Without Introduction.

Evening Post, Volume LX, Issue 114, 10 November 1900, Page 1 (Supplement)

Without Introduction.

A LOVE STOBY OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY. If Harding had not had a twin brother, he would have been completely taken by surprise when the girl spoke to him in the train, for he was sure he had never met her before ; she was not the kind of girl, to be forgotten. But his striking re- • semblance to his brother explained ther mistake. The girl was the only person in the carriage when Harding entered it. She was of medium height, fair, with light hair. She had barely glanced at him as he 'entered the train; she was buried in a new magazine. While he was watching her profile/ the girl turned sudsuddenly, caught his> eye, and then impulsively turned towards him holding out her hand. "How do you do?" she said, cordially. "I'm delighted to meet a friend ! I've been travelling for hours, and I'm bored to death." Harding greeted his twin- brother's friend with cordiality equal tocher own. "Wonder where Ted met her?" he thought. "I wonder if it was at Buxton or at the seashore? Oh, perhaps he's waltzed with her. I wonder who on earth she is?" "You might at least say you are glad to see me," continued the girl. Harding lied cheerfully. "I was thinking of you just before the train came in," he said, "and wondering when we should have such pure, unalloyed jollity again, as that day we spent together." » The girl looked at him in amazement, and 'tlien she gave a musical peal of •laughter. "Indeed, yes," she said. "And do you remember,'' the girl went on, "that lovely evening on the lake?" "Don't 1?" said Harding. He was about to add a- reminiscent remark of safe and general character about the dip of the bars, when the girl added : "How clear and -frosty the air was, and how our skates skimmed over the ice." Harding almost gasped at his narrow escape. He decided to let the girl do her own talking. "And do you remember that evening on the verandah" — the girl lowered her voice suggestively, "when it was too dark to see my eyes, and you ■ declared they were blue., though I almost persuaded you they were hazel?'" "How could I forget it?" said Harding, with a bold plunge. "But you did'nt 'almost persuade' me. I know your eyes too well." And he gazed into them. "If that ia the case," said the girl, and her voice frosted over suddenly, "how did it happen that you didn't recognise me when you got into the train ; you looked straight at me?" "My unfortumiite eyes !" stammered Harding, clutching desperately at the first excuse that came. I'm so confoundedly near-sighted, you know/ On my honour !" "You explanation, though far from original, does you credit," said the fairhaired girl stiffly ; , "but I can suggest a better one. I'll rriako you a present of it. You never saw me before. You do not even know my name. You saw that I had mistaken you for someone I knew, and you were not honourable enough to undeceive me. 1 saw you were uncertain about the lake, and I tested you on the verandah. The verandah and the hazel eyes were pure fiction on my part — and on yours." • "Oh, Miss — !" Harding paused, foiled by the awkwardness of not knowing her name. The - girl's face relaxed a little. Sh© 1 struggled with, a smile. The smile won

the day, ana then Harding went over and took the seat beside her. "I beg, your pardon," he said, humbly ; "and it you won't hear my explanation, send me away. " Evidently you took me for your friend Mr. Harding. Well, I'm not Harding. At least I'm not your Harding." "I'm very sure you're not," said the girl hastily. " ' "I mean, I'm not the Harding you thought. I'm not myself, you see; I'm my brother." "Then who are you when you're not your brother?" sadd the girl. "I'm Will Harding," he explained, "and the man you met before was my twin brother Ted. He's the' image of me, and people can't tell us apart — or together, for that matter. This sort of thing is always happening. We're both so used to it that we never correct the impression— just live up to the- role." "You didn't deceive' me," said the girl. "I knew when you began to talk' that I'd never met you before." Her eyes were brimming over with fun. "If I haven't said enough," added Harding, "I hereby offer my most humble apologies." "They are accepted;" said the girt, gravely. "But you don't deserve 4t." -, "I-,know," said Harding, humbly. "Perhaps this will be a lesson to me. Ynsi see I never got into trouble before. We always prime each other on important things — if we propose to a girl, for example, or borrow a sovereign from a friend." "W'dll you, get that umbrella for me, please?" asked the girl hurriedly. "This is my station.' f "Already !" exclaimed Harding, in dismay. "And you haven't even told me your name !" The girl coloured till even her ears pink under the fluffy hair. "''.You might ask-^Ted," she said, with a backward glance from the door. . When Harding went back to the seat she lsid vacated he fdund.her handkerchief on the floor. On one corner was engraved tie monogram, "E.L.D." "Ted,"" he said casually, a day or two later, "do ydu know any girl whose initials are E.L.D." "Elsie Davis?" queried Ted. "Never,!' said' Will. Red hair." '"Ethel Dubois," suggested Ted. "Black eyes and hair," 'said Will. /'This one lis blonde. Not too blonde,' you know ; not bleachy ; but lots of light hair with glints in it, and blue eyes with, stunning lashes, and good carriage." "Pretty bad case; isn't it-'r said Ted, sympathetically^ "None of> your business," sajd his ' brother, discourteously ; and they parted. The world' is so small that it is* hot surprising that Harding eventually met the fair-haired girl. It happened at a dance given at a litrge country house, and the girl proyed to be one of the house party. She was standing at the end of a long hall whence first saw her ; and at the sight of her the words he was saying died on his lips, and he interrupted himself to ask : '"Who is that girl in blue— the light-haired one with the- long lashes?" » "Eleanor Davenport," said the matron at his side. "Don't you know her?" "Will you present me?" he eagerly demanded. But? just then someone else claimed the matron's attention, the crowd shifted, and when the space was clear again Miss Davenport had vanished. "I want to speak to you for a moment, Mr. .Harding," said Miss Davenport, a few minutes later. Harding turned quickly at the sound of her voice. "I have a confession) to make, and if I wait a formal introduction I may not have the chance." , They were standing near a screen of palms and Mis/ Davenport stepped behind it and motioned him to' follow. "I don't suppose you'll ever understand," she said, the colour mounting to her wavy hair, "but 1 must tell you how it 'happened, and it's not because I an afraid to meet your brother — it's because I'm ashamed of myself. Will you believe that?" / "Certainly," said Harding. "I'll believe it if you say so, of course, though I'm not clairvoyant." "Don't tease me, please," she said. "It is awful to tell — but — I never met your brother." "Oh, don't take it so much to heart," said Harding. "Think if you had never met me, now." "It's too serious for joking," protested Miss Davenport., "You see, it happened like this : I had been travelling for hours and there wasn't a thing to do. I tried to read, and reading made my head ache, and I was bored to death, and then you got on the train. What did you say?" "Nothing," said Harding. "Please go on." "Well, when I saw you I thought what a pity it was: that I should be bored and you should be bored, when we might — we might — " "Might what?" said Harding. "Oh, you won't help ma out one bit !"• she sighed. "Why, if w£ weren't so conventional, or if we were only children, don't you see?— we should just have spoken naturally, and both have been amused, and forgotten to be bored." "I see," said Harding. "And then I thought, suppose I should speak t6 you just as if T really were making a mistake and thought' I knew you. And so I did. And you were so funny"— her blue eyes (shot light. "You were so anxious to act your part, and you acted it so very badly. And when you confessed and apologised! But I can't" tell you how despicable I felt, after leading you into it"; and I registered a solemn vow after I left you that if ever I met you again I would confess. I am really sorry, Will you believe me?" ( "I don't know," said Harding solemnly. "You have deceived' me once, you see." "But I never did it before," she pleaded. "And I was so bored." "You have destroyed an illusion," said Harding, sadly. "You have destroyed my faith in men — I should say, in woman. Besides, what will your chaperon say?" "I shall never tell her. ' "I should think not! What will she say when I tell her?" "You won't; you couldn't!" "I shall unless you bribe me." "I am completely at your mercy," she said. "What are your terms?" Your card, with as many dances as I choose." "I surrender " "The first— and— " "The first is promised/'"Not with my permission; However, I'll waive the first, and take the' second and the fourth." "Hallo, Ted!" said a voice that fell familiarly on Miss Eleanor's ears. Nothing of the monopolist about you, is there? If Miss Davenport is willing, introduce me. We've already met mr formally, but I'd like to have it on the proper footing, so that I may put in my humble and respectful Petition for a dance." Eleanor Davenport looked up. The man to whdm she had made her confession and the new-comer . were as much alike as two golf balls. She :tuftt-' ed from one to the other. '

"Do \ oil mean to say,"- she cried to the latest arrival, "that you are the one I met in the train?" "I have that honour." , ~ "Then you " Eleanor turned to Ted^ in wrath. "Do you call yourself a maiu of honour? Give me the dance-card. You shall do penance." "Don'fc take away these dances," begged the culpjrit. "Anything else. Not that!" . . " "You shall have just as many as your brother chooses to assign <;o^ you," said Eleanor relentlessly. ' . "I'll give you one, dear Ted," said Will, cheerfully. "Thank you very much, Miss Davenport. I'm honestly appreciative." Later in the evening, when they were > sitting out the last dance, Eleanor said : "Don't you think, Will, we ought to huunt up your brother? Of course, it was terribly mean of him, but still — " "I'm. in no hurry," said Harding., "Ted will keep. I'm very happy here." ■ "But I thought," said Eleanor, the ' lashes drooping over her blue eyes, "1 thought you said you always told each other when you had proposed to a girl." ; "That," said Harding, taking her hands in both of his, "is only^hen we} are refused!"' . , i