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He reached for the paper bag in Honoria's lap,
took out one of the square, wrapped confections and

slowly unrolled it.
Sara Chillingworth's father," said Honoria,

"has given her an automobile."
"Read that," said Ives, handing over the slip that

had been wrapped around the square of candy.
"Life teaches us -- how to live,

Love teaches us -- to forgive."
Honoria's checks turned pink.

"Honoria!" cried Ives, starting up from his chair.
"Miss Clinton," corrected Honoria, rising like

Venus from the head on the surf. "I warned you
not to speak that name again."'

"Honoria," repeated Ives, "you must bear me. I
know I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I must

have it. There is a madness that possesses one some-
times for which his better nature is not responsible.

I throw everything else but you to the winds. I
strike off the chains that have bound me. I re-

nounce the siren that lured me from you. Let the
bought verse of that street peddler plead for me. It

is you only whom I can love. Let your love forgive,
and I swear to you that mine will be true 'as long

as skies above are blue.'
On the west side, between Sixth and Seventh Ave-

nues, an alley cuts the block in the middle. It per-
ishes in a little court in the centre of the block. The

district is theatrical; the inhabitants, the bubbling
froth of half a dozen nations. The atmosphere is

Bohemian, the language polyglot, the locality pre-
carious.

In the court at the rear of the alley lived the candy
man. At seven o'clock be pushed his cart into the

narrow entrance, rested it upon the irregular stone
slats and sat upon one of the handles to cool himself.

There was a great draught of cool wind through the
alley.

There was a window above the spot where be al-
ways stopped his pushcart. In the cool of the after-

noon, Mlle. Adele, drawing card of the Aerial Roof
Garden, sat at the window and took the air. Gen-

erally her ponderous mass of dark auburn hair was
down, that the breeze might have the felicity of aid-

ing Sidonie, the maid, in drying and airing it.
About her shoulders -- the point of her that the pho-

tographers always made the most of -- was loosely
draped a heliotrope scarf. Her arms to the elbow

were bare -- there were no sculptors there to rave
over them -- but even the stolid bricks in the walls

of the alley should not have been so insensate as to
disapprove. While she sat thus Fe1ice, another maid,

anointed and bathed the small feet that twinkled and
so charmed the nightly Aerial audiences.

Gradually Mademoiselle began to notice the candy
man stopping to mop his brow and cool himself be-

neath her window. In the hands of her maids she
was deprived for the time of her vocation -- the

charming and binding to her chariot of man. To
lose time was displeasing to Mademoiselle. Here

was the candy man - no fit game for her darts, truly
-- but of the sex upon which she had been born to

make war.
After casting upon him looks of unseeing coldness

for a dozen times, one afternoon she suddenly thawed
and poured down upon him a smile that put to shame

the sweets upon his cart.
"Candy man," she said, cooingly, while Sidonie

followed her impulsive dive, brushing the heavy
auburn hair, "don't you think I am beautiful?

The candy man laughed harshly, and looked up,
with his thin jaw set, while he wiped his forehead

with a red-and-blue handkerchief
"Yer'd make a dandy magazine cover," he said,

grudgingly. "Beautiful or not is for them that
cares. It's not my line. If yer lookin' for bou-

quets apply elsewhere between nine and twelve. I
think we'll have rain."

Truly, fascinating a candy man is like killing rab-
bits in a deep snow; but the hunter's blood is widely

diffused. Mademoiselle tugged a great coil of
hair from Sidonie's bands and let it fall out the

window.
"Candy man, have you a sweetheart anywhere

with hair as long and soft as that? And with an arm
so round? " She flexed an arm like Galatea's after

the miracle across the window-sill.
The candy man cackled shrilly as he arranged a

stock of butter-scotch that had tumbled down.
"Smoke up!" said he, vulgarly. "Nothin' doin'

in the complimentary line. I'm too wise to be bam-
boozled by a switch of hair and a newly massaged

arm. Oh, I guess you'll make good in the calcium,
all right, with plenty of powder and paint on and the

orchestra playing "Under the Old Apple Tree."
But don't put on your hat and chase downstairs to

fly to the Little Church Around the Corner with me.
I've been up against peroxide and make-up boxes be-

fore. Say, all joking aside -- don't you think we'll
have rain?"

"Candy man," said Mademoiselle softly, with her
lips curving and her chin dimpling, "don't you think

I'm pretty?"
The candy man grinned.

"Savin' money, ain't yer? " said be, "by bein' yer
own press agent. I smoke, but I haven't seen yer

mug on any of the five-cent cigar boxes. It'd take
a new brand of woman to get me goin', anyway. I

know 'em from sidecombs to shoelaces. Gimme a
good day's sales and steak-and-onions at seven and

a pipe and an evenin' paper back there in the court,
and I'll not trouble Lillian Russell herself to wink at

me, if you please."
Mademoiselle pouted.

"Candy man," she said, softly and deeply, "yet
you shall say that I am beautiful. All men say so

and so shall you."
The candy man laughed and pulled out his pipe.

"Well," said be, "I must be goin' in. There is a
story in the evenin' paper that I am readin'. Men

are divin' in the seas for a treasure, and pirates are
watchin' them from behind a reef. And there ain't

a woman on land or water or in the air. Good-
evenin'." And he trundled his pushcart down the

alley and back to the musty court where he lived.
Incredibly to him who has not learned woman,

Mademoiselle sat at the window each day and spread
her nets for the ignominious game. Once she kept a

grand cavalierwaiting in her receptionchamber for
half an hour while she battered in vain the candy

man's tough philosophy. His rough laugh chafed her
vanity to its core. Daily he sat on his cart in the

breeze of the alley while her hair was being ministered
to, and daily the shafts of her beauty rebounded

from his dull bosom pointless and ineffectual. Un-
worthy pique brightened her eyes. Pride-hurt she

glowed upon him in a way that would have sent her
higher adorers into an egoistic paradise. The candy

man's hard eyes looked upon her with a half-con-
cealed derision that urged her to the use of the sharp-

est arrow in her beauty's quiver.
One afternoon she leaned far over the sill, and she

did not challenge and torment him as usual.
"Candy man," said she, "stand up and look into

my eyes."
He stood up and looked into her eyes, with his

harsh laugh like the sawing of wood. He took out
his pipe, fumbled with it, and put it back into big

pocket with a trembling band.
"That will do," said Mademoiselle, with a slow

smile. "I must go now to my masseuse. Good-
evening."

The next evening at seven the candy man came and
rested his cart under the window. But was it the

candy man? His clothes were a bright new check.
His necktie was a flaming red, adorned by a glit-

tering horseshoe pin, almost life-size. His shoes were
polished; the tan of his cheeks had paled -- his hands

had been washed. The window was empty, and he
waited under it with his nose upward, like a hound

hoping for a bone.
Mademoiselle came, with Sidonie carrying her load

of hair. She looked at the candy man and smiled a
slow smile that faded away into ennui. Instantly she

knew that the game was bagged; and so quickly
she wearied of the chase. She began to talk to

Sidonie.
"Been a fine day," said the candy man, hollowly.

"First time in a month I've felt first-class. Hit it
up down old Madison, hollering out like I useter.

Think it'll rain to-morrow?"
Mademoiselle laid two round arms on the cushion

on the window-sill, and a dimpled chin upon them.
"Candy man," said she, softly, "do you not

love me? "
The candy man stood up and leaned against the

brick wall.
"Lady," said be, chokingly, "I've got $800 saved

up. Did I say you wasn't beautiful? Take it every
bit of it and buy a collar for your dog with it."

A sound as of a hundred silvery bells tinkled in the
room of Mademoiselle. The laughter filled the alley

and trickled back into the court, as strange a thing to
enter there as sunlight itself. Mademoiselle was

amused. Sidonie, a wise echo, added a sepulchral but
faithful contralto. The laughter of the two seemed

at last to penetrate the candy man. He fumbled
with his horseshoe pin. At length Mademoiselle, ex-

hausted, turned her flushed, beautiful face to the win-
dow.

"Candy man," said she, "go away. When I
laugh Sidonie pulls my hair. I can but laugh while

you remain there."
"Here is a note for Mademoiselle," said Fe1ice,

coming to the window in the room.
"There is no justice," said the candy man, lift-

ing the handle of his cart and moving away.
Three yards he moved, and stopped. Loud shriek

after shriek came from the window of Mademoiselle.
Quickly he ran back. He heard a body thumping

upon the floor and a sound as though heels beat alter-


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