Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 178, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 July 1914 — GRACE WAS RETICENT. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

GRACE WAS RETICENT.

By JULIA MILLAR.

Reticence, in any sense of the word, had never been Grace’s long suit. In

fact, if there was a principal part to be taken in a conversation, and Grace didn’t take it, the failure was merely because she wasn’t anywhere around. Prom the time that she was an infant, and took the part of Cinderella, while all the other children were mere fairies, to the time she led the grand march with the most sought young man, and was leading lady

in the class play, Grace had never known from a near view what the background looked like. And when she came back from her vacation and began to fulfill her social duties her friends sat back in amazement, for something had assuredly happened to Grace. The whole set had begun to grow rather impatient for Grace to open up the season with, her usual party. No one dreamed of taking from her the glory of the first function, for heretofore she had been so prompt, but time was flying and there had not been the ghost of an announcement. It grew so bad that finally one of the girls decided that she’d give a small luncheon and invite Grace and a few of Grace’s most intimate friends and try to find the trouble. Grace arrived at the luncheon, and, after quietly greeting the girls, settled back in a chair in complete silence. “My, isn’t it late in the season!” exclaimed Frances, adding with wonderful originality: “How time does fly!” Then she went on: “Nearly two months have passed and nothing exciting has happened yet!” Shei paused and glanced covertly at Grace. But Grace made no reply, though she had leaned forward attentively as Frances spoke. —— —_• • “We ought to begin things pretty soon,” declared Viola, speaking almost directly to Grace, who thereupon turned her whole attention to Viola, with so eager an expression that that young woman relapsed into silence in sheer astonishment. To have Grace listen to you in that intense way was disconcerting, to say the least, and Viola was naturally a piece of the background, and much preferred its safe obscurity. Several others offered their conversational contributions to the general cause. But it was difficult to talk at Grace —to' hint gently—when Grace herself sat with her eyes fastened unblinkingly on the speaker, as though her very soul thirsted for every spoken ward. “Don’t you think” began Bessie, glancing around in a general sort of way until her gaze fell on Grace’s rapt countenance, turned full upon her. Then the carefully thought up sentence flew from her mind and she stopped. For some seconds every one sat still, each waiting for some one else to speak and all glancing wondering-, ly at Grace. “Finally Grace spoke: “Do tell us about your vacation!” she urged Viola. Viola colored and stammered. Then she laughted. “What on earth is the matter?” she demanded of Grace. “You know I didn’t go away at all —and if I had gone away it would be rather late to inquire so solicitously about a summer vacation two months ■ after it was over.” “I should say so!” exclaimed Frances, gaining courage from the ordinarily timid Viola. "Tell us what on earth is the matter.” - . Grace swallowed hard. “I —" she began. "Oh, please let me alone!” she finished desperately if somewhat rudely. “Are you going to give the first party, or can I?” inquired Bessie, with a show of impatience. Het* impatience passed into amazement as Grace resumed her smile of Interest and replied: “Oh, Bessie, you give such charming luncheons! Do give the first one, won’t you?” Then it 'was that Sally rose to the occasion. “For goodness’ sake!” she exclaimed, and standing before Grace,, “I implore you to deliver us from this mystery. What on earth has happened?” Grace wilted. “Oh, girls,” she said from the depths of her handkerchief, “you’ve got to help me. I —l didn’t know I was so dreadful. But it’s perfect agony—dhd you make it so much harder. J’ve got to overcome myself —l’ve got to forget myself—to be interested in every one else, and not to talk a bit around use. And here you w.qn’t talk at all! When I want to follow, you all stand still for me to lead. “You see, I’m —rm —going to marry a minister, and you know how ministers* wives have to be —and I’m learning how. It’ll be the result, he says—but oh, it’s awful!” She wiped her eyes sheepishly and turned to Sally. . “Sally, dear,” she begged, trying to smile, “won’t you tell us —tell us about that cunning nephew of yours?” '