HOW LOVE'S LABOURS WON.

Auckland Star, Volume XLI, Issue 69, 22 March 1910, Page 2

HOW LOVE'S LABOURS WON.

j « By-ELEANOR G. CHASE.

j (COMPLETE . STORY.)

. j Millicent piled her little slippers on the' . I fender and looked critic—Uy at their satin . ■' slenderness. She pulled a little at the ounces of her silken tea gown and peered down to see if the lace on her petticoat j showed effectively. • j "1 wonder if 1 look sufficiently worldly," ' she said, as she held her head on one ; side to get a better view of Iter slippers • i and the tempting petticoat. I "I do not want to shock him, I want to 1 make him fairly gasp with wonder at my ' v7orldliness. How he will start and stare ; and redden to that sandy hair of his." She leaned back in her chair and. smiled and flicked her little satin toe under her i laces. Then she assumed an air of inefI fable langnour, such as she intended to ! wear when her visitor was announced, looking deliciously bored, as if life in general were too much for her. She half closed her eyes, and gazed with insufferable ennui in the direction of a gold and white screen - which filled the space where her intended victim would be seated; then she rearranged the cigarettes, half tumbling from the bos on the Turkish stand by her side, and turned the title page of a risque society journal so that it could be plainly seen. Tlien she laughed; a clear, sweet, ring- ! lag laugh, which showed her beautiful I white teeth and the shine of her fine eyes. She was extraordinarily pretty and very dainty and stylish, with a decided atmosphere of charm about her. "I haven't seen him for eight years," she went on musing. "What a clod of clay he was, to be sure, and what dreadful countrified mannerisms. Oh, I shall nevei forget that tall, lanky body and those awful hands, that seemed so numerous and so ' eternally in the way, and then his blushes— those painful red rushes of blood that made his sandy hair look white and glistening. It is such a dreadful thing for a man to blush; I can forgive anything easier than that." Millicent put her handkerchief over her pretty eyes as if to shut out the painful sight, and then rested her chin in her hands and went on musing-. "What an awkward way he had of talking to a woman. The feminine had mortal terrors and fascinations for him, for he used to hang about mc like an abused dog, and how I used to torture him. It was wicked, I know, but I am just dying to do It again. There is no excuse for such awkwardness and diffidence, anyway, and the man who hasn't the will to pull himself : together ought to be tortured into shape Iby somebody. Such men have neither humour nor imagination, and they should bo disciplined by sheer shame of themselves. If he had spent less time poring over books and had gone about among women and girls, he would have learned the ways of the world and the graces of society, and I believe I told him something to that effect, but it slipped off his intelligence like eveverything else, and left him as callow as ever," Millicent was a widow and twenty-six. She was called a great beauty, and knew the power of her charm without being a vain woman. She -was gracious and tactful, and possessed of nil the airs and graces of the society world of to-day. She was, withal, just as fresh and sweet for all her world as -when'she was eighteen and tortured so exquisitely -he country youth of twenty-two who was guilty of having too many hands and too little savolr faire for comfort. j ..And this was the man she was expecting. He had sent her word that he was to be in town from the country, and would venture to call upon her. She had been feeling down spirited, a bit in the dumps, as she told her friends, and the promise of this visit with all Its amusing possibilities gave a new zest to life. She had arrayed herself to astonish him with her worldliness and shock him with her suggested wickedness, and, altogether, she was anticipating a very entertaining afternoon. She was surveying her silken ankles and heartless ruffled petticoat once more, when ' __h— suddenly parted the curtains • and announced in even tones—"Mr BrownleU." Milliceut instantly sank back against her cushions, and assumed her languid air. With half-closed eyes and a weary motion of —he head she turned to gaze at her visitor? she felt that she was doing it beautifolly. Then her eyes came open with a .flash, and she suddenly blush— to her temples in the wave of confusion that swept over her, as she saw the tall, superb moil before her who was bowing with such splendid grace, and with the most perfect air of the world that she had ever encountered. "Why!" she gasped, "really— you 1 don't know how you startled mc, Philip, 1 _—n Mr B-rownell— sit down," and straightening up in her confusion she- quite forgot all about her practised languor and wicked slippers. She was frankly embarrassed for the first time In- her life, and she snowed it plainly as she looked at -the man who had seated himself and was gazing at __ with- such handsome -eyes and with snch a tantalizing smile. "Well," he said, with a flash of his -white ' teeth, "I upset you a 'bit, didn't I?" He looken her over critically; the loose flowing tea gown, the lace petticoat, the satin shoes, the cigarette beside her. There •was-a_amused twinkle in Ms eyes, and she felt suddenly angry with herself and with him, but only grew the more confused in consequence. "I -was so surprised to see you," she said lamely. She, the woman famous for her wit and epigrams, to come out with a speech as trite as that; she could have bitten her tongue off for it. _—__ you get my note?" lie asked'-with surprise. "I said I ■ would -call at threeI felt sure that I could _eve a visit all to myself at that hour." "_ ——why, of coursebut, don't you see —I still fancied you a youth,"-she blurted out, with- still greater confusion. "Oh, I see," and he laughed softly ani folded his arms, bending his head gracefully and looking at her -with smiling eyes. She felt that he was reading tier through and through, and that he was laughing at her as well. She made a brave effort to collect her scattered wits and to say something to redeem herself in his sight, but all she managed to say was: . "Have you lived in. Garnersborough. ever since that summer 1 was there?" The -twinkle in his eyes increased; she , fairly writhed under' his steady gaze; ' she knew she was a guilty wretch, but she did '•■ wish he wouldn't gaze her out of all hex . self-control, and have such intolerable command of himself.. "Do you think I. look as. though I had been -In : Garner-borough. ever;6—ce?" he , said. VI am glad to know it if I do, ber cause then I: shall be convinced that the ! old 1 story of the pewter cup is true—-I have ! . always l ,had. my doubts -bout,it. No," he ' Went on, ".have been there but two months gins'. I saw you last, and sis weeks of that . tttie I have just spent there. I ira been , iii r nearly every country under the sua since i then', however, and I have got a good deal I life out of those eight years." -■; jLlillicent gaied at him helplessly. ~4 . . : - r,,. -.-.;." .:•- . > ,i--"'.>r-'?^iS^.;';._^&^'t'*^> \t '■■••' .

"I shouldn't have known you," she said, -till feeling the awkwardness of all her words, and thinking at the same time that he 'was the most d_t_gufc_ed-lo6_ihg man she had ever seen; such a >_____, such a voice ( such a perfection of dress. She suddenly let her eyes fall to his hands in fearful remembrance—they were slender and white and extremely graceful—was it possible that they could be the same that were go awful eight years ago? Doent drew in her breath with a little gasp and straightened iter shoulders. "Philip," she said, laughing a. little, for she was getting hold of herself again, "won't you please tell mc all about yourself— •where you have been and what you _ive done all those years?" "There isn't much to fell" he said. "Eight years do not count for much in passing. I have been in South. America; I went there first on a ranch; then I was consul in Central America; and after that I went to Cairo and Algiers for a firm of importers, for whom I afterward went to China; then back to Vienna for another firm, and finally to London on my own account, where I have lived for two years —and have made a fortune in copper and other things—to give you all details." "And now?" Millicent asked In a whisper. "I am going back, for I have a racing j stable in Devonshire and a shooting box | in Scotland, both of which are interests that attract mc. I return in a month. I j came over with the Earl of Staithmere, who I is purchasing polo ponies in Texas." Ml—cent's eyes were very wide open, and I there was a took of wonder spreading over I her pretty, flushed face. ' —n't the Earl of Sti_i_u_tce a great ; friend of King Edward?" she asked. | "Yes," said the man quietly; "we both dined with His Majesty before we came away, and next autumn he has signified his | intention of visiting mc in Scotland wi- i the Earl." "Philip!" —lllicent faltered. He leaned slightly toward her with a charming air of attention. "Philip, you know how astonished I should be at all this, and you are just gloating over It." And, in spite of the hint of tears in her beautiful eyes, Philip set his head back and laughed a great, ■ringing laugh. "Oh, Millicent!" he cried, "how yon do hate to have the tables turned what a fool you -were going 'to make of this poor country man, weren't you?" Millicent laughed a little through her wet lashes and said humbly. ■'! —i£bt as -well be perfectly frank and confess. I did think I should find you all hi—ds and blushes, and 1 was will admit I —I was going to make a perfect farce of your visit. Oh, won't you forgive me?' J she pleaded. | "I will," he said, "If you will promise to love mc a little. You see, I -have made j myself what I am for Just one purpose^— ; that of being, in a measure, worthy of you. When you langhed at mc in _J awkwardness that summer, I made up my : mind 'that I would make myself a man that you might care tor some —or at least respect. I have loved you from the first. I think you knew I adored you, and when I hoard of your marrlag- It gave mo in awful heartache; but I still carried the j ideal of what you would wish a man to '• be in my mind, and I strove to live up to it. Then came your widowhood two j years ago, and then I began to hope again —and now," he said very gently, "do you think you could lov- mc some day?" I . Millicent looked at — a moment and j said: j "Why, how can I help loving yon when you are the exact Ideal that I have despaired of ever finding, and the most dis- i tinguished man I ever saw; I have simply j got to love you In spite of myself," and Philip held her face up to his and kissed her pouting lips.