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‘ By THE “DUCHESS.” ey
) a 3 9" : heathor of “J te ‘ 9 66 @ Author of “Lady Verner’s Flight,” “The Hoyden” “Lady is 2 Patty.” “A C a Heroine.” 2 % atty,” “A Conquering Heroine,” Etc. Se 4 eS 1 4 \ AS \A DSL) SOBNLOID LOD “OP LOPS OE / OG» So. \ Wi NOY NG OY NEGRI NO OY, NAGY’ LOW MG I GIN} (Continued.) ger laughs. His laughter, at all eents, sounds heart-whole and very re- Over BS Umer ° 48 _— a oS ee ; Sieg hound to marry him.”’ “There is nothing—nothing!’’ says he, i ~— & mansiy, won't, fs | with a little suggestive movement of his rather die than see him. ee wad. “But your sister—that is more Clifford makes a quick movement.
jgporta ln t “#Oh, no! The important If he loves— “Well? If h He seems :
me
man is always the more
© does: ' lways a
Thing
the wi hole t
little amused, if is of no real comseque nce
it as a mere entr’ acte it
<i <b
as
as
oll til & were. :
“Jf wouldnt you had an afi still ber on th fer, you teal always revenge af your love on her.”
“That sounds very tragical,”’
“However, there will be
wid uiul
do,’“ says Diana. “If ction elsewhere, and were is marriage with—my sis- the loss
says Ker. no revenge—be-
_ there is no ‘prior attachment.’
ets tl ight name for it. isn’t it?’’
<s up the fan that is lying on
a a sand opens it. ‘‘ Your sister is here to-night?”
“Ye—es. Not exactly here, but—some- where.”” Sh e looks eagerly around, as if to see po , and colors warmly. ‘Of
. you ol like to be introduced “a It is only natuural. But—’’ ln ll, I should,’’ says the young man ily. ‘‘But if you think it better te if it would annoy her—’’
ven see, you came so late, and we ghali be going directly, and—’”’
> you would even point her oug to
l, of course, when I see her,’’ says om **But even if I don’t there
b plenty of time before us. gagement for to-morrow, cme and lunc h with us?’’
oe Delighte d,’’ says Ker.
Have you an or will you
Mrs. Dyson- Moore has anything on for te-morrow.’”’ “Have you told her anything about
this extraordinary will?’’ asks Mrs. Clif- ford anxiously.
He shakes his head.
“IT have not spoken of it to any one. Why should I? I expect it will come to nothing—that your sister | will give me my conge without delay.
“You are hoping for that?”’
Clifford sadly.
“Tam not. I am not, whole thing is so dhourd,
“An yet,’’ ae great de al of money let it go.
“Tt does!’’ He seems made of frank- ness, Mrs. Clifford tells herself. He looks ather. ‘‘That’s why I’ve come here.’’
“To with a rather offended glance, ‘‘if you would like Hilary?’’
“That’s a horrid way of putting To see if she would like me. But that I have seen you—’’
“Seen me?’’
“I feel she will be too good for me.’ He pauses. ‘‘Is she—like you?”’
At this moment it occurs to Diana that her new cousin seems distinctly in- ¢lined to enter into a mild flirtation with her. This annoys her the more, in it — notes his utter absence of earnestness
t this —_ with Hilary.
Mrs.
says indeed. But the
so impossible.”’ ‘it is such a
see,
it. how
fer ere were never two sisters so un-
like,’ sxys she coldly. ‘“‘As you will
acknowledge when you see Hilary. And
how if you know nol a here, can’t i
& partner ? That, young lady
over there, the Swiss peasant, doesn’t seem ‘- be attaches a ove
At this moment, the Swiss peasant under view comes quickly up to Mrs. Clifford’s side, and drops heavily on to the se t beside her.
‘Oh, Mrs. Clifford, I feel so faint—so ill,” says she, and indeed the pallor of her 1i ‘heeks speak for the truth of her assertion.
Diana turns hurriedly to Ker.
“Will | you run downstairs, and bring gpageaa water: At once!’
. In a moment!’’ says Ker. He gets Quickly through the people who chrong the do rway, and so downstairs.
CHAPTER IIL.
Now Hik iry had gone down these stairs ith her partner—a yw-boy—to get an ice, and ing near the buffet enjoying it, and looking prettier than usual (which is saying a great deal) in her and £0wn, e feels a touch on her arm. Looking round she sees Jim.
five min utes before w Inacnif nt is St: ind
cap
when s!
“*T don’t think |
1t seems a pity to,
that |
“Our dance, I think,’’ says he, taking advantage of the f hat the cow-boy is _— r from the Darracks at QOlon- bree, reupon the cow-boy bows to Hilary, and retires from the scene.
Jim recards her with a reproachful eve,
Still urging on your wild career!’’ Says i ‘with Nemesis at hand—and the sw ord ff Damocles about to fall— Tain the rest of it.’’
do you mean, Jim?’’
te scome!’’
“Hes?
“Your future Lord!’ says Clifford, With ¢ biggest Lion record. .
“Oh no! Not really !’’
“My good girl, I’ve been sta ring at him for the past two minutes. /He was falking to Diana, and evidently cross- *Xam ining her about you. At "least I hop f was that. ‘To me it seefmed ai 1f Re examining Diana éibout her- felf. Iii have a er ss-examination of my ©wn with her later on.”’ : a © u won’ tell him I’m hjere®”’ savs ao Mn t of frightened entre: aly, ty L. Bn t Diana will. ‘And after | al, Hilary, why shouldn't you get it
rather out of it down
above
His eyes are on the stairs ’ to die,’’
‘tf expect you'll have For here he come!"’ **Oh, no!’ says Hilary. In fact Ker is running down the stairs at the top of his speed, to find that glass of water for the fainting Swiss peasant. Hilary has barely time to stand back from Jim, and give him a glance that warns him that eternal infamy will brand him if he now by one word be- trays her, when Ker is in their midst.
Seeing a smart-looking maid (even at this hurried moment he notices that
‘*beauty lies within her eyes’) with an empty ice plate in her hand, that appar- ently she is just taking away from some- body, he rushes up to Hilary, and says in a breathless tines :
“A glass of water, please.’
Hilary, after a second’s shock, is equal to the occasion.
‘A glass of water,
him.
says he.
ae
sir?’’
“Yes. And in a hurry, my good girl.’’ **You shall have it, sir.’’ She goes over to the buffet, procures
the glass of water in question, and brings it back to Ker.
“Oh, thanks. A thousand thanks,,’’ says he, in a hurried way. He seizes the glass, squeezes a flerin
into Hilary’s hand, and is gone. Hilary stands still for a moment, then subsides into the dark recess of
doorway, her.
**A nice beginning,’’ says he wrath- fully. ‘‘How do you think you are going to meet him after this?’’
‘*He won’t remember,’’ says Hilary.
‘*Won’t he? Don’t you think somebody will tell him?’
‘Tell him what?”’
her brother-in-law following
’?
‘“‘That you were dressed as a_ parior- maid to-night? And when he sees you,
as he must, don’t you think he will put two and two together?’’
‘*Perhaps he has no head for matics,’’ says Hilary, but even she that this is frivolous.
However, the discussion is brought to an end suddenly by Diana, who comes down the stairs to them with Peter Kin- sella, and having dsmissed that florid young Romeo, warns Hilary that if they don’t go home at once they will probably be mixed up with the rank and file at the end.
This awful suggestion has its effect. Soon they are on their homeward way, and ‘‘At last,’’ as Diana says, ‘‘can talk.”’
Clifford leads off the conversational ball in a light and airy fashion.
‘‘Ker has just given Hilary two shill- ings,’’ says he.
‘*What?’’
Diana peers at him through the fast- growing brightness of the coming dawn. If he were not the most abstemious of men she would have told that perhaps there had been a of champagne, but—
‘Yes, I assure you,’’ says Clifford ‘IT saw him do it. 1 don’t think much of him, do you? Most fellows give the girl they are going to marry a ring or a bracelet, or a trally-wag of some _ sort, but I never heard of a two-shilling piece before. Perhaps it’s fashionable! We’ here, you know,
But to me it
mathe- feels
herseif
last glass
re
so we mightn’t know. sounds shabby.’’
‘‘You must be mad,”’’ says
“It’s Hilary who ought to be dare say she expected a ring, poor
‘Hilary, what does this mean?’ Diana, turning to her sister.
‘Oh! mean!’’ says Clifford. ‘‘That’s the very word for it. <A paltry florin! I wouldn’t stand it if I were you, Hilary. I’d fling him over. By-the-bye, you have it with you, I suppose? You can show the melancholy coin to Di, can’t you?”’
Diana. mad. I girl!’’ says
a closed |
mA
iE. SC
4n¢n 'U cS useless. Nothing im the
world would tempt me to meet him 1o0- morrow.
**But you or later.’’
**Then it shall be later, when forgotten all about—ihe glass of water.’?
‘That wouldn’t take him leng,’’ says Clifford. ‘‘I expect it has faded from his memorv by this; what he may remember is,”’ with evidently gloomy foreboding as to the miserliness of Ker’s disposition, **the loss of his two-shilling piece!’’
“*‘Nonsense! I don’t believe he’d think ef that again,’’ Diana, is highly incensed with her hushand even pretending to show up Ker to ary in 2 mercenary light: girl ¢roub! me the things
‘That's what I say,’’ says Hilary, rather enjoying herself. 1 thought him a born s
*Weil,’?’ marry day !’’
‘Which am [?’’ ly.
“Oh, you! wife, who
will have to see him sooner
he has
ever who for Lil-
SO
Says
are metlines over vaguest who ‘I told you pendthrift ”’
boldly, ‘‘I’d rather pendthrift tha miser any
is
says Diana
as n a
asks Clifford anxious-
re nothing!’’ says his is i t with him.
At this, Cliff aah arm = sud- denly round her, and brings her up close to him.
‘Poor old z to 2a on T
You okt . % LIDUK indignan
misses his
irl! Look nonentity !
augh together, a
at her! Married he, where-
peace is
eless
all 1
hoy says nd restored. darling, you eon entreats Dian ‘No! No! Never!’’ says
emphasis. ‘‘I—I couldn’t!’’
‘Hilary, lunch ms
will appear a softly. Hilary,
at
with
S.
ne dhratwn-room,
It is next morning, and very early too, considering the dissipations of the night before. Diana and Hilary have only just
got down stairs, and to be told, in their languid state, that that old gossip- monger is waiting to see them, seems more than can be endured. Mrs. Clifford
stares at the cook. ““Why on earth didn’t you say we were in bed?’’ says she, in an irate tone. ‘*I don’t know, ma’am. I didn’t what you’d wish.’’ And of course she didn’t, being pressed
know
into upstairs service for the first time. hy . 7 ais ;
The parlormaid had been in the lowest spirits since the post at eight o’clock exme in, and had been quite incapable of doing anything ever since. The news the letter contained was that her aunt was a little bilious (the aunt lived in
and **nat-
Tralee, and she had never seen her), that there was to be a very big tern’? held this evening in her own place, about five miles from her present situation. (A ‘‘pattern’’ means a dance on the highway where four roads meet, end where the peasants congregate on stated occasions to foot it gayly to and fro, with the assistance of some old piper —generally, and- by preference, blind.) It had occurred, therefore, to her simple
mind, that if she cried a great deal over
‘Don’t mind him,’’ says Hilary, who | is choking with laughter. ‘‘But oh, Di, such a thing has happened! He came down the stairs to get a glass of water for some one—”’
‘That wretched Blake girl,’’ gasps Diana, who now anticipates a catas- trophe.
‘‘And seeing me in cap and gown, thought I was an attendant. I couldn't
resist the situation—I felt indeed as if I were in a situation, he took me so en- tirely bona fide, and I answered him. Called him ‘Sir,’ and got him the glass of water, whereupon he kindly pressed this,’’ holding up the memorable florin, ‘“‘into my hand!’’
‘Good gracious, what is to be
s Diat&..
“You think i
done?”’ say ought to return it?’’ Hilary mistakes her. ‘‘I shan’t, however. I shall keep it as a precious relic; wasn’t it a great deal to give fora glass of water, Di? Wasn’t it very extravag of him? Do you think it would be safe to marry such a spendthrift he has proved himself to be?’’
‘‘Oh, I’m not thinking of that at all,”’
as
but |
says Diana, in a voice of anguish. ‘‘ And | how you can make a jest of it—I am
only remembering that I have asked him }
to lunch to-morrow, and that he is com- |
When he sees you—”’ Never!’’ cries Hilary, now
ing! ‘*Sees me!
thoroughly frightened. ‘‘Do yor think I would face him after this? What on
earth did you ask him for?’’ ‘“‘Why, for you!’’ solemn way.
says Diana in her
her aunt, she might find a way to go and enjoy herself at the ‘‘pattern.’’ ‘‘Where is Bridget?’’ asks Diana, al- Iuding to the parlor-maid. ‘*She’s crying, ma’am. She’s had bad
news, she says.’’ ‘*Bad news?’’ “About her aunt, ma’am. bad, she says.’’ ‘““Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. is Bridget now?’’ “The same way,
She’s very And how
ma’am. But she says
she’s sure her aunt is worse!’’
‘‘How can she know that?’’ asks Hil- ary.
**T don’t know, miss.’’
Mrs. Clifford, who has served a long
apprenticeship to Irish servants, and who has heard of the ‘‘pattern,’’ rises abrupt- ly, and turns to Hilary.
‘Come, let us > Miss it over,’’ says she. enter the :wing-room.
‘*You’re surprised to see me, me dear.*’ Old Miss Kinsella comes to meget them with a beaming face. ‘‘An’ so early too. But you know that your Bridget’s aunt is also a cousin of my charwoman, an’ she says she is very bad to-day.’’
“The charwoman?’’
‘Oh, no, Miss Burroughs, dear—your Bridget’s aunt. And I hear that she Bridget very badly; and I knew very little to-
Kinsella. Let ‘ogether they
Ser us get
dr
Wants you would want Bridget cay, being so tired—’’ ‘‘] think that is why we should want her,’’ says Hilary, turning to the old ‘‘busybody thankless,’’ with rather sev
a
air.
3ut when her aunt is
St Kinsella, her old maid’s backward and forward in fashion. Her face ta a lugubricus turn. ‘‘And when you have two other ervants too, and when death is in ques- tion—’’ ‘““The cook and the count,’’ says Mrs. I want a parlor I have people to ‘‘No, ye don’t say so!’’ says sella, leaning forward, all delight and anxiety. She has forgotten her present crusade in her burning desire for gossip. ‘‘An’ who are they?’’ “it doesn’t matter, wk hi it doe
oe dying,’’ says curls swey-
an angry
lng
Vocenee BCS
nureery-maid hard- Clifford, ‘‘and, as a maid very much luncheon.”’ Miss Kin-
ly fact, to-day.
99
calin- of
says Diana ly. $s matter is the going Bridget
s should think,’’ says Miss Kinsela, enraged at the reiusal to gratify her cur- iosity, ‘‘that a luncheon-party should not count with the dying of an ancestral relative!’’ She doesn’t know herseif what this means, but it sounds splendid. ‘“‘When we’re Gying, we don’t think of launcheons,’’ says she, which certainly is an incontrovertible fact.
‘‘Well, but you see we're
says Hilary.
‘‘Of course if Bridget
9
not dying,’’
’s aunt is dying,’’
says Mrs. Clifford, ‘‘she must go to her. However, I hope she will not lose her way there, and go to this ‘pattern’ in- stead. ”’ j ‘‘Oh! Mrs. ‘Clifford, me dear, we shouldn’t misjudge the poor. Of course know very little about anything that’s
goin’ on meself’’ (there isn’t a thing go-
RLOTTETOWN JUNE 19,
I{
|
says Milary, with mild’ irony. “You have got Mr. Peter, you know.’’
‘*Well, I have, me dear,’’ says the old | maid, brightening. ‘‘And it must be } confessed by a!l that me nephew, Pether | Kinsella, is a host in himself. But even Pether says I] know nothing. You're not |
‘up to-day,’ he says to me. An’ surely, Mrs. Clifford, that’s a most extraordin- ary remark to make to me, who am out o’ me bed at seven sharp every mornin’ me life. But that’s what he’s always tellin’ me. You’re not ‘up to-day,’ he says. I suppose it has some meanin’, but faith I can’t find it out.’’
Hilary is shaking with laughter; Mrs. Clifford comes to the rescue.
‘It is slang,’’ says she. ‘‘A silly ex- pression. You must tell Mr. Kinsella not to talk slang to you. And ‘date,’ perhaps, is the word. Don’t you think,’’ with a view to changing the conversation, ‘‘that Mrs. Browne looked very well last night?”’
‘*And her dress,’’ says Hilary. ‘‘Oh! charming!’’
‘*No such
: e]
?
great thing, snaps Miss
Kinsella. ‘‘Did ye look at her sleeves? ; Chinese silk—sd. a yard!’’
‘*It looked all right,’’esays Mrs. Clif- ford, wondering what Miss Kinsella is going to say of her dress at the next house she goes to.
‘“And Mrs. Dyson-Moore?’’ asks Hil-
ary, mischeviously. ‘‘What did you think of her dress?’’
‘*Faith, there of,’ Miss couldn’t see it.’’
“Oh! fie, Miss Kinsella!’’ ‘*What an insinuation!’’
“I thought she looked very pretty,’’ says Mrs. Clifford vaguely, who is now wondering how to get rid of her.
‘So did Meejor Blackburn, that big dragoon from the barracks. Me dear Mrs. Clifford, I must tell you,’’ leaning forward, d lowering her voice, and giv- ing a glance over her shoulder at the door to see if it was firmly closed. ‘‘I’m the last one in the world to pry upon any one, as you know, me dear. But I went into one of the conservatories, just to see if the Chinese lanterns were burn- in’ all right, and sure enough, there she was, she an’ the Meejor, looking bigger than ever, an’ her hand clasped in his, behind her fan. They do say that is why she buys them big fans; just to hide behind with meejors.’’
‘*T don’t think there is any real harm in her,’’ says Mrs. Clifford, who had made several ineffectual attempts to stop this revelation, and who is now feeling very uncomfortable. ‘‘I am afraid, Miss Kinsella,’’ neryvously,‘‘ we are keeping you—and
“Not at all. day is young.’’
Hilary comes forward a step or two.
‘*Did you hear,’’ says she impressive- ly, ‘‘that Lady Bolton had a little daugh- ter last night?’’
‘*No? ye don’t say so!’’ This is Miss Kinsella’s formula. She rises instantly. ‘*Poor dear young creature. I must fly to her. Good-by. Good-by.’’ She hur- ries away, all sails set.
‘*Hilary,’’ begins Mrs. Clifford, told you? until—’’
‘*Nobody told me,’ says merely asked her if she had heard should have been surprised if she Because certainly I hadn’t. But gone, anyway.”’
“Thank Heaven!’’ Mrs. Clifford sinks into a seat. ‘‘What is to be done about Bridget?’’
‘Il know,’’ says Hilary,stopping in the middle of the pas de quatre she has been dancing up and down -be room with an imaginary partner. ‘‘l thought it all out while that old lady was gossiping with you.”’
‘*You know?”’
(Uo be continned.)
to think promptly. ‘‘I
was nothing Kinsella
Says .
says Hilary.
ial aii
Not at all, me dear. The
“whe I thought it wasn’t expected
Hilary, ‘‘] it: . 7 had. she’s
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