MARJORIE DEANE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVI, Issue 9452, 24 August 1889, Page 3 (Supplement)

MARJORIE DEANE.

by BERTHA m. CLAY,

Author of " In love's Crucible," " A Heart's Bitterness," "Thrown on tho World," etc. CHAPTER V. rROPDER THAN A CHESTERTON. With bis dogs at his heels, and his gun under his arm, Sir Roland strode through the woods, now all ablaze in russet and orange, and odorous with the fallen pine cones ; but, notwithstanding that the dogs started many a pheasant, and sent the hares scudding across the open glades, tlio run still remained with its muzzle pointto the ground, and the game flew by disregarded. Upon Sir Roland's face sat an air of profound, immovable reverie. With his bands trust into the deep pockets of his shooting-coat, and his eyes fixed on the ground, he strode along, putting at his pipe, too full of the quiet beauty of the autumn morning to break the charm by the noise of slaughter. Heedless of the direction in which he might be strolling, he wandered along the winding paths, and unconsciously passed out of the woods into the high-road, and would have wandered on into the village ot (.Tar.ford, which lay in a hollow before him, when, with a chorus of velps, the dogs, big and small, dashed from behind him and tore down the road in pursuit of a kitten, which. had unluckily chosen the road for a promenade. Sir Roland, roused by the uproar, shouted a recall, but to no purpose. Hogs consider cats fair game at all times, and, having been defrauded of their morning's s i;m-e:ncnt by their master's torpidity, they had evidently determined not to let this legitimate quarry escape. iVitii its tail erect, the unfortunate mite

fled along the road, too alarmed and con

filled to turn aside; and a black-and-tan terrier, delighting in the name of Nix, was on the point of running her down, when, with a suddenness that brought the dogs —anil not only the dogs, but Sir Roland hici?t-'lf, who had set off running, to a standstill—a girl darted from a gate on the side of the road, swooped upon the kitten, and, regardless of its claws and of the yelping dogs, whipped it under her jacket. 50 sudden and swift had been the race that the dogs were staggered tor a moment, the next they were all around her, jumping and yelping, with half-playful, half-angry excitement. Sir Roland, recovering from his momentary surprise, strode forward and was in the midst of the clamouring crew, and knocking them right anil left before half a minute had elapsed. But in that, half minute a picture had photographed itself on his mind, which was not likely to fade. It was a vision of a girlish figure, instinct with the grace of youth and beauty, standing with erect head and dashing eyes, daring the army of furious dogs. The autumn sun fell full uj-on those dashing eyes, and upon a face smitten with beauty. With her blood-red lips half-parted, to allow the panting breath room to escape, a rose-like ilush on her cheeks, with soft, golden-brown hair, dishevelled by her rush, she made a picture in the autumn sunlight that an artist would have given ten years of his life to have seen and painted. So wrapt and absorbed was she in her errand of mercy that she did not know of Sir Roland's nearness, until he was by her side, knocking to right and left, with no sparing hand, the discomfited dogs, who, baulked and disappointed, withdrew to a distance and eyed the couple of spoilsports with an emphatic air of disgust-. When the dispersal had been completed, and not until then, Sir Roland turned to her, and. raising his hat, was about to speak, when he was struck dumb by meeting point-blank a pair of scornful eyes, which seemed to dare him to utter a word. For a moment he contemplated the angry, passionately angry, state in profound and puzzled silence ; then, with an effort that surprised him by its force, he said, in his calm, low-toned bass :

"I am very sorry ; I am afraid ray dogs have caused you a great deal of alarm. Pray accept my sincere apology. 1 ' But to the humble'effort at atonement there was no softening of the dark-brown eyes, which, to Sir Roland's amazement, seemed to grow still more scornful and haughty. Still panting, she stood with the kitten huddled up under her jacket, her figure drawn up to its full height, the colour coming and going on her face. Sir Roland, his eyes chained to her, waited a moment that seemed an age, and in which admiration for the proud, beautiful face struggled with a vague perplexity. It was a novel experience for him to sue for pardon and find it denied. The moment passed and he spoke again. " Believe me, I am sincerely grieved that my dogs should have caused you such annoyance. Will you permit me to see if the kitten is injured 5" The brown eyes flashed, and the red lips compressed tightly, then opened to give passage to a decided, haughty : '' It is needless ; no " Sir Roland stared first into her eyes, then dropped his own and inclined his head with an expression of proud humility. "I see,"'he said, "that I have angered /cm beyond all hope of pardon. At least, let me speak in my defence ; the meanest criminal is permitted that much. I have been walking in the woods, and unconsciously wandered into the high-road. I say unconsciously. Had I been more attentive to my whereabouts, I should have kept, a sharper look-out on my dogs. This accident was caused by my carelessness, j which I should have regretted had it merely resulted in harm to the kitten, but as it has worked worse mischief in alarming and annoying a young lady, I hasten to offer her ray most heartfelt apology, which I trust she will accept." "And which she thinks it quite unnecessary to either accept or decline," retorted Marjorie, with a curl of the lip that brought the blood to Sir Roland's cheek.

With a gesture of his hand, eloquent of Lis surprise and disappointment, he bit his lip, and, raising his hat, was about to leave lifer, when a sharp and involuntary exclamation of pain stopped him. All the hauteur had vanished from the face, and left it white and maidenly sweet. "There!" he cried, appealiugly, "you are hurt! Surely one of the dogs— / "'No," she said, the colour coming back again. "No, your dogs have nob bitten me."

"Then that miserable kitten has scratched you ! Let me beg of you to pub her down ! She will come to no harm. Let me take her."

And in his anxiety he unconsciously put "is hand upon her arm. With a swift gesture of offence and dislike, She shrank back.

"It is nothing," she said, coldly. "If s'ou will be good enough to—to go away *'ith your dogs, I will put her down myself, "he is merely frightened." Without obeying the request to depart *ith his dogs, Sir Roland turned around and touted "Home!" and the dogs drew together and trotted off, with their tails bctW,('eri their legs and disgust in their hearts. '"Now," he said, turning to Marjorie, the dogs have gone, and will not return, t-et me beg of you to put her down." itli an air of not having heard Sir Roland, utas if obeying her own impulse, Marjorie 0r the clinging, frightened little thing om its hiding-place and put it on the tree " wien immediately darted into a cnwH 1 a Suavity that was extremely comiu they had but known it, the two human ~:;"o s stood and watched it; then Marjorie, ; ltrin g her skirts together, after the p' l ,'[ of her sex, was walking off; but Sir rm/ ' move( -l by a spiritof obstinacv, made /'7 re effort at propitiation. said ■« k '^ ell is evidently all right," he hov ' is only you who have suffered. a ou still refuse to receive my apologies ?" Moulder tlb sic *ewiso over her coldly hafc d ° you wisll mo to say ■" she asked, than ' esa harsh and unforgiving with a „ w ic ' l you have said)" he replied, hiuiseli ° rave ear nestness which surprised

riot tjriKf am sorr y—no, lam not— can•oe that- ,7 *??•" she retored. "But for torn to piece® " ttle thiD ° would have been "Th t • CeS " to"bK £ l u^e _ rue > and I should have ex presserl ™ e ' 1 have admitted ib and ?" t, p r egret. Can mortal man do "If I had j with heightened colour. vl f) your kitten with pentr jou could not treat me—"

It is not my kitten," came unwillingly from the snllen lips. h J "Nob yours!" said Sir Roland, inwardly delighted at this reluctant prolonging of the conversation. "That at least gives mo immense relief. Surely you will not bear malice for so slight a cause ?" 'Malice," said Marjorie, unthinkingly. ' It seems like malice, if the word is not too strong to apply to what I humbly venture to hope is but momentary anger for an unintentional offence. At the risk of appearing presumptuously intrusive, I must once more beg you to accept my apology. If you will permit me, I will do myself the honour of calling and offering a more formal and extended apology— With a swift flood of crimson in her fair face, Marjorie turned on him aggressively. ' You mean that you will call upon us that you will make this an excuse for patronising us with a visit—" She stopped short, smitten to silence by the look of surprise on tho handsome face, and, biting her lip, looked down at the ground. Sir Roland inclined his head. " 1 certainly meant that I should like to ? }' on find fresh cause for offence in it ? Can you expect a gentleman to rest under a lady's avowed implacability without making an effort to remove it?" "I—I—" she faltered, with downcast eyes fixed on the little mass of leaves which her restless foot had heaped together, "I do not expect anything. If it, will give you any satisfaction to hear mo say -the meaningless nothings which one accepts an apology, pray consider them said." "It would give me greater satisfaction to hear you say them," lie said, quietly. With a sudden Hash of her dark eyes sho confronted him.

" Y\ hy should I give you that satisfaction ? We are strangers, Sir Roland—" She stopped and bit her lip with illconcealed vexation.

"That we are strangers, I regret," he said, "But you have an advantage over —you know my name, while I am in ignorance of yours." For the first time Marjorie's face relaxed with a wavering smile, which was all ifc needed to make it beautiful.

[ " Yes," she said, banishing the smile instantly. "I do know your name. You are Sir Roland Chesterton, and it. is because you are Sir Roland Chesterton that 1 refuse to accept an apology from you Good morning." " Stay !" he said. And there was that in his voice which, wilful and self-reliant as she was, caused her to pause. "Is it possible that I have given you some cause for offence before the miserable affair of this morning?" he said. "Have we met before this l" I do not think that is jwssible. I should have remembered it." At this thinly-veiled compliment, something that would have been a sneer on a plainer face distorted Marjorie's. " We have not met before," sho said. "We have not he demanded, eagerly. "And yet you know my name, and evidently bear me no good-will. Is it fair—l appeal to your sense of justice—is it fair to treat me with such marked discourtesy ?" "Discourtesy?' echoed Marjorie, in a low voice.

" Discourtesy," ho retorted, with emphasis, " on the mere shadow of hearsay." Hearsay ' she said, with a scornful glance, not at him, but at tho sky. " I never heard your name until last night." " And then heard it from some malicious tongue that so blackened it that, at your first meeting with me, you treat me as if I were the greatest scoundrel unhung." In his conversation he took a step nearer to her, and gained a full view of her face. There was a moment's silence. A pause in which surely one or both should realise the absurdity of the situation which had resulted in two strangers —a handsome man and a young girltalking in this intimate way. But in truth they were so absorbed, she by her wounded pride and the remembrance, of last night, and he by his desire to conquer this strange repugnance of a pretty girl, that conventionalities wero forgotten, and went for nothing. " Scoundrel!" she repeated, blushing, " I did not say so." "But your eyes did," he retorted. "Ifever dislike and repugnance were expressed, you have looked them -since the moment

you set eyes on me, and, yet, until to-day we have never met—you yourself say that we have never met."

" And I hope we shall never meet again," she answered, lifting her eyes, in which wounded pride and passionate anger fought for predominance. Sir Roland regarded her with earnest amazement.

" This is extraordinary," he said. " This is a mystery which—" here his voice grew grave and solemn. " Will you toll me how and when I have offended you ?" he asked. " No," she replied, turning upon him. "I will not say anything more. I have said too much. We are strangers, Sir Roland, and you have no right to keep mo talking on the—the public road. We are strangers, and I wish that we shall remain so. Goodmorning ?" And with a glance that was as much one of defiance and dislike as of farewell, she turned and went swiftly down the road.

CHAPTER VI. THE COUNTY BALL.

The days glided by into weeks. Mr 3. Gore-Boothe, a lady whose social position vas somewhat in excess of her means of maintaining it, had been so gracious as to chaperon Marjorie, and the result had been that everybody had called upon her and received her. That is, everybody, but the Chestertons, who were still in the profoundest ignorance of the existence of tho young lady. It must be said that Marjorie did not receive the attentions of the gentry in the spirit in which Mrs. Gore-Boothe had at the outset intended that she should. It was that good lady's intention to patronise Marjorie ; but the fact had been' that Majorie had rather patronised her, and not only her, but everybody else who had made her acquaintance. It was nob done boldly or presumptuously, but in an indifferent, but queenly fashion which made resistance impossible. It now came about that Mr. Deane and his vulgarities were no longer the topic of Cranford gossip ; everybody talked of his beautiful and queenly daughter, who took her place in society as if she had been accustomed to rule there.

When it was announced that the time

for the county ball had been set, Mrs. Gore-Boothe hurried over to Harley House and plunged at once into the absorbing question of what Marjorie should wear. Marjorie listened and said indifferently that she doubted if she would wear anything there.

Then there were horror and dismay, and it required all the arts of Bessie and Mrs. Gore-Boothe combined to persuade her to change her mind. And when it was changed it was very nearly driven back to its original position by the discovery that the Chest or bo always honoured the county ball with their presence. And then, again, with the abruptness which occasionally characterised Marjorie's decision, she declared, with what seemed an unnecessary warmth, that she would go. And so, when the time came, she did. But she was nob on time. She kept hot' father pacing the hall and studying alternately his watch and the broad staircase, and she horrified Mrs. Gore-Boothe by declaring to her that she was in no hurry and did not propose to be. Oh, she could be as capricious as a veritable empress when she chose, and that night she chose. "My dear," said Mrs. Gore-Boothe, "I left your father fuming, literally fuming, in the hall."

" Don't let that alarm you," said Mariorie, coolly. "Papa always does fume; :ie likes it."

However, she was ready at last, and Bessie, who was on her knees before her, a position she had taken the better to arrange the white satin gown, leaned back in speechless admiration. And even Mrs. Gore-Boothe could find no words for the moment.

Pretty and piquant at all times, Marjorie looked her best that night. Dressed merely in white satin, with a simple flower in her hair, she was not only ravishingly beautiful, but was the embodiment of elegance and good taste. Bessie was ecstatic, Mrs. Gore-Boothe was positively awed.

"Come, my dear," she said. Thoy went down to the fuming Mr. Deane, and the two gorgeous footmen ushered them into the carriage and shut the door with an imposing bang. They were late, and by the time they reached the Town Hall thoy found that the staircase was crowded by a noble army of

young men, who, not yet being warmed out of their diffidence, preferred to cling about the entrance to entering the mazy dance. ■ It was Marjorie's first ball; but no one would ever have suspected it ; for, dolighted and dazzled as she was, she exerted all her self-command to appear indifferent and at ease. In truth, her young soul was in arms against the class into which her father's ambition had thrust her, and she was intent on showing that she was not merely equal to everything that might present itself, but superior to it. Everybody went to the county ball, but in fact the room was divided into two parte. At the bottom, and by far the coolest and most comfortable part of the room, congregated the nobodies, the farmers and small people, the herd that did nob belong to Gran ford society. Through this All's. Goro-Boothe fought her way, and alter a long and arduous struggle, reached the upper end of the room. There, enthroned on velvet fautouils, sat the elite of Cranford, and to that privileged part Mrs. Gore-Boothe made her way. Late though it was, the Chestertons, the important people, had not yet arrived. Rumours of the attendance of Miss Montressor had gone forth, and the elite were on the tiptoe of curiosity and expectancy. Could it be possible that she would not come after all ? It was a dreaded possibility ; but for ft while it was even forgotten in the sensation which the entrance of Marjorie created. Had Marjorie cared enough for it, she must have been gratified by the triumph of her appearance. The young men fairly flocked about her, besieging her for dances ; and she would probably have promised them all, had not Mrs. Gorc-Bootho suggested that she reserve somo. As it was, she was engaged for five dances and was soon whirling in the arms of a languid captain of dragoons. With every sign of success, the ball goes on its way. The Chestertons had not put in an appearance by midnight, and Marjorie, permitted by their absence to forget herself, entered into the full enjoyment of the occasion, dancing every dance since her arrival. The bright colour, bloomed on her round cheeks, and a happy light glowed in her brown eyes. Suddenly, while she was dancing with a county magistrate, who had addressed her but twice during the intricate figures of the Lancers, she was sensible of a marked sensation in the room. Someone had arrived. She looked around just in time to see an old lady in black satin anil lace enter the room. Following her was a tall man with a tawny mustache and dark, piercing eyes ; on his arm leaned a beautiful woman, with golden red hair and a pale, fair face. Marjorie did not need to look twice. In an instant she recognised Sir Roland Chesterton and Miss Mont,reader. Behind them came a yellow-haired man, with one of those perfect Anglo-Saxon faces which one sees, say twice in a lifetime. Beautiful blue eyes, matching the crisp, wavy hair, and a clean-cut mouth— that feature, which is so generally bad, completing the picture. This was Reginald Montressor, the beauty's brother. But though nearly every woman's gaze, after scaning the group, returned ana became fixed on the beauty, Marjorie scarcely looked at her, passed even tho fair perfection of Reginald Montressor, but fixed her eyes on the calm, impassive face of Sir Roland Chesterton, while a swift flush mounted to her own face, and one thought passed through her brain: "Will lie see and recognise me As a matter of fact, Sir Roland did not seem to see anyone. With that impassive composure for which he was famous, he conducted his stately mother to her place amid the mighty ones, and then looked down at his card with an expression which, if it meant anything, was .significant of intense boredom and weariness. To tell tho truth, it had required all Lady Chesterton's persuasive eloquence to bring him, and now that he was there, he saw that the affair was even worse than ho had pictured it, and he began to turn about for some excuse for deserting the festive' scene and smoking a cigar in quietude and peace somewhere out in the street. Tall and picturesque, in one of the attitudes which the photographers had rendered so familiar, Helen Montressor stood beside the black-satined old lady, her long, exquisitely gloved hands folded on her fan, her face wearing that smile of amusement, largely tinged with contempt, with which a skilled actress might view tho efforts of a company of amateurs ; her blue eyes wandering slowly, majestically languid, over the bustling mass. " What a barbaric horde !" she murmured sweetly to Reginald, who, with his eyeglass, was critically scanning the multitude. Yes, slightly mixed," he answered, " but— By George !" he broke in, interrupting himself. " What a pretty girl ! What a regular beauty !" And, without another word, ho dropped his eyeglass and mingled with the crowd. A few minutes later he was being presented to the delighted Mrs. Gore-Boothe and the steely cold Marjorie. With a wellturned compliment he sent the good lady into the seventh heaven of delight, and then turned to Mariorie with a request for a dance, which Marjorie would have coldly refused had not her chaperon interposed : " How fortunate ! She was just saying that this one was not engaged." After that there was nothing to do but yield, and before she very well knew what had happened she was whirling with him in a waltz. Dancing was one of the many things which Marjorie could do to perfection. All that there was of her was in

harmony with the music, and the supple figure which Reginald Montressor's arm encirled was as lithe and full of life as a Nautch girl's. A thrill of pleasure, as distinct as any that the exquisite had experienced for many a day, went through him as he recognised this fact. And a half-inaudible "By Jove !" of satisfaction and surprise escaped his clearcut lips. " What did you say ?" asked Marjorie. "I said you danced beautifully," he promptly answered. " I didn't think you had said so much as that," she retorted.

"It's the truth," he rejoined, emphatically. "I do hope," he added, with an earnestness that surprised himself, " that I have your step. Am I too fasttoo slow?" His step was perfect, but Marjorie was not to be conciliated.

"It does not matter," she answered, icily ; and Reginald Montresssor was forced to be contented with a perfect dance without conversation.

And the dance was perfect; so perfect that the majority of the couples on the floor were unnoticed in the general admira-

tion of these two. Even the professional beauty was forgotten, and ere long there were not more than half-a-dozen couples besides Marjorio and Reginald Montressor on the floor. The latter was enjoying himself as he had not done in many a season, and, for that matter, AJarjorie soon entered into the full spirit of the delightful motion and was thinking of nothing elso, when, of a sudden, sho became aware of the fact that she and her partner were the centre of observation, and, with a swift flood of crimson, she abruptly stopped.

"Is anything the matter?" asked Reginald, dismayed. Anybody stepped on your dross? Don't say you are tired, Miss Dearie."

" Thank you," was the cold answer. " I will nit down now," and she laid just the tips of her fingers on his arm.

"That was a waltz?" he murmured, enthusiastically. " Will you be so kind as to see if you have another open, Miss Deane ?"

"I know that I have not," was her chilling answer, without even looking at her card. " And there is Mrs. Gore-Boothe

—thank you," and with the faintest of bows, she slipped from his side. Reginald Montressor, "the handsomest man of his day," stood, stricken motionless Snubbed ! lie could hardly believe his senses. But it was so, and the worst of it was that he felt it.

Sir Roland, in the meantime, had entered into a talk on politics with an old gentleman and was trying to forget where he was, when Lady Chesterton demanded : "Are you not going to dance, Roland?" He looked up with an air of resignation, and then, seeing his cousin near ban, said with a grim smile : " Will you venture, Helen ? I dance like a bear on hot plates—vilely ! It is only right that I should warn you." 'At least a bei>.r can help me up," she replied, with her roost dangerous smile. That Helen Montressor was an accom-

plished dancer was evident from the fact that she could make even Sir Poland's performance seem respectable. For '.t is quite

true that great and all powerful as he was, he danced execrably. And the proud beauty found herself growing red and breathless with the effort to maintain something like harmony of motion. Before Ahe waltz was half over he stopped, lie was flushed and hob, but self-possessed as he would be—say in the midst of a charge of cavalry. "I won't torture you any longer, Helen," he said, in his quiet, deep voice. " You deserve a better performer than I am, and 1 have seen a score of men scowling vindictively at me. Let us walk around." " Why do you apologise ?" she murmured. "Do you think I care so much for dancing as that ? I dislike dancing men as I do beauty men—they trencjJj on our preserves." "I sha'n't incur your displeasuro in either way," he said, with a smile. "Here is Barnwell—lot mo introduce him. He can dance, and is good-looking enough to incur your dislike. Lord Barnwell was delighted to make the acquaintance of the London beauty, and bore her off, leaving Sir Roland to cool himself. Wiping his forehead and only half concealing a palpable yawn, he leaned against the wall with his hands behind his back, and watched the scene with an expression which certainly did not betray either amusement or interest, and which speedily develoj>edinto one of utter weariness and irritability as the skirts of the women swept against, his logs, and one or two reckless couples bounded against his waistcoat. He abandoned his position and went in search of the bar, determined to do what he could to quench his thirst, and then go away to some safe and secluded spot until the affair was over. "Champagne, Sir Roland?" asked the waiter, obsequiously. Sir Roland nodded, and the man opened a fresh bottle—he knew better than to offer him stale wine—and Sir Roland had tipped the glass to his lips, when he heard a voice behind him saying : " Can I have some water ?" Sotting the champagno glass down, ho turned mid saw the face which had been haunting him for weeks.

[To be continued.]