LITTLE KIT

Auckland Star, Volume XXVI, Issue 268, 9 November 1895, Page 1 (Supplement)

LITTLE KIT

BY EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS.

Author of ' At A Great Coat,' Eto.

CHAPTER XX. (Continued),

When Lady Sinclair knocked at the door a little while later, howjver, and popped in her head, she found 'Constance ab her writing-table, pen in hand.

,' Will you ever forgive me, Lena ?' cried Miss Marlowe, looking round and laughing a little. ' I don'b bhink I shall drive, after all. I have a heap of letters to answer. Mamma expects a daily epistle, as you know, and now, I musb send my congratulation. Have you written ?' . , f , Lady Sinclair said 'No.' • She was pulling on her driving gloves, and was apparently engrossed in the task; bub, her. oyes were full of tender sympathy for her friend and her friend's bravery.' • She doos feel it, afber all, poor girl!', she thought to herself. .* How plucky, she is. I Bbould be just mad;' Oub loud, she said : • Ob, there is plenty of bime. lam a bad correspondent, aa Philip knows, and, besides'—she paused a momenb—' besides, I am nob quite sure whether I shall send,any congratulations ; I don't feel congratulatory and I never could be a hypocrite. The -whole thing has amazed me beyond words, and I only hope Philip won't regreb making a fool of himself ab his time of life, that ia all.' Constance laughed softly. ' Dear Lena, you are such a dear, funny creature ! Why, Sir Philip ia quite a young man. comparatively speaking.' * ' Notwhen the "comparatively speaking" means marriage with a stupid child of a schoolgirl. Why, thab chit can'b be more tban sixteen ; is she ?' ' Age makes very libtle difference when a man is in love, Lena.' Lsidy Sinclair was impatiently angry. •In love ! It is too silly. How can Philip be in love with a red-headed schoolgirl? Oh, it's all rubbish !' Constance sighed a shorb, sharp sigh. She had set herself to play a parb, but ib was not an easy one. ' Poor Sir Philip!' ehe said, and her voice sounded weary. ' I hope you will not let yourself say all this to him, Lena . I am afraid he will not like it.' ' I dare say not. Fools never do care to be told of their folly,' Lady Sinclair answered dryly ; and then her wrath, engendered chiefly on Constance's account, and a good deal on her own in having failed to arrange things as she desired, broke out. • It's all absurd ! Philip! Philip Desmond ! One of the most celebrated men of the day, so brilliant, co clover, so great, to go and throw himself away on a bit of a scrubby girl with red hair. Please forgive me, Constance. I know she is your cousin, but 1 can't help myself. lam furious. Of course, I wanted Philip to marry, bub nob marry like this. I wanted bim to have a wife who would be an ornament and an honor to him ; and now ' Conßbance was bapping the desk with her pen. Her friend's anger and loyalty were a great salve to hor smarting vanity ; still it irritated her. She much preferred to be alone, at least just for the momenb. 'Dear Lena,' she eaid, softly, and with a weary sigh, ' don'b fret so much. After all, you will do no good, and you can't alter things. They-—' . 'Can't I?' inquired Lady Sinclair, defiantly. ' Well, I don'b know. I can wribe and give Philip bhe truth of my mind at all events, and thab will be something. I can point oub to bim the hideous mistake he is making. I can ' Constance rose hurriedly. 'No, no,' she said, eagerly, imperatively. •Lena, this is impossible. You can do nothing—you musb do nothing. Sir Philip is his own master, and must be the best judge of his own affairs. If regret follows, he has only himself to thank. For myself, I do not see why regreb should come : but thab is for the future. Why Bhould you interfere—why should you quarrel with one of your oldest and bea£ friends ? I entreat you to leb bhe mabter rest—to accept the inevitable. It is wonderful how easily one can do these disagreeable things wheo one tries.' Lady Sinclair eaid nothing. She looked at the face before her. Constance wore her usual serene expression, only a little sorrowful and very weary. There was an 'airot patienb submission that wenb straight to Lady Sinclair's impulsive, tender heart. 'You are an angel, Constie,' she said, bending forward to kiss tho beautiful face, and then, as she was runnina away, ahe looked back. ' And 1 shall hate her—the lit.le, red-haired cab !' she cried, and tb-m ahe vanished. Constance laughed a hollow sorb of laugh when she was alone.

' Lena can hate well, and ahe ia powerful. Philip Desmond'a wife may have good reason to find that truth an unpleasant one. He may guard hor as much aa he likes ; he may wrap her purity and nobility about with cotton wool; he is not omnipobenb, and my bime will come, lb may nob be today, or to-morrow, but ib will come all the same. I can wait and I can work. Ido nob care if I have to wai. till lam old and grey, if I can only see him Buffer in the end —see him suffer through her.' She sab dawn to her writing again, and took up her pen. He eyes fell vaguely on a diamond bangle she wore. Ib had been the bridegroom's presenb bo the bridesmaids. 'If I can see hor kicked into the gutter, and thrust the sword of my revenge into his hearb !' So ran the venom of her thoughts, and, as she sat, there came, she knew not how or why, suddenly into her mind' a remembrance of Maurice Montgomery's strange words and sullen, eeb face. She did nob know why this ehould be ; it had no coherence with her other thoughtsi; but the memory came clear enough, and it seemed to twine itself in with her anger and her hatred and her revengeful desire, till ib became parb and parcel of the whole. Afterward the mist in her mind cleared away on this point, and ehe understood the meaning of the confused intermingling of Maurice Montgomery with her plans for the future and her revenge.

CHAPTER XXI. Almost before the world of Philip Deemond's friends and acquaintances bad grasped the first astonishing fact of his engagement, came the nevya that bis DO-rriage wa. already accomplished. Within three weeks of Sybil Montgomery's marriage Kib had been transferred from her lowly state to one which placed her on a pinnacle of social grandeur and regard., <md her feat were set on the beginning of a path that seemed to her* glorious in bhe promise of perpetual sunehine, heavenly in its atmoaphere of constant, tender love and protection. Philip Desmond had always been an enigma and a mystery to society by reason of his frequent and long isolations in foreign lands, and by his seeming devotion to bachelordom. His marriage waß a source or excitement and gossip. , , Had it occurred in the middle or end ot the London season, the gossip would have been tremendous ; but even aa it waß, no country house, no shooting-box or yachting party, bub embraced bhe news ab farsb with incredulity, then amazement, and altogether with enjoyment. ~__.' v. . Everyone liked Philip Desmond, althougn some feared him ; bub with nearly everyone

the. distinguished soldier was a prima favourite, and speculation was rife on the 8U al.! «b °f the youne wife he faad choßQn. At farst there waß a confusion of ideaß by reason of Kit's surname being the same aa Constance's ; but in the announcement of the marriage, briefly pub in the « Morning Post, it was very soon seen tbat the fair Constance was nob bhe heroine of the moment. .

Everyone was eager to get all bhe information possible aboub the wedding; bub there was no one to inform them excepb Lady Milborough or Mrs Marlowe.'who appeared to have been the only two people ab the ceremony. There waa no mention of bridesmaids or finery, the announcement merely . stating thab Kabherine Mary, only daughter of the late George Marlowe, Esq., bad been married by special license to Sir Philip Desmond, Barb., ab the Chapel Royal. Savoy, and that the newly-married couple had gone to Ireland for the honeymoon. Everything had been done quietly and quickly. Philip neglected nothing thab was necessary to his young wife's dignity ; but he waa determined to avoid all fuss and aa much publicity as possible. He travelled down to The Limes himself, and coldly but courteously expressed hia desire thao Mra Marlowe should be present at the marriage ceremony, and go through the form of giving her niece away. His visit, coming coon after his lobter, left Mrs Marlowe wibh nothing to say apart from the very sincere qualms of conscience that she had suffered about Kit, and, to do Mrs Mariowe justice, ahe was sincere, and had a conscience. Her narrow, vulgar mind waa considerably impressed: by fche;a>.'tott__ding fabb thab Kit was aboub to become so great a person. Titles were one of the few worldly things that found a resting-place in Mra Marlowe's hearb ; ahe had a weakness tor them and ahe valued them very highly. She agreed at once to all Sir Philip proposed, and she won his unwilling respect by her cold demeanour toward Kit.

'Ab least she is nob a hypocrite,' he said to himself; ' she does not like my darling, bub she noes nob pretend to do ao, which is honesb if ib is disagreeable.'

An invitation, gently worded by Kit, had been written to Conatance ; bub Misa Marlowe had gone conveniently yachting with Lady Sinclair and a party, and so was spared the trouble of answering or attending.

Philip had frowned when his little friend Lena had sent him two lines of curb, formal congratulation. Ho was hurt with her, and he felt, justly, thab ib waa a poor return for his long aud oft-tried friendship ; bub he kepb this to himself, and, in hia happiness, managed to forget all annoyance.

Sybil would have rushed bo be with Kib on bhe mosb important day ot her life, had ih boen posaiblo, bat no one _:new nxactly where the bride and bridegroom were wandering; all thab could be done was for Philip to write to Captain Montgomery, and Kit to pen a few tender words to Sybil, tolling tho wonderful newß, aud asking for her prayers and good wiahes. Kit had been a wife of three days when these letters reached the Montgomerys. They bad been on an expedition up Borne of the Swiss mountains in company with a party of American touriata whom they had met en route, and wibh whom Maurice had fraternised warmly and quickly. Sybil with natural shyness and reserve did nob respond so easily to the triendly overtures of these strangera as her husband, and deep in her heart there came a little pain when she saw how delighted Maurice waa to quit their solitude a deux for tbe merry laughter and bustle of a party. She made excuses for him, of course—did ehe not love him utterly, absolutely ? But the pain did nob go because of bhe excuses, and ahe grow a libtle more shy and reserved in consequence. Ib was nothing to Maurice whether his wife liked what he liked or did otherwise He was tired of her company, and he preferred rather to be amused by others than to find some satisfaction for his ennui ■ and bad temper' ii. quarrelling wibh her. He sighed impatiently at Sybil's devotion ; she would be a terrible nuisance, be said to himself, if she meant to continue as ahe had begun. Yet, though he was bored, he could not help feeling a certain sense cf pleasure in having this girl so deeply infatuated with him ; it pleased his all-powerful vanity, and anything thab did bbab could nob fail to be agreeable to him. The meeting with- the Americans waß a decided bit of good luck to Maurice, and he vßry soon managed to make the mo&t of it. In a grudging sort of way he gave hia libble wife some admiration thab wis sincere. She was always well, never grew tired, always good-tempered; her sunny nature ahone about him in a way tbat should have made a better man of him. But though he recogniaad all this, Maurice did not fail te be aggrieved over Sybil's other attributeß. She was nob pretty, nor, compared with the .American women, was she even smart ; her charms lay in her nature, and in a sweet expression on her gentle, comely face. Her clear healthy complexion was her greatest beauty ; bub Maurice had a picture in his mind of a pale, delicate skin set in an aureole of copper-red hair, and Sybil's colouring seemed almost vulgar whon he compared her with Kit.

Although she had been pained ab hia evident eagerness to join the other party, Sybil could not complain thab Maurice neglected In facb, hia temper, which had nob been very pleasant before, disbincbly improved, and he was so gay, so handsome, co happy, thab Sybil rejoiced and was happy, too. She had many lessons to learn in the hard task of mastering the many gradations of a man's most vital part-Miia selfishness ; sho would nob be long, however, in grasping the rudirnenbs of some, for Maurice was an apt butor. . , The excursion up the mountains lasted many days. They had given no orders for their letters to be sent after them-m fact, this would have been almost an impossi bility—so that when they reached tbe hotel from which bhey started Sybil found a perfect budgeb of correspondence await'"Vomanlike, she rushed to the letters as to so many dear frienda, and Maurice smiled with amusement ab her eagerness. On the whole, be was pleased with Sybil. He had indulged in a very good flirtation with one of the prettiest of the Americans during the excursion, and libtle Mrs Montgomery had betrayed neither cognizance of nor annoyance ab bhe fact thereby considerably enhancing her value in her husband's eyes and in bhe eyes of the resb of %aurice would have been tremendously astonished if he could have known bhe admiration his late compagnons de voyage bostowed on Sybil and the spmi-con-emp-uous regard they had for his handsome, aelf. Thia was the sort of thing he would nob have understood. He sauntered into the stale to read his letters. Svbi' with tears in her eyes (tears seemed'to Ho jusb behind her eyes now. though why she could nob tell), seized on her home letters. No one had forgotten her. There was a •letter from everybody-her married sisters, her mother, her father, some of the pon^ doners, a dozen well-liked friends, a few of the servants, and one in Kit's quaint, unusual hand. She hastily opened hor home corrospondance first. It was like a breath of Hub stead to receive them, and she felb that the old air waa somehow more sweat and dear than any oiher, and then ahe opened Kits. At thb first words she gasped ; then she flew, in a wild state of excitement, to nnd her husband. . •Maurice! Maurice!* ahe cried. 'Where are you? I want you. What do you think has happened? What—' Maurice waa not in thp salle. She was dreadfully disappointed. ■ She ran about seeking bim everywhere, like a

child. She mußt find him, there was such news to tell him—such astounding news— something so extraordinary—something so wonderful and yet so delightful.

Maurice was outside in the gardens. He heard her coming, and he put tbe best curb possible on the fury of rage and paesionate jealousy tbat had overwhelmed him. He was glad of the dusk to hide his tace.

Sybil rushed upon him in a whirlwind. 'Oh, here you are, darling ! I have been looking for you everywhere—everywhere 1 I have got such news—such—'

'So have I.' Maurice laughed a short laugh. 'I suppose it ia the same. Desmond has written to me.'

'And I have heard from Kate. I assure you, Maurice, I am so amazed I hardly know whether I am on my head or my heels. Philip going to marry my little Kit. It is too wonderful! What is to-day —the 7th of September? Why, they are married already. Oh, if I had only known. If only I could have sent her one word of congratulation.'

Maurice's evil temper arose. He was nob skilled in self restraint.

' Congratulations !' he sneered. 'To whom? To Philip for marrying a housemaid, or to her for tying herself up with an old man for life ?'

Sybil shrank back from him, bis voice was so bitter. She was silent, and the pleasure she had folD died oub all at once,

Maurice went on talking angrily, aneeringly. There was a sound in his voice she had never heard before.

• Congratulation, indeed ! Philip is a fool fco marry ab his age; and to marry'a woman utterly beneath him in station and—' '

•• Sybil broke in hurriedly : * Oft, no,ddeaf!rf! lam sure you are wrong. I don't know for certain, of course, but 1 am sure—yes, I am sure Kate is not whab you say. She is a lady iv every thoughb and deed—a—'

Maurice shrank ab bhe mere mention of Kit's name.

• A lady masquerading as a servant ! It is a funny mix-up altogether—deceib and heaven knows whab !' He spoke very thickly, laughing thab shorb, hard laugh again. * Anyhow, I think ib is a very regrottable business, and I don't think Philip has treated me fairly.'

To himself, under his breath, he mub tered:

'Curse him! Curse him ! She is mine! She belongs to me. She loves me. She loves mo ! And he has taken her. Curse him !'

He was almost impotent in bis rage. Sybil was silent a moment, and then said: * Why do you say tbat, dear? How has Sir Philip treated you unfairly ?'

'Oh, because he should have remembered me. He had no righb to go and get married now at this time of his life, when all along I have boen supposed to be his heir and—'

Sybil was silent. This selfish, ungenerous speech burt her to the quick. She knew how fond Philip had always been of Maurice, and bow much he had done for the young man.

It was incomprehensible to her that any one should or could have such mercenary, selfish thoughts. She felt she would rather Maurice had struck her a blow than have betrayed his real nature to her as he had done in this speech. But she loved him, and the power of that love waa great enough to find an excuse even for such a fault as this.

' I am sorry you are vexed aboub it, darling,' ehe said in her soft, tender way. ' Bub'—she hesitated, then gained courage

—' bub you—you do nob need Sir Philip now. You have me, and—'

Maurice ewung himself from her impatiently, angrily. ' You think I am fretting over the money,' he said, with an inconsistency that Sybil happily attributed to hia vexation. ' Money! There ia more than mere money in the matter. It is a miaerable thing 1 Horrible, horrible.'

He strode away saying bhis ; and Sybil gathered hor letters together and went indoors slowly. • ;• . -

She was conscious of a dull, dead ache in her heart. Ib waa early for such a pain to have a place there, bub ib was there all the same, and as she went upstairs wearily to her room the tears that had lain behind her eyes found a vonb and rolled down her cheeks,

The shadow Kit had prayed so earnestly mighb be averted from bhis gentle creature'a path was creeping slowly but surely upon her. In a little while ib would have spread over the whole of her young life's sky and j darkened the glory of her love. And while the shadow was drawing near ,to Sybil Montgomery'a hearb, the knowledge and reality of true, pure happioeaa , was slowly making its way into Kit's life. She had never known what the word ' happiness' meant till now. Her heart was laden with gratitude, with love for this man who was co good, bo great in his tenderness and devotion. The story of a woman's love was slowly being revealed to her. The childish trueb, the grabibude she gave Philip Desmond, were there still ; butsomething more was growing—a deeper, a more intense feeling a longing to repay in some small measure the debt of his goodness to her. Ib was impossible for her bo be with such ■a nature as Philip Desmond possessed withoub gauging its beauties bo their uttermost depths. Aa though broughb by invisible fairy fingers, her old illusions crept back into her hearb. Her dreams floated once more in her mind. Life, the world, became again whab they had been to her in the days when she had eat under the gooseberry bushes and ran races with Chria across the meadows. The same, yet even better, for now ahe had that which before had alwayß been lacking—a heart that was absolutely hers ; a strong, tender hand to cling to ; a love so great that tears of gratitude and joy would rice to her eyes as she realised it. •If I could only bell you really, really, really how much you have given me 1' she said one day to him, as they stood in the grounds of the old Irish house that had been Kit's firsb home in her new life. Her arm waa in hia, and he was holding her libble hand between hia own two abrong ones. 'Do you bhink I do nob know, libtle one?' Philip answered, softly. ' Bub the debt is equal, for you have given me even more than I have given you—my beloved, my cherished wife !' He kissed her, and they turned indoors. ' Ib is strange the Monbgomerys do not write. I expected to have heard from Maurice certainly before now,' he aaid, as they went. 'Perhaps they have nob had our lebters yet,' Kit answered. A slight cloud passed over her mind aa Maurice was mentioned. His memory was the one shadowed spot in her heart. She had learned to forget his treachery, and to regard him wibh contempt and horror. Many a time she longed to open up thab sealed book and tell her husband all that had happened, bub she hesitated. First, for Sybil's sake her woman's delicate sympathy forbade that she should let even Philip know the truth of thab girl's wasted love ; and then she knew bhab were ehe bo speak of Maurice's infamy, she would give Philip a berrible blow and a greab unhappiness. Thia she could nob endure to do. _ It waa her one prayer thab ehe ehould minister to him always for hia happiness, and co in her simple love she deemed thab silence was best. The pasb was past and done with, Maurice would not need a word to tell him thia. Her lip sneered with contempt aa she thought of his probable fear and anxiety lest ahe Bhould epeak. He would soon understand that her silence waa eloquent with all the ecorn of a woman who knew him at Mb true worth ; and so lone as Sybil waa allowed to live in happy ignorance, and Philip's great heart waa not distressed by tbe knowledge of

Maurice's falseness. Kit determined her silence should last.

. If she had only spoken, what misery ahe would have averted. Bub, poor child, ahe acted for the best and purest reasons, and bhe future was veiled from her eyes.

CHAPTER XXII. November, for once, discarded its manble of fog. The weather was balmy and sunny, with a touch of summer in the sunshine. London was full with a passing crowd, who made the metropolis their resting place for a fortnight or so before going south to escape the frosts and anowa of Chris .mas. Bond-street had almosb the air of the season. Carriages rolled down its narrow length, and smart-coated and gowned persons promenaded before the shops. A victoria, drawn by a pair of handsome bays, was standing in front of a book shop, and just as a tall, rather gawkiah, youth, very much bronzed, and with a sea look about bim, wae sauntering pasb bhis shop, a girl in a black velvet bab and a mass of furs aboub her came bhrougb the doorway and stepped into the carriage. She drew the rug about hor and pub her books on bhe seat, and was just giving the footman her nexb order, when her eyes fell upon this boyish figure. In an instant she had jumped from her carriage, scattering the rug and the footman almost in her haste, and she had sped after the loosely-builb figure in the rough blue serge. ' Chria ! Chris ! Dear Chris l' Chris Hornton turned and stared in amazement),., . •Kibl' He could say no more for the moment. ' Dear old Chris ! Oh, if you knew how glad I am to Bee you 1 Where are you ? Whab are you doing ? Are you long in London? When did you come back? Oh, I have aboub a thousand questions to ask, and a thousand things to say! Come along ; you are doing nothing; get in and drive home with me. You musb ; yes, you musb ! Philip will be ao glad bo see you !' Chris, bewildered, amazed, sbarbled, could do nothing but stammer and grow very hot in the face. He was shy with his old playmate. Was this Kit, the girl whom he had romped with, and teased and quarrelled with, and loved with all the mighb of his boyish heart? Was ib nob rabher some wonderful fairy princess who had fallen from bhe clouds, and who sbood before him^ smiling in her bewitching, imperious beauty rogal almosb in her splendid furs and bho glimmer of jewels ab her throat? Chris hung back stammeringly as she drew him to the dainty victorii.

*I am not fib. You are co grand, so—so smart, so—'

Kib stamped her libtle foot. ' Get in !' she aaid imperiously ; bub her eye 3 were full of glorious delight and her lips, were smiling. She pushed him into the carriage, and got in herself, throwing the fur rug about them.

« We will drive in the park firat, and then go home to tea. Philip will be back then. He is longing to know you, Chria. Oh, what a lucky thing I happened to see you ! How dare you be in London and not .let me know ?' Sho broke off to direct the footman, and as she turned her lovely face, eloquent with gladness, toward Chris, she encountered two pairs of eyes fixed on her, one with honeat admiration in their depths and the other wibh some atrange, subtle expression which troubled her in an indefinable way. She bent her head with her inimitable grace, which waa something few women possessed, and for an instant her face grew cold in its loveliness as she returned the greeting of Maurice Montgomery and his companion, who was a well-known man of society. Tbo next moment, however, ahe waa rolling swiftly toward tho park, and her delight at having found hor old chum ao un* eipectedly shone forth on herTace.'''• Jv{;'; She attracted all eyea as she drove along. Few people knew her aa yeb by sight; but her beauty was so magnetic, so vivid, that it would not bo long before Sir Philip Desmond's young wife would take a high place in the admiring hearts of the London public. Maurice Montgomery's brow waa dark and his lips set as he followed the carriage with hie eyes. He could see her delicate face turned toward Chris. The maaa of her copper-red hair gleamed like ruddy gold beneath her dark hat and againsb hor fur_. Sho was infinitely more beautiful to him now, when he saw her in all her splendour and riches, thau ehe bad been in those summer nights. A man like Maurice was keenly sensible of the advantages of wealth. He had admired Kit for her exquisite beauty, and hia admiration had been Bincore ; but it waa faat growing, into a pa.aion now when he beheld her in a more coatjy setting, with all the luxurioua surroundings, all tho dignity and st.ate of a great lady. He saw her so constantly, driving or riding. She waa not often alone. Once only he had met her walking in the park wibh her maid. Ho had made half a stop, and bin face waa full of eagerness. But ahe had looked him straight in the eyea, had given him a cold bow, and walked swiftly past him. Since that day Maurice had only one thought in his mind. It was Kib. She filled his brain nighb and day. He was devourod by his passion for her. Her coldness had put the final match to the flame of his most selfish and wicked love. He did not know what he wanted exactly. He longed with an an insensate longing to punish Philip for robbing him of what he had in h'l3 arrogance called his own. He longed ta punish her for her coldness. He longed to claim her aa the woman of his love before all the world. Her absolute dignity, her determined refusal to permit the pa. t to come into tho preaent, all thia maddened him almost beyond endurance. Since the day they had meb in Sybil'a houao and had been duly presented to each other as strangers, Maurico had aWf" to himself that before very long he would break thia silence Kib preserved so proudly. He would force her to speak to him. He would shake her pride and her coldness, and make her confess bo him tho love he knew sho still hold for him. Leb her bub do this and he would be almost content. Ib was hor indifference, her contempb, her apparent happiness thab made his punishment. As if she could love Philip Desmond—ahe who had loved him. Thab was bhe burden of hia egotistical, impatient, selfish heart. He clenched hia hands and seb his teeth. It was not pleasanb to him to wait, bub he would school himself bo do ib when he had so much in view. Ib was impossible for her bo war with him forever. Her friendship with Sybil made an intimacy between the bwo houses, and bhe day musb come when by some chance, some mistake, she would forgeb her role and leb him see her as she really was, for bhat Kit was paying a role Maurice never doubbed for an instant He knew woman, or bhought he did. He attributed her presenb attibude bo the base desire of a alighted woman to punish him for the paßt, and he imagined in bie own mean, narrow-minded way that Kit gloried in her proud position aa much to aid her in thia punishment aa anything else; and yet, though he had nob bhe gifb to understand hor, he felb somehow that ahe was not like other women he had known. Her conduct all through had taught him thia, and against hia own nature and the knowledge hia life had given him he waa forced to own that he had wronged her by imagining her capable ot vulgar oatentatioa and of finding a triumph in display. No; all the dignity, the pride, aud the grace of her smallesb action he allowed to be natural. It was her coldness and her contempb for himeel. that were unrtal to bim.

He could have staked his existence thab Kib was madly in love with him, and a most unhappy woman in consequence, despite all her seeming brilliancy and content. It was the one pleasant thoughb in tbe whole matter, and he dwelt upon ib until it grew to be a cerbainby wibh him. He was furiously jealous of her friendship wibh any one—man, woman or child ; and there were moments, when he caught sight of Philip and her together, when hia hearb would turn cold and aick, and he had to stand and clench hia hands till the madness of his jealous anger had gone. He had never really cared for Philip ; now he hated him. He hated him first and foremost for his possession of thia girl—this exqUiaite, bewitching creature with her unfathomable eyes and ruddy splendour of hair. He hated him for his position in the world, for his popularity and for the change that bad come upon him since bis marriage. lb was nob to be denied, happiness had made Philip Desmond a younger and a handsomer man. He made a good companion to hia young wife, with his well-cut faco and distinguished bearing. To Kit he was everything that was noble in manhood. Her pride in him grew every 1 day. She felt her beart thrill almosb every hour aa she realised .what bia love for her meant. , She seemed sometimes as though she ! were an enchanted princess living in a fairy story. She'said as much to Chris,- as tbey' drover^Krough the park and talked and talked and talked aa though they never would be able to talk enough. Chria lost hia ahynesa as they bowled along. He was juab the same; _ a little taller and more lanky, and his voice waa a little deeper, perhaps, bub obherwise he was jusb tbe same dear Cbria aa of old. Kib tucked her hand through bis arm. 'This ia better 'than bhe gooseberry bushes, eb, Chria ?' ahe laughed. Chria said, 'rather,'in bia moßb hearty fashion, and then Kit had to go all over her story once again, and had to bear with his reproaches. ' Not to write to me, not to tell me a word ! Oh, Kit, it was beastly of you ! Row could you doit? But I know;' and Chris's sunbrowned face was eloquent with disgust; 'ib was all thab cab, Constance ! Of course, she didn't want any one bo know where you were, when ahe had been clever enough to pack you off oub of eighb as a housemaid, and then ehe ups and tells me a pack of lies. Ugh! How Ido bate your crooked folk ! As if I believed you had gone to Paris ! I know Mise Constance waa up to hor tricks ! Oh, i wanted to shako hor inside out, I can tell you !' • Dear Chris!' Kib squeezed hia arm; she know bhe loyalty and love in his heart. . But you forgive me. Chris, don'b you ? Ob, yes, you musb forgive me, dear.' ' I will forgive you,' Chris said, gravely, 'on one condition, and that is that you havo nothing to do with Constance Marlowe. Oh, I know her! She will come crawling aboub you, now you are a grand lady, and it will be " dear Kib " this, and "dear Kit" that; but don'b you trust her.' The boy took Kit's little hand in his two roughened ones. ' Kit, don'b you trust her, ahe will do you harm ; she can't help herself ; it is her nature. She's a cat, and ahe will try and aciatch you badly, if ahe can only get the chance.' ' Dear Chris, you iorgeb now I am nob as I was. lam no longer alone in bhe world,' She reared her head proudly as she said tbi*. Chria looked ab her sadly. 'No ; I know all that, and know I can do very little for you now. You've got somebody a great deal hotter; but, all the same, Kit—and don't think me a fool for saying it—you might want a friend in the future, and you know, if you do, you havo dnly gob to aay to me, ''Chris, I want you," I and if I am ab the other side of the world, 1,. .j*.... come. Ip, hpt,much.of a .cjiap, .1 know, and as for ever doing anybhing ab the bar—well, I guess, as the Yankees aay, I sha'n'b electrify my counbry, but 1 can be a good friend ; and if you want me, just you pub me to the test, that's all.' And aa Kit murmured come grateful, tender words, with tears very near her eyes, the carriage stopped at the door" of her home, and Philip was there to meeb her. ' It's Chris, my dear, faithful Chris,' ehe aaid, as tbe tall, boyish form lumbered out of the carriage. ' I know you will be glad to ccc him.' ' Ay, that I am,' Philip said, grasping Chri.'a hand warmly, 'for I know him so Well, and I have such a lot of gratitude to give him.' And then, between them, they overruled all the boy's objections. His luggage was sent for, a telegram dispatched to his mother, telling hor nob to expect him for some days, and Chria found himself the honoured guesb of 'Sir Philip and Lady Desmond. How libtle Kib thought, as she put herself into her maid's handa to dresa for dinner, that this chance meeting with her girlish chum and comrade would develop into a future alliance of comforts and strength and protection, such as ahe could never have even dreamed possible or probable ! She had been touched most deeply by Chris's words and by hisdevoted friendship; bhe day would come when ehe would have occasion to test his words to bhe übtermoab and derive bhe greatest consolation from their firm loyalty and truth. CHAPTER XXIII. The night of Chria's arrival at the Deamonds' his host and hostess were reluctantly compelled to leave him. •Ibis a big, important dinner, very important indeed,' Kit declared, as she rustled into Chria's rooms (he had been allotted a small smoking den all fco himself, as well aa a bed and dressing-rooms) bo see be. had everything co his cotnforb. 'You know, Chris,' she said, perching herself on a corner of bhe bable in hor old-fashioned style, and looking little more than a child in her dfljigftte frock of white cr^pe and a string of pearls round her throat, ' you know, Chris, they aro persuading Philip to stand for some political division in town, and he has almosb consented to do so. I shall be so proud of him if he gets into Parliament.' •I think you ought to be very proud of him now ; he's a brick,' blurted out Chris, looking more red and more boyish and moro ungainly than before in his evening clothes, with a gigantic white tie all on one side. He was looking, with an admiration too deep for words, at the exquisite picture of womanhood before him. He was no longer afraid of Kit in her new guise—be was only amazed. 'Yes, isn't he?' Kit cried, enchanted by the cordial liking between her first chum and her beloved! husband. ' Ob, Chris, he is such an angel ! He has done 60 j-iuch for me—no one, no ono,' with serious emphaeis, 'bub myself will ever know what ho has done !' Her face grew grave for an instant ; her thoughts had flown to thab brief, dark period from which Philip's love had drawn hor so completely. Even remembrance, which had boen so keen, was beginning to fade, soothed by his marvellous touch. She could pass Maurice coldly, quietly, wibh none of the revived horror and trouble thab had come at first when ahe had eeen bim. Her thoughts slipped away quickly. Thab waa one of bhe benefits of her great happiness. Trouble could nob live in its atmosphere. She gave a little laugh aa ehe caught Bight of Chris's most marvellous tie. ♦Oh, my dear, come here,' ahe cried, 'lightly. ' Leb me Bottle this bow. I want Sybil to fall in love with you to-night.' For Kit had sent round a little note to Sybil, and asked her to be very eweet, and

to come and eat some dinner with Chria, as she and Philip were going out. She knew Sybil would be alone, for earlier in the day Mrs Montgomery had run in and had aaid something about a solitary evening, as her husband was going to dine with some fellow-officers at hia club (Maurice managed to dine about three nights a week at his club); ao on the strength of thia Kit had sent Sybil a line, and begged her bo come and make frienda wibh Chris, and, of course, Sybil waa only too glad to do anything that would please Kit.

' I want her to fall in love with you,' ,the girl continued, as she set bo work bo improve bhe whibe tie; ' but, remember, you are nob bo fall in love with her, or I shall be jealous. You belong bo me, you know. You are my dear old Chria—all my own.'

The boy did nob smile, only his face grew very red.^and bhen very pale; and bhere was an expression in his honest eyes, which, had Kib not beon so intenb on her bask, mighb have revealed even more than Chris himself was conscious of. Kit did nob look up, however. She pulled and tugged at the white tie, and ab last settled ib to her satisfaction.

' There !' she said, stepping back a yard.' to survey the result of her labours. There! 'Now you are beautiful! Oh, Philip, is that you? I havo been tying Chris's tie. Ain't I clever? lam sure you could nob have done it better. Now, could you ?' Sir Philip came in amilihg. He had her cloak on hisarm—aomething veryjbe_.u,tilul' and costly, made of white fur ahd^velveb. • You are a baby,' he eaid, and hia voice waa full of tenderness.

' You aba'n'b call me a baby long. W Tait till you geb inbo Parliamenb, and then—' Kib laughed up into (her husband's face as he enveloped hor in the mantle, and blew a kiss to her old playmate. 'Come downstairs with us. I expect Sybil is here, and 1 will introduce you to her.'

Mrs Montgomery had arrived, and Chria felt as he shook handß with her, that there would be no very great difficulty in liking ber.

Sybil, beside Kib, looked homely, and not even pretty ; but her eyes spoke the brubh of her hearb, and her voice was full of womanliness and sweetness.

The dinner to which Sir Philip and hia young wife were bidden waa ab one of the mosb influential and aristocratic houses in London.

After the dinner there was a reception given in honour of some foreign potentate who waa passing through town. Society was new and delightful to Kit. She would have been dreadfully afraid of everybody and everything had ahe nob bad Philip always beside her bo give her courage and bo whisper what ahe must do.

Her beauty first, and then the soul in thab beauty, would have won her a pleasant path under any circumsbances ; bub as Philip Desmond's wife ib was an excepbionally pleasant ono. She was voted absolutely charming. Her wonderful colouring ; her simple, childlike manner; her gentle voice; her deep, dreamy face, that yeb bad the power to change and hold such marvelous shades of colour and depths of thought—all these, allied to her slender young form, made her an object of immediate admiration wherever she mighb go. She was surrounded after dinner by half a dozen men, all eager for a word with bhe new beauty, and Philip, sitting apart, watched her with a hearb in which love and pride and happiness swelled and lived wibhoub a cloud.

He knew the meaning of life now. He had never lived before. It seemed to him sometimes as though it were all some marvellous dream,some creation of hia thoughts and hopee.

He could not realise in these momenta thab ib was a reality, an actual, existing reality. His happiness seemed too great. As he sab discussing politics, with his beart.across the room where .that^ graceful, white figure stood, V viafcn of lovqlineßa, with her red-hued hair showing oub clearly against the background of palms and ferns, Maurice Montgomery came into the room, and almoßb immediabely after him Lady Sinclair, her husband, a young man and Constance Marlowe.

Lord Sinclair made his way ab once to Philip, And the others followed. Maurice had turned, and waa strolling beaide Constance. His eyes were fixed on E_it's laughing face.

Constance, albeit a little agitated as to how Philip Desmond would act when ehe approached him, did nob fail bo make bhe moab of her opportunities and watch Maurice carefully.

As she walked along beside him she waa more and more convinced that there waa some mystery connected between Kib and Sybil'a husband. The bhing bhab puzzled her was whab the mystery could be. She bad racked hor brainß to discover aome meaning, but none would come. She must waib and watch.

Philip Desmond saw her coming, and he frowned. But he waß bhe kindest-hearted man in the world. As he looked at Constance's pale face (she had grown very white), be was disturbed. His happiness waa so great he felt generously disposed to all the world, even to those whom he could not call his friends.

He need not fear any further harm from thia pirl. His darling had him to shield her now, and Constance waa, after all, a woman. She deserved some consideration on bhat score alone, if on no other.

He came forward and held out his hand to her.

' You have had a long cruise,' he said, in his pleasant voice. ' Lena tells me you have been half-way round the world ?'

' Not quite so far as that,' Constance answered, in her genble fashion ; ' bub ib haa been very enjoyable.' She hesitated, and thon said, her manner a litble nervous : ' Kib ia wibh you, of course ?' ' She is jusb before us,! Philip answered ; and then he turned1 to Maurice. ' I have to finish my discussion with Lord Will you go and bring my wife here, Maurice ? She has not seen Miss Marlowe enter.' ' I will go to her,' Constancesaid, quickly. ' You forget. Sir Philip, we all have to pay homage to a bride. Captain Montgomery will allow me to accompany him.' Maurice bowed, and held out his arm. Lady Sinclair, who had been watching Constance carefully throughout her meet ing with Sir Philip, gave a sigh ot relief. She had feared this moment so much, for she had grown almost convinced that Constance oared only too deeply for the man she had so much desired to marry. When she saw how composed and quiet Miss Marlowe was, ehe felt all ab ofice as bhough she had made a mistake. * And so, after all, there may be a hope for this poor ereafcure,' she thought to herself, with a glance at the young man who was standing beside hor, and who waa wabchiag Constance tenderly, almost despairingly. (To be Continued.)

' So you've taken to cycling ab last, have you ?' ' How did you find that oub ?' • I saw you on your wheel yesberday.' 'By Jove ! I'm glad to hear that. All the rest, of my friends happened to see me when I waa off.' Ax Appeal, Ring out old things, ring in the new. Inferior and human, But draw the line on novelties At woman. Servant (answering bell): My master isn't in, sir; you may leave the bill if you wish. Caller (in surprise): Bill! I have no bill. I wish to— Servant (in surprise also): No bill! Then you must hare called ab the wrong house. There is little difference between a Christian and a pagan when they tread on orange peel; only the Christian haa a more expansive and useful vocabulaw,