TWIN FLATS.

Evening Star, Issue 11609, 20 June 1902, Page 2

TWIN FLATS.

[All Bights Reserved.]

Bt Jkxk Mtnnuuuss (Author of ‘ Hush Money,’ etc.)

Twin flab* in a Chelsea mansion. H» lived to the right, nra to lie left They were totally unknown to each other, but by a strange coincidence both their names were Brown, one with a final “ c,” the other without The natural result was many mistakes, and consequently much irritability, but so far as she was concerned the irritability was strongly dilated by curiosity. They were both workers He was an artist, or believed himself to be one, having had a picture skied ax. the Academy. She was a journalist, with a strong, developing talent. They lived at the top of a high mansion, and made use of the lift, but since they Ivad never met they were beginning to think each other a myth, sava for the letters that perpetually went astray. “ She calls herself Miriam Browne, without a prefix of any sort—-just as if she were a man. New Woman, forsooth! ( I hate New Women. Browne with an ‘c’ too!” . This to one of hia frinods was Murdoch Brown's almost daily grievance. "Move, old fellow,” was the usual rejoinder. But Murdoch Brown was not inclined to more. His studio suited him, both as regarded price and light, and to have to move ' on account of “a mere woman” was quite out of all keeping with eternal fitness. “la she young and beautiful, or old and a fright?” asked a rash youth, to whom he was pouring out the story of his grievance. He little knew it, but this grievance rendered Murdoch Brown one of the happiest men of the century. Oh, how he hugged it! “ Young—pretty—don’t talk such tommyrot,” ha cried. ' “She’s hideous as the Kmnetiides, or she would not posa for a now woman—l am sure of it, although I have never seen her.” The other laughed. ” 1 think I have remarked decent specimens of the species.” ■' Have you ? Well, don’t bring them here.” . A tap at the outer door was answered m true Bohemian fashion by the youth, althov.irb ho was only a visitor. ■ M. Brown; Here is a letter for yon, old fellow Hope it’s an order, or an asVenation to make you forget your woes. * The artist, opened it slowly. He was too apathetic ever to be in a uuny, and although a, very good-looking fellow, too in it;-!” addicted to’the enjoyment of small uiherhv to have much belief in his owu attractions. ■ l>>- dove!” ho exclaimed with more in- :, rtf<s' than he usually expressed, “an adventure Now, who” the deuce is Sylvia? Quito a romantic name—no new woman ;:b<irc that.”

Ho tossed ths letter to his friend. “Here, read it, Paul.” I’.ml repossessed himself of tho missive he had taken in at the doar, and read it i-Joild.

" ‘ Dear M. —Will yon meet me on Battersea Bridge at eight, and we’ll have a snod spin on our bikes in the moonlight— Yours gushingly, Sylvia.’ ” “ Hurrah,” cried Paul, who was as vigorously full of life as hia friend was languorously anaemic. “A la' bonne fortune, xnon cher, I congratulate you.” J# “Then you would go, it vou were mo. “Go. Why, of course! And you taka vour Davy I shan’t be far off. I’ll see that fun if I die for it. Sylvia! Sweet name. Certain to be a beauty.” The artist sighed as he moved back a pace or two, and looked critically at the picture he was painting. Cycling was not bis forte; he only rode at all in obedience io his doctor’s orders. Yet a bicycle ride in the moonlight with a pretty woman had its attractions; the weather was lovely, a hot, dry June: yes he would go “But how shall I know Sylvia?” ho asked of Paul. “There are sure to be no end of maidens cycling about Battersea Bridge,” “Not much difficulty, since she knows you; but if you are afraid of a mistake, fasten her letter in front of your coat. I should.” “ Wear my heart on my sleeve for daws to peck at. No—no, Paul: Xam much too srnsitive to ridicule to do a thing like that.” Tho boy laughed. . “ Well, never mind, it is certain to come all right,’ only be sure you go. And don’t look about for me; I shall bo there, and will stand by you if there is any bother. “Why should there be a bother?” “There won’t, only one never knows; it might be a gull. But you’ll promise to come; don’t miss the fun for worlds. “Oh I’ll be there, sure to bo bona fldo. I’m not the sort of man people attempt to ]»aul ran off suffocating with laughter. “If this Sylvia business isn’t a nse, mv name isn’t Paul,” he said to himself. Poor old chappie! He wants some of the nonsense shaken out of him. I shonldn t wonder if this Sylvia accomplished it. It was onlv two o’clock. Six long hours before the tryst was to be kept .on Bat-U-rera Bridge—they seemed interminable to Murdoch Brown, who for once was nosed- “ That woman opposite, as be oesig nated the unknown Miriam, had got on his nerves and prevented farm not only from painting properly, but from thmking of any other woman. It wou.d te so nice to have a Sylvia, a feminine beauty, all to himself, and to forget the whole tribe of those unsexed beings who call themselves the pioneers of tne future.” . , , At last, about seven thirty, having dressed himself with especial care he opened bis door to go downstairs, intend; Jm to get his “bike” out of its ‘stable mffi ride leisurely along towards the ap* opposite door opened simultaneously, and for the first time the two Browns, who had only ou© “e” between them, stood face to face. , . lL , “ By Jove !” said the artist lor the second time that dav, compelled in spite of himself to lift hia hat to the lady, who smiled and bowed, making it quite evident that she had no resentment against him. She had rung the bell for the lift, which wm,. leisurely up at her summons. A woman who hesitates is, they say, lost. On this occasion it was tho man who hesitated as to whether he should walk down the stairs or risk temporary, though total, darkness in the lift with his opposite neighbor. . Vacillation lost him his freedom, bhe looked expectant, and be followed her. “It is strange that we have never met before, and we can’t see much of each other now,” she said, with a ringing laugh, as they descended. “Yes; and there have been dire mistakes,” was the grumbled answer. “Most amusing,” she chirruped, though she knew full well how angry he often WilS. By this time they had reached the hall. Again be lifted bis hat,, and thought that perhaps he would not have been so much annoyed had he known that she wa# so pretty. After a long glance, which she stood remarkably well, he turned to where the bicycles were safeguarded. She followed him with astonishment. “Do you bike?” “ Yes, Why not? Do you?” “Of course. The modern woman always bikes,” and she gave him an areh smile. It was evident that his antipathy wa» not unknown to her.

‘‘l am going to Battersea Bridge. I generally find someone there that I know," she went on. “So am I, to meet a friend,” was the rejoinder, the indiscretion of which lie regretted the moment it was uttered. It seemed almost as if she did not altogether like it. Except, however, for a few remarks on the respective merits ‘of their machines, nothing further was said,

and they “cranked” along the Embankment side by side, a very amused look on her face, a far less resigned one on his.

Arrived at the bridge she jumped oS her machine, and with an exclamation went up to a pretty girt who was evidentlv waiting for someone. “ Sylvia I 1 am astonished to see you here. I thought you were at Brighton.” "Did you not get my letter asking yon to come!” . " No, I have received nothing. "Drat that man! I suppose he has again intercepted the post." “Hush, he is ” “ Here is your letter, Miss Sylvia. 1 came in obedience to its summons. M; Brown without an ‘e’.” “ Well, I never!” cried Sylvia langhing. “This beats everything. And to think you two should be together. Have you made it up!” . , . “Had we quarrelled?” and Miriams face twinkled with amusement as she looked across her bicycle at the man with whom ahe seemed perpetually to be mixed up, whether she would or no.

He had no time to answer this question, for Paul, who had been an amused spectator of the scene, without altogether comprehending how it had come about, came forward, and taking off his hat addressed Sylvia as Miss Marcourt. “Mr Paul Gray,” she said hesitatingly, although she were not quite sure of his identity. Then suddenly she remembered. “ Of course, we met at Mrs Cliffe’s dance, and a real good waltzer 'you are.” “Made in Germany,” he answered with a laugh. “ So you know Miss Sylvia—you did not tell me, you rascal,” exclaimed the somewhat aggrieved Murdoch, who, nevertheless, was beginning to think that he had better do as others did, and be pleasant. “I have the honor of being acquainted with Miss Harcourt,” answered Paul; “ but I did not know that her name was Sylvia.”

“Well, it is all too funny for words, like a farcical comedy at the Gri,” said Sylvia, who had sufficient of that muchcondemned being, the modern woman, about her to be very flippant and offhand. “ Suppose we all ‘ bike ’ into the Park and work off the superfluous steam of our amusement.”

They all agreed, including Miriam’s fastidious opposite neighbor. He. was beginning to think that If these two girls were “ moderh women ” they were not so d.s.agreeable as be bad imagined them to be. The old bulwarks of shyness and reserve being broken down was, he decided, a gain rather than a loss.

The shades of evening had gathered, but the moon was np, and it was a lovely night as the quartet moved along the glades of Battersea.

Sylvia and Paul were well in front, and their merry laughter echoed as music through the winding paths, though it jarred somewhat on the artist, who would have preferred to revel silently in the romantic witchery of the scene, which he could not help feeling was enhanced by having Miriam for a companion.

“ What a fool he had been to waste weeks of his life in avoiding the society of his most charming neighbor,” he could not help thinking as be cycled on. x»ong before they had made the circuit of the Park he, usually silent and morose, - had found words—aye, and eloquent words, too —in which to tell her how different she was from anything ho bad expected, and that if ho had only known he would long since have laid profound homage at her feet.

Nor was Miriam displeased with her new knight. “I have often wanted to see you,” she said freely. “ I pictured you middle-aged and grey and sallow, and behold you are a courtier and ” she looked at him and laughed, “and a fairly good-looking man,” she added after a short paa?e. Whether this verdict was quite complimentary he did not feel sure, but anyway it tended towards approval. It was just ten o’clock when they all arrived back at the Chelsea Mansions, none of the quartet displeased with the outing.

“light refreshments in the studio,” suggested Paul, who always felt that hia friend needed the spur to make him go straight on in the right direction. But on this occasion it was scarcely required ; Murdoch Brown was thoroughly alive to what was expected of him. He lived like a true Bohemian, with no servants in attendance; nevertheless, lie had some stores in the cupboard, and amid much laughter, with the able assistance of the two girls, the table was very neatly spread, and some rare old “Rhein Wein,” Which had been a present, was much appreciated, especially as it was accompanied by real German “ Worst,” which the girls had never tasted before. At last the two Ladies declared that, as far as they were concerned, this festive evening must end, but they drank a cheery toast to their merry meeting, hoped some “Rhein Wein” would be kept for the occasion, and then they prepared to depart. Of course, Paul offered to see Miss Sylvia home, but she said “ that she was going to stay in her friend’s fiat for the night, as she often did if they were out late, and a real good chat they meant to have.” The doors between the twin flats being at last closed, by way of beginning Sylvia exclaimed:

“And now. Miriam, what you arc going to do next?"

“Do? Why, I am going to bed and to sleep. ‘To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub.’” “ Don’t be senseless. You know what I mean. You can’t go ou living here alone with that man opposite, now you have become acquainted with him. People will say it’s immoral.” “ Let them. I have not the slightest intention of moving. The wagging of tongues in no wav affects me.” “ Rut ”

“ But me no huts 1 One more pleasant companion annexed is surely no reason why one's whole life should be changed- Besides, you forget, I have old Sarah. She is a bulwark between me and even mailcious tongues.” “She is only a servant.” “ She is a good, true, and faithful friend. She has been a mother to me ever since I lost my own. Come let us go to bed. I have been at high pressure until I am tired out. I wonder if you will end by marrying Paul?” “Not likely. He’s a literary aspirant, but the prospective inheritor of'a fortune.” “Which latter will probably quench his aspirations in, the literary direction, but render him more desirable as a husband.” It was now Sylvia’s turn to be too sleepy for further conversation. But pretend as she might, it was of no avail, sleep would not come. The love-god neither slumbers nor sleeps, and be had elected to stroll about hi iho twin flats that night, and keep all the inmates awake. Even the men were still smoking when the sun rose high in the sky. The pleasant acquaintance went on ripening into intimacy. Miriam Browne did not move, neither did Murdoch; on the contrary, a few weeks later they agreed to drop the final “e” inside the altar rails ot old Chelsea Church, and to live on in the two flats as man and wife.

His pictures were no longer skied—they were on the line, a fact which was attributed by jeering Sylvia to the able criticisms which his wife could command in the newspapers. Sylvia could afford to jeer even at newspapers now, for Paul had come into his fortune, and there was no need for her to work as she had once don© as Miriam’s “ junior.”

She and Paul were like two children in their happiness. Nevertheless, it was very real. Not less so, however, than that which reigned with such perfect concord in the twin flats.