LADY GAY'S PRIDE; Or, THE MISER'S TREASURE. By Mrs Alex. McVeigh Miller.

Auckland Star, Volume XX, Issue 291, 7 December 1889, Page 6

LADY GAY'S PRIDE; Or, THE MISER'S TREASURE. By Mrs Alex. McVeigh Miller.

CHAPTER XXV.

A winter afternoon, and London at its foggiest, rainiest and dreariest). The ekies lower frowningly, the smoky fog obscures everything, for days tho steady, monotonous 'drip, drip' of the rain has sounde d maddeningly in the ears of the nervously inclined. This in the midst of the season which is in full blast in London now. At Lady Heath's elegant residence, on the most fashionable aristocratic square of London, the dismal protipecb is shut out of the long drawing-room by the rich and heavy draperies of the windows, and the glimmer of gaslight and ifcrelight diffuses light and cheerfulness. Thei'fcabolydrawingroom has only one occupant now—a slender girl, nestled down in tho hoh'ow of a great luxurious velvet chair, her cheek in her hand, her eyes bent dreamily over a book— Gay Elmer, fair as a lily, in a dark blue cashmere'dress that sets off the gtild of her hair and the satin smoothness of her skin to the greatest perfection. She liffca her head at the light echo of a footstep on the velvet carpet.

♦Papa !' ' Alone, my Lady Gay ?' •Alone, papa—Lady Lelia is taking her afternoon siesta. Lord Annesley went away this morning. Hβ had an engagement with Mr Warren.'

Sir Floyd leans on the back of hi? chair and strokes the shining head with a light , , caressing touch, a proud, yob tender lighO in his eyes. He is excusable for his loving pride. They have been in London for a month now, and his daughter is the beaut} 7 of the season—the most peerless beauty that has beon presented ab court for a score of years, it is said. Sha has titled admirers by the score. Already, it is said, she has refused several ardent and impatient lovers, and those wiseacres who know everything, and are to be found everywhere, predict that young Lord Annesley will bo tho favoured man. It is not that she shows any preference lor him — sho is equally indifferent to all—hut he is staying at his Bister's, and Sir Floyd's daughter _is her guesb also—and there Isr so much in propinquity, you know. So the time goes. And Sir "Floyd, looking down at the sweet young face, with the babyish rings of golden hair lying oh thfl low, white brow, thinks within himself' that ib is no wonder they call her beautiful. The beauty of the Elmer race is traditional. Ib has been handed down from time immemorial, from one to another, like the family name and the family acres. But Lady Gay, with herarch.bewitchingbeauty, is the fairest Elmer of them all.

' I am very glad to find you alone, dear, , he said, after a minute's sileub liaising. 4 Why, papa V • I have something to tell you.' ' What is it, papa ?' • Cannob you guess, ray daughter ?' Something mischievous and teasing in the tone, rather than the words, sends a flash of colour into the rounded cheek.

' I have not an idea,' she asserts, yet slightly droppingher eyes. He bends a little lower, that no one entering suddenly may hear the words : 'I have, to Americanism, my dear, been "interviewed" by two admirers of yours this morning/? The blush burns hotter in her cheek at the words. She makes him no an3wey, only to drop her.facaia .little lower from hi 3 searching gaze, ' Have you nothmg to ask me, my Lady Gay ?' the father queries. •No, papa.' • I * Nob even whafcthey wanted ?' •Oh! I can giess"— your daughter, of course '.' she answers, l with careless readiness. , j 'Ye 3, Gay—theT wanted my daughter, or, at least, my sanction to address h6r.' The girl's lip 3 barbed in a smile—half amused, half vexed ' Did they codq| together—or singly 1 Bbc inquires. Sir Floyd, half vixed at her lightness and indifference, cannof suppress a laugh at the abaurdifcy of the id|a. • Singly, of course, dear—such hunters do not go in pairs, fiub you do nob ask me who they were.' I •I'do-nob-wish-to know,' she answers, , with the utmost nonchalance. 'Why not?' heafeks. ♦ My answer woild be the same, in any case.' . 1 " ~ . .... ' You mean yriti would refuse' tneir offers ?'

• Yes, papa.' I Sir Floyd looks 4 disappointed, almost vexed, at her determined reply. 'I do not understand you at all, my darling. I thought young ladies were usually interested ih these things.' « What things, pipa ?' • Lovers, dear—abd marriage ! • I am not, , she* declares, with almost angry vehemence. ■ Hβ tries to look into the downcast face, but it is half shielded by her small, jewelled ' It is childish add unnatural to talk as you do, my dear,' h> urges. 'Of course you must niarry some diy. , ' No, papii, I shall not. I shall stay with you all my life !' ; Sir Floyd looks ahything but flattered at this indirect complikerit. ' That would be almost impossible in the. natural course of events, my little daughter. I am a great many years older than you are. I must die and leave you some time, and I would rritich sooner leave you happily married to some good man than a sour old maid, alone and lonely.' A pause. She niakes him no answer beyond a little fluttering sigh. Seeing that she will not speak, He resumes: • As you will not ask me, Gay, I will tell you that it was Lorfi Annesley that spoke to me to-day. You We long known that I favoured his suit. I told him I would Bpeak to you, My jJarling, you know how my heart is set upon this—you will give. Eueene some hope; will you not ?' Lady Gay looks at him with tears in her soft dark eyes. 5. • Oh ! papa, you foake it hard tor me to> refuse, but it is qrtitfrimpossible. : I cannot marry Lord Annesley,' she answers, tar a' fluttering voice. ; • Cannot—and why t • I do note love him,' , «Then you must • be very cold-hearted, mv dear,' Sit FIoyH breaks out, in real vexation. 'The women of our race were wont to be very loviiig. I do not see. how you could resist Annesley. Hβ is young, handsome, wealthy, (titled, and he adores y? No answer but a ldw and fluttering sigh —outside the steady • drip, drip of the rain, and the low wiling of the homeless • Are you looking higher than Annesley V nnrsues the baronet.l ' I tell you frankly, &ay, I had rather ydu niarry him than a duke. , t , ~ 'I shall never ma&y anyone, papa,' toe eirl answers drpamiß her eyes fixed on the fitful flicker of the firelight. Her heart is very sore and sad! within her, Wny. should he twit her wtth the warm heart of the Elmer women had gone before her? Surely npae have had tenderer hearts in their b'rea'ifcs, deeper |OV9 than hers—love that met go return. •And you will reuse Lord Annosley, then ?' he quefries disappointedly. • Vnn muet nofe 1* him affk mOi P»P*

—you will tell him I never moan to marry. Papa, will you not do this much for me V she inquires, eagerly. ' I can tell him, Gay ; but do you know 1 that this places you in a very'unpleasant position, dear '> Lady Heath has been very kind to you, and-shehas known all along that her brother loved you. I fancy that she, in common with myself and Annesley, was pleased at the idea of the match. Of course you cannot remain her guest any longer.'

' Of course not,' she echoes.

' And it would be ao awkward and inconvenient to reopen our town-house now. It would take some time to make ib ready for occupancy—it has been closed for sixteen voars.'

4 VVe will go home to Elmer Court, papa. I have seen enough of London. lam tired of the whirl. I should like to rest. .

' I will not think of ib, Lady Gay. What! the belle and beauty of the season to forsake London before the gayeties are over, and bury herself at Elmer Court ! No, no, I will tell Eugene he must give you time —you have not known him long enough —you cannot give him a decisive answer at present. For after all a woman's No is often half an affirmative —isn't it, little one ?'

' Papa, you must not tell Lord Annesley such things. I have quite made up my mind. .1 cannot marry him, and when he asks me I will tell him so frankly.' 'Very well, my love. Have your own way. You must tell him what you choose when he asks you,' Sir Floyd answers, resignedly, yet with a covert emphasis upon the ' when ' that escapes her notice. They have no more time to talk, for at that moment Lady Heath enters, a pretty, lively, fussy little woman. She at ones engages the baronet's attention, and his daughter takes up her book and retreats to felie window.

She pushes back the heavy draperies, and, half-hidden behind them, peers out with dark sad eyes ab the dismal prospect. It is Longfellow's ' Rainy Day' illustrated :

' Ths d;>£ is cold, and dark, and dreary, Jt vains"iHd the wind is nevor weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, Hut at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.'

'If ifc only would etop,' she murmurs — th(? ' it' referring to the rain—' I would have a little run as far a 9 tho park. lam hair stifled in the close, hob air of the.house. I ca.i scarcely get my breath. A breath of the wind and rain in my face would be refreshing. , At'fcor a minute more she murmurs to herself : '" Why not?' With thab she slips oub of the room. Lady Heath and the baronet absorbed in conversation take no notice.

Ten mfriutes later she is oub in the street, her feeb warmly shod, bub her golden locks hidden beneath a close hat and veil, a thick ulster buttoned about the slim, graceful form, a stout umbrella in her gloved hand. &o clad, she takes her leisurely way to the park. T'be cool, moist air strikes her with a sensation o.E relief. She had felt so hot and faint a.id w.eary in tho house. The hot air and the heavy perfume of the exotics in the vases had sickened her. And her father's talk of love and marriage had somehow touched such an aching chord in her heart. ■ , 'If he only knew thab lam married already, , she thinks to herself as she walks along; 'if he only knew. Bub he never shall. ' No one nhatl know that I, whom the proudest delight to honour, am the wife of a man who does not love me and only married me for honour's sake.' A gusb of wind moets her as sfeo turns a corner, blowing- the irmbrella from her hand and driving it along before her. A3 ib, determinedly eludes her grasp a g-entleman comes to her assistance. She pushea back her veil to thank him.

' Lady Gay !' he exclaimv, •Mr Warren, , she answer.*, with a quickened hearb-beat. ' I am surprised to see you out on such a day,' he remarks. 'Is ib quite prudent, do you think? , • It is very refreshing at least, , she rap/ics, with a light and careless laugh. * I could not bear the confinement of the house any longer. I was perishing for a breatH of air. Ib ie strange to see you alone, Mr Warren, Where is your familiar ?' • Annesley V 'Yes.'

• I left him at his club. Liko yourself, I was perishing for a breath of fresh air. May I finish my walk in your company, Lady Gay ?' ' I have no objection,' she replies. They walked slowly along tho muddy pavement, as slowly as if it were summertime. He has closed his own umbrella and holds hers carefully over her head. She has forgotten to put down her veil again. He feasts his eyes on the rare beauty of the rose-flushed face, with its starry dark eyes and curved crimson lips, those ' beauteous lips' of Which he bad sung- thab starry autumn nighfc. • Lady Gay,' he says abruptly, yet with a elighb air of ombarrassmenb as ho looks in bo bhe gravely inquiring face, ' Lady Gay, of coarse your father has told you what I said to him this morning ?'

{To be Continued.)