terra-cotta silk, with a big Japanese design of flowers that was very attractive. The yoke and bretelles were of the finest tucked over a frilled edging of deep cream Valen ciennes lace. The bodice was surplice, with the long ends caught on each side batiste, and each tuck was finished with of the waist with silver buckles, and hanging to the bottom of the full skirt. A trimming of the Valenciennes and tucks gave a finish to the surplice ends. A very pleasing ‘picture gown" was made of plain ecru batiste. The skirt was very full, with a band of openwork batiste over pink silk fin ishing the bottom. Full elbow sleeves were made of the batiste pierced at. in tervals to give the effect of entve deux, and tinder them was the pink lining shining out quite conspicuously. The colors on the bodice harmonized beautifully. There was a long yoke of pierced batiste over pink, and just below the two pieces of marran velvet drawn full from the armhole seam and fasten ing in a knot at the front. Below the velvet was a full draped front of frog green liberty silk. FOR TRAVELING. Flitting around in the waiting-room of one of the depots here I saw a young girl of fourteen in a very new traveling I dress. It was made of brown mohair, I the most sensible material for travel ing. as it sheds dust. The jacket was short, will full basques and broad • re vere that turned back to shoAV a cream silk sweater. The cuffs and revere were of buff pique, with straps of brown silk braid, ttting fashioned of such light material, a kilt plaidcd skirt was none too heavy for this practical little traveling suit. Worn with this gown was a big, rough, straw hat of golden brown, trimmed with big bows of green and cream striped ribbon. it is interesting to note how pros perous the shops that cater to the chil dren’s gowns have become. Mothers enjoy visiting there—for what mother but thinks cf daughters—and young women drop in because they often catch a style that, while intended for a child, is very becoming to a grown fig ure, giving it more youthfulness of out line. And in Paris the fault of the modistes is the old figure given to all women, young and old. A girl just passing young maidenhood is laced and padded into the big hipped woman of many seasons. For that reason the girl’s dress is becoming. One very pretty dress intended for a girl of 12 will be worn by a young woman of two seasons in society. It is a dress with an independent skirt. The skirt is full and round. Over it there falls a polonaise opened at each side to the waist. The front is gathered at the waist line and the back is gathered in the same way. The polonaise hangs plain otherwise. The material is a dowered cambric and the underskirt is old rose to match the flowers. The fig ure is given a slender, immature look very becoming to a girl who does not want to get past her first two sea sons with too much suddenness. The children’s ribbon waists with ribbon run through batiste and tied un til the waist fits, is another model liked by grown girls. A belle whose gowns make her the talk of Monte Carlo and of Nice and Newport, each in their own good sea son, has a dull, coffee brown batiste ar ranged with flaming scarlet ribbons. The cut of the waist seems to be a plain straight one. with the one careful work done in the fitting of the sleeves, which are set in the shoulder seams in the most fashionable way. Around the neck, which lies low upon the throat, there runs a small scarlet satin ribbon tied demurely at the back of the neck. Three inches lower upon the throat there runs another ribbon also tied in a little rosette at the back. There Is a very slight fullness in the batiste that lies flat under the ribbons. The waist has three rows of the scar let ribbons, the upper one extending up well towards the bust. The lower one marks the waist line in an easy way and all are secured with rosettes at the back. The sleeves have ribbon around the wrist. Each ribbon is finished with a rosette, giving the upper part of the i hand and arm a very neat appearance. With a dress like this it is alraogt ne cessary to have a maid unless there are kind-hearted people in the family that will tie the ribbons carefully after they are strung in the waist. There is nothing prettier than a rib bon waist when, the ribbons are fresh, ] and nothing more draggv than a ribbon waist after the glory is gone. One week is long enough to wear ribbons. Then renew them. Make up your mind to this before purchasing a ribbon waist. The old ribbons are put to a thousand household uses and are even washed and reworn. NINA GOODWIN. ‘•ONE PARTIE CAKREE." From the London World. “Yes. my dear. I’m going to Brighton to-morrow.” said Victoria Tollemarhe, , one of those most enviable of mortals, a pretty young widow with plenty of money. “Why don’t you come with me?” “I should like to, dear, oh. so much!" replied Mrs. Moncreiffe, a young wife who had not yet learned the art of con trolling herself, much more her hus band. “But I am afraid Graham would not let me go.” "Oh. you poor, dear child!” exclaimed the lovely widow, putting her arm around the other’s waist. "What a shame it is that you should be tied for life to such a wretched, stingy, money making machine of a man!” Kate Moncreiffe knew that her hus band was not exactly this but just then ; she felt very much ill treated, so she did not take the trouble to contradict her friend’s sfafemnt. “It does seem too bad,’’ she sighed. "And I haven’t been at all well lately.” “And we should have such fun down there,” suggested the widow. "And these fogs are simply awful.” continued Kate. "Captain Curzon and that handsome template with equanimity the idea of having lost what up to this period she had not placed much value upon—name ly. her husband's affection. "I only judge, my dear, by the man ner in which he treats you.” answered Mrs. Tollemache. "For surely if he. really cared fer you he would not mind making some little sacrifices for your happiness." “No doubt you are right, dear, agreed Kate. "It was only a passing fancy which he had for me. and now he only cares for his miserable business. Oh, dear, oh! dear, I wish I had never mar ried a stock broker.” "Don't cry, dear.” said Victoria sooth ingly. "What’s done can't he helped and it’s no use erving over spilled milk.” "It's —all— very— well— to— say— that." sobbed Kate, now convinced that she was the most ill used wife and un happy woman in the world. "But— what—am—I—to—do?" "Make the best of a bad bargain, my dear.” "But how? What can I do?” "Why. I should put it plainly to him that hitherto you have been a loving and obedient wife.” replied the widow, "but when it comes to a matter of health you feel obliged to assert your own in dividuality, and that if he does not give you permission to go down to Brighton with me on Thursday, you intend to go without.” "But wouldn’t he be very angry?” asked Kate, anxiously. "What if he is. ray dear? It won't last long. and. after all, what can he do? He can’t lock you up In a lunatic asylum like they did Miss I/inchester; and he can’t prevent your going.” "But—er—er—suppoking he—er—er —won't give me any money?” Little golden-haired Kate was as yet uninitiated into the mysteries of con jugal rebellion, and only a few days be fore that there had been a short lecture about extravagance with regard to a milliner’s bill. "Oh. that’s easily arranged, dear!” replied Mrs. Tollemache. lightly. "I will lend you the money, and he will be obliged to pay it back.” “You think there would be no dif ficulty about that?” "Not in the least, my dear.” respond ed the widow'. pat:ing her friend’s shapely head. "What an innocent baby you are. to be sure.” “Well, then. I think I’ll make up my mind to go with you,” said Ka<e. but 'there was evidently an arriere pen see which at last foiled ven in words. "So you really believe, dear, thak—that —that Gx-aham doesn’t care for me any more?” • "My dear child, who can possibly guage the deceitfulness of a man's heart?” answered Mrs. Tollemache, gently pulling her friend's head onto her shoulder. "Of course. I don't know I the man. but I have been married my self, and I do know ttat it is a man's nature to lire rapidly of anything that he has obtained possession of. and to be always seeking fresh kingdoms to con quer.” ‘‘Sav no more. Vic," interrupted Kate. "I feel almost sure from what you have 6aiid that he ha? grown lired of me. Whether I have his permission or not, I shall come with you to-morrow.” ‘That's a brave little girl! Won’t we have a fine time of It! Good-by, dear; I must run away now. for I have prom ised to dine with Captain Curzon. and to go :o the comedy with him afterward. Don't forget. The 11:40 train from Victoria. Good-by, good-by." K3t' waited until she heard the d-oor shut behind her friend, and then she ran upstairs, and. throwing herself on to her bed. buried her face in the pollow. No sooner had she left the room than the curtains which divided the back from the fron-t drawing-room were part ed. and Graham Moncreiff.\ 2 hand some, but overworked looking man of about 35 walked in. He had returned from the city in the middle cf the day suffering with a severe headache and had gone to sleep on the couch in the back room unknown to his wife. He had awakeed at the commencement of tbe conversation, and had overheard everything recorded above. “Poor child,” he murmured, as he drummed on the window with his fin I gets. “Pear child! What con I do fer the best? I low can I save her from # r friend?” For a few momenta he stared* ou^ across the stre \ with a far-away look in his eyes, and then continued: "I ran only see one way out of this. It I is risky, hut dangrous diseases require dangerous rrnrdit \ so I II chance it.” And having made up his mind to his course of action Graham Monoreiffe quiely slipped out of the house, so that no one was ware that he had besn at home, and did-not return until his us ual hour in the evening. Dinner passed over almost in sileuce; but when the i servants had quitted the room Kate for tified herself wi'th on extra glass of pom an<l opened the campaign. “Mrs. Tollcmache has been here this i afternoon Gra'ham.” "Indeed.” said her husband. ‘‘I am sorry to hear it. A«TI havf“iold you be fore, she is not the sort of person for you (o associate with.” "More indefinite slandors!”ex«laimc d i Ka'te indignantly. "Kook her?, Gra ham. once for all. do you actually know anything aguin»t h'r?” “I know more about her. dear, than i I would care to repfar to you." replied Graham quietly. “But when I tell you that her nama is a byword in every club in London, that ought to be sufficient.” i "Then, indeed, it is not.” retorted Kate. "Very far from it. If you thir^ that I am going to give' up my only wo man friend simply because you and a i number of your scurrilous associates chooso to malign her and run her down you are very much mistaken.” “I can assure you ‘that my advice is entirely disinterested.” said Graham.” "'or I am given to understand that Mrs. Tcllfm.iche is a most charming ac , quaimance, especially to men." "Your sarcasm is thrown away upon me. Graham, and it would take a great deal more 'than a sneer to turn me against a friend.” “Well, my dear, a willful woman will have her way. you know, but you will | live to r gret it. However, you are very young 3nd must buy your experience. I suppose, like »he rest of us, if you won’t take advice.” "Very young, indeed!" repeated Kate. ‘ I am 19. and if I am not a woman now I never .‘hall be. However, what 1 was going to tell you was that Mrs. Tolle mache has asked me to go down to i Brighton with her to-moriow. and I i have promised *o do so.” Kate spoke very quickly, and gave a little sigh of relief when she had finished. "Oh. indeed!” replifd Graham, slowly, and Kate’s heart nearly stopped heat ing in her anxiety to know what he was going to say. "Well, I haven’t had a holiday for a long while now. and no doubt a little stay at Brighton will do us both good: besides, it will give me an opportunity of making the acquaintance h of your friend.” Kate literally gasped at this. She had expected anger, censure, remonstrance! and even direct refusal, hut this manner of receiving her announcement fairly took her breath. "To-morrow will be Thursday," con tinued Graham, as his wife remained si lemt. ‘‘That will just suit me. Another glass of wine, my dear? No? l^et us go up stairs then.” and he never left her side the whole evening, so that If she had thought of writing to Mrs. Tol!e mache—which she did not—she would, not have had the opportunity of doing so. Just about the sam* time Mrs. Tolie mache was paying In an undertone to Major Montgomery. "You ought to be eternally indebted to me. I had a lot of trouble over it, but she will come all right, and we shall have our partia car ree." When Mrs. Tollemache arrived at Victoria the following morning she found, to her surprise, that Moncreiffe had reserved a compartment, and scarcely had Kate introduced "My hus band,” and explained that he would ac company them, than Major Montgom ery made his appearaee alone. "So awfully sorry, don't you know, but Curzoa was called away the first thing this morning, to go down to a dy ing uncle or cousin, or something of that Major Montgomery, who paid you so much attention at the ball, are both* coming down, and are going to stop at the same hotel.” “There won't be u soul left in London that I care about.” "And Brighton is always so jolly at this time of year.” "I am sure if Graham really cared for me he would be only too glad to let mo go,” concluded Kate, with tears in her eyes. “My dear, all men are alike—selfish; to the backbone!" observed the widow, with the manner of one who knows. “All they care about Is their own com fort. and the women they like best is fort, and the women they like best aro those who make them the most comfort able. 1 often used to tell Mr. Tollemn che that he ought to have married his cook.” “And yet I thought he loved me at otie time,” sighed the wife. “If he ever did. my dear, von may depend upon it he has got over it by this time.” responded the widow “Oh, Victoria! do you really think so?" cried Kate, who. having only been wedded a couple of years, could not con sort—a duty visit, don’t you know—and h» asked me to make his apoligies, and. all that sort of thing.” How it happened it is difficult to sav, but when they started Kate and the Ma jor faced each other at one t ud of th« carriage, while the pretty widow and Graham were vis-a-vis at the other. Mr.-?. Tollemaehe gave the Major a smo cjmir glauce appealing for sympathy, which, needless to say, she obtained, and then Graham began to talk, and she discovered that he knew how to talk, and that, he had expressive eyes and possessed that quiet, masterful manner which is so appreciated by little women because it is symbolical of strength, and then to her surprise she diacovered that they were at Preston Park. •'ll n’tst pas si bete,” she murmured to Montgomery when they got out at Brighton, hut, though the remark was made in a low \oice. Kate overheard it, and somehow she began to wish site had stayed at home. Regrets, however, were useless; everybody else was appa rently happy and contented, and when, as a matter of course, Graham devoted himself to Mrs. Tollemaehe, while Ma jor Montgomery attended to her. sho found that all she could do was to go with the stream. But she certainly never valued her husband so highly as when she perceived that his society was sought and evidently approved by her frined. A fortnight passed away, and one dav when she weir upstairs to dress for din ner Kate fqund a typewritten note ad dressed to her on 7k i k/Acttr- V ran as follows: If you are concealed behind the screen in your sitting room to-night at half past ten you will hear something inter esting concerning your husband an L Mrs. Tollemaehe. Be silent and dis creet. A WEbb WISHER. Kate read it threr times, and then, crushing it tip in her hand, she was about to throw It away, when her wo man's nature asserted Itself, and. fold ing It up carefully, she slipped i ituoi her purse, murmuring: “Yes. I will. It is only just to them. Of course it is the work of some med dling busybody and there is nothing inf it. but it is only right for their sakr.i that I should prove them Innocent.” But then she gave a little choking sob as she thought of how she would feci if the proof went the other way. "Well, Graham, I am here!” exclaim ed Mrs. Tollemaehe, as the clock on the mantle piece chimed the half hour, "and. wonderful to relate, punctual to the minute.” "I can assure you that 1 am grateful for your promptness,” replied Mon croiffe gravely, "though now that, you are here J scarcely know how to begin tvhat I have to say to you.” "Why so serious?” inquired the pret ty widow, her beautiful eyes sparkling with espieglerie; "surely It is not so difficult for you to express your feel ings?” rou woiiifl not tninn so u juu «vu' »» what I have to say.” “I think I could guess.” said Mrs. Tollemache, coyly, aa she allowed her long eyelashes to shade her eyes* “Would you like me to try?" “By all means," replied Graham. “Wh^t you want to say is that you have grown tired and weary of youtl silly little doll wife, and that you lov<* me. Am I not right?" "No, indeed, Mrs. ToHemarhe. you are not," answered Moncreiffe, "for t love my tvife sincerely, but I do not e'rit respect you." “What!” erled the Indignant widow, “what do you mean, sir? What am 1 to understand? Surely you have no( been playing with my feeling? all this time?” “The matter is very easy of explant* tion, my dear Mrs. Tollemache, ’ rew sponded Graham; “I happened acclden tally to discover that you were desirous of initiating my young and innocent wife Into your somewhat free-and-easy mode of existence. I endeavored to roa, son with her. but she was so willful that I found the only way to open hei eyes and prevent her falling a victim your sophistry was to let her see you In true eolors. It is merely a case of tli€ biter bit.” "Very manly on your part to treat a defenseless woman in such a way. I must say,” aliserved the widow spiteful ly. “But 70u might hare iv®d your self the trouble, for your wife does no| love you and never has cared for you, In fact.” "That is false." interrupted Kate al she appeared from behind the screen, with tears streaming from her eyes. I have always loved you, Graham. an<l more now than ever, and If you cant forgive me for being such a wilful, wi< k ed. foolish little woman you shall never have onnsp'tn comnlain again.