A FAIR PATIENT.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIII, Issue 89, 14 April 1892, Page 3

A FAIR PATIENT.

The summer of 1891 was the first gay Season Glenham had over known. The picturesque little town, nestled in one of the most beautiful regions of the Catskilla, had been overlooked heretofore by all btit a small contingent of summer boarders. But last season the old Griggs House, which overhung the village on the mountain side, having been thoroughly remod«led, was reohristened the Beau Sejour, and Glenham was extennivoly advertised as one of the most charming and healthful resorts about New York. Among the earliest arrivals at the Beau Sejour was Mrs. Ainsleigh, a lovely young ■widow, who wore the most elegant toilets Glenham had ever seen. But men were scarce at the Beau Sejour during July, and time hung heavy on Mrs. Ainsleigh's hands. She was suffering from a slight nervous attack one afternoon when she sent for a physician—young Dr. Mowbray, who had been graduated three years before from the New York polyclinic. Tall and slender, with brilliant dark eyes and a beautiful voice, Dr. Mowbray would have passed anywhere for a handsome man. Mrs. Ainsleigh felt entirely relieved of her nervousness after a quarter of an hour's conversation with him, and did not think it necessary to have the prescription he left filled. He callod the next afternoon to inquire for his patient, and found her suffering only from a slight headache. She was dreesed in a ravishing gown of delicate lavender, and Mowbray thought her the jnoet beautiful creature he had ever seen. After his third visit he felt himself to be desperately in love. He had not known her a fortnight, when one morning, as his finger rested on her pulse, she startled him by saying: "I overheard two old tabbies talking about you on the veranda yesterday."

Mowbray looked at her inquiringly. "They said that woman with the doll's facs, who wears four gowns a day, had deeigns upon you. I wonder if they could have meant me," she added, with a look of Innocent surprise as though the thought had just struck her. Mowbray blushed like a schoolboy. In his agitation he pressed her round, white ■wrist. , She gently withdrew it, but as her hand slid through his her fingers seemed to become entangled in his own, and before he knew it he had bent his lips to her hand.

"Do not be angry, for I love you," he stammered, aghast at his own effrontery. Che was looking at him with an amused smile.

"I am not angry to be loved by you—but ate you not doing a foolish thing?" The next two weeks were idyllic ones for Mowbray. .They walked together, drove and danced together, then the hotel began to fill up. Mrs. Ainsleigh had a whole train of admirers and the young doctor was often miserably jealous. Sometimes he staid away from her a whole day; once it was two days, and she gently reproachad him. "This is my harvest and I must work," he said, somewhat gloomily. "It is playtime with your ether admirers, but I must prepare for the time when I will be marlied," and his eyes grew tender. "Married—you are going to marry?" she aaked in surprtee^"whom?" Why you, my dearest, of course." "Me!—marry met Oh, Robert!" "Why—why- j what,do you mean?" "What would you do with me?" I Mowbray was too stupefied to answer. 1 She regarded him with a compassionate ttotle. "Poor Roberfr-is it possible you can have been so serious? Don't look like thatOT I shall think our beautiful summer is going to be all spoiled." She rose and went to her desk; then returning bent over his shoulder with a caressing gesture and put a paper into his land.

"Look at that." It was a dressmaker's bill, and at the feottom four danced before Mowbray's eyes. Hβ could not see what they •were. . "Think of you marrying a woman with snch tastes at the outset of your career, Bobert," she eaid regretfully. "There are more of these, but this woman is becoming troublesome. I shall have to refer her bill to Mr. Ainsleigh, and then I suppose there will be trouble} there generally is in such cases, but"''Mr. Ainsleigh!" gasped Mowbray, almost reeling from this second blow, "but— "Have I never spoken to you of Mr. Ainsleigh, Bobert?" she asked innocently.^ "You are—you are not a widow, then? "Oh, dear, yes," she replied, laughing softly. "Mr. Ainsleigh is my late husband's elder brother, and acts as a sort of guardian to me. He is very rich, and he thinks he wants to marry me." "And you—are going—to marry mm? asked Mowbray faintly. "I cannot tell—l do not know. Oh, Eobert! why did you speak of this hateful subject of marriage? I don't want to think efit. I was so happy just to know that you loved me. I find it so pleasant to be loved. Why must men begin to talk of marriage right away?" Mowbray was sick at heart and miserable He went away persuaded that his happiness had been wreoked by a heartless woman. He resolved never to see her again. Two days later she had another nervous attack and sent for him. "Mr Ainsleigh is coming next week, ahesaid, "and we shall probably leave for Bar Harbor soon afterwaxd. Let us make the most of our time, Eobert; we may never meet again, and we are too fond of each other to quarrel!" Poor Mowbray was to far gone to protest; he was very unhappy, but he came to see her every day. Then Mr. Ainsleigh arrived. He was a tall, silent man, of about fifty. He met Jtobert pleasantly enough, and to the surprise of the yourifc physician there was not the least change in the relations between himself and Mrs. Ainsleigh. They walked and rode together as before, and Mowbray was almost happy again. He felt as though he might win Helen yet, when one morning Mr. Ainsleigh followed him from the room and sent a cold chill to his heart "Doctor, Mrs. Aineleigb. and I leave for Bar Harbor the day after to-morrow. Will you do me the favor to send your bill to the hotel in the morning?" To refuse was impossible. What would Mr Ainsleigh think of such an action from a stranger? Would it not arouse his say picionTand injure Helen? Yet how could he take money from her-hi3bel6ved! Still he was in great need of money, and if the WU was presented and paid it would serve Mm in good stead. Mowbray went home and thought it all over The result was that he penned the following document: , "Dr Robert Mowbray presents his compliments to Mr. Herbert Ainsleigh and in Accordance with his desire, incloses bill for service* rendered Mrs. Ainsleigh: To fifty-five consultations at house, at $5. .$375 Medicinea and sundries. _** \ t .Total,. .........- • **

"Her honor above everything," he saia, knitting his brows tragically. Then he quietly sealed and dispatched the bill. Tho next afternoon she called at his office. The first thing s ], e did was to take from her portemonnaie a roll of crisp fresh bank notes, which she laid on the table They conversed for a short time, without very profound emotion, on their coming separation. They wondered if they would ever meet again, and prayed they might Then a somewhat awkward silence fell'between them. Mowbray was uncomfortably conscious of the presence of the bank notes on the table before him. He tried to murmur in his deepest, softest voice something particularly sad and loving, but the white cipher on a twenty dollar bill, with its delicately interlacing green lines, seemed to stare at him like a great mocking eye Hβ glanced at Heleu, and saw that she, too, was looking at the money with a significant expression. And suddenly he understood that she was thinking of her milliner's and dressmaker's bills.

Then an idea occurred to him. He rose, and taking the money counted out $150, Which he put in his vest pocket, then taking the two hands of his inamorata he kissed them passionately and slipped the remaining bills in the opening of her glove, pressing her fingers over them.

"Dearest," he murmured,"we must part; my heart is well nigh broken at the thought, but we will love each other while we may, and that we may never forget the happy hours we have passed together I wish that we may each preserve a souvenir which shall always recall them. Let us divide this money and each purchase a keepsake—a jewel, which will remain to us forever a muta testimonial of our vanished happiness."

He had spoken with great fooling and was himself deeply affected, but Helen rose calmly, deliberately drew out the bank notes from her glove and returned them to her portemonnaie.

And it was not until she had gone, without giving him a last goodby kiss, that he realized she was furious at carrying away only half the money.—Francis M. Livingston in New Orleans Times-Democrat.'