THE STOLEN RING.

Bush Advocate, Volume XXIII, Issue 282, 7 December 1911, Page 7

THE STOLEN RING.

(By Mrs Campbell Fraed.) Author of "My Australian Oiilhood, etc.) ■ Outside Victoria Station a yonng-okl lady who had twisted her ankle and was obviously in pain, tried vainly to attract the attention of porter, policeman or cab-driver. She carried a, diessing bag and a sheaf of roses—suggesting the return from a week-end visit, and she used her umbrella for a support to her dragging foot. An attractne woman, though in her forties, with a relined face, dreamy, myopic eyes of limpid blue, dark lashes and brows, a delicate complexion, and cloudy greyis hair the hue- of woodashes. A grey gauze veil, twisted round her toque, framed the sweet lace becoming! j• ; hei slim, almost girlish figure showed to advantage in a grev tailor-made dress, a little shabby but "of admirable cut. Miss Rose Arminell showed the indefinable stamp of an unmarried woman who had had a love-tragedy. Sensitive, appealing, strangely sad chtidLshlv innocent, yet with the look in net eves of having groped m dark places and of having seen shadows o dreadful things she did not seem fitted to oattle. with an unsympathetic world. _ despairing of assistance, she signalled to a shoe-black near by, and, m a gentle voice, asked him to call a fourwheeler. The young boy shook Ins head. For at that moment two young gentlemen in serge suits and straw hats each with a rose in his buttonhole burned up, the- elder of whom pushed the younger forward and bade the shoe-black clean his boots and look as sharp as possible. The elder might have- been twenty—a fair, smooth-faced, school-boyish person with a jaunty air ; the younger looked sixteen—a dark la (Jwith a sullen face and slouching yet defiant carriage, but having an indefinable something about him that, attracted Miss .Arminell curiously. She started, Hushed, and gave the boy a long searching look as it she were- trying to trace a likeness to someone she knew. Then her eyes I ell ; she looked disappointed, having failed to lind what she expected. It seemed unaccountable that Hashing association taking her back nearly 1 went v vein's. For the lover ol her youth', of whom for an instant the dark vouth had reminded her, had bun ot quite a different type. The elder of the youths who was th? fair one took off his hat- to Miss Arminell and said in a frank school-bov manner: "Didn't you want a, tour-wheeler.*' I'll get you one while my friend is having his boots blacked,' and was oH and hailing a- cab-driver before Miss Arminell could make any answer. While the driver he secured was gelling down luggage and disputing over the fare, Miss Arminell thanked the voting gentleman, and when lie asked her if lie could see after her luggage, told him she had only her dressing-bag and begged him not to lit her detain him. "Oh, that doesn't matter. We're only just- up from Hampshire—came by the same train as you—l saw you getting out and was nearly coming up to you to see if I could do anything. Haven't you hurt your foot?" Miss Arminell explained that she had twisted her ankle on her way to the station that morning, and that it was just beginning to pain her a little. "Bad luck!'' said the youth. "Please lit me put you into a cab. . . . Oh, we're not in a hurry,'' as she. waivul aside her oiler. "Fact is an old uncle of mine gave me a cheque for a week's spree in London, and I've brought my friend here to che-t r liiin up a bit. He's failed in an exam, and had a row with his people, and he has got the bump in consequence. We're regular countiv bumpkins, both of us, and he's having a shine put on his boots before going to the Kxhibition." The dark lad with his boot on the shoe-black shot a resentful glance at his friend. "()li, shut up, will you;-'" •'All right, Old chap," returned thefair one cheerfully, and whispered confidentially to Miss Arminell. ''l told yon he'd got the hump.'' Miss Arminell murmured sympathetically that she hoped he'd enjoy himself and forget- his trouble; and just then, the four-wheeler signalled to them, another cab being in the way. The young man he,ld out his arm. but she refused it. "Oh, no, thank you." Then, as he persisted, "but you" may take my bag if you like." He relieved her of the dressing-bag and of the bunch of roses. Leaning heavily on her umbrella Miss Arminell hobbled to the four-wheeler. At the door, the youth hesitated, and leaning towards her with his hail on the fastening and his eyes lixed on her face, exclaimed impulsively : "Kncusc me, but I'm pretty positive we've met before—don't you remember —at Wray Lodge—a garden party—last .summer?" "1 don't know any Wray Lodge. You are mistaken." "Oh, surely I couldn't mistake your face, you're M.iss Folliot?" "Indeed 1 am not. .My name is Arminell." He looked at her ama/.edly. "Voti astonish 'me. The resemblance is quite extraordinary. Ah!.' Allow me;-" for she put her hand to the door. .He helped her into the cab with great care, placing the- bag and flowers oil the seal- beside her, and asking where he should bid the man drive. "Please tell him 59 Orace Court, near Arldisoti road station." The young man hesitated again, and sa id a wkwardly : ''l say, 1 don't like your going oil" alone with your foot hurting you---it-does hurt?"' She admitted the fact with a, wan smile. "Do let me help you homer''' -Miss Arminell stiffened. You're very kind, but J couldn't think of troubling you." "Honor bright it's no trouble. Fact is, T'm used to looking after a sister who's lame—an accident—her spine, you know—and 1 can't get over nie notion that you're Miss Fl'olliot. If you won't let me see you home, mayn't I call tomorrow an ask if you're all right?" "You arc very kind,'' repeated Miss Arminell; "but I shouldn't dream of troubling you." "I'll love to come and make- sure you're alright. Do let me?'' The face was so boyish, the interest so frank, that Miss Arminell relaxed, and gave a weak little laugh. "Well, really! Are you in the habit, may I ask, of making friends with unprotected ladies at railway stations?" He protested. '•Never did such a thing in my life •Hut you—seemed as if I knew you— And I thought of my poor sister. Look here, I'd like to tell you—'' he proceeded jerkily. "My old dad's a clergyman. . He's .Rector of Tvingswear, near .Southhampton. Ronald Harrison's my name, and my friend over there—well, his dad's a bit of a Tartar—Westmaeott his is " "AYestmaeott!" Miss Annenill echoed the name. "No, T don't know him." " You can look- my dad up in the

clergy-list," urged Harrison. "Oh, I shouldn't think of doubting what you say.'' "Then I may call—both of us—tomorrow—just to ask, you know ?" Miss Arminell i'airlv gave way. "I can't imagine what pleasure it could be to come and see an old maid in a West Kensington Hat,'' she said, '•but if you'd really like to call, come and have tea to morrow, about helf-past four." Harrison thanked her as if she had conferred on him an inestimable favor. "Eight you are! We'll turn up, you may be sure, shan't we, Westmocott ?"' for the other lad had come rip shyly and now respondede to tho invitation, rather sulkily Miss Arminell thought. (To b© continued.)