Jasper County Democrat, Volume 15, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 June 1912 — Felicia’s Furs [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Felicia’s Furs

By Virginia Blair

(Copyright, igxa. by Associated Literary Pressi Sinclair loved her. He knew it and he knew, too, that he wanted hei for his wife. She was so different from the women of his own family. His mother was a gracious gentlewoman, dispensing her bounty, iher time, unselfishly to others. From her he had drawn his ideal of the perfect woman. He was sure that Felicia’s soul was beautiful, yet she hid her depths be neath a light manner, and sometimes he wondered if there were depths. Did Felicia ever think about anything but her own good time, her own interests, her own desires? But he put all doubts from him when he met her at the station. She had been away for a week-end at her uncle’s —a rich old bachelor, who contributed to her love of ease. “Uncle Bob is a dear,” Felicia told her lover as they walked toward the house. “What do you think he gave me this time, Sinclair?” Sinclair smiled down at her. “More than I can ever give you, I’m afraid. If you hadn’t really ‘yes,’ Fell* cia, I should expect you to trim your sails and fl/ straight for some other port. You ought to have anchored to a millionaire.” Some of the brightness went out of her face. “What makes you say that?” she asked quickly. “Oh—your love of pretty things—of good times.” She flashed a glance into his face. Then she said, lightly, “Poor Sinclair. Is he afraid he’s going to have a butterfly wife?” He smiled back. “I’m afraid you will spread your wings and fly away.” She shook her head. “You know I won’t,” she said, confidently. Then she opened the silver bag which hung on her wrist. “Look at this,” she said. “Isn’t Uncle Bob generous? I

shall buy furs! Sinclair, there are the loveliest ones —with long tails and a big musf —and with my new blue suit —and my hat with the plumeyou’ll be proud of me.” “I’m proud of you now. It doesn’t take fine feathers to make you a beautiful bird, Felicia.” But in his heart he was saying, "Why should she spend all that for furs T’ He really thought she looked well enough in the old set of mink. And he wondered again what she. would do, as his wife. But he forgot his forebodings for a time as she chatted of her trip. A week later, as they walked home from church together, he said, “You look lovely in your red fox furs, Felicia.” “Aren’t they dandy?” she demanded. As she walked by his side in all her beauty, there were glances cast at her of which she was perfectly conscious. "Isn’t it nice,” she said, gleefully, "to have people think I look well in my red fox?” “Yes, it’s nice,” said Sinclair ab-sent-mindedly. He was thinking of the future. Would she be happy when there were noi lovely things for others to admire? He spoke to his mother about it that night. “I’m afraid I can’t give her the 'things she will want, mumsie.” “Don’t worry,” said that wise lady. “Felicia will be glad to be shabby for your sake.” "Do you think so?" he asked. “I know it,” was her decided answer. “She has a side you haven’t discovered yet, Sinclair. She wont ■how it to you, but now and then she lets me get a peep at IL" The next Sunday, when Felicia walked home from church with her lover, she wore her old furs.

“Where are the new ones?” Sin clair demanded. “Oh,” Felicia said, carelessly, “1 didn’t think you’d notice. Don’t you think I look nice in my mink?” “Lovely,” he hastened to say. “But, why not the red foxes?” “I—” she began, then hesitated, and stammered, “I’m—l’m tired of them.” He gazed at her in amazement “Tired?” “Yes. Don’t let’s talk about it any more.” After that she wore her old mink, cheerfully. Sinclair pondered over the mystery of the red fox furs. Was Felicia then such a spendthrift that she could afford to buy furs and not wear them? He made himself unnecesarily miserable over them. It seemed to him that Felicia was more frivolous than ever. He couldn’t get in touch with her. He came home depressed' and tired after a five o’clock call on her. Bis mother was out, and he sat down in front of the fire. When his mother came she found him in the darkness. “Dear boy,” she said, “why so early?” “I went to call on Felicia—and—” “Oh, Felicia!” she broke in. “I have something so lovely to tell you about her. I heard the story this afternoon. Such a lovely story. Wait till I turn up the lights and I’ll tell you.” “Sit here in the dark,” he begged. He drew a low chair up for her and threw himself on the rug with his head in her lap. “Now tell me all the lovely things you can about Felicia.” “Well, you know the dear child’s uncle gave her a check and she bought some red fox furs.”

Sinclair sat up. “Yes," he said quickly, “go on.” “They were very expensive, and she felt a bit extravagant over them, she told me. Well, suddenly she stopped wearing them —” “I know.” “And we all wondered what had become of Felicia’s furs. But she wouldn’t tell us.” “Yes.” “The lady who told me bound me to secrecy. She said she wanted me to know because my son was*to marry Felicia, and she thought he ought to hear.” , In the darkness Sinclair was tense. “Well?” he demanded, “This woman knows a young girl who used to go to school with Felicia. Her name is Mary. She is very poor, and this winter she has had the shabbiest clothes. And one day she met Felicia in a downtown shop and Felicia insisted that they. should have hot chocolate together and over the cups they .talked. The girl had such an awful cold, and now and then she shivered. Felicia spoke of It several times, and when at last they came out of the store, she said, “Oh, you’re not warm enough, take my musf —please,’ and she thrust it into her hands. She insisted on putting little Mary on the car, and just as she was bidding her goodby, Felicia slipped off her beautiful fur collar and laid it around Mary’s neck. Then she ran away laughing, and little Mary had a note from her the next morning, saying that she was to keep the furs.” “But why,” Sinclair was on his feet, “why shouldn’t she tell me?” “Ask her,” said his mother promptly, “just as soon as dinner is over you must go to her.” “The dear,” said Sinclair. He said to his sweetheart that* night, “Could anyone but you have done such a lovely thing, Felicia?” “Oh,” she hid her face in her hands, “I was afraid to teltyou.” “Afraid?” “I thought you’d think me—silly." He looked down at her gravely. “Why should you think that?” “Because I know you don’t like to have me extravagant—but—l—l couldn’t let little Mary go cold, Sin-' clair.” The tears were streaming down her cheeks, and suddenly she was sobbing in his arms. “Why, Felicia, darling,” he said, "it was a beautiful thing to do— and I love you for it.”

“You Look Lovely in Your Red Fox Furs, Felicia."