HIS LORDSHIP AND THE POET.

Press, Volume LXIII, Issue 12866, 26 July 1907, Page 10

HIS LORDSHIP AND THE POET.

(By KATHARINE TYNAN, in "M.A.P.") His Lordship, from the time he wore • ' Velvet suit and his hair in golden curls falling upon a lace collar, had ever and always been an egoist; a handsome and pleasant egoist, but an egoist all the same. The woman who suffered most from his egoism, Mary Ancaster,' was the. one who would have been the first to deny its' existence; although somewliere at the back of her clear mind she must have known that Lord Kilclare in his dealings with her had proved himself cold and selfish. Hβ had begun to engross her when they were both neighbours' children, and she had had the small girl's devotion for the big boy. She had fagged for him in those days till he came to that age when the code of honour forbids a bo; to allow a girl to fag for him. Then came Eton and Oxford, with a year or two at a German University. The gap brought home to his Lordship, as contiguity might not, Mary's exceeding cbarm. Hera was tlie benignant type of beauty. A fair oval face, softly-band-ed brown hair, an expression serene and beneficent, a figure of soft curves end gracious lines. Lord Kilclare •howod himself a man of taste when he selected Mary Ancaster for his attentions. Everyone said it was the most suitable thing possible. Their Lands adjoined. Their fathers had been friends. Both were handsome, well-liUod, clever, healthy, high in everyone's esteem. Tiio county looked for the marriage to take place within a very short time of Mr Ancaster's death, which occurred some three months after Lord Kilclare had settled down on his estates. Of course there must be a period of mourning; but then, —there would I>© ft wedding, end Kilclare would onco more be open to the county as it liad not been these many years, both Lord Kilclare's parents having died earl. 1 * in hb minority. The county waited in rain for the marriage, the engagement. After a time people began to murmur, to say that it was a shamo. If Lord Kilclare did not meen to marry Miss Aucaster ho should not be a dog in the monger. He had a way of driving off possible and probablo suitors —for Miss Anoaster's calm beauty, ne less than her lovely character, brought her many lovers. As soon as one began to show himeeLf as a lover, to claim privileges, his Lordship would come on the scene and drive off the intruder. It was Mary this and Mary thut Avith "him—she was ftlways Mary to him as he was always

Boy to her—and the defeated aspirant would retire into the background. None had ever been quite strong enough to challengo his Lordship's* claim. There was something in Mary's eyes as they rested on him which was more effectual than anything his Lordship could have done in persuading the suitors that their cause was a lost' ono. The years passed, and people had grown used to the queer state of things in which his Lordship kept ell othrfr men at bay, claiming the place by Miary's side without ever going any farther. They said among themselves that if Miss Ancestor would but turn him out of doors she would soon bring him to her feet. As it was he hod all ho wanted—someone to listen to him, to smilo on him, to appreciate his sallies and his more serious moods —there was no doubt his l»ordship< -had plenty of brains—they walked together and danced together end rode together and hunted together. To do his Lordship justice, if he never let another man approach Miss Ancaster as even a possible suitor, he himself was coldly uninterested in the various pretty girls who Vould hare detached him from Mary's side. "You spoil a man for other girls, Mary," he had often said to her: and she would smile her bright patient smile on his handsome, self-sufficient face. To be sure, Mary was very unlike the other girls of the neighbourhood. Sho was interested in the things in which they were not—in politics, in nrt, in literature, in science. If she had not been she would hardly have satisfied Kilclaro, as it would hardly have been possible for the attachment to remain at the point of friendship all thoso years. His Lordship belonged to a good many learned societies. Hβ wrote occasionally in the reviews. He was a brilliant, eloquent, intemperate talker. A thousand pities, people soid, that he didn't go into public life, beyond the petty concerns of the rural society over which he took as much peine as though the infinitesimal affairs were of world-wide importance. He was very candid about it to Mary. When was ho less than candid with her? "Old Chasofield asked mc to-day," ho said, with a laugh, "why I hadn't mado more out of my abilities, gone into politics or something of that sort. I didn't tell him the real reason, Mary, which is that I couldn't have you constantly to talk to. You've tied mc up finely to your apron-strings all these vcars."

She smilofl at him again, a smile of infinite patience. How was it that ho did not see, did not desire, the natural ending of surli a necessity? He probably never would see it now. They had both left hot youth behind them. He was writ in the Peerage for all to read thirty-five years old. She would never see thirty again. Ho would be satisfied till one or other of them died with that anomalous bond between them; he would never now want to make her his wife. She was always ready to listen to him, always* cheerful and sympathetic and understanding. He never could have guessed at the regrets that ached in her heart when <he thought of what she ought to have had—the husband, the home, the children.

There were tastes into which he did not follow her. One was her love of poetry. His mind wns more practical. Somewhere at the back of it he thought that poetry was a poor thing for a man; all very fine for women to write about their thoughts and feelings, but a man ! The whole egoist in him rose to rebuke the poet.

It was therefore an unpleasant surprise to him when Mary told him that she had nskrd Geoffrey Chapone, the young port, to visit her at the Ivy House. Mary had grown independent of late, claiming the privileges of her years. Besides {here was her Aunt Sophie, a scatter-brained, elderly spinster who had played propriety for Mary during the years since her father's death. Lord Kilclare had often laughed over the humour of Miss Sophy Ancaster's sinecure. Mary had been looking after her since she was seven.

"What on earth do you want him for?" his lordship asked with a frown. "He's a tiresome poseur. "Why I was introduced to him h.ilf-a-dozrn times ln<t season, yet invariably the next time we met he failed to reeocnise mc. Am I so very much like all tho rest of the world then?"

•'He is always in the clouds." .said Mary repressing a smile. "He hardly ever knows anyone. I believe. Then? though he has such beautiful eyes they are really nurblind."

His lordship felt annoyed—a very unusual fWlini: for him. for ho wa< pi'iierally too well pleased with himself not to be pleased with tl-o word. Beautiful eves, indeed ! What the denco

did a man want with beautiful eyes? Not that Chapone was a man. No, ho was ft, consummate ass. The illtemper surged in his hoad. •'I shan't be able to stand him very lon-;. Mary." he said, "so I give you frank warning. I might have to kick him one day. I beg your pardon, Mary." She was looking at mm in amazement. ''I can see lie's going to spoil everything. It has always been so ideal iii thi* house. I think I'll run up to town while he's here." Rut ho did not run up to town. Instead he was more at the Ivy House than ever. To his bewilderment he found that for the first time since he had known and claimed Mary someone had the incredible, hardihood to push him out, and thi'.t someone, a .111-Urn-jawed, hollow-eyed. starveling poet who sppmed amazingly unconscious of the fact of Lord Kilclnre s existence, had a way of looking over him and through him. of not. hoarinn him when he spoke. Im-n-cliblo! Incredible! And although Ins Lordship him an insolent poseur in Jus heart he knew that tins attitude was not pose at all. but perfectly genuine .that, incredible, as it might seem, he Lon. Kilflare, counted tor absolutely notnini to Geoffrey Chapoi.c whom someone had picked out ot a garret. star>inc. only a year or two ago. Heoffrev Chapono to hke _ s position at the Ivyl the. weeks pa.<wd and ho shov.e.l n g> of a desire! to bo gone, >or ,hd Mi ; wm to wish to get n< ol 1n...:; «hat was the worst of it, AU tho old m <rcour«> and conipanionshii) which 1..w ,ro«-n as nwesary to his I.«rdwas always there— nlivays Idling at Marys side, or at he.r t< et. rending poem- to her; always being co<.setrduy that -absurd person, Miss Sophie Ancastor, who looked after tho poet as though ho had been n conva!r 6: -enr, child, feeding him up with all 01 dainties, humouring him, hanging on hi-s utterances. Why, confound it! for tho matter ot that, Mary hung on his utterances, too. Slio never seemed to get too much of tho poetry. Life was nl-toge-thor spoilt for hie Lordship in those days. Ho grtfiv short-teinporod. The rankling sen.-o of injurj- was ulways with him. lie. wouldn't have believed it of Mary. She, had disappointed him. Kho was like the rtet of the women. Whilo ho said it. he knew in his heart that lie uttered a hemsy. It, was the. Key. Samuel Smeo, the* freckled, snub-nosed par-on of a neighbouring parish, who put the copingstone <;n tho editico of his liordship'e discomfort.

His Lordship detested .Since. They had been at echool arid college together, and Smce had never treated him witii proper respect. Since was the sort of person to poke you in the ribs with » fore-finger to point one of his fatuous jokes, no matter how aloof your manner was with him.

'"Well," said the Rev. Samuel, intercepting hie Lordship a« he walked home from the Ivy House, in, if it must be confessed, a horrible temper. "Bo our lovely Miss Ancaster is to marry the poet. "We are. all inconsolable. We used to think it would have been you, Kilcare; but you were too dilatory. Dilatorinese in lovo is a crime."

Lord Kilclare walked awuy from him not trusting himself to speak. He had nearly felled the harmless iuue man as he chattered.

Unoonaciouely he walked back the way he had come. His mind was in a ferment. Xot that he believed that littlo a3s Since. Mary would never do such a thing, never! Hut, good Heavens, that anyone could suppose it possible. Mary! His Mary! A sudden passion of jealous ownership surged in his broast. What an ass he had been! Ho had deserved to lose her, his one peerless woman. He knocked' at the door of the Ivy House which he had left half an hour before, and asked Green, the butler, if he would tell Miss Ancaeter that he wished to see her. '"On business, Groen, he said; and blushed. Ho and Green were ovd friende.

"I shall wait here," he said, turning the handle of the bare, auetere room where Mary's father had transacted all his business, a room sacred to his daughter.

In a few minutes ehe aim© in, glowing, in a trailing gown of autnmn-leaf colon red. velvet, from which her heautifu'i ehoulders rose snowily. I 'I am so glad you changed your mind and will dino with us after all " she said; then paused, in a bewildered alarm at some subtle change j n the fuce which hud been too seif-satiefied ah these years to bo altogether es•Mary," he said, "I've como backnot for my dinner, although I'm a hungry man—but for your love, Mary I vo discovered that I'm hend-over-ears in lovo with you. I always have been though I must have eeomod as cold as a fish, tSomething has come awake m mc. I want you, darling." lied as a roe© she gave herself to his embrace.

I thought you wore going' to let mo die an old maid," she whispered .because, of course, you wou'.d not epeak, yet I wee youre, and there never could be anybody else." ;I met Smce.''' ho said, laughing triumphantly. '-He said—confound his impertinence—that you wore going to marry the poet, I very nearly punched his head."

. But you did better," she eaid, mailing at him. '-The poor poet! He is so comfortable for the first time in his life 0n« didn't grudge it to him, although it has rather spoilt thincs for us, Roy." fc "No, podr devil, , ' eaid his Lordship magnanimously.