An Unsuspected Passion.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIX, Issue 83, 9 April 1910, Page 10

An Unsuspected Passion.

By A. E. JACOMB. (All Bights Beserrad.)

Mrs. Patterson was dressing for din- 1 ner. Two months ago she would have : thought such a formality not only unnecessary but pretentious. Sho and her husband would have sat down to their | meat tea with no more ceremony than J washing their hands. Bub they had left Scotland behind them, and their habits had altered since they had been at the Hotel d'Ancleterre, a change accepted reluctantly by Mrs. Patterson but with increasing pleasure by Andrew her husband. She felt out of place in the sunny Riviera, and she missed the grey Scotch town where sho had spent her life. Nor did it teem right to her to turn her back on the cold and the snow which Providence, in making her Scotch, had intended her to experience in the winter. Sunshine and warmth all the year round might be suitable for light-mind-ed foreigner?, but it had never been meant for Northerners to enjoy. Though she was vaguely uneasy, her faith in her husband's wisdom prevented her blaming herself seriously. What Andrew tboagbt was right she was prepared to accept; that had been her creed until a few days ago, even now she I was not conscious of any lessening of her ' admiration for him. Andrew was late in coining to change bis coat, the dressing bell had rung ten myjptes ago, and she wondered with some impatience where be was loitering. Since tiiey had arrived on the Mediterranea&r shore she had been reluctantly fotced-to notice a growing laziness in his habits. The staid .lawyer, whose life had been regulated with minute accuracy, was developing unpunctuality. He had been late for lunch that day, he had been chatting in the garden with Miss Bayley, Rosie Bayley her friends called her. Certainly he was enjoying his holiday ; he was looking yovmtper and fresher. Mrs. Patterson had been befanTUio. glass merer ly for thie pnSrpOse of putting her cap straight, now, with a flash of consciousness, she gtenoed at her face. No, she bad not grown younger. Her fifty years .were marked. She turned quickly as her husband entered the room. He was a spare elderly man, thin-featured and greyhaired. He was slightly older than his wife, but looked more alert. As he came in he had a pleased, self-satisfied ex-, pression, as though he had jatfc said something brilliant which ho would not willingly forget. "Why, Andrew, you'll be late. Didn't you hear the bell?" said his wife. "Never mind tfee bell, Cas*ie," he answered. "Time is made for slaves, not for holiday-makers. " "You'd beslbe quick and change your coat," she responded, as he sank brto an arm-chair "The second bell'll be ringing any minute. Where have you been this long time?" "I've been having a chat with Miss Roee," he answered. "With that Miss Bayley?" "Ay, and a pretty lass she is, and fond of good conversation. We had many a laugh, and we lost sight of the timel"- . ' •'I'm thinking you'd better have been getting ready than chattering downstairs," said Mrs. Patterson coldly. "You'll be late for your dinner." "And what rf that." "You're a different man to what you »re at home if you're willing to wait ©ne- minnte for your food." fte was unused to anything but approbation fronTlfisr lips, and her words offended him.- "What's the matter rowf he asked. "Mayn't I have a chat now and again? I might an well be at home if Tm to be held to every minute. She flushed a little, and said apologetically. "I didn't mean to anger you, Andrew, but I dislike going into uiat great room when all the folks are ready to stare at you, and if you're late — "' "Can't you go in alone?" he said, unacpeaeedL Sne had never entered the salle-a-manger alone, and she dreaded doing so, but now her pride was hurt, and, without a word, she left the room. The bell rung as she set foot in the bar© white corridor, and downsjtairs she found the guests of the hotel flowing inU> the big garish room with a babble of "voices and a clatter of plates. Mrs. Patterson hung back. She had not yet got' used to eating in public, nor to the attentions of the waiters in the clothes which, until cow, she had considered as the rarely-worn dress of a gentleman. She hoped that Andrew would have hurried *fter her, but he did Dot come, and- after lingering for a little while she passed to her seat at the long table. She" was already sorry for her momentary irritation, and blamed herself with disproportionate conscientiousness for having annoyed her husband. She Kept looking towards the door, anxious to seize the first chance of showing him that she was penitent. Her neighbour tried to talk to her, but at her best her conversation was intermittent, now it was monosyllabic. The two chairs beyond her husband's were empty. Miss Bayley and her invalid mother sat there generally. Mrs. Patterson found herself hoping that Miss Rose would be kept from coming to dinner by me claims of her mother. She reproached herself for her thought, but it recurred when, as tho fish was being served, she heard her husband's voice, and saw him enter th« rcom with Miss Eose. . They were laughing together, and he pulled back the girl's chair for her before th» waiter could do so. They settled themselves at the tahlo without noticing- Mrs. Patterson. Tho latter tried to attract -her husband's attention by some~remark, "but in the noise all round her timid voice was unheard. Ho seemed unconscious of her presence as be leaned forward to talk to Rose. .Miss Bayley was an ordinary pretty ycxmg. woman, past real girlhood but still Ringing to U» privileges. She was incapable of taking any interest in hor fellow-women while a member of the other sex was in sight. For want of better material in the hotel- she' was quite - ready to flirt with the elderly Bfotsman. Mr. Patterson had followed his wife magnanimously prepared to show her that he felt no resentment for her odd outburst of annoyance. Unfortunately, in the hall he had found Miss Rose hovering pathetically round the door of th>» dining-room. "Ob, Mr. Patterson, you are an anger/ she had cried. "Poor mamma, can't. come down to-night, and I do so hr.te going in all by my poor little self ! Do let me go with you ! May I, please?" He was flattered, and beamed on her delightedly. "May you romo with me? Of course you may, I'll be the proudest man in the room. It's an ordeal for a young girl like you to go in alone." Sh* laughed. This funny old Scotsman amused her. "We must take care of each other," she said, "But<wbe»*3 your' wife?" "She couldn't wait for me, he «n-gv.-red. The girl had soothed his vanity which his wtfe had hurt, and he Jelt gratefo) to her, and, -mth natural reaction, less kndlj tomds his Casaie. She would see thab sane on»-appreciat-ed him.

Mr. Patterson and Miss Rose behaved to each other like old friends. To the Scotswoman Mils Bayley's shrugs and smiles, her little ways and wellpractised ingenuousness, seemed the wiles of a worldly woman, of one who feared not God nor regarded man. The simple-minded lady, classed Rose Bayley I as but little better than one of those lost creatures of whom she had heard, but, to her knowledge, never met. The long meal was over at last. Mr*. Patterson went into tho drawing-room with the other elderly ladies, and nethusband had not spoken to her. He had never treated her in that way before, aud she was burdened with a sense of guilt. She did not blame Andrew ; be was a man, and not to be judged by her woman's standard. She blamed herself for having vexed him, but most of all she blamed Rose Bayley. She went up to her room early. A feeling of home-sickness came over her, not for the fint time, bat it had never been ro acute. She threw back the window-shutter and looked out. On one side shone the lights of the old town, one above the other, in the streets that climbed the hill. Below, the pier waa outlined with lights, and the yachts m the harbonr were marked by green and red and yellow spots of light *U reflected in quivering line* on the water She knew the place was beautiful ; but she had never felt the need of beauty, and she longed for the ugly stone houses of the town she knew, and for the old friends whose sober lives were a reflection of each other's, and of her own. She closed the shutters sharply. What an ungrateful woman she was! Andrew had not had a real holiday for years, not since he had succeeded his father in the office, and that was three or four years after her marriage. Ho had been looking forward to this trip for months, spurred to it by a friend lately returned from South Europ*, and how eagerly he had made a slight attack of influenza, the excuse for realising his wish. She reminded herself of all this, and o€ his caro in arranging everything to cause her as little discomfort as possible on the long journey. She knew she ought to be perfectly contented with such a husband as Andrew and not a real trouble in her life. Of course it was only natural that he should like to talk to a pretty girl, and she ought to be proud to see her husband so appreciated and at his ease with the bewildering people who oppressed her into dumbness. Following some impulse, she went to the mirror and looked at herself. She had never been pretty, so it was not the instrument of torture to her that it is to those who watch their beauty fade day by day. Since her girlhood she had only used her glass to see if she was neat and tidy enough for Andrew's eyes. If he admired her she was satisfied. Now, as she looked at herself, she admitted that advancing years might cal' for some extra personal attentions. She would buy a brighter ribbon for her cap ; she had a fancy for scarlet. She would try and be more cheerful too, more like the other elderly, but still sprightly ladies who adorned the hotel. She would talk more. She would try to discover the good qualities that must be concealed in Rose Uayley, and which, no doubt, Andrew had discovered at once. She would do all this, she would be more sociable, gayer in dress. She smiled at herself in tho glass and once more she saw the fuller cheeks and brighter eyes of the girl Andrew Patterson had loved and wooed many years ago. At thai moment her husband came | into the room. "What! Admiring yourself ;u; v the glass?" he said. "That's an idle thing to do at your time of life." >She flushed a little and answered. "I was just thinking I'd get a brighter ribbon for my cap. The ladies here seem to wear gayer colour* than th<>y do at home \Nhat do you thing of scarlet, Andrew?" "Get what you like, my dear," he answered indifferently. She was silent fcr a moment. She was trying to bring herself to confess that she had been wrong in annoying him before dinner. It needed a great effort to overcome her inbred reluctance to express any emotion, but at last she said. "I'm sorry I angered you before dinner, Andrew. I said more than I should have done." "Very likely, my dear. That's a fault we husbands get used to," ne answered, with unnatural flippancy. "And I'm sure I don't remember what you said." '"Yon were late for dinner and I was vexed. You didn't speak to me all dinner and I know you mere hurt." "Bah, Cassie! So you think I'm a child to take offence at a trifle?" he said contemptuously. "I was just talking to my neighbour and not thinking of you," and he went on with his undressing. His uneasy consciousness that the apology should nave come from him made hers the more irritating. .She said no more. Long after he was asleep she lay awake, and when she slept at last she dreamed that the was young again, and pretty, but, the dream was too short. A fortnight passed, and Mrs. Patterson tried hard to be gayer, and to cultivate the acquaintance of Miss Bay ley, but that young woman had no taste for elderly ladies, and saw no reason for affecting one. Fnnally Mrs.. Patterson abandoned the attempt. She was lonely, for Andrew was often away making excursions in tho mountains. Once or twice he had been to Monte Carlo, and even his wife's unquestioning reipect for his actions was shaken. She began to hate the sun, and the blue sky, and the sparkling changeleu «ea. She was bewildered by the talkative native* with their free gestures, and by the crowd of coimopolitan smartly-dressed visitors. To her untravelled mind there was a auggettion of immorality in her surroundings ; she felt like an unwilling spectator of a play she did not approve. Yet Andrew enjoyed everything. She had never seen him so gay, and Miss Rose was hi* constant companion. ' As Mrs. Patterson crossed the hail one afternoon she saw Andrew and Miss Bayley talking with a knot of people. She jouied them and asked what they were discussing. No one seemed to hear her, or, if they did, they paid no attention to her. She touchea Andrew's arm and asked what the talk was abont. "Only a- donkey excursion for tomorrow, my dear," he answered ; then, turning back to the other*, he went on with th,e conversation. "And how many shall we be? You, Miss Rose, and Miss Kaye, and Mr. and Mrs. Biddle, and myself — " . "I think I should like to go," said Mrs. Patterson, with sudden courage. "No, no, we shall be out the whole day. It would be too much for you," eaid Andrew. "You'd far better stay quietly at home " She drew him a little apart from the others. "I was alone all yesterday. Let lhe come, Andrew, or if you think Fd best not, will you stay at home with me? Do, dear." He listened impatiently. "Look here, Miss Rose," he said, half jestingly, but with a riug of annoyance in his voice. "Here's my wife waato me to •toy at home with her. Shall I?"

"Oh, no, really, Mrs. Patterson, jou must let him come," said Rose. "1 don't just see how you can go, Andrew,' ..*rs. Patterson insisted, boldly ignoring the girl. "We've promised to take tea with Dr. and Mrs. M'Nab. They'll be hurt if we give them up." "You can go, Cassie. It'll be something for you to do." he answered. "Why shouldn't 1 gt> along with you?" she said, after a pause. "I'm telling you it'll be too far. j You'll just be making yourself ill." She saw Roso smile as Andrew spoke, and her willingness to find some good point in the girl vsuished. She hated her. "Really, dear Mrs. Patterson, you miut let him come," said Rose. "We can't do without him. He's the life and soul of the party, aren't you, Mr. Patterson?" He smiled delightedly. "Ah, you're a flatterer, Miss Rose," he said. "It's too far for you, Andrew," eaid his wife. "We shall have donkeys," put in Rose. * "Are you going donkey-riding at your age, Andrew?" He frowned. "And why not, Cassie? I'm not decrepit yet, and I shall please myself." The other idlers had strolled away and only Rose staved with the Pattersons. She watched them with amusement, "vi courae we don't want your husband to I come with us againat hw will," ahe. said now. "Bat he seemed so anxious' to join "And I'm going to join yon. I'm not such a feeble old man as my wife wants to make me out. You go to your teafight, Csesie, and let me go my own way. Come, Miss Rose, let's go after the others," and Mrs. Patterson was left alone In the nail. She wandered out into the garden, but the sunshine seemed less bright than usual until she had wiped her eyes. Bhe did not see Andrew again till the evening ; once more he had been late for dinner, but this time *he hsd not waited for him. The two h.ad never hsd a serious difference before, their bitterest disagreement* had been over household trifles, and had been settled in a few minutes. Mrs. Patterson could not believe, now, that Andrew would insist on leaving her alone on the morrow. He would stay if *he had asked him when that siren Mi» Rose was not by. She *«s not an experienced woman, ijnd her knowledge *>f men wan limited to her husband, whom she had always considered all a man should be. Had she been more worldly-wiie she would havo taken some pains to lessen the difference between herself and Mirs Rose. It did not occur to her that, her appearance might affect Andrew unfavourably, or she would not have taken off her cup and put on a shapeless wrapper. As it wan, when Andrew entered the room the right of his wife'n thin grey hair and shrunken figure made him involuntarily compare her with Rose's younger and fuller personality. "Andrew," began Mrs. Patterson. "Well, what ii» it?" he answered, rather irritably. He had been feeling ashamed of himself, but his wife's wistful look and timid voice annoyed him. "I want you to do something for me, will you, Andrew?" "I must hear what it is before 1 promise," he answered. "I didn't want to say more about it before that young woman " "Are you meaning Miss Rose?" he asked. 8h» nodded. "I don't think much of the lassie. She's fly-away and giddy. I wonder you're so fond of listening to her, Andrew." "She's a very Fensible young woman," ho replied warmly. "It's a treat to talk with such a pretty bright young girl." "To my mind she's not to be compared to Jenny Macfarlane or two or three of tho lassies at home. Yon used to make a favourite of Jenny." "Jenny's well enough, but it wa* always more duty than pleasure talking to her, poor girl. As for the other lassies, they're lifeless dollies beside Miss Rose." They're decent well-behaved young women, and they don't go running after men old enough to be their father !" cried Mrs. Patterson. "You're forgetting yourself," saia her husband, coldly. ' She was instantly ashamed of her hasty words, and her sallow face reddened. She hated Rose Bayley still more for being the cause of her folly. There was silence in tho room. Mr. Patterson moved about deliberately, folding his clothe* with more than his usuaJ exactness. His wife sat motionless, watching him. At last she could keep quiet no Jonger. "Andrew, I've vexed you with my nonsense," sho said shyly. "But I'm tired; I've been alone all day." "Well?" said he, as she paused. "I *ish you would stay at home tomorrow. The Macnabs will be vexed if we disappoint them, and surely you'll not care for the donkey-riding T" He looked at her and hesitated. He was a good-hearted man, and affectionate, but the change of surroundings and the attentions of a comely young woman had temporarily demoralised him. Donieslicity had lost it* charms when he tasted once more of the livelier pleasures of his youth. "Stay with me," said Mrs. Patterson again. "We're both too old for these day* of sight-seeing. It's time we kept quiet and left donkey-riding and gadding about to young folks." "Speak for yourwlf, if you please, Cassie!" he said, sharply. Her words had broken the dream* of his youth. "I'm going to-morrow, and in future I'll be glad if yon'H uot make a fool of mo before company a* you did to-day." "I didn't mean — " she began. But now his vanity was roused. "I'll not be interfered with, that* all," s» said, loftily. "I don't want all the hotel to laugh at me for an old dodderer who can't stir without his wife. She did not answer. As ahe lay awake that night she was filled with jealousy and bate, and with a longing for the lost youth that had seemed to valueless when site po6M«sed it. She had never hated ony one before but now, in the feverish state of her mind, she eagerly imagined a hundred horrors overtaking Rote leyThe party of walkers and donkey-riders set out early <ho next morniug, and all day Mrs. Patterson was alone, for, in •pite of her efforts, she had not succeeded in acquiring the art of sociability. Andrew and she had said no more about the difference between them. He was kind, perhaps a little conscience-stricken, but m»o wa« silent, even for her. She had a headache, she said, and be remarked that it was a good thing that she had decided not to join the expedition. All the long day she sat in the garden, or wandered up and down the terrace, staring listlessly at the blue sea blazing in the sun, and at tho manycoloured old town that climbed the hill. Twilight came at last, and she went early to her room to drees for dinner. She wanted to be out of it again before Andrew came. The weary nunny day. and the unwonted strain of jealousy and hatred had made the elderly soberminded Scotchwoman nervous, ana uncertain of herself; the dreaded to meet her husband. She had dressed hastily and was on her way downstair* when she heard Ro»e call to her. The girl had come up by the lift, just as Mrs. Pattercoti had descended the br."t fhort flight of stairs, and she was leaning over bannisters. Above her head the great lift mounted slowly to the higher corridoi. "Hullo, Mrs. Patterson," tailed Ros«. Mra. Paturtou looked up and forced hapeli to Mixer. "Yoa*M-jMck arjy,"

sho said, noticing with anguish Rose's bright colour and neat figure •AVe'vc had a lovely time," cried Rote. ! ''Such a pity you couldn't com*. Your huoband was a treasure. I couldn't have done without him, and the donkey* were sweet !" As she talked, looking down to where Mrs. Patterson stood below her, the latter saw the lift descending, and- » terriblo thought bprang to her mind. "Tell me all about it!" she said eagerly. Where did you go? What did you do? Tell me everything. ''Oh, we went right up into the mountains and 1 over dreadful roads. I thought I should have been killed." Mrs. Patterson, laughed, and the girl wondered at her sudden interest in the day* adventures. She had never heard Mrs. Patterson laugh before. "Go on," said Mrs. Patterson. In a few moment* tho lift would be crashing on that fair bead. "Go on I Why weren't you killed?" "Of courae it waa all right really," said Roie. "I waa awfully frightened, but your husband — " The lift was within a few inches now, Mr*. Patterson watched it breathlessly, and instinctively she drew back. She did not want to »cc There waa a shout, and Roie was pulled away, and flung against the wall. Tho lift went *lowly by. Andrew Patterson had aaved the girl. Mr*. Patterson waa quite ill for a few day*. Everyone said it waa the shock of seeing Bosle Bayiey's narrow escape from death. Andrew was very kind to her. Once or twice he had pleaded himself with the idea that Came was jealous of Miss Rose, but he forgot that in bj* real corfcern for her. He offered to go back to Scotland at once, but the refused, though she loathed the garish' place that seemed to her an alluring path leading to destruction. Sho uu never again quite so strong or so active as she liad been before her visit to the South. She seemed to bavo aged suddenly, but she made no complaint, only »b» gr«w more silent than aver. Andrew often talked of their stay by the Mediterranean, and she- encouraged nun to recall it. Sometimes he spoke of Rose Bayley and »he joined him in praising her, reminding him of graces and virtue* tho poor young woman had never possessed. This was tho punishment to which ahe had condemned herself, the knowledge of her bid wu killing her, yet she could not repent of it. Her jealousy and her hate were as quick as whan they had first been called to life, and she tortured herself with . foreseeing her own death, and Andrew forgetting her in his tove for Rose. And Andrew, sitting comfortably by his own firctide, had no other wish than to see his Cassie stronger, and more like her old self.