His Second Wife

each other, talking and smiling, deeply absorbed. They took little apparent notice of any o

ose two girls are fifty-fifty. I'd like a dozen of each brand." And a slim college boy with fresh, eager eyes kept darting quick looks from time to time at the older of the two, the blonde. He asked himself confu

efully undulated hair, a rounded bust, and pretty features smooth and plump, with a retroussé nose and rich, full lips, and a manner of easy assurance. The brunette was you

"But if they are sisters," she went on, "why is only one in mourning?" She looked at the younger of the two, who was simply dressed in black; an

h a fat, discontented face, regarde

like that? Men see these actresses on the stage and get to expecting things from the

maid," the brunette, and was thinking, "She makes her clothes herself. She has been the beauty of her small town.

er bust, her glossy coiffure, the small, fine hairs at the back of her neck. And he thought, "Yes, she has been loved pretty well." She was talking, and he could just hear her voice, soft and provoca

e, noticed how hard she was listening, noticed the fresh expectancy in

on't like this companion of yours. And you're so very young,

istening to her sister, swift thoughts and expectations mingled with the memories of the life behind her. As she stared out of the wind

lty feeling now, which she fought down by telling herself there had been little sadness in his death. She pictured her father making his speech at the unveiling of the Monument. How happy and proud he had appeared. For half his life old Colonel Knight had exhorted his fellow townsmen and painted dark the shame of their town: "

w church on the corner-the pictures of her life trooped by, the pictures of her last few years-with the miracle, the discovery that she herself, Ethel Knight, who had always been considered "plain," was slowly now developing into a beautiful woman. That br

er sister and smile. Amy seemed quite wonderful-Amy with her elegance, her worldly assurance, her smiling good-humour and knowledge of "life," her apparent conten

shimmering in everythi

he

ch colours, the glitter and glint of a diamond brooch; and she wore a small blue feathered hat which threw out changing colours in the play of light in the car. There was to be no more mourning. Amy didn't b

ain when she had asked Ethel to visit her for a week in New York. That had been a glamourous week, but it had not been repeated. For nearly three years they had not met. In that time had come the change in Ethel's own appearance. And glan

e the sturdy resolve, "I mustn't be too humble now, or too dependent on her. I must show her I'm somebody all

images vivid and new, which kept rising in he

eart she knew she had no great voice, but gaily she let her fancy go and pictured herself on the stage. . . . This image passed and was replaced by a platform in an immense auditorium crowded with cheering women and girls. Suffrage banners were all

es for life-in me

ht agleam with countless motors, torrents of tempestuous life-and numberless shop windows, hats and dainty gowns and shoes. She pictured herself at dinners and balls, men noticing her everywhere. "As they are doing now," she thought, "this very minute in this car!" Out of all the pictures rose one of a church wedding. And then this picture faded, and changed to that of her fa

ever be l

oment more warm and desirable. Eagerly she ex

s heavy eyes. Then Ethel stood up-and in the poise of her figure, slim and lithe with its lovely lines, in her carriage, in her slender neck, in her dark face with its features clear, her lips a little parted, and in the look in

York. We's comin' righ