An August Tragedy.

Maud Athebton and Fabyan A^jfr paced the parlor of the Grand Hot^^"^ slow, stately fashion, with the an- of people to whom the time and place is exceptional and important. It was a little past sun down. Out of doors the gray mists of the sea mingled with the la<st rose-stains upon the waves, and the musical monotone of the ebbing tide went like a pulse through the quiet of the hour. The hotel parlor was nearly empty. The late arrivals were at tea; romantic people were on the beach ; the bores and the bored were driving. The sprinkled groups on the piazza were quite unan imously interested in the couple who pacrd the long dim room, arid they, haughtily unconscious of being tho ob served of all observers, valked on.

Miss Atherton was a beauty; a small head coiled with dazzling hair; a supple form, with height and grace. Her pale amber silk trailed over the purple irises upon the white ground velvet carpet, the costly lace upon her bosom rose and fell, and the tall mirrors flashed back the pic ture from every side

The gentleman was older by a good many years than his companion, a bronzed, lieavy-bearded man, who had evidently • seen life,' and as evidently had preserved at forty much of the chivalrous scorn of wrong and wisLful longing for the right with which ho had started, twenty years before on his journey. A hundred trifles indicated that he was a person of impor tance; his.eye was keen, his month tender, his hand sinewy. Ho had the look of power which a man wears who has been arbiter of his own successful fate. A few of Fabyan Ascol'a audience had pitied him during those past weeks that, having roamed the world over, having staked and won in almost every sort of venture, from diamond digging to cargoes of cochineal, he should como back to his native shore' to be taken in by a fortune-huntor—a mere beautiful adventuress. But, after all, their pity must have been superfluous ; Fabyan Ascot looked so entirely able to take care of his own interests. And as to Miss Atherton, if as was said, she had only her beauty to recommend her, she had so much of that that she deserved pardon for some deficiencies. A tall, stately blonde was Miss Atherton, with ruddy gold hair and brave blue eyes, and of that perfect mould that made every pose a picture, A woman to delight and fascinate and rule, to enjoy and succeed. That was how God had made her. ' A man who waits till forty to marry is pretiy sure to be duped,' was Mrs. Lonair's comment as she watched the pair from a window niche. 'I would not say a word,' rejoined her bosom friond, 'if Maud Atherton had not been so talked about with that man who hsd her picture at the exhibition last Winter. I really think Mr. Ascot ought to know it.' ' As to that, I dare say Mr. Ascot's past will not bear the strictest scrutiny,' was the rejoinder. ' A man who marries a beauty musn't expect to be first or last on her list,' • Well, I guess it's a settled thing for better or worse.' 'It ought to bo surely, aftor this dis play.' The Iwc ladies walked away, and a moment later a woman with gray curls, in a velvet dress, slipped into one of the seats they had occupied, and gavo a quick, anxious glance within tho drawing-room. She was not a woman to be unmindful of the picturesque, yet she did not notice the effect of Maud's amber silk against the purple plush upholstery, nor yet the reflection of the tall figures in the ebony framed mirrors, as she might have done at another time. Sho looked straight from her distant post into the eyes of tho pair. Fabyan Ascot's were lighted with excitement. Ho was deeply in love —of that thero was no doubt, Maud's were colder, even tho least bit anxious and weary, though only a mother would have perceived it. ' He lias not proposed,' she said to her self, drawing her breath hard. Then she arranged the corner of her Shetland shawl over her gny curls, and, walking to the doorway, at tracted Miss Athcrton's atten tion. 'If Mr. J^cot will excuse you, my love, we will go for our drive before it is any later.' ' 1 beg your pardon, Mrs. Atherton. I did not know I was detaining Miss Maud, We were discussing French art. Your daughter is such a charming critic. Allow me to carry your shawls.' Mrs. Atherton. did not ask Mr. Ascot to accompany her. She never wasted her ammunition, and, besides, she wanted Maud to herself. ' Then ho has not proposed ?' she asked, as they bowled along. ' No. I begin to doubt if h» means to.' ' Yet ho is madly in love with you.' 'Madly? No. No more than he is with French art. He admires me, but he is afraid of me.' ' You are too cold. Ho thinks you do not care for him.' Miss Atherton shrugged her shoulders. ' I don't see why you should notlike him, Maud. I don't know a man of finer presence—and with such a fortune.' There was a short silence. 'We had better go away I think,' said the elder woman, at last. •If he is in earnest' he will follow us. We can't go at once,' she reflected; 'not before to morrow night. I will feign illness -say 1 '

must see Dr. Durfee. Meantime you must use great discretion.' • I shall do nothing of the sort,' said Miss Atherton, icily. 'I hate the term. -i am through with acting. lam going to be real. I don't care a sou for Fabyan Ascot. I will not pretend that 1 do.' ' That is very pretty talk ; but what do you propose to do ?' The girl was silent a moment or two. O, if she dare say and do as she would ! But she had some dignity left, some de cency —according to her understanding of the term. She did not dare. ' Dear mother, why must I forever and ever be thinking about getting married ? Why can't I live on as I am P' A chill like au ice-bolt shot through Mrs. Atherton's heart. ' Maud, you are doing wrong, and you will pay for it,' she said, sharply, not feig ing to ignoro her daughter's meaning. 'That is according to one's interpreta tion,' the daughter answered, stubbornly, and, any way, two wrongs don't make right.' Meantime, when Mrs. Atherton had carried Miss Maud off to drive, Mr. Ascot drew forth his cigar case, and ensconced himself in the most secluded corner oi' the piazza. The faint fragrant smoke of his costly Havana curled in a thin bluo cloud about him, and within it Fabyan Ascot saw a vision and dreamed a dream. Yes, he was past forty. He need not expect the thrill aud rapture of youth, to come to his iniddle'aged love. If he waited for that he would wait forever. He admired Miss Atherton, ho- was quite sure that he admired her immensely. How regally she would spend his money. How sumptuously she would dress and fare. Shs would be admired —possibly a little too much admired, but why should he expect all for a half return? Supposing she did not care much about him, what sort of heart had he to give her P A heart—his fancy answered—where for twenty years tho memory of another woman had reigned supremo. Why, then, shouldn't he permit Miss Atherton to have herlittlo reservation as well as he his ? The sense of justice was a ruhug power with Mr. Ascot, He resolved that he would permit it. And this ' other woman?' Her soi't^velvetty eyes shone on him through his cigar smoke there on the piazza of the Grand Hotel, just as they had for twenty years in all the changing, eventful scenes of his life. Pshaw, ho was a fool to cling to tho mere memory of a woman who had jdted him Jilted ? No, he would be just. He had never believed that she was false. There had bjen a promise, and she had not kept it. tihe was to wear a libbon, and she had not worn it. And then Fabym Ascot, with his forty years and his fortune, relieved that Summer night so long ago, relieved his impatience, his torture, his despair. He saw Francis Guruey and Ethel Gray HO by him arm-inarm, and knew —well, he knew that Guruey was in love with Ethel as well as he, and he knew that sho had not worn his ribbon nor kept her word. It was Class-Day, his and Gurney's They wore through college together. The world was before them where to choose,' Fabyan Ascothad not stopped to choose. Ho had rushed away headlong. He had supposed six months would cure him ol his passion. But they had not —no, nor six years. Meantime Gurncy married Ethel ; that was all he knew of them. He wandered, wandered, and wandered. Ho made money for pastimo, and kept it because he had no temptation to spend it. Finally he drifted back, aimless, without intentions, or expectations, and settled himself for the season at the Branch. It was made pleasant for him, very pleasant. He began to enjoy the spirit of the thing, to like his flirtation with Miss Atherton, to congratulate himself that he had come. The game was all in his hands as yet. Was it quite fair to keep it sop This was one of tho questions Mr, Ascot was always asking. Was it quito fair p He didn't believe it was in this case. Miss Atherton expected him to propose, expected to accept and to marry him. Why did he not givo her the opportunity ? Only because she had not made him feel lhat she loved him, and had made him feel that she possibly loved somo one else. And if so Plt would be fair enough. A fresh heart deserved a fresh heart in exchange. Mr. Ascot's cigar had gone out. Ho started from his reverie. His end of the piazza was deserted. Tho lights shone brightly within ; tho ball-room was open for a hop. He got up. Ho would shake \ the smell of the smoke out of his breath i and beard out in tho night air, and then ' go back and dance with Miss Atherton. A gentleman was coming up the stoop 1 as he went down. They met right in the < stream of light from the hall chandelier. Ascot paused ; it seemed as if ho was i dreaming still; so sure of it he was, in ] fact, that he made no immediate recogni tion. ' Why, Ascot, don't you know mo ?' ' Gurney !' What an effort it was to say 1 it. J , ' I heard you had come back—a millionaire. Bat I little, thought of i running across you here.' 'Nor 1 you. And yet I was thinking 1 of you.' ' But I should have known you any where—the same good fellow, Fabyan.' , ' Yes, Frank. Will you sit down P' 'Of course. YVe shall find enough to < taltf about when our tongues are loosed.' Ascot doubted it, to himself. Tke old c feelings rose and choked him. How c

handsome G-urney was ! handsomer than ever with his Raphael face and winning wonderful smile. ' Twenty years—twenty whole years since we parted. And have you done nothing but make meney, Ascot, all these years ?' ' Not much else, Frank,' trying to smile. ' And now you have settled down to enjoy it ?' ' Something like that, I suppose.' , Well, you are lucky.' 11 am not sure.' 'You seem so to me, Fabyan. I am but a poor wretch of a painter, you know, tucked up at a twopenny boarding-house half a mile back. Quite a contrast this,' and Gurncy cast a glanca at the brilliant scene within. ' Creature comforts are something,' replied Mr. Ascot, ' but I've had my share of roughing it. JN"ow I am getting my luxuries in a lump.' ' Yes,' said Gurney, absently, his eye following the shifting, floating forms, the rustle of silks, the flutter of fans, the blaze of jewelry, through the long, wide windows, There was one thought uppermost in Mr Ascot's mind as lie talked with his old friend. It was his wife. And yet he dare not ask, her. Dare not ! As if he were again a freshman of eighteen. Neither did Gurney incline to speak of domestic matters. Were his memories sore ? Ascot wondered. Thuy need not be, since he won her, he reflected, little imagining how wide he was of the mark. ' A splendid set of women heao at the Grand this year,' the artist was saying ' You have made acquantances, I suppose ? You used to be quite a ladies' man.' 'O, yes, 1 amsomewhat acquainted* Mr.' Ascot answered , and then, with an effort ' you have a family of your own, Frank, I dare say ?' Gurney laughed. • I should say so. More than 1 know what to do with—even as subjects. Don't you want to adopt two or three ?' Ascot's heart gave a great "bound. Gurney did not care, then! He had torgotton the old rivalry. ' I can tell better after I have seen them,' ho said, with more ease than he had yet folt. ' O, of course, you must see them, when you come to town. Let me see, you knew my wife, didn't you ?' Why of course, I remember all about it—an old flame. She will be delighted to renew your acquintance' Would she indeed? Mr. Ascot won dered ; or had the past slipped from her recollection as entirely as from her husband's ? She ought not remember him, of course ; that is, not as he remem bered her- And yet ha could not bear to think alic liad forgotten. 'Doit let me keep yo i here all night, old fellow,' said Gurney, rising. 'You were intending to go in, of course ?' Ascot responded. 'O, yes. None but the brave deserve the fair,' he remarked, lightly, and they entered the hotel. Miss Atherton sat towards o c ond of the room, a trifle pale, her perfect shoulders showing like marble against her purple chair, her point-lace fan pressed lightly to her, amber corsage. As Mr. Ascot perceived her a faint flush stained her checks. He attributed it to his arrival, and, strange to say, it troubled him. Ho was so anxious not to exact raoro then he was going to give in return. 1 And what do you think of the reigning hello ?' his friend was just asking. 'You mean Miss Athertou ? She is very handsome.' ' Superb, isn't she? Her portrait is the best thing I have ever done. It was at the exhibition last year. And lam painting her as Undine, now. In fact, my principal business down here was to induce her to give me a sitting.' 'You are impatient, really,' said Ascot. Something in. Gurney's tone impressed him painfully. 'Well, yes.' said the artist, with a low, cold',laugh, ' You see lam afraid some one will marry her and take her away from mo.' TJic two men looked quietly into each other's eyes, and understood—what a strange understanding !—that they were rivals to-night as they had been twenty years before. 1 Shall we go and pay our respects ?' asked the artist. Ascot let his friend precede him, watch ing him narrowly. He saw him bend low over Miss Atherton's beautiful hand, and saw the gleam of pleasure in her eyes. The flush he had observed had not been for him. Gurney, after a word or two, took his position at the back of the lady's chair, and Mr. Ascot came forward. ' Had you a pleasant drive, Miss Ather ton ?' he asked, a little coolly, by way of beginning. 'Quite pleasant, Mr. Ascot. And you, I hope, had a pleasant smoke ?' ' I was not smoking for pleasure, you know. Only to pass the time in your absence.' • In that case I must be lenient in my judgment. ' You are very kind. Your disapproba tion would drive me to despair.' • Or to another cigar.' • There are hurts, Miss Atherton, which even a cigar cannot heal.' ' You tax my credulity sorely. But I suppose I must take you at your word.' ' I hope you will. My friend Gurney can answer for me that I never go back on it.'

' I could have done so twenty yeara ago' Fabyan.' ' But you are not confident that I nave continued to improve by age P Well, you are right not to take any thing for granted in this world. Miss Atherton, they are forming for the Lancers. Will you honor mo ?' , • That at least I may do with safety, she smiled, and rose, turning to glance over her shoulder. Shall you dance, Frank ? Then hold my fan for me.' ' I did not know,' as she swept down the room on Mr. Ascot's arm, ' that you and Mr. Gurney were old friends. It quite surprises me.' 'We were classmates. I will add that I did not know that you and Mr. Garney were —' ' Why do you hesitate ? Yes, I suppose we are old friends. We have known each other two years.' ' Which is better than twenty. You know Mrs. Gurney, I suppose ?' Mr. Ascot put his question with bated breath. 'Certainly,' said Miss Atherton, in a tone which let him know that this question was maladroit. ' I beg your pardon, but I used to admire her before her marriage. I should like to hear something about her,' Maud Atherton laughed unpleasantly. * I really don't know what to say about Mrs. Gurney to a person who has admired her. I never thought about her especially, except as happening to be Frank Gurney's wife. 'Artists' wives, it seems- to me, are apt to be rather commonplace, dowdy little women —aren't they ? —with hosts of children.' ' It is quite likely,' said Fabyan Ascot, very gravely. ' Pray don't think me unkind, but Mrs. Gurney is so unlike ker husband. She is always in some trouble or other, the children having the measles or whatnot. I have undertaken to visit her, but she does not pretend to keep up in society. ' That is a pity. I used to think her well-fitted to adorn society.' ' Probably she has changed since you knew her. I —I—fear Frank neglects her somewhat, they are so uncongenial.' She was making her stately courtesy, holding out her pink finger tips. Mr. Ascot was wondering whether his decisions of an hour ago had been real. They finished the dance almost in silence Miss Atherton had cast her ' discretion' to the winds. She was wondering how she should induce her mother to remain at the Branch ; she was thinking how she would waltz with Frank Gurney, presently. She and Mr Ascot found him standing as they had left him beside the chair she had occupied. ' May I fan you ?' he asked. ' Ask any thing but that,' she said, archly. ' It is my poiut lace fan !' ' And am I to have no reward for taking care of in!' 'O. yes. You shall have a Avaltz by and by.' Mr. Ascot felt, oddly enough, in the way. He bowed profoundly, and walked toward the door. ' You have driven him off, you see,' said Miss Atherton, raising her brilliant eyes to Frank Gurney's as he bent over her. He set his teeth. 'Of course I hare. But you know I oan make amends for your joss. Can't I, Maud ?' ' You know well enough,' she answered, a little petulantly, ' that I must marry somebody. Why do you make it so difficult? so impossible ?' 'Do you mean why don't I keep away from you ?' ' At least, why don't you uso more self control ?' ' Simply because my feelings are uncon trollable.' ' Well, pray then come away and waltz, where we shall not be so conspicuous.' Out on the piazza Mr. Ascot chanced upon Peregrine Meredith, the gossip, par excellence of good society. ' Ah, Mr. Ascot, good-evening. Saw you in the ball-room just now. No idea you would get tired so soon, considering what a pretty partner you had.' ' Possibly my partner got tired, and not I,' said Mr Ascot. ' Ha, ha ! very good, but you must per mit me to doubt ifc. Miss Atherton is —I beg your pardon, is really not circum stanced to—get tired of your attentions.' Mr. Ascot received the communication with a somewhat haughty bow. Mr. Meredith rambled on, however, all the same. _' A great pity, Mr. Ascot, for so fine a girl to injure her prospects by an intimacy wuh a married man. Really, her friends ought to interfere.' 'Bo you refer to Mr. Gurney p' asked Ascot, sharply. •O, of course. Shouldn't mention it if it wasn'tso generally talked about. Gur ney has just run mad over her for a year or two back. I've been hoping, for the sake of his family, that she would marry and go away.' ' You know Mr. Gurney's family ?' Mr. Ascot inquired. * I know of them. My brother is their physician.' « Mrs. Gurney had some property. I believe ?' 1 Quite a nice little property, but her cnarmmg husband's artistic tastes have consumed it. 'And they are poor?' ' Every one suspects it.' Mr. Ascot asked no more questions, and his informant, finding him a rather dull listener, bade him good-evening.

***** It was coul enough for the ball-p Oo be popular that evening, and bufc'r1 people remained on the piazza, ju. Ascot paced up and down busy vrifi/v reflections. A strange, Quixotic Sc ]Jj filled his brain. He would marry |p Atherton, and take her away. He w be the means of giving back to V*C Gurney the husband she loved, ji would restore her happiness without h knowing to whom she owed it. ' And as to his own happiness? ft argued that he should do very* *if with plenty of money and a hands,? wife. He was past the age when loJ" enough; and anyway he had been v' used to heart-hunger. ™ He strolled past the ball-room door on or twice, and saw Miss Atherton and M Gurney together. Strange to say h was not jealous. That which pained him i was the thought of the lonely'W woman left at hoiie with her childr sick, poor, harassed; sewing, mendinj Heaven knows what! through the hnf August evening, while her husband w». dancing at the Grand Hotel. His heart beat hard. Yes, he would take Maud Atherton away, and Gurnc would come beck to his senses. He w a citizen of the world; they could live in one country as well as another, only »! that the enchantress was kept at a safe distance from the family whose peace she had marred. It was near midnight Gurney came from the hotel. Evidently he did not care to meet Ascot again, but he could not avoid it. ' I am waiting to smoke my good-night cigar in your company, Frank. Come down on the shore.' The artist acquiesced, somewhat reluctantly, and the two sauntered away. 'You know what we were talking about Frank,—your children,' the millionaire began, in a light tone; 'the idea of adopting them makes me impatient to see them, and I have taken a notion to hare them down here for a few days. They must come on my invitation, you under' stand—though that part will be known only to you and me. He felt Gurney 's wince of impatience and refusal, but he did not give him a chance to speak. ' Write to your wife,' he went on, 'that you will be detained here for a while, and that you want her to join you. Don't refuse. A rich man, you know, has a right to his whims.' 'It is wholly impracticable, Ascot, I assure you,' was the reply, 'jjfjj Gurney, is—well out of the way of society, and the children—o, it is not to be thought of; and as to your adopting my children,' with a harsh laugh, 'whT my eldest girl is as old as her motherwas when I married her.' 1 All the more reason why I should gee them,' said Mr. Ascot, gayly. 'Come Frank, 1 can't be denied in this matter*! They wiil want, let me see—finery for this place. Let me write a check for yon to enclose to them.' Gurney grasped his friend's hand. 'You are too geuerous, Ascot, but I cannot accept. Ethel would not, I know. If I should send a check, she would take it to pay a butcher's bill, likely enough. And, besides,' he added, in a shamefaced way, • I don't believe I shall stay here longer then to-morrow.' Ascot did not believe him. 'If you do, however,' he answered ' promise me that I may bring Mrs. Gurney on, with the children. I wil manage it all.' 'Itis a queer plan, Ascot. Do' as you like, however. Let me forewarn you that Ethel is hard to move.' Satisfied with the permission he had obtained, Mr. Ascot parted from Gurney for the night. The artist's uncertainty as to his stay was explained the following morningwhefl Ascot joined Miss Atherton at break fast. ' Mamma is not well,' said the young lady, languidly. ' She feels as if she was going to have one of her attacks—a heart trouble. She always wants Dr. Durfee at snch times, and 1 should not be surprised if she went tp town this even ing.' ' I hope not' said the.miilionare, in so sincere _ a tone that Maud wondered at his anxiety, after her conduct the previous evening. ' I am especially anxious to have you remain at the Branch, Miss Atherton. I myself am going town to-day on business'; I shall return on the late train i permit me to bring Dr. Durfee with me.' Maud reported this unexpected proposal to her mother. ' Your atrocious behavior with Gurney' has alarmed him,' concluded Mrs Ather ton. ' Really one can never tell how a man is going to take things. With any sort of management on yonr part, he will offer himself within a week. Tell him he is so kind—from me, and let him try t" get Durfee, who, of course will not come.' Mr Ascot took the ten o'clock boat to the city. But for the magnitude of his task, he would have been flustered by its odity. Gurney had written to his wife, at Ascot's insistance, and armed with this, he intended to bring her back with him to the Branch, where he had secured rooms at the Grand Hotel before settiug out. It was a strange meeting. Ascot, who knew so much of all phases of life; W wholly uuacquainted with this proudi pia.ch.ed respectability in which $i

EVENING STAR SUPPLEMENT, NOVEMBER 11, 1876.