The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 15, 1903, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CALL. it there coutd $ossibly hand-kissing it there is 1 Please Kiss r scatterbrain words ha saud that he herewith adjourn sine ploi menage, that had been acted in and around colors to my the audience in the shade— 1 and leit her. side and watch ashamed in encompasse 1 irremediably CHAPTER XXI ur confront- with this dr shed out the en contemplate of your confronting the sheer exhaustior told you, dear. to confront them silly girl, that they don't eadfully afr They are ma t they have which feeble gned and thelr s women are 2 forty would crums lie wearily. and 1 believe thai my bed, and And I'm going to do it I must lie in 1t v, you don't mind, for I'm one thing she dreade: turned her cold , was the Inevitable eniightenment of Jack Childers. For he must be told. The whole point of the case lay in that fact not allow his engagement with marriag She had i ve hersell in this mat- ter for his sake only, and for no other had been eminently success- and had pushed aside the in- The world would never wiser now, but she would not all this just for the sake of Jack Childers was the pivot that the truth and asphyx imminent at any dertaken to in ted in its de- tection, his t be irrepara- recalled his words when she asked him what would pen if Miss Hampton said “Stand aside can never be yours.” frivolously They had comforted he had said, 'm awfully sorry but I don't think it would kill me. you that 1 should pine away green and yellow melan- twentieth century doesn't lend itself to that sort of thing. does it? Of course, 1 should be horribly put out, and I think warm for Miss Hampton.” G Blessed words! But they were power- to console her. »{ charmingly s=imple melo- ° She must let fact fall gypon was not a Stand aside che of nauseatir bonhomie and his easy good-natured in- , with this vile story. prove to him that his ingenuous, cousin, wigh the silver-gold hair, was . ', what was she? She woud doff the 1's and cross the t's, and destrcy hie ideal, and paint_his flancee in the of dishonor. And—and. per, not believe, her. ru?lc,l'lla tints s, he wy Why "should he: do s0. without investigation? Would it be possi- ble that, at a moment’s notice, his jdeas could be abrupi loathe 'her for what she told him. He would turn from He would recoil from her damning revelation. And she could see him, pale and stricken, before her, uite too ghastly. Mrs. Hampton? her in repulsion. nd if she ap- ‘hat—that she Could mever do. Even were it more ad- that Pu- Jue feel assured Wust Pulitic Col se St Coulu Dever cotid Bocl BuuyeCe anrself W Lk Scrus Loy Of Whe ks Iuigoccies, oF (o e ShowWer ol Sly wsbencl (hd, woud Ll upon tier. sutlie rose from her bed, and, falling on her ances, pluyed as sie nau Hever iy ©u beiure. She beggea tor enligntenis she to e Sne DESUUBRC 10T (uUANL.AUON: Sue Mn- plured, wiin fervor that seeaied o send ser brain, - sboc Lra.gut 10 Loe cause oI al] things, tor Some conso.at i Uhs, her hour of need. Her Waoie b g wenl oul un tmis prayer, ang when sue hag enued it, she’ went bacsy lLimp, weak and hardly conscious, 10 hep-beu. Isut the sharp agony was over, and she tell asieep. . Ang s to the efficacy of prayer, Sal- sne wou.d lic hnew next mornng that never again doubl. ‘i1ndt her prayer was answercu—and luminous,y answered—sne Telt us cerain as she did that the sun snone. tor durng the early mMurnug houts @ messenger brought her a letted nat read as IoLOWS: “Dear Miss Sydentum: Though I am contemptivie ana compietely werit the ver wurse chiugs Liac you van think of me, #uli | wm aul saca an utter brute 5 10 be uniuved LY your conauct ye ruay. You udy e surpr.sed o hear Lon of -also thing, Wil Miiss mampown, duciug a discus that we have Just haw, was—in sp. Leiself ana ner unirwend.y Teclin touched. You have uolic a Eredc anu we Know wuy you have done It. Do t believe that 1 am writug in any sp rit but that of admuration. You mi tiins that we are a baa lo,, but—t are worse, and we sympatnize with LI course, you will ivel il your auty to brefis tne engagement between Ivy and Mr. Chugers. iuac wili be even haraer for you than the uifficult tasg you have alreaoy Unverianen and carried (urougi Ana_so 1 Write these lincs tu you, siss Syuéiath, to tel you tonat the engage- ment be broken, and that you can matter to us. | swear to you by ail that I have ever het wid tiere have been a few thin, A Sydenham: there ure stuill one- or two) that 1vy and Mr. Chuders will never be rried. Rest quite assured of that. i can leave Mr. Chigers in tranquiility r the prese You neea not pe the r of news that you would loathe tell him. When the time comes, every thing will be explained. [ can te.d you nothing more at present. Only be sat i nothing do. You can rely upon this as you can rely upon anything and convinced that you have ther 1o i this world. You can-also believe tha we are actuated solely by our own in- terests. ‘Lhat wil be easier tor you; you would not readily credit a statement that we were moved b sentiment for you and for Mr. Childers. It wouid also be unirue. So this letter is designed mere- Iy to make you feel less uneasy. and to assure you that matiers wil take their proper course without y.ur interference Your burden wili thus lightened. You gan leave Mr. Chula-rs (o us, and if notnfug happens just at esent, you can =ull avide in" all security For some- thing will happen “ARTHUR STUYVESAN Sallle threw the letter to her sister, and sat smiling with utter thankfulness as she realized its stupendous meaning. Her prayer bad becn answered swifdy, di- rectly, and. unmistakably. Even the fools who explain away things by the elastic law of coincidence would be im- pressed by this. She feit ligni-hearted, happy, and she went about the housé simging lightly. And, Lettie,” she cried, *little Robin- son shall come up. and—if you don't il head over heels in love with him, then you are like your sister, anfl I've no patience with you. Oh. you will be charmed. He iz the dearest littie boy. What luck, Let, to think you came to me in New York! [t is perfectly delight- ful. Aren’t you giad?" But when the time came for the trip downtown and the interview with Mr. Green, her high spirits left her, and she felt subdued and a trifle shaky. The mautter had now. resolved itself into a mere question of seif; but altruism_had been stretched to its limits, and Sallie s now obliged to realize her own per- al danger. Of course, there really = no danger, she told herself, but she would totter on the brink, and stand, dizzy, at the extreme verge. *l feel I ought to wear scarlet,” she said to Lettle, as she prepared for her visit to the office, “and dash in upon them like & beautiful, reckless picture of sin.’ “Hush!” eried Lettie, distressed. ‘“‘How can you joke about it? I don't like to think about it. 1 wish you would let me go with you, Sallie, just for the sake of company, of course; I shouldn't be any use, but perhaps you would like to know that 1 was there.” But Sa haa no intention of creep- ing in, abashed, behind her sister. Sne understood the owls as nobody else un- derstood them. She would be brave, and Jaunty, and amusing, and flippant .~ . . and they would be easily convinced. And Mr. Green would laugh and look at her with that curigus expression which she knew so well. She had 'seen it frequently when she discussed improper plays with him and skated over their thin ice in devil-may-care abandon. It was a sort of look she rather iiked, as it was so completely unusual. She’ was not to be nonplused, and she would make a stanch fight for her immaculacy. It should all be humorous, for the pathetic was stupid and generally unconvincing. It might be harc to cope with Jack hilders but she would not think that at present. Unce In working or- der @ with her nose to the grind- stone her daily routine—that had been sadiy displaced—re-established, and the old footing with Jack Childers would Le comfortably resettled. And then . . . well, there was no use worrying futu- rity. It must take care of itself, as it would probably do, with or without her intervention. Owldom was at labor . . . and the owls biinked into New York's midnight. Their time had come and their moping hour over. Hut Sallie was not im- pressed, for she knew it all by heart. On . only on this occasion she ap- proached the nest upon a very different mission. No fictitious heroine of theater- dom claimed her attention. and the pros and cons of imaginary situations seemed absurdity unsubstantial. It was a real drama that had been played, and her object was to prove that was not its’ villain. She, herself, was on trial to-night—not the drcamy creations of a playwright's brain, and the criticism of this real drama would be made by others, She wondered if she imagined it, or if it were really a fact . . . but surély the click,#he whirr and all the indescribable onomatopoela of Owldom ceased as she entered the large, live, tense reportorial room. She noticed—or she thought she noticed—that the reporters paused in_ thir work to lock at her. They shook off the temporary thraldom of murder, arson, lust and deviltry, hung their meager list of trite verbs, verbs and adjectives in abeyance, and watched her as she slowly approached the night city editor. And they sat at thelr desks mute, happily interrupted as schoolboys, gloating ov: the momentary allenation of *teacher. Surelyl she thought there was something in the atmosphere, some strange, disturbing influence that subtly attacked her sensory nerves. She saw little Robinson with a huge mound of “copy paper” before him. e smiled at her, but_it was the pale ghost of a smile. Even the office-boys grouped themselves together and talked. But they always talked . . . they were in- corrigibl Still, just now, t?:elr voices seemed to be peculiarly hushed. The en- tire office, in fact, struck a sibilant sound, the meaning of which she could scarcely penetrate. Mr. Green did not see her until she reached his desk. Then he started, glanced at her in weird, unsmiling rimness, and betrayed embarrassment. t was very odd, and ghe bravery of her intentions ‘was ‘weakened at their very foundations. She feit depressed, and she was conscious of a fierce struggle to ap- pear before this office in her true and usual light. “He's armed without that's innocent within,” she remembered; but —was she” Then she arrayed her forces, bracing herself up to present a fairly graphic substitution for Sallie Sydenham as she used to be. But Mr. Green did not epeak. nor did be help her by gesture or relenting manners. e burden of the position dropped heavily upon her own ung{mlec(ed _ shoulde: she began, “Mr. “You have heard Robinson told vou, I daresay, that his mission with Mr. Sylvester Jackson was not successful; that—that nobody was found with Arthur Stuyvesant but’—she bowed, and clutched at her saving grace of_frivolit our humbie servant. And'* —with a | he—she doesn’t count.” Mr. Green played a five-finger exercise on his blotting-paper, and kept his eyes fixed upon the digital process. She re- sented his silen for he was making the easy explanation unneceesarily diffi- cult. Had she been guilty—had he be- lieved that she was gullty—he could scarcely uuve been wore unyleld.ng. . 5 hr. Green,” side weut on, with a la, “are you—are you “ngry bie ce looked at her. ous suaie sed the tive-finger gxerdise, an A auil_nush’ setlieu upy tue corrugations of the rurehead. I8 solemmty was luguorivus, 1 am sho cd, Miss Syaenham,’ he said slowiy. am deeply mortiied. [ believe that have nu very defintely se.tied code o moraiity, buc I coniess (hat 1 am routed. I coula not have crewiieu it. 1 had look- ed upon your work as the resuit of an unconventional but narmless point of view. At least, | tried to cuncide with the opinion ot the oftice. 1 will confess that inere have been times when your strange, unveiled expressious appeared o “L me inconsistent witn the nouuun of—er —punty. I sufled this . . . I i You reveled in my ‘good orics, she interpusca hotly, i the cruel marvel of tUPSY-LLUryydom. meekness Poiuaps,’ e said with the of an Lrah heep. “That 15 outsde uf the present quesaon. At any rate, Miss Svdenbum, 1y sentimenis toward you have a.ways been of the friendl . So WUCh S0, Lhat MT. KRobilsun s Scory was an absolute snock. Yet | mignt have put (Wo and two together—your strange de- mand for this ass.gnment—your negiect to wourk up the ~c—the cock-and-bull story you toid me-—ihe irregularity and peculiarily of the enlire proceed:ngs She was sident, and she Knew . . he had congemncy her. Sne was unable to see the furce of the irresisuble tide of lugic that had swamped tnis man who was nbt innately unaud. She could ony perceive the wosurdity uf tne thing from ner own puine of view. But her heart sank, for notDing was asked of her. tic wiu Not qUesSLOL any dung at all. Then,” she sai—ana She struggled h a deacening sense of calmncss— ou realiy thina he interrupted Come, siss Sydennam biuntly, * do not wa ume wita thinking. The situadon does nut call for thought, 1 presume that you have not come here to-night 1o usten “lu my thoughts. Indeed, | admit that I am suc- prised 10 sec you at all. Your advent nere is inconceivabie to me. You must surely understana tnat this very grave scancal 1% Jqio. suscepuble o vague ais- in, as are the ficiitious complu ns of (he many plays vou have uis- sected, You— ; Uh," she 1, in s affright, for she relt tha was being dedveratey brandec red by tne iron of his tones, “you talk as though you reaily believed it. I defy you to do so. You cannot—no, heart of hearts— you cannot—in your really imagine that I—whom you have known fur so long—could~be 8o grossiy depraved, You cunnot suppose because [ happened to ve tne woman found with Mr. Stuyvesant, that | was—I was— Oh it is too ludicrous! See here. Mr. Green’ - he evoked the puissant force of her flippancy I don't profess to be a timid, biushing malden. i dont say that if 1 were violenty in love with a man 1 should covet investigation. (She thought that suca an apparentiy candid statement might nulitale in_her favor with the owl.) “But Artuur Stuyvesant, with a wife and child—a reputation that cries out in its nasuness—an actor to whom 1 ha ways been inimical—read my last article, Mr. Green—you cannot— no," you cannot possibly credit it. You may pretend to do so, jusc tu get even with me, for I played yvou a trick, and I was not loyal tc he paper. 1 admit all this, Mr. reen, but there were circum- stances that you would be the first to understand and appreciate, and which you may know one of these days. I may be very beautiful’’—she grasped at the last straw of her frivolity—"but I could never be hi. Mr. Green was acutely nettled. Her allusion to the trick she had played upon him, confronting him as it did with the unséemly notion of his own gullibility, angered him. It vexed him to belleve that the study of human nature in which he had indulged for so many years, be- neath the eyes of the blinking owls, had been productive of a result so lamentable that a mere girl had been able to bring him this chagrin. “We will not argue the matter, Miss Sydenham,” he remarkel. “‘All that you say is just. It is odious to belteve that this contemptible man with—as you cor- rectly suggest—a feputation that cries out In its nastiness, snould have involved you in such a scandal. But the fact re- mains, and I do not ask for any explan tion, for it would be insufiicient, wha ever it might be. | am shocked—not precisely on your account—but on that of the paper. It is an evil thing to discover that the dramatic critic whom we have honored and advertised, and whose some- what-outspoken work we have defended on grounds that now uappear to be gro- tesquely illogical, has been proven to be absolutely unworthy. You have supplied sharp-edged weapons to our enemies, and at the same time ave completely disabled your own nusefulness.” Then Sallie, lacerated by the dull thrusts made so deliberately at her posi- tion, felt that her usual modes of pro- cedure were indeed inadequate. A fury seized her, as she watched the weaving of the net, the meshes of which she had Sgl clearly perceived before. Her vaunt- bellef in the chivairy of men and their evident superforty to her own sex was slipping away. ““You insuit me!" she cried haughtiiy. “Every word you have uttered is a gross afiront, and not warranted by the fact that you =it in some show of feeble au- thority. 1 did not suppose that you would take such a view of the matter, or should never have condescended to come here. It i= wicked and it is infamous. You judge me as though 1 had come in from the street, and you had not enjoyed ample opportunities for study. If, after our long acquaintar you can belleve this loathsome thing—then you. can believe anything. No wonder the paper is plunged in libel suits” (he winced at this, for it was true), “no wonder that even the public rebels, if this is vour way of doing busine: The word of a woman counts for something surely. Look at me aud see If you can detect any sign of shame—the shame that even the most abandoned woman would feel if she had been discovered in such a dilemma. Use your judgment, if you have any. Do you suppose that I should have come here to brazenly lie myself out of an odious position? 'Not I 1 should remain with my lover, and upon him would rest the Lurden "of the thing. Reason the matter out for yourself. Appearances may count for a good deal, but not for everything." She was beating her héad against a stone wall, and she knew it. Mr. Green was not an imaginative man, and hard acts were the only commodities in which he dealt. Long service in Owldom s not conducive to the cultivation of imagina- tion. Occasionally he used theorles—when he felt that he was not backed up by realtities; but he discarded the theorles as soon as he could convenlently do s and never alluded to them. Theory was the sickly procrastination of the really ignorant. Tt was rank agnosticism, and had no abiding place in Mr. Green's lexi- con. But he was not anxious for a ‘“‘scene;"” he did not enjoy the spectacle of the open- mouthed reporters inhaling this contest. 6 on with your work!” he cried sav- agely to the owls. *Attend to your busi- ness and leave me to mine.” ~ Then he turned again to Miss Sydenham. *Of course,” he sald quietly, “‘this is all very deplorable. I am hurt at your expres- sions. which, however, are perhaps to be expected. 1 do not profess to_fathom the cbject of your visit here. You do mnot deserve any conrolation. Still, it is my duty to tell you that this painful incldent closes. You are aware that Mr. Sylves- ter Jackson is a friend of mine, and that being the case, he will make no report to Mrs. Stuyvesant. No.” he cried, Iift- Ing a restraining finger as she was about to speak, “you had better hear me out. This detective is under many obligations to me. He is very fond of ferrapin stew and of the Toud things that Mrs. Green sc thoroughly understands. I have al- ready £poken to him * * * and every- thing ends right here. You will be saved the mortification of figuring publicly in a lamentable scandal; more important still, there will be no public investigation of a matter in which this paper would appear so unprofitably. 1 am proud to Le able to rescue my employers from this unsavory business. Incidentally, Miss Sydenbam, you reap the advantages.” Sallie’s face burned. Never for a single moment had she contemplated this. Thew vital iInstinct of self-preservation—one of the keenest instincts within our ken— filled her with an impulse to tell the whole c|sd;rnceful story from beginning to end ard right herself. She owed it to herself to do so. She was being labeled ‘un- clean,” and she felt the cdges of the label mcistly clinging to her personality, But another instinct, just as keen, defeated her=that of woman's love for man. At this juncture her loyalty to Jack Childers must not waver. She had brought events ic their terminus, and his honor and his happiness were safe. It would be insane Great WarRomance “The Leopard™s Spots™ Begins Next Sunday she sald, truly a beautiful instance of bribery and: corruption.” ¢ liberty repugnance to such an vere you, Miss Sydenham''—and he felt that this was sheer personal kindness, Guite unwarianted by the obiiquity of the case, "I should go quietly home and think am, kurthermore, Mr. Green, I have no fear that Mr. Childers is so wretched a stu- dent of human nature as you have proved rourseif to be. Childers.” asked, looki; aeflance, ir her eves. mortification? staff seems to have been sitting in judg- ment.” into vufolded sandwich and in been and he resented the brazen indifference to decent opinion that had permitted this girl to come to the office and probe her wretched situation. but she had never manifested any of the delicacy of womanhood. All that she had written and that He had applauded—all her criticisms that he had gloated over as .Bocd storles” he now turned against her. certain non-morality. He made the mis- take, so plctureliuely frequent, of believ- ing that the pen one of the most egregious errors of liter- ary judgment. she talked—another proof of her natural ribaldry. Childers’ room close. ointment, ast act just as they were vitally inter- ested. It was a case of “to be continued in our next"—and the door wag shut upon our next. coat, story that he had written—an important account of a ferry-boat collislon with loss of life, and made for Mr. Green's desk. tween his teeth. and you did not belleve it. Is that cor- rect?” wich, gazed upon ‘thé youn dosently. his_mouth-full. closed upon her Salile ex; time sensation of relie ment, The atmosphere soothed and calmed her nerves. ative, and for a moment she could scarce- ly realize that anything calamitous had oecurred. ful little sanctum! the carpet on the floor was impressed upon her mind. turbed; here there was warmth and and mental Poplets, at her typewriter, was an agree- abfe 4 things. Poplets knew everything. In the myste- rious recesses of that demure little mind the secrets of the office were stored, and ranged, dreamed of noticing the presence of Miss Poplets. Even the editorial conference was waged regardless of her existence. The little typewriter girl was sphinx-like in her silence, and, not being ‘ambitious, she had no sympathy with the feminine owls. lure her from her reserve, and ally them- selves with such a pulssant source ot of shocking novelty when he sal “If you would leave us, please sa ‘Would you rathe ourselves? It shall be as as ever; Sydenham. more. strangely with a sense of Irreparable loss it was the first perturbing sign that struck her in the serene repose of the room. She saw Miss Poplets arise meekly, gather up her papers, and prepare, unquestioningly. 10 leave t not endure the suggestion of the thing. She was not a criminal, and she had not come to Jack Childers to defend herself. such a Poplets stay, please. ‘why she should go. of myself, nor m“eln'l(shn you—that you''—how could she on of Mr. Gree) hand wearily over his forehead. smiles and his e to have left him. certed; in all their intercourse she could not rvecall so drear a manifestation of guccimmuée onhhln'pll.rt.l % o er jeopardy, she felt sincerely 8o or him; 1t was }llnlddenlnl to think thlfihe— ;h s embarrassment, an or Poplets flashed a glance at her, and in this look Sallle read resentment. Gipewriter girl was also sorry for Jack crude fight while two editor in the warmth of devotion and so- licitude. tu upset the applecart as she had brought it over ruts and through Jecpness to des- tination. weakness. rendeied that destination even more sure. The incigent Leen lett upen, she knew that she could Lot have been dragged into the revela- tion of a divoree court, for Mrs. Stuyves- ant, at any rate, Put as it was, the peacsful security of er heavy pall of gullt with which she ha covered herseif would stay * she had placed fr. It comforting. iuck swathed in moiher-tincture of irony. It wbuid be the ignominy of And Mr. Green's last words wus closed. Still, had it understood the truth. position was unquestionabie. Th *** where was detestably It was the acme of good in sullen resignation. ‘A newspaper rarely gets left,” he re- torted, with a smile at her aimless re- mark—the feeble resuig of a vanquished woman'’s clamor for the last word. “The ways of journalism are unfathomable. You may thank your lucky stars, Miss Sydenham, that vou are able to hide be- reath its respectable cioak. “Am | to considcr this as final?”” she asked miserabiy, He shrugged his shoglders. *“You are 10 see Mr. (hiiders” he sald. f course, 1 have already done so. Still, der the clrcumstances, you may feel no interview. If T things over. Then, if you still feel that discussion is possible, 1 should see Mi. Chilaers." She looked at him in mute marvel. He belleved lLier to be utteriy and irreparably vile, but he could still talk to her quite complacently. was thing she had ever fmagined * he could still pariey indifferently. He had imagined that she something worse than thes worst e yet have no desire to avoid Mr. Child- * she said, and her voice shook. *I at any rate, entitled to my friends. Certainly 1 shall see Mr. He stood beside her. He had entered the room from a door at the further end, and bad ligtened to the last words she had vttered. and a singular embarrassment tongue- tied him momentarily. His face was grave and pale, “‘May 1 talk to you, Mr. Childers?” she ng bravely at him, with no but |some pathetic resignation He was the managing editor, urbane and courteous, in an instant. ‘‘Certainly Miss S8ydenham,” he replied. “Come into my office, where we shall be alone. I am sorry,” he added in a low voice, as they moved away, “that you argued this horrible business with idr. Green. Why subject yourself to needléss And the office—the entire She did not answer, but followed him his office. Mr. Green quletly the paper that contained his roceeded to discuss it unruffled way. It had very provoking, of course, an 1t was unpardonable; dence pointing unmistakably to a s the index of the soul— oreover, she wrote as The reporters heard the door of Mr. This was a disap- for it cut them off from the Little Robinson put on his hat and over- threw aside his pen, took up the “She did not imp; ou heard her story Mr. Green, slowly masticating his sand- reporter in- e sald, with “No,” cried Robinson, indignantly, “you 1I'm not a foel,” are not & fool, but you are a cur and a coward!” He lifted his hand, and, aiming a forceful blow at the cheek distended by the sandwich, struck the night city edi tor across the face. Then, tearing up his story, he flung the fragments of the paper upon the editorial desk.. There was a sudden rising In the office, the swift perception of a sensation_ that would 1ive' for at least a week in News- paper Row. But, before Mr. Green could recover from his amaze—he was, more- over, half choked by his sandwich, im- elled in the wrong direction—Robinson ad flun, left Owldom—forever. himself from the room and had CHAPTER XXIL As the door of Jack Childers’ office rienced her old- and enccurage- It acted upon her like a sed- How well she knew this peace- Even the pattern of Nothing had been dis- ulet relaxation. Even little Miss fixture in the luxuriéus placidity of Of course—of course little Miss and formulated. Nobody 'ever literary” or Often had they tried to knowledge. But little Miss Poplet: dumbly amiable, resisted their importuni tles. She was neither contemptuoys nor arrogant_but merely discreet and uninter- esting. She preferred to sit day by day and quietly worship Jack Childers. Hu- moristse—who could make thousands smile, but wgre unable to coax even the faintest curve of amusement to the lips of this girl—declared that she sald her prayers ;(o Mr. Childers, and adored him on her nees, lurking humor of these remarks. They touched her Miss Poplets as Jack Childers' sober re- flection. Sallle was never able to see the she admired little orely ; 8he was, therefore, surprised a ?er;u uletly: fer Miss Poplets to Taay 5o, Miss Sydennam. thaewe talk ou wish.” He was as courteous and as deferential but—but—he called her ‘Miss She was “Saliie” to him no This trivial change affected he 'm alone. And—and—she could ““No, Mr. Childers, she said. lump in her throal There s no reason I-I am not ashamed o I suppose for one mo- ‘that yot share the evident opin- t down and pmed}lfin 5 ;l‘”d nature appeared e was gravely discon- Jack Childers In the stress of him int paradox-— Littie Miss who loved him—had Elura his _own sake, too! The flders. hether Sallle were innocent or gullty mattered little; she had per- ml'::edd her master. And outside the gl- and journalism fought its Qoufll. ris swathed the “Why did you do this absurd, this un- M, necessary, this wicked thing?”’ he asked presently, Making a silence that envei- pyed them in a sort of unyielding wool. 'l can't understand it. It was cruel— cruel to yourself. Yow had an enviable osition; you were a privileged character n the office; we all liked you, admired you, gave you every opportunity. And you have ruined the whoie case. You ave done the one unpardongble thing— that which men and women] never. for- give. It is horrible. In all my journatstic experience I can remember 1o such bitter disappointment.” He spoke slowly, and in clear, pellucid sincerity. Were 'his words those of the managing editor, or of the man? She wondered, as she sat there, bowed with shame, at her own innocence. And a se of the dank injustice of it all arose within her. She was self-pilloried for his sake, and he did not appreciate it. But the plliory played a blithe game of ping- Pong between herself and Ivy Hamptoa. Later it would be driven home to Miss Hampton. She must wait and suffer, “You will understand later on,” she dared to say—for she had earned the right to such a fesble luxury of expression. ' In the meantime, Jou know—oh, of course you know—the deception of the appear- ance. Think of it, Mr. Childers. Picture the position I was in—and how grotesque it_really was.” He winced, but looked at her searching- ly, and seemed to penetrate her sublim- inal depth: “That {s not the point,” he said severe ly. “Whatever the reasons that prompte your appearance at Mr. Stuyvesant's Tooms, the fact remains that you were found there, and that the circumstances and the surroundings were damning in the eves of the world."” “1 don’t care about the world!'fshe cried fiercely—and little Miss Poplets quaked. “As long as you believe in me, and wil continue to do so, what do I mind? Noth. ing. And you do'believe in me, Mr. Chil- ders, of course. The whole thing is so perfectiy ridiculous—'" He held up his hand. *Yes,” he said quickly. *“But you do not understand, Miss Sydenham. /It Is marvelous that a glrl so keen. 50 alert, with such an ot~ erly mind as you possess, shoujd fail to gercel\‘e the real gravity of your action. ersonally I agree with you that the su position ‘of the world—headed by Green—is ridiculous. You could never be guilty of such fsolish misconduct; your sense of humor would be your saving grace; the pettiness. the squalor of the thing ‘would deter you. You would— o Stop, Mr. Childers,” she commanded. Is that all? Are those the only reasons You can find for your belief in my inno cence? What of my morality? What of my sentiment? Do you think I am devoid of these? Do you suppose because I have written lightiy—and - that you have laughed at my unconventional expressions —that I have no moral sense? Apart from the ludicrous side of this supposition, do jou beileve that nothing but a sense of umor would have saved me? Do you consider that I retaln my virtue in this matter simply because it would have been f{’,fl sh and serlous—unfunny—to have lost She rose and faced him, her eyes flash- ing. Bhe had discarded her pitiful ruse of make-up, and she stood before him an ordinary girl, the weapons with which shc had compelled the jnexorable attention of journalism cast aside. All her flippancy, all the characteristics that she had worn 80 flamboyantly as the livery of Owldom —or of her conception of the part—had vanished. He saw that she was pretty, earnest, real—and perhaps he had seen all this before in dim, sub-consclous revela- tlon. PerQaps, unconsciously, his soul had read hers. I have not allowed my personal senti- ments to weigh in this matter,” he re- plied uncomfortably. “If the question were one that could be settled between us—be- tween you and me, Sallie”’—(thank goodnéss for the “Sallie,” she thought)—"I should dismiss it immediately. But itis not. You have placed yourself in a position from which all my beliefs and convictions would be powerless to rescue you. You know the world, and you have given it a knife to use against yourself. It is a mis- erable business, and it is not merely for ‘business’ reasons—because you were va uable to the newspaper—that I regret it. “But,” she crled—for she had but one objective point—‘‘you have not answered me. . You do not think me immoral. You do not belleve that even—supposing I had been in love with Arthdr Stuyvesant—I could have sunk to such a level. You have always called me a jolly good fel- low, but still—still, in your soul you looked upon me as a woman and not as a bad woman. Tell me that, and do not lle. If you have really ever thought—or if you think now—that it was not beyond me to give myself in this way to a man, tell me, r. Childers. When you called me a jolly good fellow did you mean that my ‘real sex, with modesty and shame and virtue, was extinct?” Her anxlety was so real in its fai- reaching, unfettered reality, that little Miss Poplets in<tantly gave her a share of the wide aliegiance that had been ex- clusively Jack Childers’. She walted breathlessly for him to speak; the click- ing of the typewriter ceased. Little Miss Poplets' nimble fingers were staved in a paralysis of expectancy. Jack Chliders was confronted with a Y{roblem that he had not contemplated. e had not felt called upon to appralse the stability of Sallie Sydenham's virtue. He had known—as he sald that he had known—that in this case some weird ka- Jeidoscoplic twist of the probabilities had been dead against her, and that her good sense, her conviviality, even her rampant Bohemianism, would have rendered this smug and sordid lason wholly impossible. Nor for a solitary moment had he doubted her innocence. But he had not asked himself whether his conviction covered a faith in the rigidity of her virtue, or in the fixedness of consclentious feminine scruples. He had never attempted to consider her in any other light than that of the Insistent “jolly good fellow. He felt sure—yes, he was quite certain—that her sex had never counted for anything in his superficial estimate of her many ad- mirable qualities. - It had never occurred to him, or he be- Ifeved that it had never occurred to hin (for Jack Childers utilized but one stratum of entity, and that lay on the top) to regard her from the point of view of sex. Of course—he supposed—the fact that she was A woman had lent rtain iquancy to the bizarre fact of t dly rntercours& Nothing more. Thef® were no subtleties in Sallie Sydapham. And so «%«""'he heard her query and he an- swered it frankly. 1 have never asked myself such ques- tions, Sallie,” he said. “‘You see—there was no reason to do so. And—when I heard this miserable story, of course [ knew that you were the victim of circum- stances. 1 did not 8o into the subtle- tles_of the matter—I had not time—it has only just happened. The point was, not whether vou would or could have been guity * ¢ ¢ but merely that you had given the world a cue to believe that you were.” & This was plausible * ¢ ¢ but he had not answered her questlon. and she would fcrce him to answer it; and if he told her that his faith in hes virtue was non- existent—or if he expressed the contrary opinfon in courteous uncertainty and evi- dent lack of conviction—then—then she would be revenged. She would hurl at bim the words: “Well, it was Ivy Hamp- ton, your cousin. in this particular case. You can reason about me, but you can be quite certain of her.” Yes, she would do it. Because If he told her what she dread- ed to hear—that he had no certain bellef in her- purity—she would hate him In swift metamorphosis. _All that she had done she would undo. She would paralyze nfm with the truth. . But_Jack Childers, as her question sank into his soul, knew. He realized then, and he imagined it was for the first time, that this girl, light in her expressions, loose in her superficial outfit, loud in her bark, was stanch In her virtue. He looked into her eyes, and was amazed at the depths of truth In them. “Do_you think I could have been guilty?"” She would have his answer. Ha could not dilly-dally her away from ft. She was on trial before her managing edl- tor, but she would rout out the man. And he quickly responded in sheer, cer- tain tomes: “No. I do not think it. T telleve in you, Sallle, and you must for- give my professional words. After all,'we what the entire office will do—I readily perceive that by the attitude of Mr. Greer —if the story should leak out.” “If it should leak out!" he cried. ‘It bas done so. Unfortunately. when littic Robinson made his report to Mr. Green Miss Eisenstein was with the night city editor. I need not say any more; had the story been advertised on the dead walls of the city It could scarcely have been more surely advertised. [ am sorry. deeply grieved, Sallle. We might have managed to hush it up. but now—" “But now,”’ she repeated. and she smiied rather wanly, Lecause although she shculd have reveled in her martyrdom. ard carried the matter to its bitter unflinchingly, she could not do it now it Is all up, isn’t it, Mr. Childers? Sai- lie Sydenham is retired for the present, and any allusion to her tarnished name will be tabooed.” He was lost in pained thought. Fe had spoken the truth when he announced the fact that never in all his journalistic cureer had he known such a bitter dis- appointment. ‘Don’t you think.” he said presently, “that you could tell me—as a friend stiil, and not as a managing editor-what were the reasons that led you to Arthur Stuy- vesant's rooms?” She might have expected this, for it was completely relevant. But it took her by surprise and gave her another pang. herc was a reason,” she sald evasive- “but 1 cannot teil you what it was day. Some day, perhaps—" Some, day, perhaps! The soothing recol- lection! of Arthur Stuyvesant rushed to her afd. Something would happen, and Fer release would come. She had ins finite faith In the actor's words, although he had proved himself to be despicable in 2]l directions. 2 “I'will wait,” he said patiently. “I pre- sume. from your manner, that I should understand your reasons. She nearly laughed. If he would under- stand her reasons! Yes, they would be very patent. 'He would understand her reasons * * * and perhaps other things. But what did it signify? One of these days he might even realize that she lgved him; that no woman would run her neck fnto such a noose for any other cause but the all-powerful one. However. she would no longer be there, in daily inter- course with him. It would not matter. Spartan endurance is very spectacular, but the woman who loves need experl- ence no shrinking horror if the object of her devotion be able to sound her depths. In plays—in novels—a secret carried to the grave {s a worthy notion. But Sallie vas so wretchedly human, so plaintively real! She replied to his last words with a half smile. “Yes, you would understand,” she sald. She wondered what his sensations would be. Of course, he would admire her loyalty, and think splendid things of her sacrifice. But * * ¢ but * * ¢ he would probably say “Poor girl!” and feel distinetly sorry for her. The knowledge of Ivy's shame would for a time over- skadow all thoughts: but he would re- cover from that. He was not irretriev- ably in love with his cousin, and he would probably grow accustomed to the tupture of the matrimonial scheme. And when the new outlook had been firmly es- tablished ¢ * ¢ then, then what would he think of her? Perhaps he would laugh at the discovery that his “jolly good fel. iow” had salled under false colors; that throughout their long Bohemian com- munion she had been madly in love with him. And as this idea flashed into her mind she grew hot and cold by turns. The sky even now was murky with un- solvable clouds. The sun—her sun—would it_never shine again? “And now. Mr. Childers,” she said—she rose with beating heart and throbbing pulse, for the end had come—"1 won't ask you what T had better do. There ig nothing more. Please allow me to ‘tent der my resignation,” as the defaulting em- pioye remarks when he has been found out. Permit me to get ahead of you, and —to go before I am kicked out,” she add- ed inelegantly. He picked up a penholder and bit it to a pulp. He tried to readjust his position as managing editor, which had skulked tehind the weakness of the man. “‘You put it bluntly, Sallle,” he said. rse it all! What an_infernal shame . No,” impatiently. can't imagine any eonceivable reaso that you could have had for this folly. It is devilish. It is a great loss to the paper. I-" ““Thank you,” Sallle murmured in a low voice, and hér eves were moist. “You are kind, and I appreciate it; but things are as they are, and I see that departure is the only thing left. ,“Yes.," he retorted viciously. ‘Yes, of course you must not stay. This is a hard world, and there is one thing beyond the hope of possible salvation. It is the thing ~—that you have seemed to do. I must let you go. Under the circumstances, it seems cruel and odious. Had you been really guilty * * * it would have been easier. It would not have been so * * * s0 painful.” “Don’t say that!” she cried aghast (and she heard little Miss Poplets murmur, “Oh, no!”). “If T had been guilty, your duty as Jack Childers, managing editor, would have been simplified. But then you would have despised and hated me. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you, Mr. Child- ers?” The same question had returned. She was tired of this emotional analysis, and she could see that it hurt him. Still, she had suffered, and was suffering, more than mere hurt, and she would not spare bim_this really trivial distres: “You are a strange girl, Sallle,” he said gloomily. “You will persist In unearth- ing me as a man, when the serious ques- tion is a professional one. But—but 1 am glad, old girl, to know that this dark and uncomfortable cloud—is only a cloud. 1 shall always remember the good times we have had together—our jolly old rides up- town—and * * * it is consoling to know that nothing has really happened. Yes— yes—it would have been hateful if you had actually been what—for- some mysterious cause you have allowed yourself to ap- pear. I—-I won't gpeak as managing edi- tor again. You are going, and I will only tell you—since It is all you care to know —how awfully cut up I am—as your friend. Miss Poplets rose and took her hat and coat from their peg. She put them on furtively, and then, with a quiet “good- night.”” she went softly out and closed the door.” They scarcely noticed her action, and the shutting of the door sounded loud and strangely suggestive of finality. “Good-by.” said Sallle, suddenly. “I must be off. It Is late.” He motioned her ack. “Stop!™ He cleared his throat. “You have made me sink the managing editor to sult your own views. And now I must keep him down, to accommodate my own notion. What are you going to do? How are you going to live? Have you any money She shrank from these questions, that she had not foreseen. But she could not gquelch him as her friend when she had been so persistently evoking the shades of their comradeship. 1 shall fall on my feet,” she sald soft- ly. “1 am not afrald I am hor- ribly healthy “You must let me lend you some money."” he asserted, “and—and you can pay me back later. 'Don't argue, please. Do you think T don’t know this business of journalism, and how a sudden lay-off from work—for a day, perhaps—is a thing impossible? Yes, you must let me help you. Otherwise, T shall belleve that you never credited my friendship with any al;_;’llng power."" is was just * * * ang she knew ft. But nothing—nothing would induce her to accept such aid. She did not want hin to pity her. and she would not permit him to dole out dollars to her. It would be toc"de rading. i by ever need anything,” hastlly, “I will ask yiu—)‘gg 1.3:"‘ “Aut protent 1 am perfectly comfortable. - [ have been drawing a large salaryy-and I can llve.{o'r some time. It is very kind of you but * * * T need noth- ing." “Honestly “‘Honestly,” she replied, with a lie that she deemed justifiabl “And—and when affairs are straightened out,” he went on, “‘as they will be, for have been something more than busiress §you have said so—you will come back” assoclates—you and L. We have .een friends. You have a right to probe me. As man, I do not believe that ycu could have done this * * * because—you are a right-minded, chaste woman.” Little Miss Poplets, moved from her habitual attitude of 'devotional acquies- cence, could not repress. her satisfaction; ner he attempt to do so. She mu:- mured: “It is true; yes, it is true,” and then subsided meekly. It was the first time that she had ever made manifest a separate Intelligence. Jack Childers was -amazed. Sallie, in her tingle of emotion, realized the unusual. “I am so glad,” Sallie said tly. “And—now nothing matters. e entire “office may chatter and condemn me and I shall not complain. It is, of course, You must. We cannot get-along without you. It will be a dull and lifeless paper. and the drama—the poor old drama—will 80 to the dogs. You will come back, Sallie, of course?” She ‘nodded, for she could not trust her- sclf to speak. But she knew in her soul that this was the end, the final moment 0f her association with Owldom. Never again would she return to it, or join the severed ends of her career. It was her last day, and this certain knowledge was driven like a nail into her heart. Per- haps he knew it, too, but thought that dissimulation was wiser. “Shall we ride uptown together—to- Tight?” he asked, but he did not look al her. “I shall be ready in half an hour. “Not to-night,” she answered. “I— sust go now. Good-night. Good-by rand to save the situation from a drench. ing flow that she feit to be imminent. [t an almost superhuman effort—but she :’(‘!h!kv&d ft. He held her hand for a long time, and this long, unusual contact thrilied her. It was new to her a sort of splendid reveiation that. for a second, she thought was worth the win- nlnfi through all these iong and troublous paths. g “1 shall hear of you? he sald inter- rogatively, as he loosened his clasp upon o hen she her finge! Again she nodded. T : left him suddenly, and. opening the door. passed out. Her courage waned, her he strength drooped, and she stopped on t e Tairs to give way to irrepresaible Erief ¢t was Inevitable. How could she leave Owldomdear old Owidom, with its jovs and its sorrows, its mirth and its cha- grin, its hopes and its disappointments, its humilfations and its ambitions. its fa- tigues and its recuperations—forever? Nevermore! Nevermore! Nevermore! The word rang in her ears loud and ir- revocable. Her last appearance! And she was playing it alone. Not a footstep but her own clanked on the stone stairs. No- bedy saw her write the “rnis” to he journalistic chapter. On the very la step of all she stood for a second, then then it was all over. ¥ E She ploughed her way across City Hall Park without looking back. She shrank from the stony gaze of Ben Franklin and ot Greeley, cold sentinels though they were. Her emancipation from Owldom's thrall was complete. CHAPTER XXIIT “Evil news rides post, while good news hal The feminine owls flapped their wings and shrieked as Miss Sydenham’s story spread through the office like a for- est fire. The flames were started by Fisenstein, who, sensational and rampa realized the importance of her mission ard neglected none of the details of the Listory. Never before had she known the ailuring lusury of watching an ex- ited group hanging upon her every word ravenously pouncing upon the crumbs that she threw, and with eyes wide, hopes alert, minds receptive, —crying, “More! More!" She flung the sorry mat- ter at them, deftly saving up tit-bits for the most effective moments, dramatically rurturing an ebloulssant finale, zealously guarding against the corrosive influer of anti-climax making the miost of an exceptional opportunity in an ecstasy of spite, vindictiveness and male- volent gossip. It was proud moment in Miss Eisen- stein's 11 “Foule byrd that fyleth his owne nest,”” she threw down the reputa- tion of the poor Iittle twitterer that she hated so malignantly, and the others swooped upon it, pecked at it and tore 1t tc pieces. Dark, glowering birds, their carrion Instincts let loose by an occasion wide open and obvious, all the savagery of jealousy, offended pride, affected con- tempt suddenly released, they tore at the white, healthy stretches that still re- 10ained In the poor feeble thing called 'good name,” and blackened them mias- atically. No rosy hopes crowned with the lumi- nous laurels of realization could have brought a tenser joy to palpitant bosoms than did the history of Sallle’s martyr- com to the breasts of the feminine owls. They had a solemn, portentous confer- e in which the verfest details were investigated, the curtains all drawn up, and searchlights turned into the obscur ity of corners. Where novelists write asterisks, and playwrights pose sugges- tive interrogations, the ladles of Owidom pyowled and paraded, nostriis all a-flare. heads proudly erect, imaginations peeled for receptivity. Rochefoucauid, in an eczema of max- ms, might have gleaned a few more from this richly fertile fleld. The resignation with which the owls bore the misfortunes of their sister might have startied him. But it was not until the affair had been thrashed out im all its bearings that the beautiful, pallid spirit of resignation hov- ered. Before that no attempt was made 1o corceal wild instincts of delight. These women forgot to pose before one an- other in the prescribed garbs of their af- fectation. They stood. naked and un- ashamed. in the sheer. undiluted day- light. It was not until later that they proceeded to array themselves in the char ter costumes they wore so pictur Byuely: They had forgotten their re- spective roles * * * they had slipped from the parts that they played to the realitfes that they were. And gradually they pulled themselves together, recalled their relative postures, and. recovered from the panic of joy that had torn the rugs from their backs. they were them- selves again, in ail their placid, purring hypoerisy. Happy Hippy was suddenly convulsed with_laughter. “The funniest thing [ Pave'ever seen” she sald. tinkling. Mr. Childers’ face. It is like the quint- essence of a half dozen well-selected fu- rera 1 just mentioned her name to him and he flew into such a rage that I beat a retreat. And that silly little Pop- lets girl—she makes me sick—fired up ana looked as though she were going to have a fit. No doubt he feels it acutely. He sed to ride uptown with her at night. ! ha! They've been seen a dozen mes crossing City Hall Park. And now ow foolish he must feel—and just en- gaged, too! Anastasia Atwood, dark in her mourn- ing robes, drew a deep breath. She re- membered a certain dinner at Mouquin's. when Miss Sydenham, seated with the managing editor, had dared to invite her to join them at their table. Perhaps Sal- ie had never lmaglned how theroughly the most _insignificant favor might be turned to her disadvantage. But Anas- tasia had a good memory. Not for the world,” shé remarked, “would I utter a word derogatory to Mr. Childers. Men are merely thoughtless. They lack psychic intuition. What Mrs. Hapgood says is true. how- ever. They have been seen together, and I have seen them—positively dining. And,” sinking her voice to a whisper, “unless I am very much mistaken, thers was wine on the table. Oh"—arranging Ber hands spectacularly—" why—why is it that we are tried so sorely—that we have no premonitions—no foreshadowings? I cduld weep as I think of Mr. Childers, now engaged to a beautiful. pure and un- sophisticated maiden. hampered by such recollections. For never—never—no mat- ter what happens—can he forget that he dined and talked In conspicuous tete-a- tete with this woman to whom chastity is nothing. In the years to come, when little children are gathered -round his knee, his vision of this dreadful thing will confront him. He will see her, branded in rlet—a blot upon the sanc; tity of his_ho! before his mental eyes. Mamie Munson tittered. She thought 1t rather rude of Anastasia to even imag- ine Mr. Childers with children, when he was merely engaged. But she deemed it wise to say nothing, as each of the owls, in icturesque hysteria, might pounce upon and um Y Rere For they knew her heart, as they knew their own. Each ‘was fully aware that the other was play- ing a part in a comedy with a “strong’ situation. And so bad news rode post and news batted. and feminine Owldom knew the keenest joy. The sinister silence of Mr. Childers was exasperating, and the sud- den development of little Poplets from a meek monentity to a full-fledged virago astounded them. But everything was ar- ranged to suit their own conception of the case. Mr. Childers’ attitude was dus to self-reproach, remorse, the qualms of conscience, the knowledge that he had been gulled and deceived. Little Poplets was taking advantage of this state to display . herself in her true colors. And gradually the veil of silence fell upon lgo office. and its tireless routine was re-established. It was surprisingly dull without Sailie. A fruitful topic of conversation had been removed. Half the occupation of feminine Owldom was gone. No longer could they discuss the ribaldry of her writi or the abandon- ed, pervertad views of life that she took. No more were they able to gossip of her appearance, her make-: her demeanor. her unwomanliness, herf flightin The days seemed lank and Amefla Am- berg Hutchinson dared to find her cor- respondents inopportune and provoking: Anastasia Atwood lost a favorite pose, and was overpowered with the stern prose of her poetry; Happy y. “Whose allurements had been frequently brought to a head by the fillip given to her persi- flage by Sallle Syden! grew dull a despondent: Eva Higgins found - moods of her sisters trying and fatal to her inspiration; Post Lucy real- ized the disastrous somnolence of the of- fice, and could have found it in her heart to wish that semebody else would go wrong: Mamie Munson alluded less fre- quently to her parent. for now the office was so atroclously virtuous that even a mother's ini € WAS unnecessary; even Rita Eisenstein’felt the appallt change. The machinery of the fatiguing. Gahy routine had lost its pleasant lubrication— the one spot that rendered friction fm- possible. The withdrawal of Sallie Sy-