A WAILFUL MAID.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 193, 15 August 1911, Page 8

A WAILFUL MAID.

B2 CHARLES GARVJCE, AUTHOR OP *Clah'\" "Elaine," "Her Ransom," "My Lady Pride," "A Woman's Soul," etc.

CHAPTER HI. Lord Cecil Neville looks after the graceful figure drawn up to its full height and stalking off like an offended pn.ldi--.-, then turns his uark eyes to I'hilipnn, «'itli a glance of inquiry which B.iv.f a- plainly as if he had spoken: '•Havi' I offended your sister, or is shl a little mad?" Poor Thilippa. whose complexion is that of brickdust with confusion and annoyance, stammers something almost inaudible and unintelligible. "Mv -ister was rather —surprised—and 6tartfed. She expected" —she could! hardly say "expected to see a boy, instead of a. full-grown, young man," and so stops Helplessly.

Txird Xeville looks at her thoughtfully, •trith a suggestion of a smile on Ms pale and somewhat mournful face.

"I don't quite undeistaTid',"' he says. "Nor T." says poor Philippa. "I—l think I will go to my sister; it must be nearly dinner time,"' and with this lame excuse she makes good her escape.

"Come in," says Carrie, and Philippa entering somewhat timidly, finds her pacing up and down the room, her cheeks flushed, her lovely hair tangled, her eye-ibrows-well over her-eyes, and-those eyes glowing irefnlly. "Of all the shameful transactions I ever heard of, this is the most shameful!" she exclaims, almost 'before Philippa has closed the door. "I am not"—with vivid jrorrv—"of a curious temperament, but I should, -I should like to 'know what this means.? Is it, may I ask, an elaborate practical joke? Because, if it is, I consider it a. weak and miserable one!." "My dear Carrie "

"If it is meant as a joke, Ijnmst say that I consider it ratOer as an. insult!" goes on the passionate "voice, "An insult! Bat I suppose an earl, <rr-for that matter, the son of an earl, thinks himself privileged to insult such, people as ourselves "

"My dear Carrie, if yon •will only "listen to me —if you would let me get in one--word —instead; of roving at me in this

"What good can you do by talking?" demands Carrie, flinging her lhat on the bed, and unbuttoning the torn and dusty dress. "All the talking in the world ■would not alter the fact that we, the •whole family of us, have been made fools of, unless, as I say, it is a. practical >oke played for my special behoof/' "'How can you be so-ridiculous!" internrpis Philippa. , •'We -were led to expect s boy—a schoolboy; instead of "which here is a man —a man! I thought .when I saw his face like the figure in a hairdresser's window "

"Carrie! Be just! It's the handsomest face I ever saw!" "Yes, so are the barber's!" retorts the unpacified Carrie. "But I don't care whether it is handsome or ugly. I say wnen I saw it I it was the valet! And then to be told that it was Lord Neville! And be bad heard every word I said!" "Of course he had!" retorted Philippa, roused at i*st. "They didn't say lie was deaf, whatever his age, and vnu shouted loud enough to be he* rd- " "What business bad he k\ that part of the garden? You said he was to-keep his own part of the place." "I had asked him to eomn and see the hyacinths. I would have told' you he was close at hand, but vol didn't give me time!"

'Time!" unfastening the coil of hair and letting it stream over her white ehoulders. "But I don't care -whether ho heard or did not. What I care about is the contemptuous way in which we have been treated. Why, you both —you and father —told me that it was a boy; overstudying at school, you said! Did you not?" stretching out both hands ■with indignant appeal. " I was mistaken. I thought ihe "was quite a boy, so did father! It was not my fault —scarcely his! It "was a mistake, and not an unnatural one." ■ "Not unnatural! Oh, no! Quite so!" "Not at all," says Philippa stuotly. " Remember, father had seen and heard no tiling of the family for years, and, likn most people do, forgot that, time had passed with the earl as it has with him! When the earl said in his letter 'my son,' father jumped to the conclusion—no not jumped, but just accepted the idea, that ' son' meant a young boy! Why, didn't the earl speak of us as papa's 'little family'? Same thing, you see!"

Carrie dashes, her' hanjls into the water. The mistake is becoming explicable, but mortification —the knowledge that he has heard her contemptuous allusion to him still burns and rankles in her heart.

" And father, what does he say?" Philippa laughs ruefuuy. " I think father was more astonished than I was,' she says. " When Giles drove up to the gate with the old pony .and the basket chaise " "There must have been scarcely Toom for his long legs," interpolates Carrie, with a grim smile. " And Lord Neville got out and held ont his hand, father just stared at him and gaped with astonishment. I think Lord Neville thought he was a little mad. 1 suppose, after your reception of him, following upon father's, he is quite convinced he is located with a family of imbecile*,' she adds with a dry laugh. " I don't care what he thinks," says Carrie, snatching the towel. " I don't care in the slightest. Well? Go on." I'hilippa smiles. " Father as usual, blurted out the jtruth. 'Good Lord,' he said, 'I thought fou were a youngster fresh from school.'"

"There, I think I have made as complete a dowdy of myself as is possible," she says, making a moue at the glass. "His lordship will not be able to flatter himself with the reflection that I have put on my war-paint in his honour." As she enters the dining»room she sees i her father standing beside his chair, making a vain attempt to look as if he were not hungry, and Philippa standing by the fire-place trying to appear as if she were not waiting. Then she hears a step behind her, and knowing that it is Lord Neville's, keeps her eyes fixed straight before her. Looking straight in front of her, she take 3 her seat, and not even when her father savs:

"My youngest daughter, Lord Neville," does she deign to glance at the guest. "I have had the pleasure of being introduced to Miss Marv "

"I am glad he eaid that," remarked Came, viciously. "And what did 'my lord ' say to that?" ■• Oh, "he was not at all embarrassed. ' It is not so very long ago since I was,' he'said, quite coolly. I never saw Or iraacined anyone, more cool and. setfpr.s<ep?ed than he is." •' Read ' impudence ' for selfsion," says Carrie, sharply. " Xo." responds Philippa, quietly. "I don't, think it is impudence. No one could be more polite. It is the 'grand manner* I euppose." " A hateful manner, I call it!" Philippa laughß grimly ,r M y first thought was of the tarts and cakea I had made for him! Tarts and cakes! I suppose the mere sight of them would make him ahudder" I would put all tho cakes and tarts and jams m the house on the table, if I prexa you J '..;rßsyß-~£arrie, '" • • ■*

j "My name is Carrie," she says, sharply, I and with a crimson flush; and she darts an angry glance at him. As she does so, she sees that he has put on his evening dress. He acknowledges it inwardly and , reluctantly only handsome, but distinguished; but the fact of- his having-dressed for ' dinnermakes her all the more implacable. "I beg your pardon—Miss Carrie—before," he says, calmly, and with a faint tinge of weariness in his voice, as if he were disinclined to do battle, with her..

"Oh," says Mr. Harrington, busy with the soup, upon which Philippe's eyes are fixed anxiously,' for has riot teen added to the bill of fare at {he "last •moment? "That's all right; then you have made the acquaintance of all the family. What will you drink? There's some sherry, and I've got some- decent hock."

" I'm Bure I don't know what I shall do," goes on Philippa, her mind on housekeeping cares intent. "Of course, a boy is different to a man! I shall hav e to prepare a special menu. Did you notice how pale he was? He looks delicate."

" Yes, the beautiful prnk-and-white complexion which characterises the race of hairdressers' dummies," says Carrie, with the hair-brush.

" There is no pink in "his face at all," remarks Philippa, calmly. "It is quite white. There is something sad and troubled about his eyes, too. He looks tired and worn out. There is no doubt but that he has been ill. Father says that he is very much like the earl, but much handsomer. The way his hair ripples away from his forehead gives him rather a Spanish " A burst of sarcastic laughter interrupted her.

" My dear Philippa, control your admiration for the fair and noble stranger. To go down at the first shot is too unblushingly weak. Sad eyes, rippling hair, Spanish licorice—was it licorice?— Philippa, my dear, good sister, you have been bewitched! Take care: or is it too late? Have you entirely gone down before my lord's manifold charms?"

Philippa laughs and pulls out her watch.

" Youll be late lor dinner," she says, placidly. " I don't know that I shall come down," says Carrie i curtly. "Not—come—down—to dinner!" repeats Philippa, staring. "No, I don't want any dinner; Fve a headache." • Philippa smiles incredulously. " I dare say. Tell that to the marines, my dear child." " Flippa, don't be vulgar."

"Not want any dinner! You mean that you are ashamed to meet him after calling 'him ' a child and an enfant terrible.' "

" Philippa, you are —brutal," turning a. crimson face to the glass. " After that, I would come down, though my head were splitting. Ashamed! Philippa, I regret to say that, though we have known each other for some years, you fail to understand me."

Philippa laughs, with hidden enjoyment of the irony of the sweet round voice. " You do not understand me, Philippa. Ashamed! You shall see! Give me that dress, my dear." "Which? This old black thing?" " Yes, that old black thing, as you rudely call it," calmly. " But, my dear Carrie! Why, yot» bavent worn it in the evening for months, and it is quite shabby!"

"Is it? I think not. At any rate, 1 am going to wear it. I suppose, because you think, fit to deck yourself in your newest and best in honour of this aristocrat, other people share your servile spirit. Philippa, you are mistaken; 1 am going to wear that dress to-night because it is shabby—and it is shabby, 1 admit!" —with a grimace at the garment —" because I wish to mark my independence. It shall never be said that I put on war-paint for Lord Cecil Neville! One at least of the Harringtons declines to bend the knee to the proud patrician " . .

" There is the bell. For goodness sake, don't b e late! Father will be famished to-night, and we can't very well go on without you; Lord Neville would think it so strange."

" Ah!" says Carrie, with a lon<r breath. " Arready do we begin, to truckle to th» lonlling. We must put on pur society manners that his delicate, refinement may not be shocked. Philippa; Harrington, I am afraid you are a toady. There, but ton those top buttons for me!—and mind, Philippa, do not expect me to "be even civil to him. I believe I hated him before he came, but I am certain that Ido now. I never did like handsome men, and. a man with rippling hair and languishing eyes I detest.- ■ My Lord Cecil Neville and Caroline Harrington will have to keep apart, or . there will be war to the knife : ——"

"And fork," says Philippa, cheerfully. "Be quick. I can hear father grumbling and fidgeting even up here,'' and she goes down.

Carrie, with elaborate slowness, pins the little white collar and gives the last comprehensive glance at herself in the glass. Notwithstanding the shabby, well-worn dress, the glass contains a picture that is—alas! for the hearts of men!—only too charming. The sun and her excitement have planted a red rose on either cheek, which makes the dark, liquid eyes sparkle; the expressive lips are set in a tantalizing curve of mingled hauteur and defiance; the dark eyebrows meet above the delicate nose. If she but knew it —or does she know it?—the old black dress sets off her fresh and girlish loveliness more, perhaps, than an elaborate costume would have done, for it "hides but to indicate" the lithe, graceful figure to which it has so often clung.

Carrie winces. At every turn she is beaten and foiled in her attempt "to rouse him.

"Oh, we are slow folks in these parts of the world," says Mr Harrington. "I'm afraid you .nil be bored to death by us. But you must make the best of it." "It will not be difficult," says Lord Neville. Then be turns to Philippa. and begins to talk to her, and to her exclusively, as if the beautiful girl opposite him were not in the room; and Carrie at first makes a great effort not to listen, but gradually finds herself watching the pale, handsome face, with the rippling hair," and then listening with all her ears to the musical voice. For a man who has not been in Devonshire, he seems to know a great deal about it, and Carrie, with a feeling of •surprise, hears them talking of their ferns and ruins, rivers and mountains, aB if he had lived amongst them all his life. * Philippa's awkwardness wears off, and she is so interested that she forgets to be anxious about the dinner, and Mr. Harrington has to ask twice for his second helping of junket, which he always indulges in. (Continued daily.)

"Thanks, sherry," ~ says " LdrßT Neville; and he turns his attention to his soupplate as coolly as if he had -been dining there for years. "Yes, certainly," thinks Carrie, "he is self-possessed"; and, she admits it grudgingly, his self-possession has something grand and impresive albout it. Another man, finding himself in evening dress ■where evening dress was not expected, would have felt 3lightly embarrassed; but not so Lord Neville. ■ Though the snowy shirt front and single diamond stud makes a striking contrast to Mr. Harrington's cutaway coat and black stock, Lord Neville does not seem to remark it. He finishes his soup and his fish, and then Philippa, at the end of the table, considers it her duty to make conversation . and does so by offering •the somewhat feeble remark that it is a long -way from London to Devonshire. He raises his eyes—"Yes," thinks Carrie, "there is something sad about them," and she at once concludes contemptuously that he writes poetry—and regards Philippa as if he had come up from the 'bottom of a mental mine, and had awakened to a sense of her existence. "It is rather a long journey," he says, "but a pleasant one. I have made shorter ones that have seemed more tiresome." "Of course you know the country." says Mr. Harrington, as if everv one with any sense must know Devonshire. "No," says Lord Neville. "I do not. This is my first visit." "Your father has some estates here," , remarks Mr. Harrington. Lord Neville nods. "Yes. So I believe. He rarely comes here, himself, I think." "Ah. -well, you will have to pay a visit of inspection," says Mr. Harrington. "My daughter Carrie knows every inch of the country, or ought to do so, for she is always gadding about, and she •will give you every information." "There is a map of Devonshire hanging in the study." says Carrie, concisely. Lord Neville looks at her with the same mixture of weariness and surprise, as if she were some wild, wilful creature whom he should like to study if it were not too much trouble. The glance maddens Carrie. Philippa colours and fidgets with her •bread, and even Mr. Harrington looks rather surprised at this point-blank smib: but Lord Neville is quite unmoved. "Thanks," he says, as if she had supplied him with a piece of valuable information. "I will consult it." "Do," Bays Carrie, "and if you can make anything of it you will be cleverer than the rest of us." "That would be impossible," he says, not with a .polite and society smile, but with the same low, steady inflection of voice.