The Butterfly House

aves of paper in her hand. A breeze came in at an opposite window and Margaret's blue feather tossed in it; her yellow hair crisped

subtle, the expression of a warrior entering battle and ready for death, y

thin silvery voice penetra

ghbours and associates in club work, you will acquit me of the charge of egotism and credit me with my whole motive, which is, I think, not an unworthy one coming to you in joy, as I would come in sorrow for your sympathy and understanding. I am about to read an ex

altering. People listened with ever-growing amazement. Then Mrs. Jack Evarts whispered so audibly to a man at her side that she broke in upon

ncreased. "That is from The Poor Lady, yes, it is. Did she write it? Why, of cour

e quite pale, but upon it an expression of surprise and joy so intense

o her hair. She twisted up a lock which had strayed and f

r Lady. And to think that your wife wrote it! Goodness gracious, and here she has been living right here in Fai

pon Wilbur. "Never dreamed of it," he blurte

had not the slightest idea what she was reading. He had no interest whatever in that. All he cared for was the amazing fact that his wife, his wonderful, beautiful Margaret, had so covered herself with glory and honour. He had a slightly hurt feeling because she had n

lt another author when she herself was so much greater. Wilbur fully exonerated Margaret for what she did in the case of Martha Wallingford in the light of this revelation. His modest, generous, noble wife had honestly endeavoured to do the girl a favour, to assist her in spite of herself and she had received nothing save rudeness, ingratitude, and humiliation in return. Now, she was asserting herself. She was showing all Fairbridge that she was the one upon whom honour should be showered. She was showing him and rightfully. He remembered with compunction his severity toward her on account of the Martha Wallingford affair, his beautiful, gifted Margaret! Why, even then she might have electrified that woman's club by making the revelation which she had won to-night and reading this same

ld man, your wife has drawn a lucky number. Congratulations." Wilbur gulped as he thanked him. Then Sturtevant went on talking about a matter which was rather dear to Wilbur's own ambition and which he knew had been tentatively discussed: the advisability of his running for State Senator in the

and unobtrusively led her out of the room. Von Rosen thought that Miss Eustace must have turned faint because of the heat, and was conscious of a distinct anxiety and disappointment. He had, without directly acknowledging it to himself, counted upon walking

spered, "and we can have a talk togeth

ited, the girl sat in a sort of dumb and speechless state in Alice Mendon's room. It seemed to her like a bad dream. Alice herself stormed.

of thievery in the world, stealing the work of another's brain. It is inconceivable that Margaret Edes could have done such a preposterous thing. I never liked her. I don't care if I do admit i

the stricken figure on the couch, "are y

from your book, Annie Eustace," cried Alice and her v

hich could not readily grasp some of the evil of humanity. She was in reality dazed before this. She was ready to believe a

ting in so many words that she was the author, she did what was worse. She made everybody think so. Annie, she is bad,

much," said Annie Eustace,

your book. She has stolen the light by which y

ry sob. "Margaret could not

d, "you must face it. It is better. I do not say so because I do not

had not, for it was one of the awful tasks of the world which

er broad bosom, her maternal bosom, which served her friends in good stead, since it did no

one. "Darling, you must face it. Margaret did read that chapter from your

ed outright and

must want success to do anything like

toward her own self, instead of toward those whom she should love and who love her. Annie, Margaret is bad, bad, with a strange de

and that is the pity of it. I must not love her, Al

ard over that book, dear, and you were so

lice's bosom and sat up stra

row and see my publishers. I must go

ked Alice slowly,

ever, never!"

keep such a matter secret. I doub

never have it kno

ho worships her, and there is talk of his running for State Sen

l ever know,

u manage with t

t know.

and never have the credit for it. You will live here

"I must go now. I know I ca

ut I do not t

s right or not," said Anni

was presently answered. "Peter has gone home for the night, Marie

t is only

but it

if you don't mind, Alice. I want to get settled a little

orch until you are out of sight from there and then we will go to the f

stment since one of the strongest readjustments on earth faced her-the realisation that what she had loved was not. She did not walk rapidly but lingered along the road. She was thankful that neither of her aunts had been to the annual meeting. She would not need to account for her time so closely. Suddenly she heard a voice, quite a loud voice, a man's

hushing Wilbur. "You speak so loud, dear,"

band, she had made no disclaimer. Annie came out from her hiding and went on. The Edes ahead of her melted into the shadows but she could still hear Wilbur's glad voice. The gladness in it made her pity Margaret more. She thought how horrible it must be to deceive love like that, to hear that joyful tone, and know

d, and yet her he

ill lingered as if to allow him to pass, but h

ing," he rem

agreed

vening club," said

Annie, "I

left

rly with Alice. I hav

uspected anything but his next wo

although you are her intimate friend, at Mrs. Edes' announceme

aid Anni

d no idea that sh

N

you re

es

ever read novels but I suppose I mus

ell," sa

hat is it

voice was at once firm and piteous. She could not tell the story of her own book to him. She would be as dece

He had what he cared for: a walk home with this very sweet and very natur

I may if it comes in my way because I was somewhat surprised. I had never thought of Mrs. Edes as that sort of person. However, so many novels are written nowadays, and some mi

said n

he ice. Annie trembled. Her truthfulness was as her life. She hated even evasions

reads wel

eed," returned

standingly from her own work," said Von

he might,"

yourself I could not speak so, but you are not, and you must know as well as I do, that many of the books written by women are simply sloughs of oversweetened sentiment, and of entirely innocent immorality. But that chapt

never talk of anything except that book? To her relief

Egyptian tombs, for instance?" he inquired

y that she thought she might be. She had hear

fternoon," said Von Rosen, "and I inquired if she w

e dreamed that her Aunt Harriet was in

and you also, if you cared to see it, would come som

ith the evident understanding that he preferred them. He would simply have to make the best of it and show his collection as gracefully as possible and leave out the rose-garden and the delicious little tête-à-tête with this young rose of a girl and think of something else. For Karl von Rosen in these days was accustoming himself to a strange visage in his own mental looking-glass. He had not altered his attitude toward women but toward one woman, and that one was now sauntering beside him in the summer moonlight, her fluffy white garments now and then blowing across his sober garb. He was conscious of holding himself in a very tight rein. He wondered how long men were usually about their love-making. He wished to make love that very instant, but he feared lest the girl might be lost by such impetuosity. In all

he said, "that I am wishing a

Mr. von

ly, it is not that, but I am wishing that you also had writte

e ga

do mean is-I feel that a woman writer if she writes the best sort of book must obtain a certain insight concerning human nature which requires a long time f

a love story?" i

love in it," repl

s her. She looked up in his face like an adorably timid, trustful little child and it seemed almost

ned to come and see them,"

come, if both Aunt Harriet and Aunt Susan do not. Tha

n Rosen, but he said inw

ther, but quite the reverse, although he did not so conclude, as he considered the matter on his way home. I

it, Margaret Edes herself was tasting pepper, mustard and all the fierce condiments known, in her very soul. It was a singular thing that Margaret had been obliged to commit an ignoble deed in order to render her soul capable of tasting to the full, but she had been so constituted. As Karl von Rosen passed that night, she was sitting in her room, clad in her white silk negligee and looking adorable, and her husband was fairly

f, but you know I never read novels, but I am going to read my Margaret's novel. Oh, my dear, my wonderful, wonderful dear!" Wilbur almost sobbed. "Do you know what it may do for me, too?" he said. "Do you know, Margaret, it may mean my election as Senator. One can never tell what may sway popular opinion. Once, if anybody had told me that I might be elect

t would have been easier. What she endured was self-knowledge. The reflection of one's own character under unbiased cross-lights is a hideous thing for a self-lover. She was thinking, while she listened to Wilbur's rhapsodies. Finally she scarcely heard him. Then her attention was suddenly keenly fixed. There were horrible complications about this which she had not considered. Margaret's mind had no business turn. She had not for a moment thought of the financial aspect of the whole. Wilbur was different. What he was now saying was very nobl

While Wilbur wished for no disclaimer, she could yet see that he was a little surprised at receiving none, but she could not speak. She merely gazed at him in a he

red out and I must let her go to bed. Standing on a pedestal

the awful torture of standing upon the pedestal of another, and at the same time holding

she should settle the matter with Annie Eustace. She did not for a second fear Annie's betraya

phone but found that she had gone to New York. Annie's Aunt Ha

ulation. A local reporter called to interview her. She sent word that she was out, but he was certain that he had seen her. The children heard the news and pestered her with inquiries about her book and wondering looks at her. Callers came in the aftern

ged with the publishers. They will keep the secret. I shall have rather a hard task arrangin

d there was something terrible in that clear look o

please," she said cringi

tever to explain," re

ever fo

ut which to talk of forgiveness. I do pity you, Margaret, for I rea

faction to you, I am realising nothing but

elp that," replied Annie s

o secrecy had been made. Annie, after she got home, almost forgot the whole for a time, since her Aunt Harriet, and Aunt Harriet was the sister

rly for me, since I am one of his parishioners, and I thin

owed to wear her pale blue muslin and the turquoise necklace which was

Mother," she said

daughter Harriet insisted that the cross barred muslin was not too spoiled to wear to the inspection of curios, she declared that it was simp

t of green rising from a little wobble of jet, and a black-fringed parasol tilted well over her eyes. Annie's charming little face was framed in a background of white parasol. Margaret saw them pass as she sat on her v

write her a congratulatory note, now you have bought that stationery at Tiffany's. I feel that such a sub

said

sweeps of black skirts, "that you have shown absolutely no literary taste. As you know, I have oft

Harriet,"

ever appreciated my poems,

d poetry very well," littl

in an appeased voice. "For instance, I could not imagine your writing a book like Mrs. Edes, and The Poor Lady was anonymous,

said

rming little tea which Von Rosen had planned; then the suggestion with regard to the rose-garden and Aunt Harriet's terrified refusal, knowing as she knew the agony of sneezes and sniffs sure to follow its acceptance; and then Annie, a vision in blue, was walking among the roses with Von Rosen and both