FANTASY'S HOT FIRE.

Press, Volume LXIII, Issue 12849, 6 July 1907, Page 3

FANTASY'S HOT FIRE.

———♦ BEING TWELVE LETTERS OF CONFESSION FROM GABRIEL TO MYRTLE. By Mast L. Pend&rzd. I "Fantasy , * hot fire Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly."—Scott. Darling Myrie: Yes, I know I'm a horror not to have answered your two lovely long letters before. Don't think I am ungrateful, •dearest, or not interested in all your doings. I am—tremendously. But I've been going through such a time lately—one continual rush from weekend to week-end. You know how it is at Oaklands —a houso full and pomething on every moment. It's 6imply impossible to write letters, even to one's dearest and most valued friends. And not only that, but—Myrie—how can I tell you what has happened to mc? Sweet as you ara, I know you'll turn up that dear little nose of yours in scorn. No —I won't, won't, won't tell you—there! You'd think it horrid of mc not only to do it, but even worse to write about it. What is it? 1 hear you asking. But no, I can't tell you—l hardly dare even think it to myself—it makes mc so angry, and it altogether so idiotic—and insensate — and uncalled for—and absurd, and, as Jack would say, "tommy-rotten -, ! I will only tell you that I really haven't been able to collect my thoughts, dearest, for the last week or two, but I am sobering down now, and mean to spend the next half-hour in answering your dear, delightful letter. I was very pleased to hear your news about Effio, and hope she will be very happy. Lucky girl! to get the man she has set her heart upon. Horn I envy her! In this cruel world love matches are only too rare. The right man hardly ever falls in love with one. It is always ume crook one doesn't j want, who hangs on and on till on* baa to marry him in the end. I suppose there are very tew girls whose dearest longing of the heart is fulfilled. Heigho! I wonder what's the good of living! I am tired of it all. . . . Oh. bother! there goes the gong for luncheon, and I shan't have a minute afterward, fio good-bye, my beloved Myrrh, and mind, you are never,

never to ask what "it" is that I have dc ne. Your always loving little goose of a Gay. 11. Myrtle dear, your laconic note made mc "laugh, consumedly. "I've drawn my own conclusion ■ about ' it'; now please toll mc by return who he is," you say. Clever old darling 1 You've got right there at one shot. I might have known you would. But isn't it absurd, idiotic and humiliating to a maddening degree? You know jthat ever since I camo out I've had the best of times, and several almost eligible swains have done mc the honour to seek my hand in marriago (as they used to say in the olden days). Well, it has been very exciting. I've never cared enough for one to feel more than a passing pang at'reflecting him. And now to make a fool of myself —to "fall in love" like a dairymaid in a musical comedy—it's realiy too revolting. But hear my case first, and perhaps you'll deal leniently , with mc. Myrtle, he's a demigod, a positive Apollo, Adonis, and Hermes in one f How can I describe him? Tall and straight as an arrow, strong as a Hercules, handsome as any god of Olympus, with just tho sweetest, dearest I smile you ever saw, a voice that tears holes in one's heart, and a manner — well, words fail mo! You know I've always said that the first thing I must have in a man is good form. I don't rare how handsome or clever or rich ho is, if he hasn't that unspeakable charm which is the heritage of generations ot patrician ancestors. If lie isn't always sure of doing exactly the right thing at tho right moment, I let him up; as Jnck would say, "He is not for Gabriello Demaino." I like everything a man does and says to seem inevitable—the only thing that a gentleman could do or say on a given occasion. Well. Captain Whittenhall is the pink of perfection in manners. He has dignity without being stiff, easo without being free and ensy. And oh, Myrift, he waltws like a—like the guardsman ho is—one can't say more. And if yon snw him in his mess kit, with tho scarlet showing up the lovely bronze of his skin (he has recently been quartered in Egypt) and that bronzo bringing out all the sapphire blue in his eyes, you would rave about him as I do^—l know you would, though yon always refuse to admire fair mm. I must admit I always preferred dark ones before —there, always seemed so much moro of tho devil in them—l ■mean firo and dash. But Captain Whittenhnll ha% eyes that positively speak, and tho little crinkle in his fair hair is too heavenly for words. The horrible and humiliating part of it all is that I'm afraid he doesn't can* for mc. Ho i* an awful flirt, so I am told, and. although he has paid mo a pood deal of attention, it may bo only his way with a new girl, and I am new to him. you see. The others are very cattish to mc, tolling mc everything they can about his other flirtations and all pretending ho has made love to them in turn. But of course I merely laugh nnd swear I am only amusing myself with him, that I don't care twopence about him. Amusing myself! When I adore the very teacup his hand has touched end would cheerfully become a teacup myself to be touched by him. Idiot! fool! degraded wretch that I am! But my head positively swims when he comes into the room —it does indeed. Myne. Do pity mc, darling. It's the first and only time. And I can't help it. I suppose it's the Spanish 6train in mc working out. Spanish women love with all their hearts and souls. I've heard. Now, adieu, darling. Don't laugh at Your poor little lovesick friend, Gay. 111. Myrie. 1 believe I am going mad I A girl bus come here named Lilian Reay, and there's something between

her and Captain Whittenhall —I know thero is. When they were introduced she said, "Oh, Captain Whittenhall and I are quite old friends," and gave him such a look! I caught him glancing her way ever so many times when he was talking to mc, and when I asked him how long he had known her he answered, "I really can't remember," with overdone indifference. I am Retting a perfect cat. for I rejoice when anybody says anything nasty about her, and it gave mc quite a thrill of pleasure to hear Mrs Morland remark that Lilian Reav most be over thirty, if a day. Isn't it evil to feel so about a woman who has done one no harm? Isn't it horrible to be jealous at all? But how can one help it, when one loves, adores and idolises a man to distraction? I want him more than anything else in the world; I would give, ten years of my life to hear him say, "I love you" ; and it simply maddens mc when he looks at any other girl as if he had a special and private interest in her. There! by this time I shall have utterly disgusted and sickened you. I won't write another word on the subject, which shall be closed between us for ever. I know Captain Whittenhall doesn't care a scrap for mc, except in a flirty way, end I'm not going to wear my heart out for him. Your shamed and miserable Gabrielle. iv 7 It's all over, darling. He's engaged! I've cried till I am quite ill and my eyes are swollen out of my head. Tliero srems to be nothing left in the world for Your hearthrokon G. D. V. Myrtle! Myrtle! Myrtle! Will you believe it? I era engaged—-actually and positively engaged to Philip Whittenhall, and the happiest girl in tho whole world! It was a false report— what I told you in my last letter about his being engaged. He says he has never really cared for ony other girl but mc. Isn't it too lovely? I havo to pinch myself sometimes, to he sure that I'm awake and it is not all a glorious, heavenly dream. Oh, Myrie, he's such a darling, and he has given mo such an exquisite ring—c large emerald set in diamonds. We're to bo married in the spring. He says ho can't wait a moment longer than tho last day of April. As for mo, you may imagine whether I want to wait any longer! To be married to the one and only man in the whole world must be perfect bliss, and I shall count the hours to our wedding day.

Ho declares that he took a fancy to mc the very first time ho saw mc, and it was uiy cleverness thet attracted him most, though he has the bad tasto to think mo "very pretty." He says ha is not clever himself, and perhaps he isn't exactly bookish, but I don't want that kind of thing in a man; do you? It is enough that he is just a man,' one to lean on all through lifer a great, strong, bravo, sensible man, with Ino ronsenso about him. I don't think I could stand one who spouted poetry or talked about Art with a capital A. Philip isn't a bit like that. He talks about people and things, about sport and the theatres and the news of the day—and mc. Not that he talks much anyhow; but everything he says or does seems perfect. Oh, I am so happy, darling! I wish you could be as happy. I wish everyone could, end am sorry for the poor girls who never get their hearts' desire. Mine' aches for them. Write very soon. I long to introduce Philip to you. But you irustn't fall in love with him. Your ecstatic and glorified little Gay. VL~~ So many thanks, dearest, for your kind letter and congratulations. I am having a busy time acknowledging the felicitations that pour in from all sides. Everyone seems to think I am a very lucky girl, as indeed I am. Philip is such a dear! He sends mc lovely flowers nearly every day, and sometimes books, though I must say his choice in them is rather funny. But then a man never has the .-amo tastes ac a woman. Excuse ehort note, dear, as I've such heaps of things to do, and Philip ie taking mc to the opera tonight. Yours, Gay. VII. Dearest Myrrh: Can it really be a whole month since your lest awfully nice letter came? What a wretch I am! But my time has been tremendously taken up with the theatricals at Wilton Park. We've had such fun over them, rehearsing, etc, and I scored quite a nice little hit as Fanny Hardcestle. Philip wasn't in it. Hβ doesn't like acting, so he only hung about the wings, glowering at the men who made stage love to mc. It t is very silly, in my opinion, for anyone to take stage love-making seriously; but Philip is built that way. I suppose ho can't help it, but it mode mo feel very foolish when he scowled at Mr Etherington, who played Hastings, and sulked all through dinner because I laughed at him. I love acting, as you know, and it seems a pity I shnll never be able to enjoy it without Philip's spoiling all the fun. His glum face end air of virtuous disapproval would spoil new milk. However, I hape to break him of this soon. I've accepted the part of Rosalind in Mrs Morland's theatricals for her Blanlfet Fund, at Christmas, and if Philip objects, I can't help it. One may be in love with a man and yet not be his slave. I will be slave to no man, not even Philip. No time for more now, darling. Yours ever, Gabriello. vni. Myrtio dear, I'm so worried. Philip has cut up rough about the Morland theatricals, and says I must give them up. This I flatly decline to do. Result—row royal! Why should I give up what affords mc intense enjoyment just because ho doesn't happen to enjoy the same thing? I don't interfere with his pleasure, though the things he likes always bore mc frightfully. I've shivered through football matches and yawned through silly musical comedies to please him; yot when I get a chanco of playing Rosalind, a part I've always longed to play, he puts his foot down and seys that if I value his affection and esteem I shall have to give it up. Not that he kno|i|s in the least who Rosalind is. He has heard of Shakespeare, of course, and "As You Like It," but I'm sure he doesn't know any more about Rosalind than the man in the moon! In all my life I've never met anyone who has read so little as Philip. It is difficult to believe that he went to Rugby and Oxford. Anyhow, ho seems to have sedulously tried to forget all he ever learned thero! But please don't think, darling, I em saying anything against Philip. Of course we are very fond of each other and have quite happy times together—now and then. It is always a pleasure to go out with him, as he has such perfect manners and everybody likes him. He always knows exactly what to do at the right moment. And one cannoij help feeling proud of having such an extremely handsome man in tow. To' t*e other girl* look at him, and other men, too, is most amusing. He's a good fellow end gives mc lovely presents. The other day he brought mc one of those delicious uncut turquoise necklets—a perfect dream. I should miss him frightfully. But I do wish he were a little more reasonable' on the subject of acting. Amateurs so seldom get a chance of playing Shakes-

pea re that I really can't giro this up. Don't tell a soul whet I've written, will 3'ou, pet? Your always loving Gay. dET Darling 3lyrie: It is such a relief to sit down to a nice, long chat on paper with you after being bored almost to distraction by two hours of Philip's undiluted society. He is never very entertaining, and we exhausted long ago all the topics of conversation in which ho is interested, except himself, which is a topic we have discussed ad nauseam, till I am weary of it. But I can generally mnke some kind of talk with him, in the ordinary way, however tame, when he is in a fairly good humour. To-night he was not. He is savage because I won't give up the part of Rosalind, and someone liae told him it has to be played in a boy's dress, which ho thinks improper —for his fiancee. Of course the impropriotv of rows of half-clad chorus girls delights him, and he keeps his opera-glass glued to his eyes the -whole time they are on—but no matter! Well, ho put on that awful virtuousdisapproval air I've spoken of before, and sulked steadily, replying to everything I said with a monosyllable and never smiling, though I racked my brains for silly jokes to please him. Unfortunately, because we are engaged, everybody avoids us like poison. 1 longed for a third person present! It is very absurd—this fashion of always leaving engaged couples to boro each other By tho way, I often wonder what I ever saw in Philip that I thought so superior to other men. He is goodlooking, certainly, but not so very handsome, and decidedly heavy. I always did think fair men rather insipid, and my natural taste was for dark ones, though I am dark myself. I can't think why I changed my mind. Philip isn't brilliant in any way. His conversation, at its best, is the dullest of the dull and it has to be a very pointed joko that ho enn see at once. He -never reads anything but the sporting papers and the "Mail"; even the "Morning Post" is too "stodgy" for him; ho always goes to sleep at a concert, or really good play—he did at "Man and Superman"—think of it!— and ho simply couldn't read "In the Days of the Comot," which I gave him in an edition de luxe for his birthday— he said it was too slow for him. Fancy, Myrrh—Wells too slowl He likes tho most piffling stuff that I couldn't read to save my life. Oh, my dearest girl, be thankful you are not engaged to a man who bores you to death. My jaws ache with yawning, and tho effect is upon mc still. I'm too sleepy to write any more. Your always loving little pal, Gay. X. Myrie, do you think it very wicked and horrid for a girl to break h«r troth when ehe has once plighted it? I'm afraid you'll cay yes, as I know your strict ideas about honour and so forth. But oh, my dearest, surely there are extenuating circumstances. It can't be right to marry a man with whom one has positively nothing in common. Sometimes I look at Philip and listen to his monotonous voice till I almost detest him, and think of haying to see him opposite mc, and hear him talk to the ena of my days! How I could ever have fallen in love with him is a mystery. It Bcoms now like some baleful spell laid upon mc, such as Puck laid upon Titania, making her wake to worship a clown. Was it love at all, I wonder? Can love change bo quickly? If so, the poets must be all wrong, including Shakespeare, who said:

"Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds," and Scott who called true love "the secret sympathy." Mine could only have been the "fantasy's hot fire" that so quickly dies down to grey ashes. And yet it seemed bo real. Oh, dear Myrie, what a truly deceitful, miserable world we live in! Do advise mo what to do. I will try to take your advice, though it kill mc. For I reaUy want to do what is beet and right, if I am, as you call mc, a firefly. Your very wretched, , Gabrielle. XI. ' Myrtle dear, — •Your very beautiful letter has gone straight to my heart and fired my soul and conscience Of course you are right. I ought to have known my own mmd before venturing on an engagement for life, and now that I have given my word I cannot break it without perjuring myself. If, as you cay, I destroy Philip's faith in woman's truth and goodness, I may bo doing him an irreparable injury and spreading incalculable mischief. So I've xnado up my mind to follow your advice and try to like him—l can't cay "love," because that is dead /orever. Wo can, however, bo friends, and I mean to bo a good wifo to him when we are married. To show that I am in earnest, I have written to Mrs Morland asking her to find someone else to play Rosalind in her theatricals. Now do write and praiso mc for being such, a good girl. I seem to need somebody's praiso, for I feel very sore and buffeted, as if I had been through an awful storm. So I have—a storm of emotion! Oh, Myrie! to think of sitting opposite him at breakfast every morning for the rest of my life! Do pity mc. But how can you, when you don't know what he is like, have never been bored by him! I have cried myself to sleep the last two nights. It's frightfully silly, of course, but I had learned all Rosalind's exquisite lines and I did love acting her. I shall simply hate the girl, who takes my place. Good night, dear. I wish you could feel as I do; but you can't. You can only see what is right. I see what I want—and that is just the opposite! Your unhappy friend, Gabrielle. XIL Joy! Joy! joy wassail! lam free, free j free! Now don't be shocked, Myrie I've done nothing dishonourable. Philip aeked mo Inst night if I thought we could bo happy together, and-1 nad to answer candidly, "No;" At that he drew a breath of relief—l heard it distinctly—and said he had felt for a long time that we were unsuited to each other, but that ho should not dream of breaking off an engagement unless I really t wished it. He was quite sensible and really showed his good side. I tried toPconoeal my delight, so far as possible, and said that I did not wish to stand in the "way of his marrying some girl who would be all he desired in a wife. In fact, we both made very nice and proper speeches to each other and parted the host of friends. He is an awfully nice fellow—in some ways—and will, I am sure, make an excellent husband to some girl who can stand him. No doubt there are plenty who would adore him for his face, figure, and manners, as I did—at first. I havo wired to Mrs Morland and do hope the part of Rosalind is not filled up. You can't think how happy I am. It seems as if the whole world is en fete, and I am so idiotically excited that I go about with a broad wnile on my face, and people turn to look after mc in the streets, thinking I'm an escaped lunatic. Vive la liberte! I belipve if the monarch of the whole earth offered mc marriage to-morrow I would reject him "with much contempt and loathing"— like the virtuoua periwinkle-seller in Gilbert's poem. For it* is so lovely to feel no yoke on one's shoulders, after it has been pressing one down t for months. Congratulate ,mc once more, Myrie dear, *hia time on my—disengagement. Your very happy little friend, Gay. (Oh, so Gay!)