Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 133, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 June 1911 — An Even Game [ARTICLE]

An Even Game

BY JOANNA SINGLE

(Copyright, zgii, by Associated Literary Press.)

Mary, like the other flowers, was out in the early morning exploring the greenness of the grounds of her friend’s house. She had come the evening before and was new to the surroundings. At a turn in a winding path she met a fair-headed young man in white flannels, who could not remove his hat because he wore none, but who bowed charmingly. She answered in kind, looking at him gravely. "I know you are Miss Mary Sumner,” he said. "And I know you are Frederick Denton!" She held out a pretty hand, which he took while he murmured how glad he was, but she interrupted: . "But you aren’t glad, you know! You expect to be bored beyond measure—and you didn’t want to come because you knew I was to be here, but you couldn’t refuse your sister’s party! Am I not right?” Her charming dark face was flushed and Bparkllng, and she seemed to speak in a hurried, soft breath. He all but stared. “What makes you say that? Wont you tell me?” "Play fair!" she begged. "You know perfectly well what our families are up to—don’t you?’ It was his turn to flush, but he laughed. "I wish they had minded their business, but you are right. Of course we are expected dutifully ho—fall in love. Of course I don’t have to! It’B all over —the first glance did It Now if you could—” She shook her head. ... “Don’t be polite," she laughed, her brown eyes mocking him. “It’s horrid to be planned for. Let’s make them suffer. We both have* spirit enough not to be captured by the machinations of my mother and your sister. I’m glad you’re—really so—nice. You might not have been—charming. You’ve been talked into my ears until I nearly hated you—and I knew you must have felt the same about me.” “I never doubted that you were all they said,” he admitted, “only as you say—let’s make them uncomfortable. But let’s"-he good friends in secret. Will you?” She nodded, and they sat down upon a rustic seat to talk it over gaily, while birds sang and the fulness of late May bkxmted about them. “Let’s be stiff and distant, and almost rude and indifferent before the others,” “And get up early every morning like this—and talk it over. Will your’ He held out a brown hand and she laid a white, slim one in its clasp a moment

He gave her hand another little clasp and let it go. She rose and prepared to go. He noticed and graceful, how very lovely and dignified was her bearing. '} “Remember,” she reminded, "that we have not met We must not be seen together—you might, come in a little late to breakfast. I'll be stiff.” “And I’ll be cool enough to blight every rose on the place!” He watched her go away, and almost wished tkat Alice Shaw had not made love a thing far from him, and left a raw wound hard to heal. When Denton appeared where the others were all seated at the Informal breakfast, Mrs. Rawson introduced him to Mary—be knew all the others —and she looked at him an instant, gave -n polite, distant little bow, and went on with her talking to Mamie Rosseter. / Denton, on his part, had been formally courteous. Neither had said one friendly word, though their families bad for ten years been most intimate. The hostess was astonished beyond measure, but too clever to show a sign. But what did they mean? She watched them all day when they were within range. Neither went near the other voluntarily, and if any chance brought them together, they passed a few most formal remarks. She tried seating them next each other at dinner^—each talked to the neighbor on the other side. This went on for nearly a week, and the good lady was in despair. Finally she spoke to her brother about it “I don’t know what you mean, Mattie. I’m never discourteous to a lady. Do you want me to gush? What, in short, do you want?” She was giio-'-ad. and made haste to retreat, inwardly discomfited. “I didn’t mean you were rude, only I depended on you to help amuse her—she’s the only strap—- Of course you're never rude —I just thought as her family and ours are so intimate, we ought to be unusually nice to herl**' “Well, I think you’re mistaken—she seems vastly amused —always in the thick of things. By the way, where does Molly Fairly keep herself mornings? Hasn’t she grown stunning? She was an ugly enough little girl— I like her quiet manner, don’t you?" Mrs. Rawson deftly got away from the subject Could Fred take a fancy to Molly? Bhe was dangerously attractive and poor, but had been asked because of the hostess’ obligations to the girl’s mother. Later in the day. Mrs. Dawson wrote Mrs. Sumner, among other things, the following plaint: ”-My dear, they simply don’t see each other! Have we managed to overdo things?- Mary never looked more utterly charming, but she's icy, and I could shake Fred—he doesn't

make the first effort to be mote than > vaguely polite. I’ve thought I caugbt one or two knowing looks, pass between them, but I must have imagined it I ought to tell you that Mary to flirting in a refined but constant way with Percy Kaylor—l wish I • hadn’t asked him. And Fred does nothing but moon and watch Hie mail bag. He gets a daily letter addressed in a woman’s hand from Kenosha, some western place. What shall I do? And —I don’t want to tell you this, but It’s my duty—the other night when Edith was in Mary’s room and they were chatting and hair-brushing, Edith saw that Mary had a slender chain around her neck with a solitaire ring hanging from it. She seemed unaware that Edith had seen it Of course Edith told me—she’s a dear child—and I bade her say nothing to anyone else. Supposing you come on for a few days? I told Mary I should ask you. Mrs. Sumner came on with exceeding dispatch. She dared not question her daughter, but could discover no chain, no ring, and no change in the girl, save that, if anything, she was prettier, sweeter, more dutiful. She had even taken to rising early for the walks her mother had so long wished her to take, and came to breakfast glowing and happy. Meantime, in the morning’s dewy freshnes, Mary and Frederick - Denton were having beautiful meetings. He told her how he had a man friend out west send him a letter addressed -Hy a stenographer on lady-like envelopes filled with circulars- She. gleefully told him about the $5 fake diamond, and how Edith’s eyes had "bulged while she, Mary, brushed her hair and looked innocent They walked into the country, they went on the river in a little they read magazines, and always they escaped being caught together, and approached breakfast from different directions. Frederick usually from his room as if he had just risen. But a time came when,-without either knowing why, a sort of restraint fell upon them. The young man redoubled his efforts to be interesting, Pondering meanwhile if she were not tiring of his company. One morhing she was late, another, too tired to walk, a little languid and silent A few happy mornings would ensue, and then the constraint again. He.thought of asking if he were demanding too much of her, but feared she t would think he were tired of it himself. It became uncomfortable, and both were less frank. But, in public, they were still just on the polite side of being disagreeable to each other. Mary’s mother casually asked her why she disliked Fred Denton. The girl looked at her, wide-eyed. “Whatever put that /into your dear head? He seems very nice, J’m sure.” And she put another pin into her soft brown hair and went downstairs. Coming down to the porch a little later her mother found her in a gale of merriment over something Percy Kaylor was saying. And, with a queer look in his eyes, Frederick Denton watched her. What did the look me&h > And Mary’s gayety seemed somehow not quite spontaneous. A few mornings later Mary did not go into the garden at .all, apd, said at breakfast that she had a headache. She was pale. Alt day Frederick watched for her, bub had only a word alone. “I’m sorry you were not welt," he said. “It was nothing—it soon passed, 9 * she answered. - ‘ “I missed you,” he said, but she was already moving away from him. He went angrily away by himself, and with his pipe in his mouth he Jay flat on the grass in a distant spot and discovered what ailed him. Of course he had loved her from the Aral moment, and had been a fool, and ha# lost her! He should have openly wooed her from the first second—-of course it was Kaylor! Men like that always fascinate a girl just out of school! He hated himself vigorously. Frederick was up at dawn the next day. and out with a last hope. Surely she would come this last time! Ho waited in the usual place, but she did not appear. It seemed Impossible.* Ho. > searched his memory for any word or look that might have offended her. And, looking vaguely about, he saw at some distance beneath the trees of a little wood, a gleam of blue dress. In • an instant he was almost running to- ■ wards It It must be she—lt was! But she was walking swiftly away from »hlm. He called to her. and skov stepped. “I don’t blame you for hating me,** 4 he gravely said, “but why hurt mo more than you must? You know t love you—Mary. Why can’t you at least be kind—as you ware until a little while ago? Does it amuse you to —hurt?” Then he saw that tears were running down her cheeks, and that she held out both hands to hia« * After a long time he held her off the better to see her. V “I—couldn’t oome any more—l couldn’t bear it after I-tound thafcl: did—care—and thought you still’ wanted Alice Shaw! \ couldnt* trust myself not to let you «ee—how I felt!” He stopped her in the most effective