A Rebellious Heroine

oud world, I'

y friend, and

ers

writing this chapter myself, and produce instead the chapter of Stuart Harley's ill-fated book which was to have dealt with that most interesting incident. Having relinquished all hope

ersistent failure of Miss Andrews to do as I thought she would, may frequently seem incoherent. For your own sake revise it, for the readers of your book won't believe that you are telling a true story anyhow; they will say that you wrote this chapter and attributed it to me, and you will find yourself held r

is hopes as to what his story might be by the recalcitrant attitude of the young woman he had honored so highly by selecting her for his heroine. I can almost feel the bitter sense of disappointment, which must have burned to the very depths of his soul, when he finally realized how completely overturned were all his plans

how she ought to behave under given circumstances, and if she found her notions running counter to his, it was only proper that she should act

the two, the reader must judge, and one document in

EET

heart, and in

nswer-is this,

ns's "

pers, with many of whom he was on terms of closest intimacy. Of course Mrs. Howlett was not aware that her household contained a personage of great journalistic importance, any more than her neighbor, Mrs. Floyd-Hopkins, was aware that it was her maid who had furnished the Weekly Journal of Society with the vivid account of the scandalous behavior, at her last dinner, of Major Pompoly, who had to be forcibly ejected from the Floyd-Hopkins domicile by the husband of Mrs. Jernigan Smith-a social morsel which attracted much attention several years ago.

e, were among those invited, and with their cards was included one for Marguerite. Added to the card was a personal note from Mrs. H

ly, running into Mrs. Willard's "den" a

for it. It was plain that Harley was not quite certain as to how much a woman of Miss Andrews's type would care for a special attention of this nature, even if she cared for it at all. As a matter of fact, the word chosen should have been "dubiously," and neither "gleefully" nor "scornfully"; for the real truth was that there was no reason why Mrs. Howlett should so honor Marguerite, and the girl at once bega

uerite back her note. "It is a special honor, my dear, by which you

it at all strikes me as being most extraordinary. It doesn't seem sincere, and I can't help thi

ng I don't know, unless it was that my own admiration for my heroine led me to believe that some more than usual attention was her due. In my own behalf I w

rd, as Marguerite folded Mrs. Howlett'

lushing angrily. "My clothing is my own business, and no one's else." She paused a moment, and then, in an apolog

ooked at the g

on at the time and under the circumstances. It would have been a good thing in the book, too, for it might have conveyed a few wholesome hints in the line of good taste in dress which would have made my story of some value. Women are always writing to the papers, asking, 'What shall I wear here?' and 'What shall I wear there?' The ideas of two women like Mrs. Willard and Marguerite Andrews would have been certain to be interesting, elevating, and exceedingly useful to such people, but the moment I attempt

er; nor did she look forward with any degree of pleasure to what we might term conservatory confidences, which in these luxurious days have become so large a factor in terpsichorean diversions, for Marguerite was of a practical nature. She had once chilled the heart of a young poet by calling Venice malarious (Harley little realized when he wrote this how he would have suffered had he carried out his original intention and transplanted Marguerite to the City of the Sea!)

along about three in the afternoon a series of short and sharp electrical storms came, and as quickly went, cooling the

ul and weird waves of melody which entrance the most unwilling ear. About the broad and spacious grounds festooned lights hung from tree to tree; here and there little rose-scented bowers for tête-à-tête talks were set; from within, st

drews threading her way across the room with some difficulty, attended by Mr. and Mrs. Willard. They have just arrived. As Marguerite walks across

rway opening into the conservatory. "Zare, my dear friend, z

ount," the person addressed replies.

llowing Marguerite as she walks up to Mrs. Ho

to-night may decide her whole future life? Who can tell? Woman's intuitions are great, and there be those who say they are unerringly true. One by one, with the exception of Count Bonetti, the young men among Mrs. Howle

ribe her as

e conclusion of the chapter, the main incidents being hot in his mind, and the purely descriptive matters more easily left to calmer moments. He informs me, however, that such was not the case. "Wh

erite's triumph was truly that of a queen, it was so com

n a whisper. "I have heard so much about Mrs.

ad door into the conservatory. As she passed from the ballroom the dark eyes of Count Bonetti flashed upon her, but she heeded them

ked, as she seated herself be

ply. "I can wait here al

ice; but as he came through the doorway Bonetti

ght away," Willard an

ut followed Willard closely, and so

, "may I have the pleasure o

collided with his toes

ti is merely a bogus Count with acquisitive instincts, brought here, like myself, for literary purp

om the room, ordered her carriage, and went home, thereby utterly ruining the second