Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 163, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 July 1916 — Faith of Women [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Faith of Women

By ALBERT REEVE

(Copyright. 1916, by W. O. Chapman.) “Do you know why I like you, Miss Gray?” Inquired Doris Dlnsmere, seating herself in her friend’s comfortable chair. “It’s because you’re so sensible.”. “That’s a mixed sort of compliment,” answered Elizabeth Gray, laughing. “I think I know what you mean, though.” “I mean you’re the sort of person to come to for advice,” said Doris, patting her friend’s hand coaxlngly. Elizabeth Gray and Doris Dinsmere had been school friends. Five years afterward they had met in New York, where Doris was studying art, at the expense of her well-to-do parents, •while Elizabeth lived in a tiny flat and worked as a stenographer. Miss Gray was the sort of a woman ■who would never be quite beautiful, as Doris was, but there was more in her head than had passed through Doris’ flighty one in all her life. "You are in love again,” said Miss Gray calmly. Doris nodded. “To Charlie Ross,” ahe answered. “We’re engaged.” Elizabeth was unable to repress a litUft sense of pain. It was she who ha<J,introduced Charlie to Doris. Charlie h'ad been quickly infatuated with the empty-headed little girl, who represented all that was sacred in his eyes. She thought with a pang how much he had begun to mean to her before he met Doris and ceased coming to her apartment. They had discussed things together; he had told her everything that was in his life, all his ideals. And he had been thrown off his balance by Doris, who had nothing but beauty and vivacity. She knew Doris would never make a good wife for Charlie. And the pity was that she could do nothing. Time must teach them. “This is what I want you to do,” said Doris. “He writes me the most beauti-

ful love letters. And I—l don’t know how to answer them.” “Just be natural, dear,” said the older woman. "Don’t try to say what you don’t mean. Charlie will come to understand.”

“But you don’t understand,” said Doris plaintively. “He thinks I am all sorts of things I am not. He thinks I am clever and —and all that. Elizabeth” —she used the word when she meant to coax —“won’t you write me a love letter to Charlie?” "My dear child!” faltered Miss Gray. “Oh, you must,” pleaded Doris. "Or else I shall lose him. You don’t know how much he means to me, and all he thinks me which I am not Pleasb, please, Elizabeth.” “But he will know it is not you speaking in the letter, my dear/’ protested Elizabeth Gray. “Please," repeated Doris, sobbing. Doris was very winning when she meant to be. And so her friend capitulated and, conscience stricken, sat down to indite a letter to Charlie Ross that should sound like Doris and yet be what Doris was not. She wrote it from her own heart. She spoke of what love means to a woman, of all the things that she knew and Doris could never know. She poured out her heart in that letter, and in many others. For the first letter brought back a reply that touched her vividly. It showed something in the man’s nature, something idealistic which even Elizabeth Gray had never known existed in the man, something to which her heart responded as the steel to the magnet. And after that,, the descent was easy. Letter after letter came to him from her pen. “You must not wonder,” she wrote once, "that I seem so different to you when we meet from what I seem to be in my letters. It is very difficult for me to express myself face to face.” “Charlie is devoted,” Said Doris happily one day. "He thinks I write all those letters, and you know, Elizabeth, that they are incomprehensible to me." Yes, there were many things that

were Incomprehensible to Doris. Elizabeth Gray began to see that more and more clearly as the weeks went by. But she was too far in the slough of deception now to be able to extricate herself. Passionate letters passed between them, and she poured out all her longing and all her love to this lover who, unknowing whence the letters came, could never be hers. “He is so serious,” pouted Doris one day. “And he talks of such heavy things! They make my head ache. And I have to pretend to understand — because of this silly plot. Why did you ever let me into it, Elizabeth?” That was Elizabeth's thanks. She smiled; she could afford to smile, for she knew from Charlie’s letters that she held his heart absolutely, although he never dreamed of it. But that night she prayed for his sake that he might not marry Doris. The prayer seemed to be strangely answered. For the next week Doris came to her, after a longer interval than usual. She sat down at her feet and began patting her hand. “What is it, Doris?” asked Elizabeth.

“I don’t love Charlie,” Doris burst out. “It was all a mistake. I have found the man I love, and he loves me. So you will not have any more of those horrid letters to write. He isn’t the sort of man who is above me. He is Frank Bewlett.” “The actor?” “Yes,” answered Doris meekly. * “What will Charlie say?” “I want you to write and tell him,” answered Doris. “Promise me. You know, you got me into this trouble, Elizabeth, and you must get me out —you must!” __ Elizabeth sat down that night with a heavy heart and* wrote to Charlie. Doris was going home; she loved another; he must forget her and never write to her nor try to see her again. She did not sleep that night, and went to work with a heavy heart next day. That evenlfig Charlie called, and she was totally unprepared for it. He came in with a white face. “I haven’t been to see you since I met Doris,” he said. "I can’t forgive myself for neglecting an old friend in my happiness, as I supposed it to be. Do you know —know —? Elizabeth nodded. She could not manage to utter the trivial sympathy in her heart.

“Why did she do it?” he demanded. “We loved each other. If you could have seen the letters she wrote me! They were not the letters of a foolish girl. There is something I can’t understand in this. The man she thinks she loves now is—well, not the sort of man that girl would love.” He forgot himself in his despair. He paced the room. Suddenly he stopped before Elizabeth’s desk. Elizabeth sprang up. He was looking at a halffinished letter she had been writing when he came in. He turned and faced her. “What does this mean?” he asked, looking at the handwriting. “Doris has been here this evening. See, the Ink Is scarcely dry! She has been here, and she is here now.” “No, Charlie," said Elizabeth helplessly. “You don’t understand. Our writing is very much alike." “I have never seen her writing,” he answered, with slow suspicion. “But I know that the writing of that letter is hers.” “It isn’t. Charlie, I—” "Then you wrote those letters at her dictation! She showed you my letters and dictated her answers to you. So they filtered through two people—all those fine professions of love and eternal loyalty!” he said bitterly. Elizabeth did not know what to say. And she solved her problem in a woman’s privileged way, by sinking down into her chair and bursting into bitter tears. ==== "

She looked up at him. “Go, now, please!” she sobbed. “Yes, think anything you please. I wrote them for Doris, if you like. What does it matter, now-that your trust has been betrayed by a heartless girl?” k He stood irresolutely In the doorway; then he came forward to where she sat, her head bowed on her arms, striving to .still the sobs that rent her as she thought of the bitterness that had overtaken their two lives. “It means a good deal,” he said. “Did you—did you help her to compose those letters? And were some of those thoughts yours? Believe me, I see her in her true light now, and it seems to me Incredible that she can ever have written to me as she did. The woman who wrote those letters was a woman of a soul as far above Doris’—” •/

“Hush! Do not think unkindly of her,” said Elizabeth softly, raising her streaming face. "It is all over now. She would never have understood what love means.” "You inspired them,” he persisted doggedly. "I wrote them all, Charlie,” said Elizabeth, rising and facing him. “She was afraid you would look down on her. She loved yon In her way—remember that. She is only a child. She asked me to help her keep your love, and I wrote them.” He held her hands. “I thank God,” he answered gravely, "that at least I can keep my faith in women.” And he was gone. But Elizabeth Gray’s heart was singing. For she knew that he would come-back,, and that her love for him would find its reward —some day.

“Just Be Natural, Dear.”