TEN MINUTES' STORY.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIII, Issue 305, 21 December 1912, Page 22

TEN MINUTES' STORY.

(By M. R. LARMINIE.)

CHAN MING'S LITTLE COMEDY.

"So."' said Camelia, '"things are at a rt.-.ndstill. Mother won't hear of one, and 1 \vi n'i hear of the other.'' 1 "Ti-.i- is not the eighteenth century,"! venti'rcil Charming. I ** No. hut mother is," retorted Came- | lia: ":iad there's soinethins in that, you; know!" Chinning agreed. '" Moreover." lie added. " the centuries move with the times, whereas " " Mother doesn't?" nodded Camelia. | Thoy sat and pondered. '■ Still." remarked Charming presently. " even in the eighteenth century young women sometimes—er—asserted their right to —cr —judge for themselves. What?" " Not without extreme measures," objected she. "Such as —Gretna Green? Well?" he said tentatively. " Oh, Charlie's not -worth that," said Camelia calmly. " You see. it's not a question of my wanting to marry him, or anybody. It's just that mother considers it imperative that I should; she thinks I'm a trifle passee at twenty-six, wherein she proves her eighteenth century mind. So she inclines towards Major Leeds —the pig! —and I say that if I've got. to marry anyone, Charlie's the only man I could live comfortably with for more than a week. And I'm rather doubtful even about him." " I see, I see," murmured Outlining a trifle drowsily. The verandah after lunch was hot and scent-filled from the flowers on the trellis wort, and he was very comfortable indeed in a long cane chair, with his feet resting on the bai"3 of the one in which Camelia sat. " Oh, keep awake, Tom, please!" she begged, looking round. "' My dear "lady," said he, his eyes tranquilly on her. " when you are approaching middle life you will understand my difficulty at this moment. I'm intensely interested in what you are saying, but Nature and lunch have put forth claims. Never mind, r, ll reject them for your charming sake. Let's wory this problem till we see a way out." " Oh. I'm not Teally troubled about it," said she. " and I intend to take my time. Still, possibly you have ideas." " A very remote chance," said Charming. " Remember, I am only an author." " Ton see," said Camelia, thoughtfully, disregarding aim, " Major Leeds is over forty, and looks a good deal more." " A very good age." murmured Charming. who was thirty-nine. " He cares for nothing but horses and dog 3: and though I'm fond of them, of course, still —animals aren't everything, Tom." " I admit," said he, grimacing, "you'd have nothing else. Leeds, if I'm not hurting your feelings, is as much an animal as any of his pets." " Then." said Camelia, " there is ChaTlie. He is more my sort, isn't he?" Chauning smothered an exclamation, and took his feet off her chair. "Oh. hang it, no!" said he. "Not really, you know." Miss Laurence was not offended. '" I'm awfully fond of him," she vouchsafed. '* Yes, I daresay." he growled. " So am I, but I don't want to marry him." Camelia laughed gently. "No? Well—poor Charlie!" Ch.-.nning refused to smile. " The author's ideas," suggested she presently. " don't seem to flow." Charming produced a pipe, and proceeded to fill it. " He's thinking out the plot, poor devil!" he returned. " And it's a very bad one. So lamentably stade and hackneyed." " Oh, I agree!" said she tranquilly. " I'd be awfully obliged if you'd change it, you know." " Oh, would you ?" said Charming with an odd laugh. " I can only think of a change that would be still more hackneyed." "What?" demanded she. "It's too stupid," he said Imrriedly, " Not worth suggesting, you know. I'll (try and think of something else." "Something original, please!" she begged. " Oh, 111 find something," he assured her, smoking thoughtfully—" an entirely new plot in which Leed3 and Charlie, instead of being central figures, are merely idling in the background. A sort of third couple, as they often have in plays, you know." " Drop Major Leeds out of it altogether," said Camelia maliciously. "Put Mm right away behind the scenes, and don't let him appear at all." ""Hell he effective in the background," he demurred- * Well leave him theTe, 1 think—him and Charlie. Then we'll work up the central figures. How long do y-ou gis-e mc?" " A week to get ready," 3aid she, after a moment's thought. ''Then the curtain goes up. Of coarse, I'm the heroineJ" •"Why, naturally," said he Trifch a bam

Chanaing, by virtue of his remote cousinship, tackled Lady Laurence on the subject of her daughter's marriageHe recognised and grappled with the eighteenth century mind of which Camelia had spoken. During the interview his own attitude was almost eighteenth century, tinged with a faint modernism not too apparent. Lady Laurence stitfened a little as the object of his conversation first made its appearance, but Charming talked gently through the stiffness, and she unbent by degrees. •• You see," urgrde Charming, " Camelia's young, you know." •" When 1 was her age," remarked Lady Laurence, " Camelia was nearly seven." " Ah. yes," said Charming, with subtlety. " You were likely to marry young, of course. Camelia"s the sort of girl \vho"s at her best between twenty-five and thirty. It's a pity to hurry her into marrying, when better men may come along and — and be too late, you know," he ended rather lamely. "A woman should marry," observed Lady Laurence, "before she is five-and-tweiuy. She is at that age most fitted for it in every respect." Chaining was in no mind to dispute the point; probably, he rellected, Lady Laurence was a better judge than he, so he passed on. '"You see." he began again, "Camelia is quite capable of falling—well, violently in love up till the time she's thirty, and very probably after, therefore to mc it seems like tempting Providence"—(cursed phrase, thought he) —"to let her marry now when she hasn't—let us say—gone through the preliminary stage. To marry happily it is necessary, to my mind, to go through several phases of love, because love, as you know, Cousin Mary, is instructive and progressive, and one learns so much each time. I'm sure you agree with mc, don't you? Now" — without waiting for probable contradiction—"Camelia has always declared to mc that she's never been 'happily, wholesomely in love,' as she put it, in her life. Obviously, then, she'll have a lot to learn. Give her time and—er—opportunity, and she'll prove, I'm certain of it, quite amenable to your wishes in the end." He was not so certain of his last point as he professed to be, but trusted to luck. Lady Laurence fortunately failed to notice the weak spot in his argument. She was impressed with the whole, though against her will, or, as she would have said, her better judgment. Charming had a way of impressing her with his apparent knowledge of the world, a good deal because of his— again apparent—admirable behaviour in that world. Some years ago Lady Laurence had fostered the idea that the son of a distant cousin of her husband's would be no ill match for her daughter. With that end in view, and when Camelia was barely twenty-one, her mother had in her own opinion most tactfully and delicately sounded Charming on the subject. He, in his private phraseology, "refused to rise," and on her realisation of the fact Lady Laurence wisely succeeded in persuading herself that the match was undesirable. But Charming had spoken no less than the truth when he said, "Caxnelia. is the sort of girl who is at her best between twenty-five and thirty." In the days when Lady Laurence had cast her careful fly in his direction, Camelia had attracted him very little. Beyond the affection he had for the girl—ihild rather—with whom he had spent a good deal of his leisure when he was a young man, she thirteen years his junior, he had thought very little about her, except to take a general interest in her affairs as those of an old friend. He had been away from England for four or five years, and it was only since his return that he had found the change in her, or in his attitude towards her. '"Well,"* said Lady Laurence, reluctantly, after she had duly digested his short lecture, "what' do you advise mc to do?"' Charming had his advice ready. "Give mc permission," said he suavely, "to give her her first lesson."' "Lesson?" queried Cousin Mary, whose mind worked slowly. "In love,"' amended Charming carelessly. As she was silent, astonished, he continued: "You admitted that it would be good for her to have some lessons before the final one. Well, she has had none. Give mc your permission to teach her." The audaciousness of the request kept Lady Laurence tongue-tied a little longer. Then she stiffened visibly again, and answered: "Really, Tom, I'm surprised at your suggesting such a thing. Is it manly, is it gentlemanly, apart from other considerations, to trifle with my daughter's affections in such a way?" Charming waved his hand in protest. "My dear Cousin Mary, you misunderstand" mc entirely —entirely!" said he reproachfully, the eighteenth century mind before his eyes. "Nothing is further frem my intention than to trifle with the affections of any young lady, least oi all your delightful daughter. On the contrary, if anyone's affections are going to suffer it is most likely they will be my own. In plain language, lam myself in love with Camelia, and am asking your permission to—er—pay her court." The absurdity of his language struck him, and he feared he might have overreached himself, but fortunately Lady Laurence was sufficiently absorbed in the matter of his statement to ignore the. manner of it.

"My dear Tom," said she pompously, "this is news to mc, I assure you—news." "'Welcome, I trust?" suggested Cbanning, studying the carpet. He had been standing in the window during the interval. Now he crossed to the sofa and sat down by his hostess. "Dear Cousin Mary," said he, and took her hand in his, "let mc take my chance with the rejt of them, and —cr —backed vp —I mean supported by your approval!" Lady Laurence drew away her hand, sudden faint and not unpleasing memories of her girlhood assailing her. She looked at Charming with the faintest blush. "If,"' said she, "you are convinced that your feelings are what you state them to mc, I—well,1 —well, 1 see no reason to oppose your wishes." "Thank you." With the gravest courtliness Charming again possessed himself of her half-timid hand and kissed it. "May I stipulate one thing?" he asked humbly. "Stipulate?" The word seemed misplaced. "I mean," he said hastily, "will you allow mc to conduct my—er —campaign on my own lines? Camelia is not always easy to deal with." Lady Laurence sighed and —smiled a very little. "Of course, Tom," said she, "you must do your own wooing." "And, Tom," she continued, remaining rather bewildered on the sofa as he rose, "1 wish you success!" Camelia conveniently forgot all about tlie "plot" during the following week. She played golf with Charlie Poole one day, brutally dismissed him the next; and Charlie, her slave, came and went as he was bidden. Charming looking on, pleasantly smiling, reflected that part at any rate of the prospective background would be indispensable. He was glad that during that week the subject did not recur between Camelia and himself. He wished to hatch his plot undisturbed. Suddenly on the morning of the eighth day since their original discussion the thing returned to Caraelia'e butterfly mind. They were playing billiards together, and she was stretched forward in what ought to have been—but was not — an ungraceful position, making a most intricate stroke. With her cue drawn back she stopped. "Oh!" said she. "Chalk?" suggested Charming. "No. thanks." A dimple showed in the curve of her cheek. "Only—how's the plot?" Charming leant on his cue. "Won't you play your stroke?" he asked kindly. "You want a lot of righthand screw on." Camelia grimaced at him slightly over her shoulder and played. Subsequently her score rose I'roni eighteen to thirty-five, and she was jubilant, lor billiards was not always her strong point. .She discussed her break for some time, and then remembered again. " Oh, Tom," said she, " do tell mc about the plot? Is it getting ready?" Charming, marking his score, grunted. " What?" said Camelia. " Yes," said Tom. " Well, tell mc," said she, playing for and missing an easy cannon. " Oh, bother, Tom, do tell mc." " You don't expect mc to give it away?" asked he, taking advantage of a very pretty leave. " If I'm in the plot I ought to know," she objected, sitting down, as he seemed so comfortably settled into a break. "At all events, tell mc who is to be my hero." Tom laughed and swore gently to himself in a breath. " You put mc off," he said, chalking his cue. t Camelia turned away, and rested her cue against the wall. " Come and sit here," she commanded, " and tell mc every bit." She seated herself in the wide high seat that ran round the bow-window oi the billiardroom, li was a bright warm morning— too hot, Camelia hod pronounced lazily, to go out. Hence the billiards. The windows were wide open and a gentle throbbing hum of. summer crept in. Camelia put her head out, and sniffed luxuriously, her eyes shut. "Ouf!" said she. " That's good. Tom, do come here." Tom came, not altogether reluctantly, yet with a certain unwillingness. He had no plot to divulge, so he sat by her and whistled softly. " Don't!" ordered Camelia sharply, as he desisted. " Nok, will you tell mc?" said she. imperiously. " H"m," murmured Tom. " Supposing I refuse?" "You can't refuse," she objected. "If I'm your heroine, I must know the plot." " Well," said he, slowly, " it's a lovestory, of course. Won't that content you 1" " Not at all. I want details. Don't be tiresome, Tom. I want to know about the other peopJe and what they're going to do." " Charlie's in the background," ho admitted grudgingly, " and as far as 1 can make out, Leeds isn't anywhere." " Thank Heaven!" ejaculated Camelia piously. " And thank you, Tom. What else?" " There's your mother," growled Tom, " more amenable than usual—less eighteenth ceutury, you know." "Good!" commented Camelia. '" And yourself," continued Tom, warming to his subject as he invented it. You

are put in a very pretty positron, which I will explain to you later. Then—er— well, I come in, yon know." "Do you? That's nice," remarked she kindly. "' W hereabouts ?" " Oh, pretty near to the front," said he, smiling complacently. " Good," she repeated, E-nd he -winced. " But who's the central figure besides myself?" " Oh, come, the curtain's only jnet gone up, Camelia. The hero "wouldn't oome on quite at once." " But yon. must have settled who he is." Charming was silent, twisting his cue his hand. "Well, haven't you?" "Since you ask so mercilessly, I have," he yielded. " Then who is it V she faced him laughing: , Charming glanced at her; his eyes were unsmiling. " Do you really mean to know?" he asked half surlily. She nodded. " Of course." He was silent again. "Oh, Tom!" cried she, exasperated. "Do be nice and sensible. Who is my hero 1" The slight absurdity of Channing's answer occurred to him as he gave it, and he smiled rather grimly. " I am," he said. " You 1" She stared at him. " Why you?" she demanded in explanation. " Why not?" inquired Charming, grave again. " Well, I mean —you see — the hero " Camelia got into difficulties and ceased speaking. Charming flushed suddenly. After a moment he put down Ms cue and turned towards her. "Of course," said he slowly, "of course, I see that the person I place in the position of hero of the —cr —comedy, should seem suited to it, not only in my eyes, but in yours. lam the author, but you are the heroine, and the person you've got to act with ought to be one you're—your content and glad to act with." He paused. Camelia was looking out of the window, her hands in her lap. Charming continued to look at her as he -went on speaking. " You see that too, Camelia, don't you ?" he asked gently. "So that my comedy is practically at a standstill until you've approved of the people I've assigned to the principal parts. Well, we'll suppose that you're content to be the heroine. Some time ago you expressed a wish that Leeds and Charlie should both be no more prominent than quite small parts in the background -will make them. I'm ready to manage that, and I've succeeded in modernising your mother to a certain extent. That's to say, dressing my modern views in eigh- i teenth century clothing with good results. There remains then the part of the hero." Again he paused. Camelia sat curiously silent and still. Charming lifted i one of her hands gently out of her lap and held it firmly on his knee. " I offer myself, Camelia," he eaid quietly. The billiard-room lay bathed in morning sunshine and stillness. A bumble bee boomed in through the window, stared the silent couple angrily in the face, and boomed out again. Still Camelia said nothing. Charming put his arm about her shoulders and twisted her round till she faced him. Her cheeks were a deep pink, her eyes fell before his. "Well?" he said gently. " Well, Calnelia?" " Well, Tom?" said Camelia, in the smallest and most subdued of voices. " Shall I suit the part?" Ohanning smiled whimsically and, putting his hand under her chin, made her look up. " The part ?" murmured she, with possibly wilful density. Charming drew her a shade closer. " With euch a heroine," he said softiy, "'the part is rather a fine one—the part of a hero, you know; there should be some pretty scenes. Well, the chap 1 offer isn't much of a chap, all said and done, but he'll make a jolly good try to play his part if —you'll let him." Camelia looked at him, and Camelia looked away from him, and finally Camelia laughed and grew pinker still. "Really, Tom." said she, shaking her head, " considering you're an author, the plot's awfully hackneyed, you know!" " Counfound the plot," said Charming a little later.