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LEAH: A WOMAN OF FASHION. 
[April, 
right. Mrs. Baltimore, in her suffi¬ 
ciently varied experience, has never 
known grief in which a like course of 
treatment has proved ineffectual. And 
she has forfeited the society of her hus¬ 
band, has separated for life from her 
children, been cut in turn by the whole 
of her good acquaintance, seen her 
dearest friend take her richest lover, 
and onbe—fearful climax!—ran the 
very narrowest chance of losing her 
eyelashes after chicken pox. Leah 
is evidently hipped. Looking dispas¬ 
sionately at Jack Chamberlayne, and 
having thaJ# 4 ast words of the ro^ 
nmnce ” and the face of our handsome 
tenor well fjpnihel, can it be wonder¬ 
ed at? So are women’s lives constitu¬ 
ted. Happily their powers of forget¬ 
ting go far toward rivalling those of 
men, although their external resour¬ 
ces, under the first weight of trouble, 
may be more limited. 
“ If you were to cry, Leah, it would 
do you good—not to the extent of 
disfiguring yourself for to-morrow, of 
course, but a good wholesome cry of 
about ten minutes. It relieves some¬ 
thing on the brain. I remenfber the 
doctors telling me so when my sisters- 
in-law took Pussie and Floss away 
from me. And all these things are 
bodily! Ijb does not do to confess it, 
my dear, but I have read numbers of 
medical books in my time, and I must 
say, every day I live I grow more of 
a materialist. Cannot cry? Well 
then, use the smelling salts constantly. 
The effect is nearly the same.” 
Leah sits before the fire, as she has 
done since she rose at midday, inert, 
silent. She is in a dulled state of 
nerves, as one might be who, having 
made up his mind fully to the sur¬ 
geon’s knife, experiences already, by 
anticipation, the deathly painlessness 
that succeeds to pain. 
“You are very kind, Bell. I be¬ 
lieve you are sorry for me, a little. 
And—and would you mind not talking 
at all about what I feel, please? When 
to-morrow comes I shall pull through 
it as well as other people do, no doubt, 
if I can only sleep a bit to-night. ” 
“ Laudanum might make you 
sleep,” says Bell, well versed, like 
every woman of her type, in tile seif 
ence of narcotics. “ Only it leaves 
that unmistakable look—not the look 
for a bride—about the eyes. And 
chloral, till one knows one’s quantity, 
is an experiment. If I were to pre¬ 
scribe sincerely what I think would 
do you the most good, it would be— 
music! Just to go down to the salon 
and hear two or three of M. Danton’s 
charming songs. Ah, Leah, my child,” 
and Bell’s Voice softens—positively 
somethmg ; of -.womanly pity is in her 
cold blue eyes—“ do you think I am 
really so blind as not to see how mat¬ 
ters have stood between M. Danton 
and you? 
Leah starts, conscience-stricken; for 
a second, her impulse is to rise, fling 
herself upon her cousin’s breast, and 
sob out her secret there. Then she 
remembers what Bell is—what she is 
so soon to be herself—and hardens 
back to steel. 
“ M. Danton ? ” How odd her voice 
sounds! When she is married, when 
all this living wretched present has 
become a dre&m, surely she will com¬ 
mand it bettg||b,s she speaks of him. 
“I think I may answer in the words 
you used lasPnight, Bell. Whatever 
my crimes, no one need accuse me of 
a weakness k la Maggie McDormond.” 
“Well, no,” answers Bell slowly, 
and fixing her eyes steadily on the 
girl’s face. “ Maggie McDormond sac¬ 
rificed her interest to her passion. You 
have not sunk so low in my opinion, 
Leah, that I would suspectyou of that.” 
“Of what do you suspect me, my 
dear Bell?” 
“ Of caring for M. Danton too much 
for your own happiness, Leah ! That 
you have honestly tried to say the last 
words of the romance, I believe—the 
last words of the first volume of the 
romance,” adds Bell, in spiteful par¬ 
enthesis—“and that you found them 
taste bitter I know also. My dear 
child, do you think we have not all 
gone through the same thing? Why, 
before I married Mr. Baltimore-” 
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