1895. 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KKKFER. 



221 



attennon to any or tneir remarks. I liad 

 enjoyod myt^c^lf wildly. What more could I 

 want to make me happy? I was very, very 

 young. 



' ' Soon after, I met Mr. G. I remember 

 it was almost 7ny first dinner party, and, 

 having suflicicntly recovered myself from 

 a fit of shyness, I looked round at my next 

 door neighl)()r, and there, on my left, were 

 two blue eyes laughing- at me. He must 

 have noticed my shyness, I fancied, and, 

 with the pride of youth, I deeply resented 

 it. After that I found the blue eyes nearly 

 always smiled when they looked at me, 

 and I got to love that smile, and even that 

 evening I realized that only foolish 18 

 could take offense at such a trifle, so we 

 laughed and made friends. All tlirough 

 dinner he talked to me a good deal, and I 

 forgot my shyness and became communi- 

 cative on many subjects. 



"After that evening we met frequently, 

 danced together, rodc^ together — in fact, 

 hardly a day passed without our meeting, 

 till p«t last I began to look for him, wheth- 

 er in the park or at a ball or concert. At 

 that time life was briinming over with 

 happiness. I liad no very delinite idea of 

 the future, and the present was so s^veet 

 that I preferred not thinking of a change 

 of any sort. 



' ' The first spot on my happiness was at 

 one ball, where I had expected to find Mr. 

 G., and tliough I was not enjoying 

 things a bit I did not want to come away. 

 Perversity of human natiire! And only in 

 the carriage did I confess to myself that I 

 bad staid on in the liope of his turning up 

 late. Well, he didn't, and it was with a 

 somewhat heavy heart I went to sleep that- 

 night, but by next morning the cloud had 

 passed away. Were we not going to meet 

 and ride together? 



' ' Could his presence make any difference 

 to my enjoyment? At first I laughed at 

 the idea, but soon found it was not to be 

 laughed at. Where he was, there my en- 

 joyment was complete, but where he was 

 not I seldom cared to stay. Naturally peo- 

 ple began to talk about us, and, as is the 

 way of the world, speculated as to what 

 would conae of it, it it would bo a good 

 thing or not. Well, let them talk. What 

 cared I? I was so C( Train he loved me that 

 I smiled when people told me that Lady 

 Dallas was doing all she knew to catch 

 him for her daughter. Poor Alice Dallas! 

 Why, he never so much as looked at her 

 when I was near ! How soon was pride to 

 have a fall ! 



"The summer was nearly over, and peo- 

 ple began to hurry away from London. 

 We met again in the country and spent 

 long days together, and again people be- 

 gan to wonder why he did not propose. 

 Perhajps.I was the nergon who, wondered 



least, Tor was x nor sure rnar sooner oi 

 later he undoubtedly would? Then, one 

 Sunday evening, wo parted, to meet again 

 the following week, but somehow that 

 meeting never came about. In the long 

 months that followed I remembered him 

 as I saw him last, waving his handkerchief 

 from the carriage window. 



' ' Then, one day, I heard he was engaged 

 to Alice Dallas. At first I would not be- 

 lieve it, but when belief was forced upon 

 me my grief knew no bounds. Till that 

 day I hardly realized how fond I had 

 grown of G., and the prospect of a long 

 life withoirt him appalled me. I cried as 

 if my heart would break, and then pride 

 came to my rescue. Frrll of coiu-age and 

 firm resolve, I took up the thread of my 

 daily life and hoped not only to hide my 

 feelings, but to still the dull, aching pain 

 by plunging wildly into reckless excite- 

 ment. It was all very well for a bit, bul 

 the reaction Avas bound to come, and I dis- 

 covered that I must trj'- some other remedy. 



"We mefr several times after the engage- 

 ment was announced — as friends — and 1 

 talked and laughed as in the old days, 

 save perhaps for a touch of bitterness, 

 which then I had never known, and tha 

 sound of my voice seemed hollow and un- 

 real, perhaps because tears were so near 

 the surface. Then came the wedding and 

 subsequent congratulations, and I was 

 among the first to oft'er mine, and was it 

 fancy that I thought the bridegroom looked 

 at me a little wistfully and was hardly as 

 radiant as the occasion warranted? But, » 

 then, no one thought it was a love match ! 

 Had not Alice herself given out tliat she 

 did not care for him? And he? But, then, 

 why had he taken this step?" 



Miss Daneby paused, and in the now 

 fast gathering darkness Miriam could dis- 

 cern a silent tear, wliile she herself was not 

 unmoved. 



"Auntie," said the girl, slipping her 

 hand into the old lady's, "Avhen people love 

 like tluit, do they ever forget?" 



"I don't think they ever quite forget, 

 but time softens all grief and often leaves 

 one the better for its mark. When I found 

 that excitement could not heal my wound, 

 I began, in a small way, to try to find 

 eome work to do, even if it were only help- 

 ing those wIkj were suffering around me. 

 And when the first feeling of blank and 

 utter loneliness had worn off I was able 

 to settle to more regular occupation." 



Miriaiy was silent, then slowly, as if 

 touching on an almost sacred subject: 



"Auntie, is he — are they alive?" she 

 asked. 



' ' Yes, dear. ' " 



"And was there some mistake?" 



"That, dear, 1 never now think of. Only 

 One knows, T)iil some day we, too, shall 

 see face to face. ' — Sketch. 



