Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 February 1910 — JUST A WOMAN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

JUST A WOMAN

“Why do you look at me like that, Ken? I’m only flesh and blood, you know, just like any other girl." “Oh, no, you are more beautiful than any other girt” replied Kenneth Mayes impetuously—“far more beautiful!” They were standing together In front of the fireplace, and now that they were once more alone, after long days of absence, they felt that they must unburden their, minds to one another, come what might. "Do you know, you frighten me sometimes,” Bald the girl slowly, after a pause, "because you’re so dreadfully In earnest. Do you mean It?” “Of course I mean It.” “Oh. Ken, you silly boy! Why, how long have you known me, sir? About thirteen weeks, isn't it? And, of course, I’ve been on my best behavior all the time. You’ve only seen one side of me—the amiable side. You haven’t seen me just as I am —at honpie with the mat|r and sister.” “But I hope to. You will introduce me?”

“Oh, of course. I’ve no horrid crimes to confess. Just a few little peccadillos, that's all. Now, instead of hugging a delusiota to your heart and waking up one day crying you’ve been deceived, I should like to have you forgive me for something beforehand, and yet to love the woman while you deplored the fault.”

Presently she found him picking up a book she had been reading which had fallen to the floor. “H’m! Tennyßon," “he said, and opened It. His eye fell on a photograph. "Price Carew!” —looking at her. “You knew him?” “Yes,” she said, simply, wondering at the change in his tone. “Did you?” “He was the dearest friend I ever had. A man I would have laid down my life for.” He spoke sternly,- evidently striving to suppress his emotion. “Where did you get his photo?” “It was given to me.” Her face was crimson, and her eyelids drooped low over her eyes. “By him?” “Yes.” He groaned. “To think it should be you, Madge—to think it should be you! You broke his heart—one of the truest that ever beat. And I've been deluding myself ” “Kenneth!” she broke in. “Walt—don’t blame one till you’ve heard the story.” » v “Do you knew that he practically committed suicide—exposing himself recklessly to' the Boer marksmen till at last a bullet found him? I know now what it was that made you**face so familiar. He carried your photo next his heart, and when he was dying he put it into my hand. 'Bury it with ine, Ken,’ he said. And I did. He had told me the story a few months before, without blaming you, and without mentioning names. But you killed him, and he was one of the .best.” ' “I deny it,” she cTled sharply. • “I deny it His death brought sorrow to jne. The story is a very unhappy one.

If a girl finds she has made a mistake •” “A mistake?” he interposed, and there was a look of scorn in his face. “A nice sort of a mistake. Do you claim that a woman can amuse herself with a man—encourage him, lead him on, and then, when she’s got him in the tolls, turn round ana ten him glie’s very sorry, but she’s made a mistake?” “You'are heaping blame without having heard the girl’s side of the story. She ” “A woman who makes such mistakes is unpardonable—unpardonable! Why didn’t ” “Kenneth! Be careful. Yon are the only man, Kenneth, that I have ever allowed to make love to me—the only man I have ever loved. The qnly one.” “H’ria!” he muttered sullenly, ‘fit’s all very well to put it off on a mistake. I like the word as little as I like the action. And a girl who does that sort of thing once may do it twice. Now, what guarantee have I got that next week, or next month or next year, you won’t find that you’ve made another mistake?” Then he looked up, and there was a sneer on lips. “I won’t keep you waiting even a week, Kenneth,” she said, quietly, “because I have found it put already.” The next moment she was gone. For ten minutes he remained where she had left him. Then, hardly knowing what he was doing, he picked up the volume of Tennyson, and looked at the title page. On the flyleaf he read the name, “Madge Prentice,” in Price Carew’s well known hand. It was long before he met her again. Mrs. Prentice and her daughters had gone abroad and had not returned. It

was a time*of wretchedness and misery for Kehneth. In spite of all, he loved her still. Perhaps he had been hasty. Certainly he had not asked for her side of the story. Anyway, he must see her again. The Prentices arrived back one evening, and the next morning Madge got a wire: "May I come?” • » * • • "Well, Ken,” she said, after she had allowed him to babble incoherences for several minutes, "are you sure now?” ‘That I cannot live without you? Why, yes, of course, otherwise—” "No, no-—sure that you know me for what I am—just a woman, a faulty woman, and not a " The door opened Blowly and a woman’s 1 form apeAred on tue tnreshold. ' “I beg your pardon. I thought—— ’’ “Come in, Kate, come in. I want to introduce you to Mr, Mayes. Kenneth, my sister, Kate.’' Kenneth was staring so hard at the lady that for a moment he did not see, the proffered hand. Prentice was frail and delicate, obviously an invalid. But in health she must have been the very picture of Madge—only four years older. “I'm glad to see you,” she said. "Madge has told me about you—that you were a great friend of Mr. Carew’s. I am glad to welcome any friend of his.” Then she slipped away as quietly as she had come. VYou mustn't blame her, Ken. She suffered as- much as he did. She nearly died. She has never been well

since. No, you wouldn’t understand it, but I don’t blame you for that. It was a Sad—said mistake for both of then. Leave it there.” “Then it wasn’t you at all?” “No.” “But why did you let me think It was?” “You misunderstood—jumped to the conclusion; and then —well, it was a woman’s whim. I saw a chance to try whether you really loved me—me, or the dream woman—not the real woman, but the ideal woman.” “Madge! And you let me go—through “Have I gone through nothing—loving you as I did? Why, the very first time, sir, you merely thought I was wrong—yes, and without wanting or waiting .to see, you blamed me—me, the perfect woman! Oh, Ken!” “Still, I don’t think R was quite right of you to let me believe what wasn’t really true,” he said, glad to have something to urge against her. She laughed. “Oh, Ken!” she cried, again. “I don’t defend it. But forgive me, dear boy, forgive me! And be thankful that you’ll baYe Just a woman for a wife, and not a spotless, flawless goddess that you couldn’t even forgive.”—M. A. P.

" THEN IT WASN'T YOU AT ALL?”