EUPHROSYNE'S WAY.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIX, Issue 225, 23 September 1898, Page 6

EUPHROSYNE'S WAY.

'My dear,' said Mrs Exton, speaking' with her own particular accent of finality, 'I am not going to let you go on encouraging that young man. one week longer. My mind is made up.' 'But, mamma,' Euplirosyne answered, dexterously twirling a long plait, and grazing steadfastly into her mirror with an expression of sheer indifference, 'encourage what? How am I to stop encouraging him?' 'Simply by begging to be excused when he calls. You needn't always be at home, you know. Five nights a week! Gracious!' 'It is rather frequent, isn't it, mamma? I think I'll stick in two of. these amethyst things. What did you say? Oh, yes, I hear, mamma. How does that look?' 'Do you expect him to-night?' the anxious mother went on, ignoring her daughter's amethyst experiment. 'Him? Mr Trumbull? Let me see. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday,' said Euphrosyne, counting on the dressing table with the lingers of one hand. 'He skipped Wednesday. I don't know whether he'll skip to-night and come to-morrow, or to-night and then come again on Sunday, ft' he comes, I must excuse myself, eh?' 'Yoxi don't care anything about him?' 'Oh, yes. I think he's a goody sort of a little snipe.' 'Snipe, child? What do you mean? Where did you pick up ' Euphrosyne was laughing wildly. 'Well, mamma, what did they call them when you were a girl?—those young boys like Mortie Trumbull who run about after first one girl and then another, and take them out on tandems —oh, you didn't have tandems, did you?—and take them to the theatre, and—that's all. What did you call them?' 'And that's all,' her mother repeated. 'We called them obstacles to a girl's marrying an —and young donkeys.' 'Pools. I see. I like "snipe" better. There! I believe that's the objectionable. Mortimer now. He has a little perky way of his own of ringing the bell.' By this time Euphrosyne was dressed and ready for evening parade. Before her mother knew what the girl was doing, she had run to the landing of the front stairs, and Mrs Exton could hear — 'Jane! Jane! Is that Mr Trumbull?' Then a young man's voice was heard below. And then— 'Well, Jane, please ask Mr Trumbull to excuse me this evening.' The next moment Euphrosyne was back again in her dressing room, ra 7 diant with an expression of duty nobly done. 'There, mamma. Isn't that an obedient daughter? Now give me a kiss.' The mother stood staring wide-eyed. She was not only astonished at her daughter's obedience, but shocked at her rudeness. Between bewilderment and vexation, the woman of an older, and more ceremonious generation, found herself at a loss for words. She rose in silence from the chair, where she had been sitting by her daughter's [ dressing table, and left the room. j Then Euphrosyne stood on the toes of I one foot, stuck out the other foot, I daintily ca,\\gh% her skirt between a | finger and thumb of either hand and spun around once. And then she changed to the other foot and spun around again in the other direction. Then, looking to be sure her mother's door was closed, she rang up her , dear friend Alix and told Alix the news up to date. Alix listened and gave a little advice. 'Now,' said Mortimer Trumbull an hour later, telling the story of his discomfiture at the hands of Euphrosyne Exton, 'there must be something in that, you know.' 'You didn't make her mad last night?' one of the other boys at the hotel suggested. 'Never made her mad in my life.' 'How do you know that?' another asked. 'I don't think it takes an extra pair of opera glasses to see through it,' said a. third. 'The old folks are going to head off Mortimer ere it be too late.' 'That's it, Mortie,' came from all sides. It was the unanimous opinion, of that meeting that Mortimer Trumbull was regarded by the seniors of the Exton family as a pretender to the hand of their elder daughter. Mortie blushed and stammered, and was slapped on the back, and guyed without mercy. He was a nice boy, not really young enough or insignificant enough to be classed as a 'snipe,' nor were his worldly prospects so hopeless as to fully justify Mrs Exton in regarding him as an obstacle to her daughter's matrimonial advancement. He made light of his companion's theory while they were present, and then, when all by himself, he ruminated over it. And the longer he ruminated the more probable did it appear to him. Asa probable theory, it seemed worthy of his attention, and from an object of attention it became a motive of action. Two days after Mortie Trumbull had received his very direct snug at Euphrosyne's hands it was Sunday, and a pleasant spring Sunday at that. Mrs Exton was enjoying the satisfactory spectacle of her daughter walking from church with a certain Mr also called major, for historical reasons —Caleb Jackson. The major was a widower, financially interested in coal, and, in the opinion of Mrs Exton, otherwise interested in Euphrosyne. But he was a taciturn man. People said that was because he weighed his words, like his coal, set a price on them, and thought of cornering "the market. The major was also known to be his late wife's principal legatee. 'Oh!' Euphrosyne suddenly exclaimed to her mi<sdle-aged escort. 'There goes poor Mr Trumbull!' 'Why?' said the major. 'I fee 1 so sorry for him,' she explained. 'Of course you don't know about it, but — Well, mamma was rather hard on him last week.' And here the young lady looked coyly at the ground. 'Why?' 'Oh, you know, major, he's been coming calling quite often lately and ,—under the circumstances—Well, I was told to ask to be excused, which, of course, I did.' 'Circumstances?' 'Yes —oh, you know —* And she glanced upward at the puzzled major. The major noted this glance and took time to think. So they walked on in silence for a score of steps. Then the major broke out afresh. 'But jwhat circumstances?' Euphrosyne looked prettily confused but did not answer. The major looked back over his shoulder to see how far behind Mr and Mrs Exton : were. ■

Then, after a pause suitably long, Euphrosyne said softly: 'Oh, perhaps, you'd: better ask mamma that.' The major certainly admired Euphrosyne Exton, but his admiration had, as certainly, not yet reached the stag-e where he was prepared to hear that significant phrase, 'Ask mamma.' As a.man of property, who could not dispose of his hand and heart without also disposing of a considerable quantity of wealth, he felt it his duty to be cautious!.

Het thought all the rest of the way to the gate of the Exton home, and then he made up his mind to go into the house with the family., Once inside, he seemed to have nothing in particular to say to any one, except an occasional, 'Yes ma'am,' 'Quite so,' and 'Ahem.' Euprosyne ran upstairs as soon as she could. Her parents seemed uncertain which of them ought to get out of the room and leave the other to face the major alone. Mrs Exton was secretly perplexed. The conversation was about the weather, business, the sermon, the crops, and coinage, for some fifteen minutes. At the end of that time Mr Exton, tardily comprehending his wife's frowns at him and her pressing invitation to the major to stay to dinner devised a clumsy prevarication to acount for his retreat, and got out of the room. 'Mrs Exton,' said the major, 'Ma'am. Ahem!' 'Yes, major,' said Mrs Exton, examining her rings. 'I was going to say,' said the major, 'what I hear —Ahem! —of certain circumstances —are uncalled for at this —this juncture. I'm afraid I must say good-day, ma'am.' After which long speech—for him— the major bowed and left the house without delay. And presently Euphrosyne came downstairs and said, in a tone of serious disappointment: 'Why, Where's Major Jackson? I thought you wore going- to make him stay to dinner, mamma?' 'Did he say anything to you, Euphrosyne?' Mrs Extern asked, looking at her daughter inquisitvely. 'Not. much, mamma. But you know, mamma, he never does say much to anybody.' Mrs Exton looked out of the window and then went upstairs to take off her bonnet. Major Jackson had been in the habit of coming to that house at least once a week 'for a little music' explaining frequently and carefully that Euphrosyne's singing pleased him. All that week he was content to go without any 'little music' But on the Friday following* that Sunday Euphrosyne had a note —by messenger—from Mortie Trumbull, saying, 'If I come this evening, will you shout out, "Not at home," from the second floor landing? M. T. Please answer.'

She took a sheet of note paper and wrote, 'No. E. E. gave it to the mes-seng-er, closed the door, and did her terpsichorean exercise as before, left and right. Mortie Trumbull had been thinking all the week and had wondered why Major Jackson walked home from church with Miss Exton, also why he himself never enjoyed that privilege, also why he should not. His thoughts about this matter, combined with certain new views of Euphrosyne's personal charms—of which views he had not been quite conscious before—fermented and worked. Next, he saw a deliberate design of the elder Extons to.thwart the course of his—what?— why, true love, of course. And that was the evolution of it.

But Major Jackson did withoiit his 'litle mtusic' for another week. And Mortie Trumbull came back that week —twice.

A third week passed, and the major neither came to call nor accepted Mrs Exton's broad hint to walk home with them after church on Sunday. On the fourth Sunday the major was not at church at all. After that Euphrosyne went and sat by her mother and sighed. 'What is the matter, daughter?' her mother asked. 'Mamma, I'm afraid I shall be an old maid, after all.' 'You, dear? What do you mean?' 'Everybody seems to have given me up. And my birthday comes in three weeks.' 'Everybody, Euphrosyne. Doesn't that young Trumbull come here three times a week?' 'Yes, but he's only an obstacle —and a donkey. Shall I tell him not to come so often, mamma?' Mrs Exton looked thoughtful, and after some moments shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'He seems a good sort of young fellow. They say he's getting "on. Why do you call him a donkey?' 'Oh, he's all very well in a way,' Euphrosyne answered indifferently. She was standing in the parlour that very night with Mortie, he holding her hand in his. She laid her other hand on his shoulder and said: 'Mortie, I must confess one thing to you; I called you a "snipe" behind your back. Do you mind? And I called you an obstacle and a donkey. Do you forgive me?' He said he did. When Mr and Mrs Exton talked over the matter Mrs Exton said: 'I suppose it's as well as Euphrosyne can do. I don't know wrhat took possession of Major Jackson. Young men don't grow on bushes nowadays, and Euphrosyne isn't getting any younger. But I don't understand —' And just at that moment Euphrosyne, in her own chamber, changed from tiptoe on the right foot to tiptoe on the left, and whirled round a second time. Then she went again to the neat little telephone box and communicated with her friend Alix. That was her way.—Rochester Union.