THE LADY and THE LADDER.

Auckland Star, Issue XXXVI, 21 October 1905, Page 14

THE LADY and THE LADDER.

■]. Tkis is a-Teiy Tiioe-tlimg;-I dotft tnow abont it's being odd," -replied ■Laone, comfortably into a <3iair and explaining to a : Waiter that he -nwnted toast—not fi«Jf*si *nd cream —not merely milk? Se ffid not liave tie air of thinking the episoae especially'odd. ■ ""' ' ' ■■■■ '' ~: PaTiline-s sallow cheek paled. Tor her ideas- of collect behaviour might have "been -taken straight from" -some book of etiquette, or from the "answers to correspondents" column -of -some American -newspaper. She- knew "that one should .not invite to tea young men to -whom one has not been introduced. And, she -felt poignantly as well that they did not mow to "what social sphere their unknown friend, might -belong. Did he, figuxa-tSvely speaking, come from the North Side of Ixmdon, or from its Cornell Avenue in the suburbs? In the first case, what must he think of them? In the Eeeond, -what must they do to rid themselves of an imdesirabie encumhranee? In «n agony of-mindj she was meditating ". w she might hest, a little later bring ,tome a Teproof to her stepmother, when upon her ear Mr Marison's conversation began-to have some effect-" ''The hotel is going to do -well this season, I should say. TTou'-re got a.31 the smartest people here. Who is that lady? That one -with that absurd feather boa that makes her look like a cockatoo with indigestion? Oh, thafs a very dear friend of mine? Thafs Mrs Alfred Peignton. I must introduce you to her some time. She knows everybody in the troTld, and there's no one who 'would be so useful to you. You have heard of her, of course." "Yes, indeed," broke in Pauline. Had she not a thousand times read in the "Xew York Herald" that Mrs Peignton had been seen ""driving in Bondstreet, looking so well, in mouse-grey," or "at the Carlton. •wearing some pearls. ,. The xmknown yxrang man in white flannpls must he all right. Pauline made his tea, -which she was preparing at the moment, exceptionally sweet with sugar and unsuaily .rich with cream, and straightway bent all her arts to his subjugation. Alas that one should have to record that the only resralt was that, the next day, Laurie should have described her to Tommy Treflord and Lady Tom as "a pill!"

i (By Harrison Ehodes.) I THE ANNALS OF AN AMERICAN COTJNTESS. HL "HUda," said Laurie Marston to Lady Tom Treflbrd, as he helped himself.a second time from a dish of the small red mullet which are so plentiful in the Mediterranean and make so excellent a dish for the midday breakfast of France—"Hilda, I'm bringin' tiro ladies to lunch to-morrow." "Ain't it enough," queried Tommy Trefford—Lord Thomas, to give him his due—-""that you lunch here almost everyday yourself, Laurie?" "You oughtn't to be surprisred, Tommy, that I come so often. You've the best cook in Cannes—have some more oi your own fish, do!—and your villa is much the nearest to my beastly lodgings. You ought to be very glad — being Hilda's second cousin and having known her since she was a disagreeable little child in the nursery—that I don't want to make love to hex, but fetch and carry for her, and altogether brighten her life considerably." " Who is it you want to bring, Laurie?" asked Lady Tom. "Td give two to one they're Americans." grunted her husband. "Tbey axe," assented Mr Marston, cheerfully. "You and Hilda, keep this house full up with Americans, especially widows. They run in and out of it like rabbits in a warren." "They all begin their London career at Cannes," philosophised Mr Marston. "In this house," said Tommy. "Well, I'm sure you men all like them." said Lady Tom. "That's why 1 have them about. They're no trouble." "I like some of them," admitted her husband. "But that last one Laurie landed us with was spotty. And 1 never did like red hair." "Oh, American widow? vary," mused Mr Marston with judicial calm, "but 1 think they axe going to run very "well this season." "What's this one like?" queried his host. "Oh, very pretty, indeed. And a sweet, inexperienced flower of the West." "My eye!" said Tommy. Expressed informally, it was yet an observation profound enough. Lady Hilda understood. "That means Tommy thinks shell do, 5 " she interpreted. "Bnt you said there "were two of them. Not two widows? They don't generally hunt in couples." "A mother and daughter." "Oh!" said Tommy " "Mother and stepdaughter. They're about the same age." A sigh of relief came from his lordship. "What is it—matre pulchra filia pulchriox?" Laurie" Marston lifted his hands as if in, despair, and poured himself out a stiffish drink of whisky with less soda than was usual with him. "Oh. the daughter!" be said. "The daughters a pill!" By this description the intelligent reader will, if he has not already done so. recognise Pauline, but it is hoped that any sorrow caused by its harshness will be more than atoned for by the pleasure caused by the realisation that Mary, so delightfuUy described as a sweet prairie flower, has at last got her foot upon the ladder. It was never meant that the present narrative should lack its moral lessons. And this may be a suitable place to hint that not the least of its truths is that a new world often looks at things with new eyes, and that many a pretty, rich, good-natured lady who is not appreciated for her real merits in Chicago, New York, Chillioothe or Paw Paw, Michigan, may sometimes easily make her way m the equally important town of London. It is becoming the usual thing for aspirants for honours in the approaching London season to run the winter trial heats in Cannes, where society is more informal and where there is a constant need of new people who will organise parties to run over to Monte Carlo and will pay for extravagant dinners there at Giro's. Instinct and diligent perusal of "The Paris Daily Guide to Snobbishness" led Mary to hit upon tbe Riviera. Chance* had sent her and Pauline down from Paris in tbe train with Mr Laurence Marston. That young gentleman, quite out of the kindness of bis heart, had rescued Togo, Mrs. Whiting's Japanese pug, from a confused and dangerous situation among the legs and feet of three French porters at the Avignon station. Mary, who bad always liked dogs, had observed of late how trnly fashionable it was to have one's life bound up in one, so she felt justified in making her thanks to tbe unknown young Englishman warm. At lunch Togo's rescuer was placed by tbe condncteux at the Whitings' table, whereupon he apologised for his intxusion with admirable politeness but no apparent intention of,leading. To do him justice Mr Marston had at this stage no motives beyond a desire to vary the monotony of the journey. When be learned'that his companions were bound for Cannes he felt his interest increase. When, the second day after bis arrival, be discovered bis friends upon the terrace of Cannes', newest and most ridiculously expensive hostelry, and noted the fact that Mrs Whitings' gown was quite the prettiest, and her parasol the most iravisbingly fluffy there, he felt, as be 1 said to the ladies when he approached them, that they were already old friends. Everybody on the terrace was having tea, but not everybody had a ■well-dressed young man in white flannels- As be approached, Mary bad noticed that Mr Marston lifted bis hat. to two other groups, and out of tbe corner of her eye she thought she could now see a woman .removing some books from a j chair as if to prepare it for occupancy. It was not a moment to hesitate. Had Mrs Whiting hesitated—so much in this world is due merely to chance— perhaps this story might never have been written. Fortunately for the writer—and be hopes for the reader, too —she took the plunge promptly. \ "Won't you sit down and have some tea? We're jost going to order some, rm being informal, because we don't know you—or you us—at all. Bnt you English expect us Americans to do odd things."

"Then yoo're not planning to marry that heiress?" asked Tommy—we have returned to luncb at tbe Villa dcs Acacias.

"Do I ever marry them?" demanded Laurie, with -an aggrieved air. "No, but why don't you?" persisted his host- "How do you make it pay!" "As if I ever made anything pay! Don't let's discuss my miserable, squalid poverty!" Lady Tom. xos e fxom the table and lit a cigarette. "You do yourself most uncommon well, Laurie, for a man who hasn't a penny." "Oh, there are pickings!" said Mr Marston. "I did very well for a while "with that motor-car agency last year. The company allowed mc ten per canL, jand I got some of those merry bounding South Africans and one of my Americans to buy. And all it cost mc was to ask 'em to luncb at the Carlton to meet somebody or other." 'That time last year when~l lunched with you and those Australian horrors * began Lady Tom. ~"My dear Hilda, I told you at the time it was to help mc out of a bole and that you needn't know them afterward. And it was a case of a motor and an electric b"ingbam as "well that time—l netted a hundred ana sixty-five pounds counting out tbe lunch." "Was it a decent lunch, Hilda?" asked the lady's husband. "Gave the brutes champagne!" Mr Marston took tbe reply out of the .lady's month. "A" hundred and sixty-five!" said she in amazement. "And that's the profit of one lunch! I don't see why you need he poor, Laurie." "That sort of thing was too good to last. When women began to push motors I went out of the business. You know that soap woman who's got tbe Utterfield's house in South Audleystxeet? Well, I should have got her to buy one of my cars when—what do you think? Lady Greyforde wrote to her—she'd never in the world met her, mind you—and said that she beard she was thinking of starting a car, "and Lady Greyforde was interested in a new make, and -wouldn't the soap woman come to tea on Thursday to talk it over? Well, you may imagine the woman -Would jolly well have i bought fifteen cars to get asked to JGxeyforde House- I call it pretty (rotten low! The Gxeyfoxdes have got I seventy thousand a year and she might do what she can to keep society decent. Well, the King said it was pretty thick when be beard about it. I wish he'd tell Florence Greyforde so." "Somebody will," said Lady Tom. "The King has bis own make of motors, too," she added thoughtfully. "Oh, yes," assented Laurie. "But be perfectly well has all tbe money be wants now. And not a debt, I bear. Wish I could say as much!" "Of course, I think ifs 'disky,' but still, if you're in need of it, why don't you take a commission on introducing your fair Americans? You're always running some one or other of them." ■"Couldn't do 'em -well enough tc charge good prices. No, I really do it because it amuses mc and because I like them mostly. I love seeing how they take London and how it takes them. And generally they do extremely well, aud, as fax as I'm concerned, they pay their shot by. tbe dinners and the champagne I consume chez elles. As to actually doing a business in introducing social aspirants and making them pay through the nose for it, I leave that to self-supporting women." . "To Edith Peignton, for example," said lady Tom with a hearty, brisk air which people assume sometimes when they tackle subjects that they know are j not quite welcome, "Poor dear Mrs Peignton hasn't a penny; everybody knows that! I'm sure I I hope she gets something out of the women she carts about London." "Why -waste time in hoping, Laurie?" Lady Tom smiled sweetly. "We all know she -does. Why, poor deaT Edith hasn't lived in that house of hers in Gurzon-stieet for ten years except out of season. Ifs always let." "Always to Americans," put in Tommy. "And always at an outrageous price," added his wife. "I hope so," replied Xiauzie. "I think Edith Peignton is a dear— : —" £r You ought to," said Lady Tom, who had now —it is to be regretted that one must say it—arrived at 'the portion of the discussion which really interested her ought Edith is certainly very, very fond -of yonJ" . Hr Marston—has it heen' mentioned? —was only twenty-focr. He flushed a little.

""Nonsense/" he- said. *'Of coarse, *£c's a charming woman— —■** "And you're a charming boy. Oh, I

dont say so myself, "Laurie dear 5 Tm only quoting Mrs Peignton." "It seems a pity, Hilda, that, a woman as much older than a man -cant be friendly with him without people talking.*"" Lady Tom strolled toward the window and looked' out toward the sea. Then, turning quickly- about- ' "Don't be a silly boy, Laurie, when I rag you about things. It doesn't matter, anyway. Fm sure I think it's very nice of you, turning' these millionaires over to Edith. You plan that she's to run them in town next season,- don't you?" a "' _ '.' "There" isn't any' one who'd do it better, is there 2"" "No one. So bring.your Mxs ■ ■*" "Mrs and Miss Whiting." £ \Mrs and Miss Whiting along for some lunch to : morrow. Tm quite game to give them a leg up If you want mc to. Only, just so that Edith sha'n't be iealons,'you'd, better let Tommy talk to the pretty one."

"Righto!" cried Lord Thomas In agreement and in the highest spirits.

Mr Marston seemed sulky, and in this condition we must leave him. It is hoped that this glimpse of the fashionable -world —all three at lunch in the Villa dcs Acacias were of an unquestionable position — will have served in some measure to explain the rather mixed motives which were at the back of tbe delightful welcome that Cannes seemed to extend to our heroines.

In Cannes, in fact, history began — our history, that is, Mary's history. And from this point on each fragment of it would seem to any one with a proper reverence for smart society worth recording. We cannot, however, linger over lunch at the Tommy TTeffords', nor over tea, with Laurie Marston at the golf club, though at tbe latter place our ladies from Chicago stood within twenty feet of a Russian Grand Duke "when he missed a perfectly easy put, and heard him comment upon his own failure with a thoroughly Grand Ducal oath. However delightful these episodes, they are bnt episodes. It "was only when Mrs Alfred Peignton, duly introduced by Mr Laurence Marston, consented to take tea with Mrs and Miss Whiting on the terrace of their hotel that our heroines came reaUy at close quarters with their opportunity.

It must not be supposed that the ladies Whiting had been subjected to no investigation whatever, .lust because oue is young and pretty and appears to be rich one cannot necessarily make the acquaintance in the Riviera train of a

yonng man who will introduce you into tbe best society of the "coast of azure," as the railway posters love to call it. If one could, it is to be feared that the Lyons station at Paris would be crowded overy day and the train itself almost mobbed by lovely young American women. Such compatriots of the Whitings as were in Cannes were at oner asked for information about them. "Chicago, you say.*' was Mrs Ogden Van Ostxander' reply. "My dear Mrs Peignton, I'm trom New York. This Mrs Whiting may be the leader of fashion in Chicago—probably is. I shouldn't be hkely to know." "Whiting, Whiting," mused her husband who sat near, disconsolately thinking of the Union Club in New York and meditating upon the European lack of cocktails while bis wife drank tea, "if it is Henry T. Whiting "* "Henry T_ that is it!" .-add Mrs Peignton—"was it. rather. She's a widow." "Is he dead? Pd-foxgotten," went on Mr Van Ostrander. '"And now she's making his money Sy. I suppose?" "Dike those vulgar Westerners!" commented his wife sniffingly. "Perhaps she waited till ne -lied, at least." For a moment Mr van Ostrander had seemed to contemplate phiiosenhically his wife's modest morning gown of real lace and her simple little lorgnette chain of a hundred baroque pearls of almost the largest sizs, before he permitted himself this dark observation. Then he turned to Mrs Peignton. "I knew Henry Whiting. He was an important man in business out there. He and I were directors together once on the board of tbe Peoria and MHwauTEee Air Line."' "What was that?" asked Mrs Peignton with a bright, brisk air. "A rival Marconi system f She bad found American men a little difficult in conversation sometimes, but she was not a woman to despair even when tbey would talk business.

"Railroad," chuckled Mr Van Ostrander. 'Tin out, but the Whiting estate must bold a big chunk of the stock stilL Can't tell you how they're quoted socially out there, but the money should be all right."

Mrs Peignton settled heT skirt with almost a long breath of relief.

"Tbey seem charming, but then," she added gracefully, "Tm so fond of you Americans—l find yon almost all ebaxming."

This sentiment she repeated with a pretty smile at the tea-drinking with Mary and Pauline to which the reader's attention must now be directed.

"Most people at home think yon English don't really like us," said Mary. "We don't like all of you—not the common, vulgar, horrid ones "

"The kind you meet travelling. 1 hate them," put in Pauline, almost in anger.

"WeVe been met travelling," said Mary with a laugh, while Mxs Peignton shot a glance through her half-closed eyes at the girL

"We like tbe xight kind. I think "tie right kind are about tbe same everywhere^—don't you? At any rite, I adore Americans, especially the women. 1 think they're so pretty and so well dressed—oh, how Englishwomen do dress!—and so amusing. Tm rather noted for my partiality," she rattled on. *'T don't suppose there's a woman in London who has done more than I have to make Americans known In socier* there." Mary and Pauline almost gasped. Indeed, no social training could be expected to produce.a poise which could be maintained in the face of this sudden apparent opening of the gates of Paradise.

' "You will be coming to town this spring, I suppose, "won't you?" Mary smiled, still weak at the knees with a feeling thai It was all too good to be true. "

"We thought of it," she managed to get- out.

Mrs. Peignton sighed delicately. "How sorry' I am," she said,* "that I probably cant be there"'

The gates of Paradise swung to. rose faded from the sky and all was gray. Pauline gulped down a cup of scalding tea, and Mary nervously twirled her chiffon sunshade.

There was a moment's silence. Mrs. Peignton's eye rested upon the bine of the sea shining ibrough the dark green of orange trees, and she smiled placidly. tOken, as if to beße ibe smile, she sighed ] again, daintily. j *Tm ao ebe slid. 1

"Not so nrachi as -we are/" blacrted Pauline.. '-''<*».* ' Tbe smile returned lb the Englishwoman's face. . _

"I hope yonll change your mind,*' said, Mary. "Why ——" she hesitated. " : "Why don't I come?" replied Mxs. Peignton, turning to them with a brisker air. "Because, my dear, I can't afford it. You Americans always - think that we talk extraordinarily freely ; about money affairs. I might as well talk_ freely about mine, my dear, for any one I and every one in London could tell you j how badly off I am. I "ye jnst nothing. really except my bouse in Cnrzon-otieet-I bate to sell thai, because ifs a charming house, and because it's got in it all sorts of family things of the Peignton, and I shouldn't know where to put them. I have to let it because I can't afford to live in it. If I get a good let for It during the season 1 go into a smaller bouse and I can just manage to make both ends meet. If I don't let it I simply have to go to stay dully In the country ' with an old aunt." j

"And haven't you rented it for "this year?" asked Mrs. Whiting. ' "T bad a very good offer just before I came out there, two thousand for the season, but I didn't take it;T didn't like the people. I dare say I'm a fool, hut I do let sentiment interfere. I like to have people who will appreciate and love my things as I do. And I never get over a funny, old-fashioned idea that my tenants are my guests. So I try always to get people I know. Until this ysar Fve always had the greatest luck and the most ©harming people—a good many of your compatriots, by the way. There's Mrs. MacAllister —she's got a-big house in Grosvenor Square now. and a perfectly definite position in London—she took my bouse her first, season. She liked it so much, and London so much—l really believe I started her knowing people-— that I don't believe shell ever go back now. But I mustn't talk about my own affairs," she went on with-a pretty apologetic smile, "but about yours. What are your plans?"' Marr deliberated a moment. Somehow, she thought she began vaguely to see -"bow people did things." With her the next step was, as usual, to do them herself. "If I uhought Pauline and I would like London I should take a house. Would yours ? But I don't suppose you know us well enough." "My dear," screamed Mrs. Peignton with a pretty little .air of surprise, "I should love it! Would you think of it? It's really the sweetest house." "What did you say the rent was?" asked Pauline.