SPOONS
BY FRANCES HENSHAW BADEN
The clear, smooth brow of Mrs. St. James clouded and contracted unmistakably. As she stood at the window, her eyes wandering about the beautiful grounds surrounding her home, they rested on two figures seated in a rustic arbor. They were her daughter Alice and young Gerald Clifton. Now Mrs. St. James would have preferred seeing any other of the young gentlemen of her acquaintance with Alice, than the present one. She turned impatiently from the window, saying:
“My remonstrance is useless. She is perfectly infatuated—and her father scarcely less so. I can’t imagine what he is thinking about. He has not a care about his child making a brilliant match. There is Albert Hyde, young Lord Clavering, and half a dozen others, any of whom she could marry; all eligible, and should be considered really more desirable and worthy. But no—this young man, with neither wealth nor position, has, I fear, secured the hearts of both Alice and her father. And I really think, unless something providential prevents, she will marry him.”
The lovely Alice, quite unconscious of the unfavorable eyes which had lingered on them, was listening with delight to a beautiful poem her lover was reading. Suddenly he closed the book, and looking earnestly on his companion, said:
“Your mother dislikes me very much, Alice. I fear I shall never win her favor.”
“No, no, not dislikes you; but there are others she likes better, perhaps. But papa will yet win her over. He loves you, and mamma dearly loves him. So in time all will be well,” answered Alice, with a sweet, assuring smile.
“I trust so, Alice. And in time I will prove worthy of your love and your father’s confidence. I will make a name for you, love, with heaven’s blessing.”
A week or so after, Sydney St. James was returning home from his editorial office. He had had a harassing day, and was very tired. He wanted rest, and a quiet evening; saying to himself, “I trust we shall have no company, unless Gerald; he never wearies me. Bless the boy! I am growing strangely fond of him!” He entered the house, made his way to the parlor, where he was accustomed to find his family. Alas! for his hopes of rest and quiet. There, instead of the usual pleasant greeting from his wife, the bright smile and loving embrace of his daughter, he found the first very much excited, with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks; the latter sobbing, her face hidden in the cushion of the sofa. Hastily approaching her, he raised her head tenderly and asked: