WAS IT FAIR?

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2181, 5 November 1897, Page 4

WAS IT FAIR?

The adage which sets forth that "all 'SB fair in love and war" cannot, so far as .war is concerned, be acepted without reservations. Generals as well as jurists bold that there must be no pokoning of wells: and the use of explosive bullets is forbidden by the tonus of an international convention. In the prosecution, however, of a lovo affair almost everything is permitted: and plenty of persons would be ready to justify the somewhat doubtful means by which MiFrederick Hunt, a modest young painter (they exist), succeeded in outwitting a once" well-known Italian diplomatist, Signor Apollinari. They were in love with the same girl, whose sweet, suggestive name was Violet Melrose. "Mel" is the Latin for honey: while "Violet" and "Rose" are the English for two of the most delightful of flowers. Violet, with all her cbarlhs. and perhaps by reason of them, was a little changeable. So many men were always trying to vary her prepossessions in favor of themselves. She was. to tell the truth, a widow. But her married life had been of short duration : and, as her husband had died of alcoholic poisoning, leaving her a large fortune. *=ho did not very acutely, nor for any length of time, regret Ms death. If ■she had really needed consolation, there were plenty ready to offer it Meanwhile, she had excellent spirits and,

having lieon forced into her first marriage by worldly-minded parents at the age of eighteen, she resolved, as soon as she found herself at liberty, not to tend her head a second time beneath the matrimonial yoke until she had at least had time to look about her. She was engaged in this interesting occupation when Mr Frederick Hunt made her acquaintance one night at a hall. There was something very original aliout her style of beauty which at once commended itself to his artistic -eye. She was such a nice, agreeable young woman, moreover: intelligent. Itind-hearted, with no taste for flattery. hut a constant desire to please. So young, too (not quite twenty years of age), to be her own mistress' Neither

chaperou nor companion would she have. A widow, young or old, has a perfect right to have a house of her own, to receive visitors whenever she chooses, to entertain, and cither to go about entirely by herself, or. if she prefers it. under the escort of a man. Nor need she keep to the same man. Far better, indeed—s f she wishes to avoid the criticism of her own sex—that she should not. Feeling herself, however, above criticism, and utterly careless as to what her friends might say of Iter, she became so attached with Frederick Hunt that never did she care to go anywhere without him. Ho took her to picture galleries, concerts, theatres ; called with her on such of her friends as she was sure would not mind receiving them together; until at hist people (were so accustomed to meet them in one another's society that they ceased to make any remarks about it. Just then some foreign potentate was going to be crowned or married or interred; and Hnnt accepted, from an illustrated paper, a commission to go out and chronicle with his pencil the gorgeous ceremonies. Besides seeing a magnificent pageant and doing lucrative work for the journal, he expected to find striking subjects for pictures. Passionately attached as he bad now l>ecome to iViolet, that did not cause him to neglect his art. Violet had proposed to accompany Mm; but this was going too far, and he .would not allow it. "We might travel in different carriages." said Violet, "or we might start in different carriages, and so continue until the first stopping place. What do ;we do when wfc visit people who arc lather stiff and ceremonious? Igo in first, and you follow two or three minutes afterwards. Why can't we npply that system to railway travelling:"

Hunt, however, insisted, if she did travel with him. that she should provide herself with a chaperon. "You. if you like, may travel with a courier." she replied, "bnt I shall not take a chaperon." Then l)eeome my wife! You know how much I love you. You know how absolutely devoted I am to you." "Yes, bnt you, on your side, know that I am resolved not to tie myself to nnyone just yet—perhaps never again—who knows?" "Oh. Violet, you'll drive me mad." "I should if 1 married you: and meanwhile I want to retain your affection and my own liberty. Suppose I wished to go on the stage, or to open a riding school, or to start a dancing academy, with balls every night, and a masquerade once a week. You'd be the tirst man to object. At present you have no right to object; and, meanwhile, as I am ▼ery much attached to you. and never bappy except in your society. I cannot «ee what you have to complain of." "If I were your husband." said Hunt, *1 should certainly object to your keeping a dancing saloon: and I should be sorry to see you on the stage, where •every idiot would have the right to criticise you personally, in every detail —to say nothing of the anecdotes that •would be invented about you, as they are about every charming woman who shows herself on the boards. As for the riding-scbool idea. I rather like it." "Well, am I to po with you to St. Petersburg, or not':" "Not unless you consent to go in a becoming manner." Thereupon the conversation ceased, and in the end Hunt went abroad, while Violet remained in England. During the tirst days of Hunt's absence she did not go out much. Then she went to a party at which the beforementioned Apollinari was introduced to tier, who struck her as so vain that his vanity quite amused her. But. little by littlcas he conversed with her, this vanity seemed to wear off. and before the end of the evening his conceit had in a great measure disappeared. He was a diplomatist by profession, rich, handsome, and an nmatenr of all kinds of beautiful things, including women. The inordinately handsome man is, as a rule, a very unsatisfactory sort of lover. He is too much occupied with himself; and that was the fault of Signor Apollinari. Any woman could see at a glance that he was too solicitous about being admired in return. He was really, however, a aood deal taken np with Violet; so much so that, in talking to her. he quite forgot bis own distinguished personal appearance, his character as a lady-killer of credit and renown, and so on. He. of course, asked permission to call up<m her, and she told him what day she was at home. "But then you will be surrounded by your friends, and I shall scarcely have a moment's conversation with you." suggested the gallant signor. Violet, however, bad no thought of inviting him to a tete-a-tete, and she told him that the day she had named was the only one on Which there was any possibility of his findig her in. Under ordinary circumstances, the fatuous Apollinari would have made a point of not calling on Violet's very next at-home day: but" he really wanted to see her, anil it had struck him. more«ver. that feigned indifference on his part would have no effect on Violet,

who, in regard to his attentions, was jjenuinenly indifferent. Accordingly Apollinari called on the at-home day, and went to the house early in the hope of finding Violet alone. She was already, however, surrounded by friends, all men. who vied with one another in paying to their charming hostess the most marked attentions. Signor Apollinari was a little annoyed: and if a lady had not fortunately come in. he would i not have known what to do with himself. A second time he called very late, hoping to finds everyone gone. The room, however, was still tolerably full. This time Violet gave Signor Apollinari a little more of her time, and was so condescending that his chief characteristic was called out There was one pleasant thing about the Italian—he did not, like Frederick Hnut. offer advice or seek to exercise control. A little reflection might have told Violet that he did not know her well enough to take any such liberty. Meantime he showed himself duly subservient and as ready to please as possible. It has been said that Apollinari was a rich man and a man of taste. He had, therefore, a picture gallery, or at least a collection of pictures: and after he had called on Violet several times, and met her at the houses of various friends, he begged her to come some day and gee his paintings. Not to alarm her. I be invited a few people to meet her,

and asked them all to lunch. It so happened that on this very day Frederick. Hunt returned from his foreign torn 1 , and, hastening to call about one o'clock on Violet, found, to his annoyance aud distress, that she had gone out. • "She will l)e in to lunch. I supposeV" he suggested. Violet generally lunched at home. "No, sir." said the servant. "She's gone to luuch with the Senior." "The Senior?" asked Hunt, much mystified. "I mean Signor Apollinari," explained the man. "The devil!" was what Hunt's mental exclamation amounted to when he realised the fact that Violet had gone to luuch with "that infernal Italian." It was not mere jealousy that urged him to the conception of this oath. It was also a belief that Signor Apollinari would attach to Violet's visit more importance than it probably possessed. "Why did she go? How could she do such a thing*? What was the meaning of it?" he kept repeating to himself.

He wandered about, looked in at his otab, and at half-past font- called on Violet again. She was quite radiant at his return, evidently delighted to see him. "How could you go to lunch with that man?" asked Hunt, after they had exchanged compliment*, congratulations, and assurances of affection. "Why notV" she replied. "There is nothing against him. is there?" "No, nothing that I know of; but that is no reason why you should go and lunch with him." "But he wasn't alone: and, after all, haven't I often been to lunch with you. And ocasionally you were alone—at least we were." "Oh, that is a very different thing." said Hunt. "That's what every man says." replied Violet. "Each considers himself an exceptional person. He alone is worthy of confidence." "I certainly did not think." said Hunt, considerably piqued, '♦that you placed me, in regard to yom*self. exactly on an equality with every one else." "Nor do I," answered Violet. " You are the - only man I allow to deliver lec- ! tores to me." ••The only man who gives you good advice, even at the risk of offending yon." suggested Hunt. They both remained silent. "I've done it now." said Hunt to himself: "I have offended her." He tried, before going away, to renew the love duet with which their meetins had opened, but the performers were not in accord. "She is a.s good as she is beautiful," reflected Hunt, as he walked away. "But she ought not to remain in such an anomalous position. She ought to marry some decent man. some man worthy of her." Himself he meant. "She is a delightful woman." reflected Apollinari. about the same time; "and 1 am grieved to think, what all my friends tell me is the case, that she meditates throwing herself away upon that clever but very objectionable young draughtsman, Frederick Hunt." Hunt was a painter of beautiful and highly characteristic pictures, views of picturesque scenes that had struck him in his travels abroad; but Apollinari preferred to look upon him as a mere coverer of wood blocks at so much an inch. "I will call upon her this afternoon,"

determined ApolHnari, -and propose to her." It so happened, however, that Violet was uot at home. Thereupon the ardent Italian went into his club and wrote an offer of marriage, which be at once despatched by the clab commissionaire. In order to prevent Violet from falling into the hands of Apollinari. Hunt, on his part, proposed by post to make her his wife. Violet had gone into the country for a couple of days, little thinking of the anxiety her absence would cause to two of her most devoted admirers. On the morning of the third day Apol linari was furious. Hunt, on the other hand, was disconsolate and almost broken-hearted. ♦•I will have nothing more to do with

her," Apollinari was exclaiming. "A man of high descent, a member of the family of the Marquises of Apollinari. to be treated as no respectable laundrymaid would treat one of Mr Gatti's waiters'. It is humiliating." Hunt was meanwhile trying to persuade himself, in the words of that proverb of the desperate, that "no news was good news." He was resloved, all the same, to ascertain bis fate without further delay. What ever might happen. Violet and himself were tried friends, and friends must remain; so, as a friend, he would call in and ask whether she was going to marry him or not. "Just gone out. sir." said the footman. "But there's a letter for you on the table in the breakfast room. I was just going to post it. But perhaps you'd like to have it. sir, and write an answer to it. if there Is one." "Yes." said Hunt. "I'll go in and see.

On the table lay two letters in envelopes that had just been closed. "My dear friend." began the letter—the one that was addressed to himself—i entertain the greatest i>ossiblo regard for you. But as husband and wife we should never agree; and I hope you will not he pained to hear that I shall soon be the wife of another. Believe any csuse. always yours. VIOLET." The second letter, addressed to Apollinari. was a formal acceptance of his offer. Without thinking what he was | about, Hunt had opened the envelope, of I which the gum was still moist; and he J now. knowing well what he was doing. I and too eager to care whether it was j right or wrong, put Inside ApoUinari's i envelope the letter addressed to himj self. Then, after ringing the bell, he said I to the servant: "Tell Mrs Melrose, with

nay eoiupliiueuts, that I have lier letter.' und that I will look in to-morrow about fundi time. I see," he added, "that there is a letter here for Signor Apollinari." "Yes, sir," said the m:m; "I'll take it to the post this moment." Ho in fact left the house at the same time as Hunt; and Hunt saw him post the letter in the pillar-box at the corner of the square. Towards lunch-time the next day Hnut called, and was received by Violet with a certain shyness, but quite in a friendly manner. He had resolved to stay to lunch, and stay he did. He, of course, made no reference to Violet's letter of the day before, nor did she. "If any one should call while I am at lunch, show them into the drawingroom," she said to the servant. "I know one gentleman who will not call." thought Hunt And. in fact, full of indignation, wounded in his tenderest part—his vanity—Signor Apollinari never went near Violet again. Six weeks afterwards lie married the daughter of one of the forei.cn ministers in London: and he is now himself a minister in the chief town of one of the South American republics. "How mre. how generous of Frederick not to have taken offence at my odious, abominable letter!" Said Violet to herself, as Hunt continued to come day after day to see her. The day after it was announced in the newspapers' that a marriage had been arranged between Signor Apollinari and Wilhelmina. daughter of Baron von Hofkammer. Hunt renewed his offer—this time to be accepted with effusion. They live together most happily, and have absolutely no secrets from each other—except one.—"The World."