Short Story

Lake County Press, Issue 2790, 19 June 1919, Page 7

Short Story

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT/

THE TERRACE.

By E. F. BENSON.

(Continued.) "Wh- that we can't meet anrain precise!- as before mv dear, ' Mrs. Bruton said. "When one very good friend has asked another to marry him, and the other has up and said, 'Sir, vou insult me!' do vou think that thev can meet as before? He's asked tor half, and he'll find he must ask for the whole or else get nothm- at all. What a lot "of babies ar ethese men. to be sure' INo man ever understood a woman vet, and I daresa- that's a good because if the-- understood us thev mightn't like us. But I, understand him. and his wife I'm p>.ne to be, but, Lord in heavenT he s ~ot to want me first " For a little while it looked as n this whole scheme was doomed to complete failure for Hollingslev was so greatlv relieved bv this note, and hj the subsequent findink that in no wa<- had Mrs Bruton abated her friendlv, jollv, towards him, that lie seemed content with the little dinners and the bridge parties and the poker parties, and all the other constituent atoms of the "nothing at all." But before long a change, subtle as the first glimmer of light before dawn, began to unfold itself within him; the relief passed, and a certain uneasiness took its nlace It ap-j neared that Mrs. Bruton experienced no in cordiality to him, but he noticed, with a vague -romomtion of jealousv, that she had precisely the same degree of charming welcome for everybodv eves. That piqued him; after all, he had paid her the compliment /though she chose to consider it an unintentional insult) of asking her to share his life or such part of it as he proposed to give her, and she didn't seem to annreciate the fact that never had he oaid anv woman such a compliment before. Insult was it? Verv well; let it be an insult.

Slowly, but b decrees not so imperceptible as to make her miss them, a fripddness came over their almost daily meetings. It did not in the least come from her; he was the sole refrigeratine accent. He did not care to be only fust so much as anvbody else to, her, when she had been so considerably more to him. Probablv, , after all, she was a verv superficial sort of woman- these little noker parties and bridge narties seemed quite to content her, and at their conclusion she went with a iest and a smile back to her own solitary house. . . . And vet he knew quite well that she was not a superficial sort of woman. Her kindliness, her welcome for evervbody spran as he was perfectlv aware, from a heart that transfused with its warmth-every-thing she did. It was but his own growing- bitterness, his sense, somehow, of having missed somethin? that prompted his judgment. But he even hated to have no more from her than evervone else had.

The change and the dawn unfolded with a fresh snurt of light. He accepted with gratitude the world's small tokens of friendliness that were scattered about, and those small tokens he naid and he took from everybody else. But he did not want to pay them to her, nor to receive them from her. They were nothing; Unmeant nothing. Once thev were current, now thev were obsolete. It was the last evening of his sister's visit to him, and coming down to dinner he suddenly had a vision of himself all alone in the house to-morrow. He was not goinp- out anywhere, indeed, he had just refused an invitation to dine with Mrs. Bruton on the plea of a previous engagement which did not exist. A few months ago he rather used to look forward to a solitarv evenin- and he amused himself very well with his prints and his old silver and the comfortable sense of beinp- surrounded by his collections. But now the orosnect seemed verv drab and monotonous there was no ""ive and take" about these inanimate things. You might love them, but none of them cared a straw for vou. Human beings were scarcely more satisfactorv. . . . and then, sharp as the riiK'ing of a telephone bell at night came the definite call. He knew it' now; he knew, too, or thought he knew that if he went to the instrument he would find that it was the wron number. He wa;no more to her than anybody else was. He expounded something o. this very uncomfortable gospel o the barrenness and boredom o: human interests to his sister aftei dinner, and, as once before, sh< heard him with a certain sp'arkh in her eye. "Do vou want to know what': the matter with vou?" viJif* **iA

j "I know perfectly well. lam old." ' She came and stood opposite him bv the fireplace. "That is the worst diagnosis I have ever heard,' she sa'id. "Exactly the opposite is the truth — you are getting young. You're not bored with your prints reallv, i are only puttiiv them into their proper place now that you want something else so much more." He got up too. i "Oh. that is over and done with." he said. "Madge, why didn't vou ston me bv force on that fatal evening? Ever since then-—" He paused a moment. [ "It was like giving some one ; ;i sham piece nf jewellery." he said. "She said it was an insult at the time, and now I understand . it. How could I have done such a (thing?" She took him bv the shoulders and 'Tonelled him to the door. "Get your coat," she said, 'tor it's a greezing night, though vou have only to <ro a step, (ioodnHit. dear. You won't be back • esently this time, and I shall have gone up to bed. You might just tap at my door, though, as u go by. Tao three times—that will mean "yes." There is another house vacant in "The Terrace."