A CARPET KNIGHT.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11841, 19 December 1901, Page 3

A CARPET KNIGHT.

Do you know,'' said Annice Beatoun, "it makes me angry to look at you sometimes?'' And yet it was hard to see what there was to arouse the emotion of anger in" the appearance of her companion—a tall, well-set-up, young Englishman, with an air of lighthearted prosperity and well-being in the very fit of his clothes, and the way he had of wearing them. It was a day in the month of December a mild "Devonshire clay," warm with sunshine; and the two sat together on a rustic seat, under a venerable Lebanon cedar. Behind them was the old gray castle, where they were staying as members of a Christmas party, before them a wide stretch of smoothly shaven lawns and park—green in the foreground, misty blue in the distance. An excited collie gambolled gaily about them, pnd Lord Arden turned his head towards the clog, holding out his hand to ii, perhaps to hide the slow flush that rose to his forehead, perhaps for the sake of assuming a careless indifference .to the sharplyspoken words.

"Thank you," ho said, quietly. "I ought to be flattered that — l'm able "to make you feel anything." "How like you that is!" the girl exclaimed. "Of course you don't really care v;hs\.t I think of you! Yet—in-a way'we've been friend?., and. I can't help speaking out for your own good. But neople never forgive things that are said" ' for their own good,' do they? Ii you hadn't pretended to—to—"

'"Don't you really think it has been rather more than pretence?" lie interrupted, smiling with aggravating nonchalance. You were going to say, I'm sure, if I hadn't ' pretended' to be in love with you. you wouldn't trouble about my reformationwasn't that it?"

'•Something like it." She blushed brightly, looking very beautiful ami very petulant. She was quite lovely enough "to inspire far more than a "pretence" of passion in any man, even one with colder blood in his veins than George RHerslev. Lord Arden Indolent and careless of life as it linssed him by though he chose to seem, Arden was not cold-blooded.

"I mom it as much rs i; is in me to airai anything." he said. The words were easily capable of two significations, and she chose to take the one less flattering to herself less creditable to him.

"Ah—as much as if, is in von to mean anything!"' she bitterly echoed. "That is just it. I have been brought up. and it is in my nature. I suppose, to take life in earnest: you, with everything in the world to make yon happy, to" give you ea.so and pleasure, simply accept the goods the cods liaye provided, drifting along with the tide. smiling tnd lazy, using none of the glorious opportunities that could bo your;.—" "What, opportunities, for instance, do T neglect?" ho asked, half laughing at. her stormy face and voice. " Surely none of trying to win favour of you. I've been striving to i'o that for a whole yearover since the day we first met. Tell me. please, in so many words what you would have me to do that I don't do?"

Womanlike, she would not, answer his challenge with directness. "Why can't modern men bo heroes, like those of old''" she exclaimed, impatiently. " I'm tired of carpet knights —like you. if you will have it. and many of the other men T know. None of you who have money -think of anything but amusing yourselves— arid even that in th" least troublesome way. How can any of your expect women to love and admire and respect you—you well dressed, dancing, do-as-fiveryone-else-in-yoin-set-tloes young men?"

" What - 1 startling indictment!" he maculated. "But von haven't exactly told me yet where I fail. Do I neglect the comfort of mv tenants?"

" Xn—o." she admitted. For it was well known that no cottages were more convenient or sanitary than the new ones which Lord Arden had built on bis estate, since coming into his inheritance. "Am I stingy with my money?" "No—o!" half grudgingly. " I believe— I've heard—that you do a great deal of good, in a big impersonal sort of -way. But after all there isn't much credit to you in [riving of that which you have in such abundance. What I mean is that you never do anything which requires the least self-sacrifice, unselfishness, or heroism. I don't suppose you're a coward —FiiTlislimen are not like that—but nobody's affairs, not even your own, seem worth takinp- the least trouble about. Your motto is, 'Let thin<«t slide.' Even in a crisis for England, like this war in South Africa, you. and many of the men in your set. d"> not trouble yourselves because you don't happen to be soldiers. Yon let others jro and fight, while you stay at home and criticise."

Ho shrugsed his broad shoulders. "Far be if- from mo to attempt self-defence. Would it be too much ask, Miss Beatoun. that you deseril>e your ideal man to me —for mv moral edification?"

"You're laughing at mc still I will do ii." she said. " if only to show you how far removed bo is front you and your kind. Mv 'deal man." she leaned back, with her bands behind her head, pushing the black picturehat forward until it made a dark frame for her red-gold hair. " Ho has something to think of besides clubs, and polo, and horseraces, and card-playing, and lounging in drawingrooms, or even the best build for a vaclit—which is one of vour mast creditable fads. I understand. He reads fine, soulstirring hooks, his face is set toward righting the wrongs which have been like clogs on the wheels of the world's progress, century after century. When he speaks, he says something inspiring not silly witticisms, to make silly people laugh : ho is brave, true, stem. dignified, always ready to give life and fortune in defending the right—"

She was almost out of breath in her enthusiasm, but Arden put up both hands, strong hands (though she had proclaimed them as useless) in laughing protest. "Don't! No more. I bog! J cry quarter!" he implored, "You have said enough to show me how useless it is to emulate this Admirable Crichtcn. I should only make a laughing stock of myself if I tried. _ Fancy the obligation to say something if one wanted more sugar in one's tea! You've been quite right to let mo see these. last three months that there was no hope for me. I. must e'en go on in my own humble, worthless way. and dree my own weird. Meanwhile, I haven't done what T followed you hero to do. I haven't said good-bye, Miss Beatoun." Sho changed colour a .little. " Are you . going away? Why. you only came the day before yesterday. ' Lady Worsheld told me that .he was asking you down for a week." "I wrote her, though, that T. couldn't stay. I only came, as the Irishman remarked, to run away again. You know what a, 'blase fellow I am— you've lectured me on it, among my other faults, haven't you? I'm leaving England in a couple of days." "What is it to bo this time?" she questioned, with faint sarcasm. "Tiger shooting in India, grizzly bears in the Rocky Mountains, or—'.' "Not quire the right time of year for either, unfortunately. But—er— expedition of a. different sort, this time. Still if, may be long before we see each other again, and— leave Merton Abbey for town in ait hour. You'll shakehauds for goodbye, and wish me well, won't yon?" Annice looked up into his face. there was a certain earnestness in his voice, which he could not quite conceal, try as he would. She nut out her hand. lie pressed it hard, with a tightening of the lips. "It is a surprise—" she faltered. " 1 didn't tell anyone until an hour ago. There's no use in having one's plan* talked over. But I've said 'au revoir' to everybody now. I— saved you for the last. I didn't want to touch anyone else's hand after— this." " If— had known, T would have talked of other things, not not —" ( _ "Lectured me?" ho finished lightly. 'Oh, but 1 deserve it. Don't wish any of it unsaid, even—even if wo should never see each other again." But wc shall, of course." "No doubt. I. merely meant, accidents sometimes happen in the best regulated' pleasure trips, don't they? If one came to me, it wouldn't matter much, for I've no one to care really and my brother would fill mv shoos far" better than I ever did. 'Bad pennies' though! 1 don't suppose my friends will get rid of me so easily—or my enemies, either. Good-bye once more. Miss Beatoun."

" Goodbye." . . In another moment she was sitting on the rustic scat alone, gazing at the gambolling collie with eyes that did not see. Every word she had" said was true. Why should she regret them? She would not— no, she would not let herself care. All these months she had tried hard, and, of course, she had succeeded. There was no doubt that, so far as mere personality was concerned, there was something extremely winning about Lord Arden. lint what did that matter? She had just conclusively proved to him, and to herself also, that he had not won her! Somehow, Merton Abbey, though it was full of nleasant neoplo, seemed dull without him. Ho had, without meaning it, been the central figure in everything. Only in mere frivolous amusements, of course; still— he was missed. That day no one spoke in.Anuicc's hearing of Lord Ardcn's departure, for it was fancied that she had onoe and for all given him his "conga," and that the less said about his absence the better: but. next morning there was groat excitement over the morning papers at breakfast time. (To be concluded to-morrow.)