A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 1107, 21 November 1917, Page 8

A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE.

CilOltf BTOI4V

Crura* L «W»!i; wid Vereehoyle, with • laugh; *t# too bast upon 07 describing y*a cut* •irdiy, l should say that you were a bit of ft * irwrity. are abnormal in more ways U%c ooe/ Mi«s Van Wheeler reversed her fan sad *sp?ed l«t tr-eth meditatively with the bad •-r tre'ticks. • I'm inclined to think you are -'zbt/aha arid: *thoughnobody everpat it 1 nr> nwoj words before. Still I know Ism .font tit* bn*»qiiest and rudest person on vrth. I can't help it; I must say what I brak, or eke not talk at all/ . - 'Cone to consider it,'Vereehoyle admitted, * I siippcee too hare yet rather an uncon--rctioosl style of speech. Bat I wasn't - driving at that. What chiefly brings yea 'nlD prominence is the glorious OOBtevpt yon ■■ vt« for the male person. You get the beat specimens of him round yon: yon t«e him as though you paid for his oon ver•a'ioa and his waltzing at to orach an hoar; :<nd you care just as much for him as yeu do for your fan, and infinitely leas than yon do fir your do/. Ito watched yon now for three days, and I'm quite sore of this.* •Wear •Well, it's a distinctly novel experience from our point of view. Host girls— pre--entable girls, tint is—look upon the said male person as a possible husband either for srlf or friends. I know there is a shrieking risrerhood who say they hate men; bat I've met a good many of them in the flesh—and I know why. Yon are d ; fferent to that lot entirely. Yon aren't ugly, or a schoolt istress, or a writer of books; in fact Tory loach the rererse; and. moreover, yon dance extremely well. Which reminds me that the maris has been going on for two minutes, and ycn'T* got tins waUz with someone else.* •Who would probably bore me. Yon . flan't; ro I shall sit it cut here. 60 on and talk; tell me about yourself.' * Yon want to change the subject, and yon pick oat the one topis every man can be eloquent upon. If mine were a more reputable 1 ecord, perhaps I shouldn't mind. But as it is you know quite well what lam—a wanCerer and a Tsgabond upon the face of the earth; antan of no decent means; a mere letter dan tramp who possesses a portman{ean, and some good dress clothes, ana a large '•jre sporting rifle. The role may fit me ftanfectahly, hot that doesn't follow, I'm trend encash of it to swagger to you just now orer what IVe done.' ' Yon wire talking to the girl next yon at dinner about some wild prank you'd been in at. I heard yon.' • Oh,' said Versehoyle, « rm not without conceit. To analyse the matter, she took a ■u'ld interest in me; and admiration is always a pleasant gift. Besides she was an ' •ires*, and I'm civil to money on principle. One always worships the moat distant god.' , M:ss Van Whe*ler"e fan spread its wings •nd wared indolently through the air. *So I -mare going to marry her, are you ?* said 'the.

•To begin with,' rrplied Versehoyle, 'she'd 'efo-e me promptly if I did ask her, because \he happens to be after a title, which is an (numjit I don't possess. And to continue, .Cm jott as Hkely to propose to her as lam So— to yon, for instance. Amongst my other tad qualrif*, I'm not a fortune-hunter.' * Nor a marrying man r* * I don't fancy I am/ * Good. I'm beginning to bice yon. Alio a envy y».n/ *la the name of all that's curious, why? In wbtt rvthly fashion can I be your sess'sNabothrToa're a man, that's what I mean. Yon f won't marry unless you want to. Nobody i -it* you with bring a bachelor, with throw- ' t g aaay youx chances, with verging towards V *:•!• which convention covers with scorn \r d ridicu'a. I'm different. Every day, •very hour nearly, someone is throwing me a 1 tut that I am six and twenty, that I ought '•#« ashamed of acting in the way I do, that ?Ja 'o?ing my good looks * ♦'ton ' began Versehoyle, and stopped. * fes?* * Wi.y, I hid it on the tip of my tongue to •> mark that you" 1 plenty of those last left for a'l ordinary purposes; but on second *« ooghts I remeturered that you'd probably •I<aiit the eosaaa nt, and so I suppressed it. C "ta't reictcC, jo a understand. Please go » / • * I mere that my people are at me from ■a, nai-ig to night ab >ut getting married. r ey sngeest this, man, that, the other: A t>w sne into men's society whenever they r a get * eba-ice; thow me they consider 1 nrriagp should be the one aim of an un- % dded life. When I try to argue against -".em they only retort «ith ridicule, and call tte aboard and mad. They can't understand av fselir ■-', and I'm afraid I can't apnreoi«*a theirs. Perhaps it is because there's a liuthing lacnii -z in me. Thai desire for ■furiige is a thing I cannot comprehend. f hear aben* it hi conversations, read about > in novels, but I'm neither interested nor r averted. People talk about kirring'—the '. m c'oscd with aen »p, and its holder shud'orad— 'to me the idea is loathsome. I never - j;i!d stand being pawed about by anybody—•iec by otbrr girls. Why can't people talk 1 od enjoy themselves, and live their own-i..-es without interfering with ooe another? I 1. lion'il like to hare men for friends, if they iao jU let me.' •Tbat manni PTatonVs. They're been I r!~l; and they mostly fail' * Yes. I know. You tiik to them for a bit, "O'* get to hke tfc-m. and then they want to I -1 clo.er to yon, and paw you, and—ugh—a k you to tuarry thtm. And afterwards

f -nu pwple Late you. and are unkind to yon, i. cause you're missed chance. Tloa're lasgl-ing/ •Im sorry, bat I couldn't quite help it. 7m see, ifs hard to realise the severity of Sucrsorrows. They an unique amongst the of women.' 'That doesn't mate them any the mare ralataUe to me,' said Miss Van Wheeler, • imply. She rose ani glanced at her pro- : ramme. 'Next dance; take me back to tie '.j. ill-room.' Vcitchoy ■ le offered an arm. which she did rot. accept, and they moved off a dozen stepa - j;Mter. Then he said aedonaly enosgn, < I aiaa I could help von.' Sfce stopped, tnrntd, and looked up at him eur.onAj. * Da yoa mean that ?* she asked. ' Hjst certainly I do.* [ T'-ts. marry me/ waa her retort, . CEims II: verwnov'e's fa".? grew very est, sud the *%o .a it lightened a shade in tint. ' I <*oa*t ink I q lite auientand you,' he said at 'l'm sorrr I can't cpeakany plainer.' * Vh, well, *e*d better Lave it on*. Come Vci. and sit again. We must cut our res/n live partners fur tfiis waltz.' * You misfht h-ve remembered that we hare it urretl <er. But yon seem flurried.' *I am flurried.* * I'm not; I neter felt cooler or more bnrice .$-".ise in or life. Understand clearly w >at I offer yon; an ordinary companionship t>» take op ween yoa choose, a smart estab-.i-bment*n any town cr village of England to •t*i eutnety how yon please—neither less t::an this, nor more. In return, yon will u ■ re me j oar same. Then legally I shall be J[ a. Venchoyle, and I think my worries m i.| end: bat practically I fball remain Miss V in Wheeler, wbefor- Cjme, what do jo a think of (fie offer ?" . .'-I Um§i'-*BA Ve*rriw«y.e coldly, 'thatl to yoa before that I was no |.» ;ane-hu>iter.' * "P«e»*rfr; ba» I dnn't see tbat need •pp>. 3?« k Bf i' in my fwa right -ie/tra* o'-i y.Mi" I««r. I ke'Ur* *b«re

are tnoL things as settlemenr*; -J yon ohooaa, every penny can be tJ.i ia me, and' all who care can know. On t lie other hand, if you had so chosen, I would have freely shared with yon in the mere matter of wealth. I'm not expensive. Half would have been plenty for me, and you could have' put the rest towards your yaohting or shooting expenses, or whatever yon do.* 'lf yon took my name »' Vereehoyle began, and there stopped. •YesP* • Before the eyas of the world yon would be my wife.' •Naturally/ • And,' he said, with an effort, * yon would have to behave as such.' • Before the eyes of the world, yes. Are you hinting that I should do otherwise r If yon think over what you know of me, you will see tha\ lam not likely, to disgrace you.' • No,'he answered thoughtfully, 'I don't flunk yon are. But what am Ito get out of this bargain, supposing I close with it r" •A home to entertain any friends yon choose to ask there; and a woman to sit at the head if your table, and to talk to when yon please.' •IsthataUf* • Absolutely. I'm not nuking my offer through this talked-of lore. I like yon neither more nor less than twenty other people. lam only taking the step because I am worried out of my life as it now is.' ' I see. Yon are entirely candid a bo. t the matter.' •Best so. Any misunderstanding might be awkward afterwards. But yon have the whole: thing clearly now. Can't yon decider •lean. 11l do as you wish.' •Thanks, extremely. And now well go back to the ball-room. I feci ever so much happier.* /C • I'm delightful to hear you say so. And the next dance, is that to be mine?' • Not at all; why should it be? Pm engaged—ah, let me see—to a man who was introduced this evening ; and as we have got our business orer, I don't see why I should cut him.'

Vereehoyle smiled grimly. •By the way,' he said, when they were at the foot of the stairs, • what is your Christian name ? I suppose I ought to know.' • Why should yon ?' she asked. • You won't have to use it. I shall be Mrs. Vereehoyle; and till then I'ui Miss Van Whe»»«r/ , Gxuptbb lIL 80 that marriage took plaee; and the lady acted according to her lights, and complications arose, much- as Versehoyle had foreseen. __ ' Chaptes IV. On the third anniversary of ner wedding day, Mrs. Versehoyle came upon her husband in his own study, testing the triggerpull of a long-barrelled pistol. They were staying in Venice at the time, in the old palazzo lent them by a friend ; and through the open window shutters the smell of a pea-green canal came np to them from below—hot, richly breaths. Mrs. Versehoyle found the Tanchnits novel she had come in for; and (hen, as she was leaving the room, asked casually if her husband was going away somewhere. He nodded, and dropped the pistol carelessly on a divan. _ ' Shooting, I suppose, as usual V He nodded again.

'Away long P •Qnien sabe P Upon my faith, r caa't say. But why do yon ask? You don't care.* She shrugged her shoulders. •We won't go into that again, please. I warned you that night in the ball-room at home what yon had to expect, and I've kept rigidly to my contract. lam not disposed to give yon fresh terms/ • So you've remarked several times already when I've adaritted to caring for you. As Pre stated before, Pm about siok of the existing arrangement; though please observe that at the present moment I have, not put in my usual plea for fresh conditions. Ive an idea that I shall solve the problem in an other way. As you've gathered, I'm off shooting—with another man/ •Who? Anyone I know?' ' He is an intimate of yours—Baretti.' • Oh, pigeon-shooting. He won Ih<) bis match at Monte Carlo last year, didn't he ? Going across to the Riviera ?' • No ; some where down in the lagoon.' • Then you are not going for pigeons ?' • No, madame. To coin a word, I'm of Baretti-ehooting.' Mrs. Versehoyle turned round sharply, and loaned her back against the door. 'Do yon mean to say,' she demanded, ' that you are going to be fool enough to fight a duel with that man ?' • That,' he replied, •is about the size ofit/ • Bat yon will very possibly be ki'led." *I should say that" the betting is about nine to one on that both of as are jagged. I'm a pretty clean shot myself/ • Why should you want to die T • I don't know that I do or don't. I don't very much care either way. But I've got sufficient cariosity about what comes next not to funk dying. There's only one thing: if I am to cross the Styx, I intended to take Baretti with me. It wouldn't be healthy to leave him behind above the pavemant/ • What are you fighting about ?' • You. He commented upon you at the club last night in a way I didn't like. What he said was entirely true, and that's why I'm going to kill him.' • Why,' she broke ont vehemently,' do you talk like this? You can't fancy I dislike you. I don't want yon to die/ ' Madame,' he said, with an ironical bow, 'yon are vastly polite. Perhaps I don't want to die either; but this is a matter which tauches mine honour, and I'm going to fight it oat. I don't see that as a rollicking widow you'll be one jot worse off than before.' Mrs. Versehoyle turned and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Versehoyle laughed, and taking up the long pistol, occupied himself again with s'udving its trigger-pull. Ten minutes afterwards he heard the light bumping of a gondola against the striped posts in the canal below; and looking out of the window, he saw his wife step on board. 'What a fat l"t of interest she does take in me/ he thought to himself. 'Br 7-;ve! Bar*tti and I will have a g*>od tho• t. I won."'-where he'll get in his lead.'

ChaptkbV. 'Signora! yon of all people !* • Yes, Prince. Don't look so inno.«pi/able. Pm going to sit here and talk to y,v, whether you like it..-not. Awkward situation, isn't it r* • It is/ said the Italian dryly. •My husband tells me.' resumed Mw. Versehoyle, • that I shall probably be a widow by this time to-morrow/ ' What misfortune!' •Dou't be a hypocrite. Prince. I know that the pair of you intend to figbf, and I want to hear if you confirm bis forecast of tho result/ •I'm afraid I most. Yon see, your excel* lent husband shoots so objectionably wp]l. A worse man I might have crippled: him I must kill at the first fire, to get a chance of life myself/ • I see. And what did yon quarrel about?' ' He quarrelled. I merely commented/ 'Upon what? • You. He considered what I said to be an impertinence: I knew it to be true, and declined to retract. Hence these tears.' • And what was your comment. Prince ?' The Italian -bragged his shoulders. ' Signora. if you will excuse me?* ' But I will not. If, as yon say, what you ♦old mv hn»Vind ws« ■ tnia, yo-i bavo r-»

reason to he aabarcel, and I Insist on hearni* whaVitwas' \ ‘ Then. Sismora.’ said the other icily. *it yon demand to know, I cannot refuse. What! your esteemed husband called me oat for was this: 1 told him that 1 bad watched the lives of both of you since you were married, and was sure that you bad never loved him for so much as a staple hour. 1 said that ■ you never would love him. I said, too, that he was a fool not to put his affections else* where. On the strength of this he intends to kill me if be con. Did yon ever hear anything more unreasonable P’ Mrs. Versohbylo rose from her shaft, and began walking up and down the soft mat { which covered the marble floor. There was j a full five-minutes,* silence between them. . ‘ How can yon know,' she asked, * that T don’t love him ?’ Again the national shrug, expressive of ' many things. * Answer me!* * Signora, can yon deny it? .. •Yes!’ V The Italian was a courtly gentleman, but he was also an old acquaintance. At the | least, he oonld not restrain a touch of in- ; science. * This is new 1’ he said, with lift- . tag eyebrows. She halted suddenly in her walk with cheeks brilliant in pink colour. ‘lt is; at least, 1 did not know it before. I never understood what this love they talk of really was HU an hoar ago. Then I began to see. He told me—Vorsohoyle, I mean—what was going to happen, and I began to think wbat losing him meant.* She sank back into a chair, cooling heir face. ‘ Prince, if you only knew how I nave behaved to that man, and how I despise myself for it now.* Baretti polled at his moustache. ‘This is very irregular,* he said; * and besides it is rather late in the day. Yon have said much that, as your husband’s enemy, I per- | baps ought not to have heard, bat yon may | rely on my honour in keeping it secret. Signora, if yon will permit me to meet a press- I tag business engagement, 1 will leave you I now/ 1 She stood up again before him, speaking wildly. ‘Do yon mean that this must go on P Oh, it cannot, it must not.’ j * I fear. Signora, that is neither for you nor for me to say. The matter is now in the hands of seconds, and it is for them to act that no-one’s honour may be wounded. Personally I do not thirst for your husband’s life, and I tell you candidly that I have an infinite dislike to taking his fire. Put as matt-'rs stand at present 1 must go in for both these things. Ho was the challenger, and I certainly have nothing to retract.’ ‘Then must I,’ she asked, with the colour flooding back to her cheek, ‘mu-4 I go to him and tell him what I have told youP* ‘ Signora,’ said Baretti gravely, ’ the affair is ont of my hands. I can only counsel you to act exactly as you see fit.* So Mrs. Vorsohoyle took gondola back to the palazzo whore she was staying; but , what she said there is between her and her husband, and not to be profaned by being set ' in type. There is a certain reticence which , that power called delicacy imposes on even : the most hardened of us. It may, however, | be said that there was no defacing of God’s j image on any of the islands of the lagoon : : but instead, a dinner of three at the cafe of j the Quadin, which was both merry and con- ; strained, where a certain Italian prince was toasted.by an English commoner and his wife. The Italian, however, left early; and because the Verschoyles quitted Venice soon afterwards, ha has not seen them since—which is, of course, quite what might be expected. And all these things occurred because a certain young woman called Van 'Wheeler j lacked sundry instincts which God decreed as j necessary for the bulk of her sex. There is i also a moral to this tale; but that is reserved j for use elsewhere as a copy-book heading : for the young.—o. J. Cutcliffe Hyne. - I