CHOICE AND OCCASION.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume LXXI, Issue LXXI, 19 February 1916, Page 2

CHOICE AND OCCASION.

By Margaret Busbee Shipp in Mumsey's. Tlie gods impljre not, j Pleaci hoc, solicit, not; they only onex' ! \Jnoice ana occasion, wn.cu ouue being j | paSoea | iletuiii no more.—"The .Masque of ) l'audora." "But it's eleven o'clock now.," Mrs Linnell protested.. i ••.men, ii you dosTC- hurry,, it .will b.e after eleven beiore we start," tne • laughing voice urged her. ""x hu\en't said i would go. In fact, I'm not going." "Just tins once! We'll spin out to Burns' Woods—l knew those crisscross roads with my eyes .shut, but there never are any cars out there at nignt, and it's so uari: and st.il and quiet , under the pines. Before we reach the woods there are farms with hedges of j that winter honeysuckle—Kate Payne calls it 'first breatii of spring'—und j it's unbelievably fragrant as one drives j by at night. Don't you hear your sister flowers calling you, Lady of the Posies:"' | Mrs Linnell liked Jim Blake's name for her. She never had a trowel in her hand in her life, and she knew as little about the cultivation of flowers as the dynasty of the Pharaohs, but she valued the suggestion of daintiness which fresh flowers gave,- and always wore them. Though Gus Linnell grumbled occasionally at the florists' ; bills, it was worth a protest or two ! to be thought or as the Lady of the j Posies by the most attractive bachelor in town. Jim stood in the shadow on tne ' steps of the porch,, and the light from the open door fell, upon her vivid, ' pretty face. j "By jove, you're bewitching enoxigh ■ to turn any man's head!" he exclaim-' ed impetuously. "Where's Linnell to- j night/ if you belonged to me 1 can tell you that I shouldn't let you be moping all by yourself." "Gus went oft" this morning on a business trip. Men must work and women must have new hats, you' know." ' * | "I swear I hadn't an idea of seeing you to-night.' I just ran the car by . here, in the way i do semi-occasion-! ally." His impudent voice caressed her '. with their unspoken understanding of } the fact that they had been carrying j on a long-range, very discreet, very; innocuous flirtation for the" past four' months. "The light shone squarely on ' you, sitting there all by your lonesome self, and I suddenly wanted you right in the little old car with me." A deeper note crept into his voice; the I entreaty verged on command. "It's growing later, Miss Posy. Put on a ' heavy coat, because it's cold driving even on a spring night.- ' I o j;e rose and went into the house. When she £ ame out; she had. on her j long inotoi'-coat. Jim could* see the heightened color in her- ? heeks and hear her uneven breathing. ' "It's just a tiny little lark," lie ' soothed her, as he helped her into the car, which he had stopped half a block beyond her house. "Not a full-grown lark with wings that can fly to any dangerous distance, but a harmless little unfledged thing." , She hardly apprehended his words, but they were both aware that their hands had trembled as they touched. They talked rapidly and gaily, and ' when a soft silence fell between them they, brushed it aside as a perilous thing, Many miles beyond the town they were passing a farmhouse when Elinor said: "There's that honeysuckle! It's even ' sweeter than you said." "And having you with me is even' sweeter than 1 thought," he answered ."AH winter—" she began, and broke oft in confusion. i He understood and took it up. >■ "I know. All winter— at dances, on the links, wherever we've casually happened to meet, just passing on the street, even—we^ve been conscious of each other." f "It has been more than that, hasn't it) r She barely whispered the question ' though there was only the spring night and the deserted road to hear his anf"r er' .** came almost roughly. , "Yes, it has been more than that ! Lvery time we've danced together touched hands/ looked into each other's eyes, we have thrilled with it, haven't we, Elinor?" j She made a shamed gesture of assent, j "I didn't mean to. I couldn't help it, somehow." " Even to herself she did not acknow, i ledge that she had fostered the sensation, with the spice it put into her easy, monotonous life with good old trus. She preferred to feel that they had been swept from their moorings by a* overwhelming rush of emotion whxch of course they would have the nobility to conquer at the proper time. '■ Ihis indiscretion should be their only one, a "last ride together"—hadn't she read a poem with a title like that? j They had reached the long, quiet stretches of Burns' Woods, where right brooded in the thick pines. "It has meant this to me," went on Jim. "1 was on the very brink of be- ' ing engaged to Kate Payne when you ■' came into my life this winter. It was ' at that domino ball, you remember. I had met you before, but I thought of ; you merely as the prettiest woman in i town and Gus Linnell's wife, but that i night we—we—" "We flirted a little," she suggested laughing. & ' | "We pretty well did, and I've been a cad to Kate «ver since, putting off everything. I couldn't 'ask . her to marry me with my mind possessed by • you—possessed!" J Perhaps if, was only Elinor Linnell's vanity which was stirred by the reali- i sation that although she was twenty- ' seven, and had thought the door of ros ' mance irrevocably shut when she married six years before, she could still 5? h ner own a.gainst a rival with all ■ the allure of girlhood. Her ungloved i Hand slipped to Jim's sleeve and rested there. He stopped the car abruptly. "You want to light a cigarette?"! she asked, but she knew it was not I that. "No. I want something I cannot have, and so I am going to take what belongs to me. The way you feel toward me at this moment is mine, and no other man's!" He put his arms around her deliberately drew her close to him, and I kissed lier on the mouth. ~ | She had meant to Geny him when I the moment of reckoning came, as ail winter she had felt it must inevitably oorae. Now she realised that she had long since lost the battle, that her ! power of resistance to him had slipped ■ away in little capitulations. Her foe was within herself in her throbbino <

I pulses and her passionate responsive- ? rtess. I '•i am Gus Linnell's wife!" she told ! herself desperately, but the words ' failed to hypnotise her into resistance, j She lay m Jim's arms, her face up- ' lifted to his, his kisses thrilling her j with waves of warm, irresistible emo- . .tion, her heart answering ,h,s in .in- | articulate words 01 longing. i j "1 am Gus Linuell's wife," .she .cried I J aloud in half-sobbing protest, but he ! stopped the cry with kisses against her .throat, her face, her hair. ' ; "But you are .my sweetheart, f Elinor!" j "•i'ou forget Kate." The words were barely .audible, but ; his arms relaxed and he slowly released ! her. '•STes, I forgot there was any woman in the world but you.' 1" He started the motor again and wheeled his car toward the town. Again they rode in silence, the .memory of those savage kisses burning into the ■ consciousness of both. ; "We—we didn't mean to," she yen- ; tured. ; "You didn't, darling," he "defended ! her against herself. "I did!" i She had always sensed in him a certain paradoxical chivalry. He belonged to the class of men who would take ! I advantage of a woman and then cheerfully go to the stake to p.roye her "chaste as ice." Presently she shivered. "It's growing so chilly, Jim—it must be very late." Glancing at the automobile clock, she gave a cry of fright. "Oh, Jim, it's five minutes past one! ! Did you dream we had been gone so , long? Suppose somebody should see : j us come in?" , "I'll put you out at your side yard, and you can slip m at the back, under j j the trees. Nobody is ever out on this ' road late; it leads through the farming ■ district, and they all go to sleep with the chickabiddies. I swear I didn't I mean to keep you out as late as this, , Kiss me, Posy Lady, to show you aren't vexed with me!" | i Obediently she leaned nearer and ' . kissed his cheek. The thought pricked ; her that when Gus returned to-morrow j he would bring her a gift, as he al- ' . ways did, and she would thank him | with a kiss. She suddenly felt con- • ' sumed with the desire to get home. I "Go faster, Jim," she urged, "Aren't you slowing down?" I "There's something dark on the road ! ahead, just beyond that curve. Good ■ Lord, it's a car turned turtle!"" "Must we stop?" whispered Elinor. j With the instinctive courtesy of the ! • road, Jim had already applied the , brakes. In another moment their , ; search-lights shone on the wrecked machine and on a human body that lay : pinned beneath it, twisted and unstirring. I A man rushed toward them, hailing them wildly. Sweat was pouring from . his white face, and one arm hung! iimp. I '-For heaven's sake, stop!" he' cried. "My chauffeur is killed, and ' I 1113- friend here is horribly hurt. God I sent you to .us! Help me to get Jamieson in your car, and I'll stay here 1 with poor O'Hara until you can send a ' car "nCZI *ne nearest garage. I'm Baxter." ~ ~ "' "* "Yoii'l-e hurt, too?" "Nothing—just a broken left arm." He slipped his uninjured arm around his friend. Jamieson staggered to his i feet, reeled a step forward, but, ex- j hausted by pain, and blinded by blood, ! which was pouring from a cut on his forehead, he sank to the ground. "You'll have to help me lift him in," gasped Baxter. "For heaven's ' sake, man, hurry!" I Jim turned to Elinor Linnell. She had averted her face so that the ■ stranger could not see her. ; "What shall we do?" he asked ( hoarsely. "The hospital?" ' _ Situated in the heart of the town, it was impossible to reach the hospital without passing down the principal I street, blazing with" hundreds of lights, ! or to stop before its door without being in the glare of the big arc-light, i If they took the man in, to-morrow the town would be ringing with the ques- , tion: i "Why were Jim Blake and Mrs Linnell riding alone togeiner at one o'clock in the morning?" 1 Jim; was acutely conscious of Kate, whose girlish innocence would sooner have connected the man she loved with ' I a polar star than with a married wo- i ' man. Elinor saw big, honest Gus with ' the dog's faith in "his eyes changed to a question—to which he might not believe her answer. i "Oh, no, no, no!" she shuddered . "We can't!" _ ! It roused Jim to a sense of the protection he owed the womaa fey his ■ side. i I "We can't take your friend with us." Jim wrenched out the words with difficulty. "But we'll run in on high speed and send out a car. It will be here in half an hour." j "You can't refuse to help an injured i man—perhaps a dying man!" panted , Baxter, uterly incredulous. "If the courtesy of the road is nothing to you, if decent humanity means nothing . ; you can't refuse to help a man like Jamieson! If you're afraid of the responsibility, I'll leave O'Hara and go with you." Re grasped Mrs Linnell's sleeve. "You are a woman. Make : your husband take this man in, for 1 the sake of his wife and boy." For 1 the first time he noticed that Elinor kept her face hidden, and all at once .he recognised the situation. "Se that's I it?" he demanded brutally. "You j don't care to be seen together? That's why you leave this man to die like a dog on the road! Afraid of your repxi- I i tation ? Take it unspotted to hell with • you!" The insult gave Jim the spur he ! needed to throw in his clutch and speed ' off m the darkness. "Curse you!" cried Baxter after them. "if I. knew your poisonous i names, I'd publish them in every paper ;in the country! That's why the skunk : pulled his cap over his eyes as soon as he stopped the car. If I had only thought to take his numW! God in : heaven, to leave a dying man like .this!" When an automobile, and a hospital ambulance brought relief, a half-hour i later, they could only give the inforlma tion that a telephone mesvsage had come in a voice they did not recognise, saying that Mr Jamieson was injured nt the fork of the Burns' Wood road. I _____ I HI. "I knew you would be here to-day " | said Mrs Linnell to Jim Blake a week i later. j

At first he had a sense ©f revulsion at seeing her look so well and bloomI ing, but at a second glance he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and saw that her color had been "well put "I knew that once w© must talk about"—her voice broke—"about ittogether. Then never any more Never any more! We must never see each other alone again."

"Never," he agreed monotonously. j Wftere wa» vie breath. 01 name ■ whicn had swept tliem togecher;- Gone, as the winds of yesterday. Between tnem lay a red gash in the earth—the grave in which Jamieson was buried .that day. '"lour husband?" She understood the .unfinished question. "Gus knew Mr Jamieson well." She put her hand to her throat, as if it were constricted. "He said he was the kindliest man, generous and bighearted to a fault—mat"he had helped more down-and-outs than any man in this State—and then to have help refused him! Gus read me the interview that Mr Baxter gave the papers. It showed how .excited he was when he said the car was black, when yours is blue, and that he couldn't distinguish the man's face, but he would know his hoarse, queer voice anywhere, and your natural voice is so laughing—so laughing,!" She broke off with a sob. "It won't ever be quite like that again. When Gus read the interview he said that if the woman was married her husband could forgive her for being unfaithful sooner than he could forgive her for the selfishness and cruelty of refusing to help—that she had put her reputation before her womanhood. He said that the woman was more to blame than the man. So I can never confess to him, and it will always lie between us, and I—l never knew before how much I cared for Gus!" There was a silence. Then Blake spoke slowly. "I have been srith Koi-e most of this horrible week. She is so true that she steadies a man as his mother might. If my mother were alive, I might tell her, but I can't tell Kate. We've been talking about the Jamieson case, of course; nobody talked of anything else while he was lying there between life i and death. Kate said that if the man I had not wavered in his own mind he would have jumped out of his car at once and helped the wounded man in; 1 tha.t it was his place to settle the question, and the true chivalry would nave been not to put the burden of such a terrible decision upon the woman. But he must have preferred ay i false chivalry to his human responsibility toward the life of an innocent person. Kate has an odd way of putting ■ things. 1 " 'Circumstances are only the tinderbox,' she said. 'It's character that strikes the srcark.' "The terrible part, the thing I can't get away from, is that the doctors agreed that the hour's difference in getting him to the hospital meant the difference between life and death, because of the hemorrhage and the nnenmonia which followed. But wo didn't know that, we couldn't forsee that, so we are not He tried to siv it c<~>nvinein,£rlv, to comfort her. even thouaTi he no longer loved her, but lie could not look at her. He was looking out at the spring: world from which JamieStm was shut away.