The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 27, 1904, Page 3

THE SAN FR CISCO SUNDAY CALL. ath that plunged into the trees. “I t what your name is.” was lost In the interven- the xt moment he and i behind the ng evergreens. leggo my hand. er hauling me this B serse i not heed, and they went hand shake that bservation. “It's came home the chills.” this harm- d Mariposa old. es that way,” she f embarrassment. asked Benito, sud- ¥ perhaps playing the id, feeling the necessity of e to make my hand Benito observed en- had the fingers running he wo jon. It was Pierpont had ice of P ®w who was & over the stair h a tingling at stage that this mother’s to be up ore the rich er throat. “Some day I'll sing for him,” she said to herself, with her head up and her see that none of h was -still on her. when she shut the door of her own room. It was hard to settle to any- ng with t sudden welling up of tions disturbing the apathy S| tanding, n a knock at n her ears. Garcia, with the white duster, s now and then. Mrs. Garcia, but Mrs. the opening door re- Mariposa’s welcome was v by the desire for com- ship but by genuine affection. She had come to regard Mes. Willers her best friend. hey did not see each other as often formerly, for the newspaper woman found all her time occupied by her new To-day being Monday, she had ged to get off for the afternoom, as it was in the Sunday edition that the Woman's Page attained its most im- posing proportions. Monday was a day off. But Mrs. Willers did not always avail herself of it. She was having the first real chance of her life and was waorking harder than she had ever done before. Her bank account was mount- ing weekly. On the occasions when she hed time to consult the little book she sav through the line of figures Edna g»mg to & fine school in New York, and then, perhaps, a still finer one abroad, and back of that again—dimly, as be- came & blissful vision—Edna grown a woman, accomplished, graceful, beauti- ful, a glorified figure in a haze of wealth and success. She had no war-paint on to-day, but was in her working clothes, dark and serviceable, showing lapses between skirt and waist-band, and tag ends of tape appearing in unexpected places. She had dressed in such a hurry that morning that only three buttons of each boot were fastened, though the evening before Edna had seen to it that they were all on. She had cgame up the hill on what she would have called “a dead run,” and was still fetching her breath with gasps. Sitting oppo: Mariposa, in the bright light of the window, she let her eyes dwell fondly on the girl's face. “Well, young woman, do you know I've come up here on the full jump to lecture you?"” “Lecture me? ing and bending * said Mariposa, laugh- forward to give Mrs. friendly squeeze. doing now ?” hat's just what I've come to find Left a desk of work, and Miss s hopping round like a chicken head off, to find out what 1 doing. I'd have come up I couldn’t get away. Mari- I've had a letter from 3 . r deepened. A line ap- er eyebrows, and she she say A lot me. And Tve to find out what's What it that’s t like several kinds you mean?"” said Mariposa time. “What w as well as I do And I can't mak? What's come over the girl in a low e some had an Y you to ate your voice, study n, and become a pri- ng's to be paid— r money. Now, name made you re- the bright light, the like gimlets on saw its dis- could read no fore she had re- letter, and had She could nor to Mrs. a reason for the girl's un- conduct ain it to you,” sald Mar- didn’t want to go. That to go only a month frer without answering. s the part that’s so u'd take It from change her mind, but a reasonable a cent, with bardly a thout w could she has.” ok me in the eye.” the amber-clear y with an uneasy thrill, that there was knowledge in them there had not been before. It was not the id glance of the candid, un- i had once been. She t a contraction of pain at her heart, hough she 1d read tHe same change in Edna’s eyes. at made you change your mind? s what I want to know.” iposa lowered her lids. I can’t tell. What makes anybody his mind? You think differ- Things happen that make you Ma ppened to make you ! appeared again on the forehead. She shifted her the window and then back r lap. n't want to tell? I'm to have to Mayn't I tie girl like Edna, thought I ha ret, Mrs. W pt at a ceaxing smile. Mrs. Will- ¢ that it was an effort, and re- grave. want you to have secrets no more than I would ,”" she said in a lowered g forward and putting her hand on irl's knee, “is it because of some man?” Mariposa looked up quickly. The elder woman saw that, for a moment, she was startled. “Some man!” she exclaimed. man?” “You haven’t changed your mind be- cause of Essex?” “Essex!” She slowly crimsoned, and Mrs. Willers kept her pitiless eyes on the rising flood of color. “Oh, my dear girl,” she said almost in an agony, “don’t say you've got fond of him.” “I don’t like Mr. Essex. bear him.” Mrs. Willers knew enough of human nature not to be at all convinced by this remark. “He’s not the man for any woman to give her heart to. He’s not the man to take seriously. He's never loved any- thing in his life but himself. Don't let yourself be focled by him. He’s hand- some, and he's about-the smoothest taiker I ever run up against. But don’t you be crazy enough to fall in love with him.” “I tell you, I don’t like him.” “My goodness, I wish there was somebody in this world to take care of you. You've got no sense, and you're so urfortunately good-looking. Some day you'll be fooled just as I was with Willers. Are you telling the truth? It isn't Essex that's made you change your mind?” These repeated accusations exasper- ated Mariposa. “No, it is not,” she said angrily; and then, in the heat of her annoyance, “if anything would make me accept Mrs. Shackleton's offer it would be the hope of getting away from-that man.” There was no doubt she was speaking the truth now.- Mrs. Willers’ point of view of the situation underwent a ka- leidoscopic upsetting: “Oh,” she said, in a subdued voice, “then it's he that's in love?” The girl made no answer. She felt hot and sore, pricked by this insistent probing of spots that were still raw. “Docs he—does he—bother you?” the elder woman said in an incredulous voice. Somehow she could not recon- “What I—I—can't cile the picture of Essex as a repulsed and suppliant wooer with her knowl- edge of him as such a very self-assured and debonalr person. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘bother me,"” said Mariposa, still heated. “He makes love to me, and I don’t Hke it. I don't like him.” “Makes love to you? What do you mean by ‘makes love to you? " “He has asked me to be his wife,” =aid the victim, zoaded to desperation by this tormenting catechism. She could not have confessed that Essex had entertained other designs with regard to her, any more than she could have told her real reason for re- fusing Mrs. Shackleton’s offer. But she felt ashamed and miserable at these half-truths, which her friend was giv- ing ear to with the wide eyes of won- der. “Humph!” sa Mrs. Willers, “T never thought that man would want to marry a poor girl. But that’s not as surprising as that you had sense enough to refuse him.” “I don’t like him, I know I'm stupid, but I know when I like a pérson and when I don’t. Ard I'd rather stand on the corner and Sutter streets with a t els than marry Mr. Essex, or be sent to Europe by Mrs..Shackleton.” “Well, you're a combination of smart- ness and foliy I mever expect to see “IEBS SHE SIID beaten. You've got sense enough to re- fuse to marry a man who’s bound to make you miserable. That’s astonish- ing in any girl. And then, on the other hand, you throw up the chance of a lifetime for nothing. That would be astonishing in a candidate for entrance into an asylum for the feeble-minded.” “Perhaps I am feeble-minded,” sald Mariposa humbly. “I certainly don't think I'm very clever, especially now with everybody telling me what a fool Iam. “You're only a fool on that one point, honey. And that's what makes it so aggravating. It's just a kink in your brain, for you've got no reason to act the way you do.” She spoke positively, but her pleading lock at Mariposa showed that she was not yet willing to give up the search for a reason. Mariposa leaned forward and took her hand. “Oh, dear Mrs. Willers,” she sald, “don't ask me any more. Don't tease me. I do love you, and you've been so kind to me I can never stop loving you, no matter what you did. But let me be. Perhaps I have a reason, and per- haps I am only a fool, but whichever way it is, be sure I haven't acted hasti- ly; and I've suffered, too, trying to do what seemed to me right.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she got up quickly to hide them, and stood looking of the window. Mrs. Willers rose, too, and, putting an arm around her, kissed her cheek. “All right,” she said, “I'll try not to bother. But you want to tell me what- ever you think you can. You're too good-looking, Mariposa, and you're such—a—" She stopped. p “A fool,” came from Mariposa, in the stifled tones of imminent tears. There was a moment’s pause, and then their simultaneous laughter filled the room. “You see you can’t help saying it,” said Mariposa, laughing foolishly, with tears hanging on her lashes. “It's like any other bad habit—it's getting entire ceatrol of you.” A few moments later Mrs. Willers was walking quickly down the hill to- ward Sutter street, her brows Rnit in thought. She had certainly discovered nothing. In her pocket was Mrs. Shackleton’s letter telling of Miss Mo- reau's refusal of her offer and asking if Mrs. Willers knew the reason of it. Mrs. Shackleton had wondered If Miss Moreau’s affections had been engaged, which could perhaps account for her otherwise unaccountable rejection of an opportunity upon which her whole fu- ture might depend. Mrs. Willers had been relieved to find there was certainly no man influencing Miss Moreau’s decision. For unless it was Essex, it could be nc one. Mrs. Willers knew the paucity of Mariposa’s soclal circle. That Essex had asked the girl to me him and been refused was astonishing. The rejection was only a little more surprising than the offer. For a man like Essex to want to marry- a penniless orphan was only exceeded in singularity by a girl like Mariposa refusing a man of Essex’s indisputable attractions. But there was always something to be thankful for in the darkest situation, and Marlposa un- w44 LOw doubtedly had no intention of marry- ing him. Providence was guiding her, at least, in that respect. It was still early when Mrs. Willers approached The Trumpet office. The sky was leaden and hung with low clouds. As she drew mear the door the first few drops of rain feil, spotting the sidewalk here and there as though they were slowly and reluctantly wrung from the swollen heavens. It would be & storm, she thought, as she turned into the doorway and began the ascent of the dark stairs with the lanterns on the landings. In her own cubby-hole she answered Mrs. Shackleton's letter, and then passed along the passageway to the sanctum of the proprietor, who was still in his office. Win, in his father's swivel chair, looked very small and insignificant. The wide window behind him let a flood of pale light over his bullet- shaped head with its patch of limp, blonde hair, and his thin shoulders bowed over the desk. His eyes nar- rowed behind his glasses as he looked up in answer to Mrs. Willers’ knock, and then, when he saw who it was, he smiled, for Win liked Mrs. Willers. She handed him the letter with the request that he give it to his mother that evening, and sat down in the chair beside him, facing the long white panes of the window, which the rain was be- ginning to lash. “My mother and you seem to be hav- ing a lively correspondenece,” said Win, who had brought down Mrs. Shackle- ton’s letter days before. “Yes, we've got an untractable young lady on our hands, and it's a large order.” “Miss Moreau?” said the proprietor of The Trumpet. “My mother told me. She’s very independent, isn’t she?” “She’s a strange girl. You can tell your mother, as I've told her in this letter, that I don’t understand her at all, She's got some idea in her head, but I ean't make it out.” “Mightn’t a girl just be independent?” sald the young man, putting up a long, thin hand to press his glasses against his nose with a first and second finger. “Just independent, and nothing else?” “There’s no knowing what a girl mightn't be, Mr. Shackleton,” Mrs. Willers responded gloomily. “I was one myself once, but it’s.so long ago T've forgotten what it's like; and, thank heaven, it's a stage that's soon passed.” It so happened that this little conver- sation set Win's mind once mors to thinking of the girl his father had been 80 determined to find and benefit. As he left The Trumpet office, shortly after the withdrawal of Mrs. Willers, his mind was full of the queries the find- ing of the letters had aroused in it The handsome girl he had seen that af- ternoon, three months ago, appeared before his mental vision, and this time as her face flashed out on him from the dark places of memory it had a sud- den tantalizing suggestion of familiar- ity. The question came that so often teases us with the sudden glimpse of a vaguely recognized face: “Where have I seen it before?” % Win walked slowly up Third street meditating under a spread umbreila. Tt was raining hard now, a level down- pour that beat pugnaciously on the city. which bleamed and ran rillets of water under the onslaught. People were scurrying away in every direction, wo- men with umbrellas low against their heads, one hand gripping up their skirts, from beneath which came and went glimpses of muddy boots and wet petticoats. Loafers were standing un- der eaves, looking out with yellow, apathetic faces. The merchants of the quarter came to the doorways of the smaller shops that Win passed, and stood looking out and then up inte the sky with musing smiles. It was a heavy rain, and no mistake. ‘Win had a commission to execute be- fore he went home, and so passed up Kearny street to Post, where, a few doors from the cornmer, he entered a photographer’s. He was having a copy made on ivory of an old daguerreotype of his father, to be given as a present to his mother, and to-day it was to be finished. The photographer, a clever and capa- ble man, had started the innovation of having his studio roughly lined with barlaps, upon which photographs of local belles and celebrities were fast- ened with brass-headed nalls. Win, walting for his appearance, loitered round the room looking at these, recog- nized a friend here, and there a proud beauty who had endured him as a part- ner at the cotillion because he was the only son of Jake Shackleton. Farther on was one of Edna Willers, looking very lovely and seraphic in her large- eyed innocence. . On a small slip of wall between two windows there was only one picture fastened, and as his eye fel! on this he started. It was Mariposa Moreau, in the lace dress she had worn at the opera, the face looking directly and gravely Into his. At the moment that his glance, fresh from other faces, fell on it, the haunting suggestion of fa- miliarity, of having some intimate con- nection with or memory of it, possessed him with sudden, startling force. Of whom did she remind him? He backed away from it, and, as he did so, was conscious that he knew ex- actly the way her lips would open if she had been going to speak, of the pre- cise manner she had of lifting her chin. Yet he had seen her only twice in his life that he knew of, and then in the half-dark. It was not that she Wi known to him, but some one that she looked lik ome one he knew well, that had some vague, yet close con- ~nection with his life. He felt in an eery way that his mind was gropingly ap- proaching the solution, had almost seized it, when the photographer’s voice behind him broke the thread. “It will be ready in a moment, Mr. Shackleton,” he said. “You're looking at that picture. It's a Miss Moreau, a ycung lady who, I believe, is a singer. I put it there by itself, as I was just a little proud of it.* “It's a stunning picture and no mis- take,” saild Win, arrarging his glasses, “but it must be easy to make a picture of a girl like that.” “On the contrary, F think it's hard. Miss Moreau's handsome, but it's a beauty that's more suitable to a painter than a photographer. It's the coloring that's so remarkable, so rich and so reflned—that white skin and dark red halr. That’s why I am proud of the picture. It suggests the coloring, I think. It seems to me there's some- thing ‘warm about that hair.” Win sald vaguely, yes, he guessed there must be, wondering what the fel- low meant about there being something warm about the hair. Further com- ment was ended by an attendant com- ing forward with the picture and hand- ing It to the photographer. The man held it out to Win with a proud smile. It was an enlargement of a small daguerreotype, taken ,séme twenty years previously, and repre- senting Shackleton In full face and without his beard. The work had been excellently done. It was a faithful and spirited likeness. As his eye’'fell on it Win suffered a sudden and amazing revelation. It was like a dazaling flash of light tearing away the shadows of a dark place. Through the obscurity of his mind en- lightenment rent like a current of elec- tricity, That was what the memory was, that dim sense of previous knowl- edge, that groping after something well known and yet elusive. He stared at the picture, and then turned/and looked at Mariposa's hang- ing on the wall. The photographer, looking commiseratingly at him, evi- dently mistaking his obvious perturba- tion of mind fo? a rush of fillal affec- tion, recalled him to himself. He did not know that he was pale, but he saw that the plate of ivory in his hand trembled. “It's—it's—first rate,” he said In a low volce. “I'm tremendously pleased. Send it to The Trumpet office to-mor- row, and the bill with it, please. You've done an A gumber one job.” He turned away and went slowly out, the photographer and his assistant looking curiously after him. There were steps to go down before he re- gained the street, and he descended them in a maze, the rain pouring om his head, his closed umbrella in his hand. It was all as clear as daylight now—the secret searching out of the mother and daughter, the interest taken by his father in the beautiful and talented girl, his desirs to educate and provide for her. It was all as plain as A BC. “She was so different from Maud and me,” Win thought humbly, as he moved forward in the blinding rain. “No won. der he was fond of her.” It was so astonishing, so simple, and yet 5o hard to realize In the first mo- ment of discovery this way, that he stopped and od staring at the pave- ment. recogniz motionless figure with the water g off its hat brim till they were close on him. » eraz cried one gavly. come on, Winnie boy?" He looked up startl presence 4 , and had the mind enough not to open his umbr “Win’s trying to grow,” said the other, knowing that his insignificant size man. like a plant.” Rain’s all fica on to the young ut in the rain So he’s stand ht,” sald Win. “TI like No doubt about that, thing to doubt’s your s: “Cute little day, a companion. Win likes it,” sald the first. t up, old chap, and high before the winter's sonny. Oaly sald his “Keep 1 be six feet And they went off cackiigg to the 2lub to tell y of Win, with the water pour s hat and his glasses damp € staring at the pavement on Win on. He circuitous lla and went he was an o edged, e and Maud had the home and fortune inherited. y moment when the father had found her free to accept his bou: he had been snatched away. And sh That was the ex- planation of her changeable conduct. She had found it out in some way be- tween the deaths of her mother and Shackleton. Some one had told her or she had disc ed it herself. In the dripping dark Win pondered it all, going up 2 down the ascending streets in a tortuous route homeward, wondering at fate, communing with himself. REBELLIOUS HEARTS Constant you are, But yet a w an No lad - Thou wilt v Shakespeare. mother in her boudelr irs. Willers® letter to ent. He saw her silent, her brows ‘Win found hi and delivered her without co: read it ard then @rawn, looking into the fire beside which she sat. It was !mpossible just then for ki to allude to the subject of the let ., after standing by the mantelpiece awkwardly warming his wet -feet, he went upstairs to his own rooms. At dinner the famlily trio was unu- sually quiet. Under that fell from the great delier over the table with its weight of glass and silver, the three participants looked preoccupied and stupid. The two Chinese serva soft-footed as cats, and spotless in their crisp white, moved about the table noiselessly, of- fering dish after dish to their Impes- sive employers. It was one of those Irritating occa~ slons when everythir s to com~ bine for the purpec f exasperating. «Bessie, annoyed by ‘Willers'letter,foun mented by the fact tha blaze of light >rystal chan- particularly plain that the Count de L ter dinner. Wor of such spa: it pos: d and had accentuated its ungirlish heaviness. She feit that her engagem must be anncunced, for the ( Lamolle was exhibiting those a coming proposal that st and w excuse could mother for rejecting him? She must tell the truth, and the thought alarmed her shrinking and peaceable soul. She sat silent, crumbling her bread with a ner- vous hand and wondering how could possibly avert the offer of the Count showed ‘symptoms of making 18 that evening. After dinner her mother left her in the small reception-room, a rich and ornate apartment, furnished in an ort- ental manner with divans, cushions, and Moorish hangings. The %eal for 'o{:zpemnage had net yet penetrated to the West, and Bessie considered that to leave her daughter thus alone was to discharge her duties as a paremt with delicate correctness. She retired to the adjoining library, where the Count, on entering, had a glimpse of her sitting in a low chalr, languldly turning the pages of a magazine. Ha, on his part, had lived th the West long enough to know that the disposal of the family in these segregated unmits was what custom and conventionality dictated. The Count was a clever man and had studied the United States from other points of vantage than the window of & Pullman car. With the murmur of his greetings te Maud in her ears. Bessle rose from hef chair. She found the lbrary chill and cheerless after her.cozy boudoir on the floor above, and decided to go there. Glaneing over her shoulder, as® she mounted the stairs, she could see the Count standing with his back to the fire, discoursing with a smile—a hand- some, personable man, with his dark face and pointed beard looking darker than ever over his gleaming axpanse of shirt bosom. It would be an entirely desirable marriage for Maud. Bessle had found out all about the Count’s position and title in .his native land, and both were all that he said they were, which had satisfled and sum~ prised her. In her own room she sat down before the fire to think. Maud's future was in her own hands now, melding itself into shape downstairs in the reception- room. Bessie cduld do no more toward directing it than she had already done, and her active mind immediately seized on the other subject that had beem en- grossing it. She drew out Mrs. Willers’