University of South Carolina Libraries
',v? -V; 11 nil ? lbs By ANNIE %!??> CHAPTER XII. 13 Continued. And into the sacristy, note-book in hand, stalks Miss Burke, her sharp little point of a nose crimsoned by the sun, her boots thick with unsavory harbor mud. A dirty small boy in a dirtier surplice, one of the functionaries of the church, attends her. Belinda and Captain Temple come In at once from the balcony. Belinda, to whom, as we know, the small change falsehoods of conventionality are not familiar, hangs her head and is silent. Roger has the extraordinary assurance to express his satisfaction at the meeting, and to add?Miss Burke watching his face; I blush for him as I write it? that they were "looking for her." "So I perceive," says the lady curtly. "Looking for me in a church! May I inquire also whether you have looked for a hotel and ordered dinner? I believe, Captain Temple, it wop -fr\v thof nnrnncfl vrm loff mo " uo *wi vii *i w frui ^v/ov j v u "iv alone in the boat." "Well, I?I?the fact is, I don't know that we came across any hotel." says Roger, with an air of penitence. "But if you?and Belinda will remain here I?" "I have found a hotel and I have . ordered dinner," says Miss Burke. "When a gentleman," with a northern emphasis on the word, "when a gentleman happens to belong to my party, I invariably take care to see to all practical matters myself. Luckily I am accustomed to independence." She turns tartly away, and with the .help of her small cicerone proceeds to overhaul the relics of the place and to catalogue them in the irrepressible notebook for literary use. Belinda keeps studiously by her side, and away from Roger. The sound of Miss Burke's voice, the expression of Miss Burke's eye, have brought the poor child back roughly from Elysium to the world of fact. They eat their dinner of strange " hwbs, garlic predominant, at the one modest posada the town possesses; drink coffee, or what the innkeeper writes in his hill as coffee, in the street, the whole population, lay and clerical, of Fontarabia looking on: then with the quick southern night falls fuddenly on plain and mountain, and they prepare to return, Belinda's promised six hours of happiness are all but spent. ijbf Miss Burke insists that she, and she alone, sha'l make the bargain for .... the carriage. p t. V. After half an hour's hot contest, Miss Burke has succeeded in beating the cochero down to the very lowest fraction for which mortal souls may bo conveyed across the frontier to St. Jean de Luz; the fruits of her moral courage being the oldest, craziest carriage that Fontarabia can produce, with c horse gaunt and shadowy as ever came from Dore's pencil ' L- in his illustrations of Don Quixote. The cranky vehicle is so heavy, the horse so weak, that long before they reach the frontier bridge at Irun they are going at snail's pace; by the time they commencs the ascent of Behobia they have come to a dead stop. The driver descends from his box; swears fearfully in Spanish, French, Basque; hie whin anrlioc hie? phnnUnr -V. MVMW ?iiio kJUVUlU^i ) or goes through the pantomime of applying it to the wheel. In vain. Not a step farther can poor Rosinante stir. Roger and Belinda jump out at once; Miss Burke refuses to move, V 7 again on principle. The man undertook to drive her from Fontarabia to St. Jean de Luz, and he shall hold to "his bargain, if he take the whole night about it. "So "fate" has her way. On goes the cranky carriage: on go the swearing driver and the high-souled Burke; Belinda and Roger are left alone once more. CHAPTER XIII. "Bohemian Honor." "Take my arm, Belinda. The way I is steep." The way is steep, the loneliness profound. "And we have not seen the Albambra after all," says Roger, some minutes later. She took his arm, as he bade her; her hand has become clasped, who knows how? in his. and she does not seek to draw it away. "No, we have not seen the Alhambra." in rather a shaky voice comes the answer, "and we are not likely to see it?together, at all events." "Six short hours in Spain, and four of those spent with Miss Burke! I Now, what can be the use of people like Miss Burke?" speculates Roger, philosophically. "I dare say I shall know enough about Burke beiore I have done with her," remarks Belinda. "You?you are not going to live with Miss Burke any longer," says Roger hurriedly, and by no means calculating into what imprudence he will be betrayed next. I "I don't see what I should gain by leaving her, cir. We are accustomed, at least, to hating each other! I might be worse off among strangers." "Belinda," stopping short and looking down into her face. "What is the use of talking or pretending to talk like this? As if either of us could forget! You to spend the best years of you" youth with Miss Burke, and I?great heavens! the thing is a mockery! But it is not too late, my darling, it is not too late. We may draw back yet." "I don't want to draw back." says Belinda, misunderstanding him. '"All this has come upon me?I scarce know how?come upon me whether I wished it or not. But if I could. I would not draw back now, for I shall have been happy." Roger folds her to him in quick embrace. "And we shall be separated m fn ucDfiimc i u mmuiiui j ? i mimm EDWARDS. no more, my child," ae whispers. "Why, it would be monstrous for the happiness of our lives?of all our lives?to be sacrificed for mere want of courage to speak. We' shall be separated no more." "Never separated," repeats Belinda half impatiently. "We shall be separated forever, sir, and you know it! Separated a thousand times more than if you were going to marry a stranger." "Marry! Don't talk of my marrying. I could never marry any one but?" The words are spoken under Roger Temple's breath, but they fall, with clearness such as human speech never possessed for her before, on Belinda's ear. Sho turns deadly white; even with this mask of night upon her face, Roger can see her change color. She breaks from his embrace. "Tell mc what you mean outright. v^ajjiciiii i em pic. oaj >v uai )uu nnvc to say plainly. You do not consider yourself bound, then, to marry Rose?" And thus Roger is forced upon the very horns of the dilemma. Easy to suggest a possible dereliction from duty, by sigh or whisper; horribly hard to put into language with the honestest pair of child's eyes in the world looking straight into one's weak, troubled soul. "He had made fin egregious error." Something to this effect does he at length contrive to answer her: "During the past dozen years or more he had mistaken a sentiment for passion, and Rosie, poor Rosie, it may be, had mistaken, too. But Rosie must be appealed to?the happiness of all their lives left in her hands. Sho was the most absolutely generous of women." "Who? Rose?" interrupts Belinda sharply. "Well, generosity is the last quality I should have assigned to my stepmamma! However, you should know best, Captain Temple, you should know best." "My dearest little girl," he begins soothingly, and taking her hand again in his. But Belinda breaks from him impetuously. "Captain Temple, let us understand each other," she cries, lifting her eyes, with piercing eagerness, to his face. "After a dozen years' fidelity you love Rose no longer, it seems ?are ready to throw her and your fidelity to the winds, and for my sake! Well, now, if this indeed is truth, not flattery, carry it into effect without delay. If we mean to commit a dishonest action, let us get it over at once, and without the treachery of soft words?appealing to poor Rose's generosity, leaving the happiness of all our lives in poor Rosie's hands?bah! I, at least, am not made of such mawkish stuff!" "Belinda, child. Great heavens! If you knew?" "Over away there, sir, not a couple 01 miles off, is Spain. I know every short cut through the mountains. What hinders you and me from going to the Alhambra as we planned? Miss Burke will say she left us, and Rosie, poor Rosie, must guess tne rest. Are you ready?" "Ready?" repeats Roger Temple gravely. Wonderfully has his blood cooled, amazingly has reason reasserted herself, under the shock of the girl's audacity. "You are asking me you know not what, Belinda; but the fault is mine. We will, as you say, stoop to no treachery of. soft words. I will speak openly to Rose to-night, and?" "And whatever Rose answers, whatever you may work upon Rose to answer, mind, I have done with you!" cries Belinda, in a voice of concentrated passion. ''You think you know me because you have amused yourself by flirting with me for half a dozen days, sir; because you have played a few scenes of moonshine love on a balcony, and won me to say what I have said to you this afternoon. But you know me no more than the first stranger who meets me in the street. What! you think I would sink so low as to marry you?Rosie's lover?" "You stooped so low, I thought, as to like nie a little." is Rnfpr's ronlv "But you are ashamed already, small wonder, God knows, of your folly." For a second or two Belinda is dumb. "If I lived fifty more years," she breaks forth then, "if I lived to be an old, old woman, I should never be ashamed of what you call my 'folly.' Never. If?if such a feeling were shameful, how could it have come into my heart? I never tried, I never wanted to like you. I knew nothing about it until I woke up today, and then it was too late to go back. Was it not?" "Too late indeed," repeats Roger, horribly contrite?contrite as a man might feel who, through blundering accident, had injured a little child for life. "Well, I can't help what I feel any more than I can help breathing, but my actions?those are my own. And to think that I would take you by stealth, dishonestly take you from "Yours! You have not been to blame at all," cries the girl, womanlike in this, that she should sooner guilt rested upon her than blame with the man she loves. "You meant only to be kind to me at first for Rosie's sake. How could you guess that I was going to make such a miserable fool of myself?" Her voice quivers, breaks down; V*fnnn xt-Ji-Vi Vi??t* hnnflc one iu?cio uci iavc ?i</u uv* and once more Roger's arm, unresisted, holds her close. The embrace lasts for a minute's space or more, and Roger is the first to speak. "Before we go on our way again, before we go back to our path and duty, I want you to say just one word, child?that you forgive me." "I have nothing to forgive. If I could choose, I would live the time over again since I havo known you? yes, up to this very minute." "And are we going to be friends or enemies in the days to come?" "I don't know about 'friends.' I shall care for you till the day I die, as I do now." "And I may have one kiss?a last one?" She throws her arms around his neck without a word. But Roger does not misunderstand Tn fho intpnsit"V\ the abandonment of that caress he reads aright, that Belinda is taking leave of him forever. CHAPTER XIV. A Vagabond Heroine. And now the closing act remains to be played. Scene, Rosie's drawing room at the Isabella; a lamp or two artistically disposed round the central figure of the tableau; Venetian shutters, half closed; a voluptuous fragrance from the magnolias and orange flowers in the courtyard below. Central figure, Rosie, dressed in the palest lavender silk that ever milliner called mourning, with white Spanish veil, with jet comb and earrings, with the bloom of undying youth (warranted) on her cheek?Rosie, light of spirit, satisfied with herself and with the world, that forms her background, as ever. To her, just as nine o'clock strikes, enters Belinda, tired-looking, duststained, her cheeks paler than her dress, her eyes showing all too plainly the marks of recent tears. "Why, Belinda, I thought you were never coming back, any of you! And what an object! I am more thankful than ever I did not go. These sorts of days are mistakes." "Utter mistakes," repeats Belinda, sinking into the first chair she comes across. "You have had by far the best of it at home, Rosie." "It certainly is nice to say one has been in Spain, but one can say it just as well without going, and as to churches and things, they are all' alike, and you never know what horrid disease you may catch. How do you like me in a veil? Spencer in sists tnac sne nas pmnea 11 rigut, uui I am not sure that it should be fastened so high." "Spencer is right, Rose. It is pinned to perfection." "I thought I looked rather well," says Rose, coquettishly surveying herself in an opposite mirror. "But, of course, in trying a new style one is apt to be nervous. And then I have a horror of anything theatrical. Nothing, I know, would occasion Colonel Drewe such a shock as to find me looking theatrical. He had always the most fastidious taste." "Colonel Drewe?" repeats Belinda, a little absently. "Ah, to be sure, I had forgotten. You and Colonel Drewe have not seen each other yet, then?" "No; poor dear fellow?Stanley does not yet know the worst! He wanted to call on me, not ten minutes after you had started, but Spencer made so much of my headache and my sufferings, that, at last, he took her at her word, and went to Biarritz for the afternoon, saying he would call again at nine, for certain. Spencer declares the passionate expression of his eyes when he said those woris 'for certain,' was enough to make your blood run cold." "Then I am not wanted, Rose," says Belinda, rising. "If Colonel Drewe is to be here with passionate eyes at nine, the sooner I take myself off the better." But the widow will, for no consideration, be left alone; is coy as a girl of seventeen at the thought of receiv ing Colonel Drewe, any gentleman, at nine o'clock in the evening, unchaperoned. Then it suddenly occurs to Mrs. Rose to inquire for her own lawfully affianced lover, whose existence, in the delightful excitement of Colonel Drewe's arrival, she has, to tell the truth, as near as possible forgotten. "Captain Temple will be here in a few minutes," says Eelinda. Well must she school herself. before her tongue can falter out his name! "Miss Burke hired the most horrible old rattle-trap to bring us back from Fontarabia, and Captain Temple and I had to walk a good part of the way. And it was dusty?and I believe Captain Temple has gone to his lodgings to change his coat."' The girl dissimulates vilely; stammers, changes color at every word. But Rosie's universe at the present rtust*, j, wno wouian i uo a sneaKJDg thing to save my life!" "Belinda, I?" "I don't pretend to be good or virtuous, you see. for I've been so kicked about here and there, and have seen so much and heard so much, that I don't rightly know what virtue is. But whatever game I play, I play it fair Ask the fellows in St. Jean de Luz if they have ever known me score a false point or take a dirty advantage of any one. You have promised to marry Rose, and you must marry her. by heaven! Whether you love her or not. you should love your own honor too well to think of change now." "You read me a sharp lesson," says Roger Temple. "You make me see my own conduct in a fearfully clear light, Belinda." moment is comprised in one fondlyimagined vision, Colonel Drewe, and she sees, hears nothing. "Dear, good, old Roger! I can assure you, Belinda, this has been the most harrowing day of my whole life ?first thinking of one of them, then the other! If I had to decide selfishly,"' says Rose, "if Roger Temple's very life did not hang upon my fidelity, as it does, I am not s>ure, considering age and standing and everything else, I should not incline most toward Stanley. Mind. I only say, I am not sure. The Temples are a most excellent family. I shall get Lady Oiivia Temple to present me at court next spring, and if there is a thing I adore in the world, it is uinn. .lust as she is speaking comes a discreet ladies' maid tap at the outer door of the apartmen:, and in another moment appears Spencer. "The genetleman who called this morning, ma'am, would be glad to know i 1" you are sufficiently well to receive him?" "I will make an effort to see this gentleman. Spencer"?how Colonel Drewe's heart must thrill at that veiled cooing voice! "I am far, very far, from strong yet, still, if it be a matter of business?" Another two seconds, and the visitor is midway across the room. He is tall, just Colonel Drewe's height, and has the unmistakable military air dear to Rosie's heart. Sc much, without uplifting her eyes, the widow can discern. But what?whal ails Belinda! The girl has growr white as ashes; she starts, trembling to her feer.; a cry of doubt, fear, hope all blended, comes from her lips. "Belinda, my dear, let me introduce?" begins Rose, rising with languid grace from the sofa. "I don'1 think you and the Colonel?Colonel?" The poor soul turns green undei all her pearl powder, under all hei fadeless, warranted "Bloom ol Youth." She feels her limbs give way beneath her; shrieks; a good natural shriek, for once, just as she would give at the apparition of a frog or spider. Then, the genius of follj inspiring her, moves a step or twc forward, and sinks into the stranger's arms. "I knew it all along!" she gasps out. "My heart told me you were never really, really dead!" O'Shea?for it is indeed Cornelius ?holds his wife in a sort of rapture to his waistcoat. He bends; his head down over hers "There are feelings too sacred foi utterance," he exclaims. "The years the cruel years of our separation fade away, and it seems but yesterday ] held my only darling to my heart." "But I am changed!" murmurs Rose, the identical remark she murmured on that first night ot Roger's return fro:n India. "I am an old, old woman now!" She lifts her face; traces of rice powder rest on Major O'Shea's waistcoat, as they rested erewhile on Roger's, and then looking into each other's eyes, and holding each other's hands, husband and wife, in broken oft-interrupted accents, make mutual confession.' Cornelius throws infinite pathos into his. The newspaper announcement of his death, he declares, was, ir the first instance, a hoax, one of those cruel practical jokes to which the most innocent men may fall victims Afterward?fretting, as was his habit about his poor, devoted wife, away in England?the idea crossed his brain of working out the mistake to hei benefit. "My life, up to that time,' and tears are in the good old fellow's eyes as he speaks, "my life, up tc that time, had brought little else but harm to those I loved. I resolved tc see if the supposition of my death might not prove to their advantage, My Rosie's mental sufferings!" Rose at this point having managed to falter out something decorous about the suddenness of the blow and her own anguish of bereavement. "Ah, my love, the years of tranquil domestic happiness before us now must atone for that. The end, my Rosie?'tis false morality?but let us hope that in this case at least the end will justify the means." So much for Major O'Shea. Rosie gets through the difficult part she has to play not without credit. After looking forward to being the wife of a man, young, handsome, distinguished, as Roger Temple?nay, after hesitating, one short quarter of an hour ago, as to "whether Roger Temple or that elegant creature, Stanley Drewe, should be the object of one's choice, now suddenly to find one's self folded in a husband's legitimate embrace! "You seem to forget that we are not the, only people in the world," she whispers to him, after a time. "You quite forget the cause that brought me to St. Jean de Luz? Belinda." And now Eelinda, who has with difficulty restrained herself during the scene of tender connubial reunion, rushes forward and flngs herself upon her father's breasct. As she clings to him, as she feels his lips upon her head, the blind adoring love of old childish days thrills through her heart. She kisses his face, his hands, the sleeve of his threadbare coat. She sends up a passionate, mute thanksgiving to Heaven in her great joy. "And so Belinda has grown up a beauty, after all,*' says O'Shea, holding his graceful brown girl at arm's length that he may the better admire her. "But I have seen you already to-day, Belinda. I watched you this morning?little you suspected it? when you were starting from the hotel. A good-looking young fellow that, who was with her, Rose, eh? It would be indiscreet. I dare say, to ask his name." "His name is Temple. Roger Temple," answers Belinda, her face burning with blushes, more for Rose's sake than her own. ' Au old friend of mine?and Mr. Shelmadeane's," adds Rose. Poor Rose! She must be really more than mortal could she make this renunciatory speech in a cheerful tone. "I had run down here with my maid to see our dear Belindo, and?and we met Captain Temple?accidentally?" "As you have now met me, Rosie," says Cornelius, coming, with admirable tact, to her rescue. "Quite a chapter of accidents, is it not? But never mind, my love! All's well that ends well, and I shall be only too delighted to make Mr. Roger Temple's acquaintance." Just as the family group has arrived at this interesting position, in walks Roger Temple. He is not ab solutely ignorantof how matters stand (do you suppose Spencer, with the keyhole sagacity of her tribe, did not know that the visitor was no visitor, but a master, to the full as soon as Rosie knew it herself?) and it must be confessed bears the calamity that has befallen him with a show of manly fortitude that does him credit. "This?this is Captain Temple," stammers poor Rosie, "Cornelius, my dear?" "Captaft Temple, let me introduce myself." says O'Shea. airily, and moving toward his wife's friend with outstretched, cordial hand. "A dead man nnv ilicrif-nsp with frirnin lit ies Verv happy and proud to make Captain Temple's acquaintance!" Who could feel awkwardness long, under the Hibernian sunshine of such a greeting? At the first glance Roger meets from Belinda's eyes, Major O'Sliea's resurrection seems to lilm as mucti a . thing of the past as the parting on the Margate beach. Five minutes later the restored husband and the supplanted lover are chatting toi gether with a friendliness that must dispel Rosle's last lingering dread as ? to the possibility of a duel. In half s an hour's time O'Shea is whispering : affectionately in his wife's ear? t Darby and Joan together?on the , sofa, and Belinda finds herself at an , open window, in the farthest corner of the room, with Roger Temple by her side. They talk commonplaces for a long t time, talk about the clearness of the night, the beauty of the stars, the sweetness of the orange flowers In the courtyard. They keep at a distance; they dare not look into each other's I eyes. And all the while they know ; that they are lovers; that the good, by spoken between them a couple of i hours ago is canceled; that they are ; tree; and God willing, mean to pass r through the rest of their lives to> gether, hand in hand. 5 The End. The Rcub Abroad. He was a long, lean, lanky fellow with a complexion as brown as a 5 berry and an eye as blue as. the sumJ mer skies. Any one looking at him for the first time could hardly have failed to guess that he came from that section of the country where mother's ' pies are as good, and therefore as ; popular, as they ever were, and as he L entered the hotel and planked his carpet hag on the counter the room 5 clerk winked at the fellows about the office, as much as to say, "Watch me i dazzle the reub." "Good morning, sir," he said, politely. 5 "Mornin'," said the farmer. "Got a place where a feller can sleep here?" "Yes, I guess so," said the clerk. ' "Do you want a room with a bath?" "Wa-al, I dunno," said the farmer. ' "Tt all depends. If you rooms are so all-fired dirty they need a bath, I 5 reckon I do."?Harper's Weekly. Origin of "Re^ Tape. > The term "red tape" is used to denote excessive routine and formality in the management of official affairs; t a servile adherence to precedent. Bet fore the invention of the modern ap pliances of elastic bands, file holders ' and other means of securing papers, j all official documents were bound > with red ribbons or tapes. The nec; essary delay caused by the undoing i of tapes by slow-moving Government t officials before business could be , transacted came at length to stand as . representative of all delays. ? Gum Chewing Contempt of Conrt. i Ida Duncan, a negro woman, ap' peared in police court as a witness : last Tuesday, and when testifying was ! chewing gum so fast she could hardly > talk. Judge Roup requested her to quit chewing while in the witness chair, which she did for a moment, but began again, and he fined her $1 t for contempt of court, and when she i was leaving the stand she made a ' reply, when the Judge ordered the ' policeman to lock her up in the city prison for one hour.?From the Third ' District (Kentucky) Review. Gamboling With the Lambs. How members of the Lambs Club ; traveled 2735 miles, gave several performances each day and gathered in one hundred thousand dollars, for their new club house, is humorously | told by E. W. Kemble in Harper's Weekly. Maclyn Arbuckle, as an endman. Martinetti as a coryphee, Raymond Hitchcock as a "coon," Charles Klein and Mackaye as Roman citizens, and Belasco in the spot light are among the illustrations which the author contributes to this entertaining article. Policeman in a Quandary. It is not all pleasure, the life of a country policeman, says the London I Globe. The guardian of Pigburysuper-Splosh's morals was observed the other day to be looking careworn. "What's the matter?" he echoed, in response to kind inquiries. "Why, it's those three tramps I locked up this morning. They are kicking up a row because they want to play bridge and I can't find them a fourth." Civic Characteristics. A young man who had money was out in a rowboat with three young women of the chorus. The boat suddenly developed a leak. The leak gained so rapidly that it required vigorous bailing to keep the craft afloat until the* vnnnt? man r.nuld row , it ashore. The New York girl bailed with her hat. The St. Louis girl used her hands. And the Chicago girl utilized her slipper.?Cleveland Plain Dealer. "She Who Dreams." A Maori's idea of a woman is <sx, pressed in the phrase "she who dreams." which means that her thoughts are on a higher plane than his. He allows her absolute freedom of speech and manner, for he is sure that if there is anything to be said or done a woman's refinement and ; sincerity will exceed his own.?Ladies' Field. ? A Coincidence. On the notice board of a church near Manchester the other day the following announcements appeared together: A potato pie supper will be held on Saturday evening. Sub I ject for Sunday evening: "A Night I of Agony."?Manchester Guardian. H. Z. Kehs, rural mail carrier of Schwenkville, Pa., witnessed a novel fight between three blackbirds and a snake. After a fierce but undei cisive fight, lasting fully a half hour, j the birds flew away and the snake crawled into its hiding place. Death from fright in the first stages of ether and chloroform before consciousuess is lost is best avoided by letting the patient hold and inhale the stuff himself. Nearly two million dollars' worth of tea was exported from Shanghai J to the United States in 1908. i THE session'S s New York City.?Closings at the i left of the front make the latest fea1 tore of fashion and children's dresses sa I am shown so quite as well as the jj. grown-ups. This one Is essentially fA pi tl 4 tu K? in novel and extremely attractive. It Is In closed for Its entire length with but- w ions and button holes above and be- tb low the trimming, invisibly beneath to the trimming, consequently it can be a opened out and laundered with perfect success, and is especially well n< adapted to washable materials. Plaid ef Scotch gingham is the one illustrated, is with trimming of banding and but- dj tons. Linen would be handsome so made, pique, and, indeed, almost all the simpler washable materials, while the model also can be used for the wools of immediate wear. Plaid wool material with trimming of black velvet ribbon is always smart and attractive and suits the design admirably well. Blouse and skirt portions are separate and are joined beneath a belt. The pleats over the shoulders give becoming breadth and the pleats at the back and sides or tne siurt mean graceful fulness. The dress is made with blouse and akirt portions, which are joined and * closed at the ieft of the front. The I skirt is straight and the sleeves are made in one pioce each. The quantity of material required for the medium size (ten years) is six and a quarter yards twenty-four or twenty-seven, four and three-i eighth yards thirty-two or three and H. half yards forty-four inches wide, vitli two and a half yards of banding. *\ Design of Gloves. It really seems as if the gowns the present year had been specially designed to make plain women lovely tr< and lovely women still lovelier. r;) For Small Women. A smart gown of foulard and mes? illne combined for small women is a tunic skirt. 1 ; Plain Sheer Tulle The gulmpe of plain sheer tulle ot 5t Is more frequently used than that ! tucks. The yoke is extremely shalw, and the "chair" or flesh tint is |' le usual color. Belts. ; i There are belts on most of the new ) >wds, the straight princess shape . iing out of use. Many of the newit gowns, however, have unbroken ont and back panels. As Straight as Ever. The silhouette, according to every gn, will remain as straight as ever, ith the clinging in around the feet, is possible that the French makers ive surprises up their sleeves, but lere Is 110 token of it In the costumes lat they turned out for the Riviera hich are being worn now. Quilling For Hats. Some very beautiful quillings for illdren's hats can be made more iccessfully by hand than by matine. They require a quantity of ribbon dvet or ribbon (more of the latter, ;cause it is less heavy), but the sime mushroom shape will mean no ?? ??????? fnt* ffimmino' "v an f( inilCI CA^CUOC lUi ci iuui ch-wide ribbon will work up well to a snappy-looking hat decoration hen the two ends that depend from ,e back, after the quilling is tacked i the hat, are each passed through jet or metal slide. "Something Russian and something iw," has a queer button and chain feet on each side of the coat, it n't clanky and prison-like, but vers ishy. The bat shown here is of the exeme rolled type, a winter straw and se rj-eaticD from the South.