IF SHE WERE FREE.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2089, 24 January 1896, Page 3

IF SHE WERE FREE.

There was something interesting and pathetic in her appearance as she leaned back in Aer deck chair on board the Majestic, homeward bound from New York. She was alone; she neither courted nor shunned observation; if one spoke to her she replied in a low, gentle voice; but for the most part she sat alone with an open book on her lap, which she did not evt*u mane pretence of reading, and she gazed always seaward with a far-off Jook in her large, sad eyes. She was tall, somewhat fragile; had a pretty figure, such as writers are pleased to call willowy. and slim, white hands, on one of the fingers of which she wore a plain gold ring. There was a great deal of speculation about her among her fellow passengers. and many were the surnjises which her lonely situation and sad mien evoked. Everyone belie veil that she luid a history, and everyone was exceedingly anxious to be made acquainted with it. But even the most pushing and inquisitive of the voyageuses (and Heaven and those who have crossed the herring pond alone know how pushing they can be) had not been able to interview her in a manner at all satisfactory to themselves. Her replies to interrogatories were of the "Yea. yea." "Nay. nay" order commended in the Scriptures, and her gaze would become more than ever dreamy and tar-off, until the most conversationally inclined felt embarrassed by the dlifli-1 culry of keeping the talk going. Among the passengers was a pretty little Englishwoman, with a cropped, curiy head, like a boy's; her husband, a baronet: and her brother, a man of some i>o,sitiou and fashion. He had a keen eye for a pretty woman—he believed that every woman (except, of course, liis own mother and sister, and they because they were hisl was to be made love to, and he had uo reticence whatever in tliis respect, and having a large experience among smart ladies thought chivalry and belief in woman antiquated bosh. He had been well hunted and was extremely wary. The marriage state for himself he held in fear and abhorrence. lie wanted amusement on the voyage home. and. being a sportsman, lie took more interest in game which taxed his resources to get near. There were a dozen pretty women on board ready to throw themselves at his head, so he naturally took n« interest in any one but the fragile and pathetic woman who appeared entirely unconscious of his existence. He had tried very hard to bring himself under her notice—tried in an obtrusive manner. but it was the afternoon of the third day. and. for :ill he knew, she was unaware that he was on board. "Molly." said he suddenly to his sister. "I feel awfully sorry for that poor little girl over there —she looks so lonely—don't you think it would be kind to speak to her?" ".My dear boy." answered Molly. "I don't think she wants to be spoken to. 1 have seen several people make the attempt and retire discomfited."

"Yes. but they wore ends," said Wilfrid Penison sententiously. • "I am quite sure it would be different if you were to try—she would be only too thankful: sin- looks so dreadfully miserable." Lady Ascot, who eon Id never refuse her brother anything, consented. and mad'' .1 pretext for speaking to the lonely passenger. Her overtures were met in quite a different spirit from those made by the other women, and I he far-off gaze of the lonely fair was exchanged for a gentle and grateful glance, and an evident desire to show an appreciation of a kind intention. Lady Ascot was far too well bred to put any leading questions: her talk was purely of a general and desultory character. "What do you make of her:" asked Wilfrid eagerly. when he was alone with his sister later on. "She is quite a lady." replied Molly, "and. 1 should think, accustomed to good society." "English?" "Oh yes—undoubtedly English." "lias she got a lyisband?" "Presumably. l:y her left hand." "But is he alive or dead':" "Ah! my dear l*>y. you want to know too inueli.. Our conversation was of a purely impersonal character." "Molly," said her brother, after a moment's pause, "could you not ask her to sit near us at dinner':" "Hut suppose."' suggested Molly, "that she should turn out not to be a very desirable acquaintance." "I'll lay my life." returned Wilfrid, warmly. "there's wrong about her. And. besides, an acquaintance on board ship commits you to nothing. It is a thousand to one against your ever seeing her again." "Wilfrid!" uttered Molly, shaking her head at him significantly. "Are there not flocks and herds to clwose from, and cannot you leave tins ewe lamb alone*:" "Don't be a goose." replied her brother. impatiently. It ended, asusual. in Lady Ascot doing what her brother wished; and when she gracefully made her proposal to the pathetic stranger, it was received with gentle gratitude. After this, Wilfrid held much converse with the hitherto solitary fair. From that time he was seldom away from Mrs Montgomery—that being, as Lady Ascot told him. the name of their new acquaintance. It would have been impossible for anyone to say that she gave him encouragement. It would rather appear as though she tolerated him for the sake of his sister, for whom she reserved her most winning smiles, and in whose society she showed real pleasure. She made no actual confidences to either, and yet both felt as if they knew all about her from the tone of her conversation and the apparent bent of her thoughts. Both were sure that she was an injured woman. and that she had reason to think ill of men. They believed her to be the hapless wife of a bad. cruel, immoral husband. She had told them nothing about herself, but she would occasionally be led away in conversation to give her views of life and of the cruelty and injustice of which Fate made women the victims. That she had mixed in good society was evident from her talk and manners. But she never mentioned the name of any one she had known, or told them where she had lived, or gave any hint of connections. family, or associations. Yet they inferred that she had been accustomed to ride, drive, yacht, dance, to stay in country houses, and to do all the things which people of their own set and social status did. Wilfrid, as has been said, was much given to love-making, and an unhappy married woman was, in his eyes, the most desirable object for this agreeable pastime. It was pleasant and reasonably safe, especially when the brute of a husband (most husbands were brutes, and he had no wish to become brutalised himself) was out of the way. He piqued himself on being sympathetic, and he had a great aptitude for turning the sorrows of women to his own advantage. It is so delightfully easy, to tell an ill-used spouse that any one who could be unkind to her must infallibly be an unmitigated ruffian, and do. swear that any one so blest as td possess her ought to be the happiest man

in the whole world. Time was getting short now, and Wilfrid from idleness and propinquity had become very much in love (he called it love) with Mrs Montgomery. He liked to look into her eyes—he longed to clasp her in his arms—he could not bear to be separated from her for an hour. But the lady did not give him the smallest reason for supposing that she would ever allow him to clasp her in his arms, and, when he looked into her eyes, she, loked away into the distance. He was becoming thoroughly restless and unhappy; it was dreadful to think that when this voyage was over he might never see her again—indeed, it was not to be borne. He had betn sitting with her for some time in the moonlight on the last evening of the voyage. Lady Ascot was pacing the deck with her husband, partly because she liked doing so and partly because she knew her brother would be very much annoyed if she interrupted his tete-a-tete with Mrs Montgomery. "I am afraid." said Wilfrid rather suddenly and spasmodically, feeling that his time was short. "I am afraid you have a very bad opinion of men?" The beautiful pathetic eyes looked ' past him to the silvered ripple of the waves. " Yes." she said with a sigh. " I have." "lint surely." he exclaimed in an impassioned tone, "you don't class us all together. You believe there may be a few exceptions?" "I think." she returned, "that all men are more or Sess selfish and bent on j their own pleasure. 1 believe all men look upon women as creatures to l>e sacrificed to their fancies, caprices, desires. Men will not sacrifice themselves; they invariably sacrifice the woman at least." she added, sighing, "that has been my experience." "And yet." he said passionately. "I feel that I could sacrifice everything in the world for a woman 1 loved." His eyes plainly said. "You a v e the woman whom I love," but she was not looking at them. "Ah," she said, with a dreary lirtle smile. "I have heard a man say that before. Men are very fond of making protestations to women who are not free to test them." "Why not free to test them?" he inquired hotly, carried away by the moon light and the strengtli of his feelings. "Do you remember." she added, in a low voice, "what Dumas tils says? I cannot quote the exact words. 'lf a man loves a woman, and she is free, he marries her; if she is not. he leaves her.' " "And do you think," he cried still more passionately, "that if the >voinan 1 love were free. I would not marry her?" She turned and looked at him full with those pathetic eyes, which wore wondrously beautiful and intense by the light of heaven's silver lamp. "And." she said in a low voice, which enthralled and entranced him. "if she were not. would you leave her?" "No! by Heaven!" he answered impetuously. " Ask mo anything but that." She rose and left him without :inother word before lie was aware of her intention. Lady Ascot was drinking tea in her boudoir with her bosom friend. "If ever," she said emphatically. "I make acquaintance with a stranger on board ship again may I—may I—" but she could not find words forcible enough to suit the occasion. "But what, my dear." inquired her friend, "what did this particular person do to upset you?" "Do!" almost screamed Lady "do! She all but succeeded in marrying Wilfrid, and we had the most awful difficulty in getting him out of the scrape; and I don't know what he did not have to pay her." "Proceed." said her friend, helping herself to hot cake, "your story interests me much." " Well." pursued Lady Ascot, " you know how weak Wilfrid is about women?" "Yes." laconically. "Well, he thought she was a married woman and that it was perfectly safe, and got me to make her acquaintance, and " "She turned out to be a widow in disguise?" "Not at all; she was a farmer's daughter who had l>eon well educated, and was a governess in a good county family. She had gone over to America to take one of the girls to an aunt out there, and was on her way home, and she posed as being the wife of a man who ill-used her. She was on the lookout to pick up a husband, and she all but caught Wilfrid." "And why did she pose as a married woman?" Lady Ascot gave a scornful laugh. "Oh, I suppose she knew something almut men. and. well—Wilfrid had nothing to do and made love to her, and found her out after he left tinship. which, of course, she intended him to do. and he—l don't quite know, but I think he. believing she had a husband, promised to marry her if ever she were free, and unfortunately put it into writing, and then she told him that she had no husband, and never had had one, and wanted him to marry her. and naturally he refused, and the upshot was that he had to pay her over a thousand pounds, for if the story had come out he would have boen the laughing-stock of every one. And the wretch has set up a bonnet shop in Bond street on the strength of it." "How abominable!" uttered Lady Ascot's bosom friend, sympathetically : but in relating the circumstance to her husband at dinner, she remarked. "It just serves Master Wilfrid right, aud I am very glad of it*'—'"World."