TIME-AND THE WOMAN:

New Zealand Herald, Volume XL, Issue 12401, 14 October 1903, Page 3 (Supplement)

TIME-AND THE WOMAN:

[by sthacey chambers.]

Chalmers sat smoking his aftor-dinner cigar at the Carlton. He had ensconced himself just outside the dining-room, on the little landing opposite the band, whence he could watch the passers-by down, below among the greenery in the Palm Court. Chalmers was, moreover, alone; a condition of things which, suited his contemplative mood of the moment, though from his coign of vantage* he could note, the presence of not a few of his personal acquaintances. It was a Friday night, and only that morning he had, arriving at Southampton by one of the great Union-Castle liners, set foot again in the Old Country after an absence of twelve years. Twelve years ago Gilbert Chalmers, as a young engineer, had gone out to the Rand without any particular advantages, and had there found other young men endowed with precisely the same amount of ability; added .to which the first excitement of the goldfields had died off, and thing 3 were slowing down a bit. Some, it is true, had seemed picked . out for luck; as many, and more, dogged by ill-fortune; some—not a few— took to drink, and others, like Lord Chesterfield's historic son, preferred taking— .... The way to H-11, Escorted by the Graces. Gilbert Chalmers' weakness had lain neither way. Hard headed, and generally cool and calculating, he had managed to steer a prudent middle course ; consequently, he never starved, nor, on the other hand, could he ever have been said to have had a chance of wallowing in Dry Monopole had he wanted to—which, with bis temperament, he probably had not. Chalmers was therefore now a well-pro-served, carefully-groomed man of some forty years of age. Tall, perhaps slightly florid and tending towards stoutness, but nevertheless distinguished-looking; moreover, he was at the present moment probably one of the richest men in this moving crowd around him.

Wealth— in six figures— come to Gilbert Chalmers as it were suddenly. Up to the beginning of the war he had merely been what one might call well-to-do, and then had come his chance, and, like more than one man we could mention, Chalmers began making money "hand.over fist." He had now come Home with a distinct object in view—he meant to marry. Now, this benign intention sharpened, rather than tempered, both his mental and visual contemplation of the female sex in general, and of its fair members as at present represented at this fashionable assembly in particular. He had sampled the girls on board, and they had submitted to the operation willingly enough. A slight touch of fever had brought the nurses, gentle creatures, about his deck-chair like a shoal of mackerel, each anxious to " take his temperature;" yet it had availed them nothing. With that superabundance of energy which marks tho return of the native to England, Chalmers had spent all the afternoon of the clay in question studying beauty as represented by our very best home products in the park. Chalmers prided himself on quick insight and on knowing what he wanted when ho saw it. "If ho saw it," he said to himself, "he should soon manage the rest," for besides being a man of determination, as ho always had been, he was now a man of worth. To-night, somehow, he felt disheartened, for he had his ideals. Yes, he had his ideals; and in proof thereof, gradually, out of a more or less nebulous memory of past days, these- detached attributes so desirable in women floated together and became as it were- concrete, taking a certain shape and form—that of a girlish figure that had from time to time crossed Chalmers' mental vision when he had thought of Home. Not sentimentally—" ho was never such an ass," he told himself— but there had been a certain sort of comfort, of gratification, in thinking of that particular face and figure in his softer moments. When he had not anything more important to think of Chalmers had certainly often found himself thinking of that girl. He got up, and, leaving the smart restaurant with its glare and artificiality, strolled towards the Cecil. « The vision "disturbed him, but disturbed Turn pleasantly. It was getting distinctly stronger; but, good heavens ! an* that had been twelve years ago, and twelve years .make more difference in a woman than in a man, thought Chalmers, ever cautious.

He felt sure she- had not married, news of the old familiar places having now and again reached him as such scraps of local news will—in letters, or by some man or other coming out and bearing a letter of introduction to him.

No, she had not married; of so much he was cortain, and that knowledge was, in a lukewarm sort of way, gratifying to Chalmers.

By this time he had reached the Strand and turned into his hotel, where, entering the ofliee, he consulted a railway time-table. Having ascertained that a particular mornnig train stopped at H—, a remoto and unimportant spot in Sussex, Chalmers settled the time he should be called in order to catch it, and turning in was soon sleeping the sound sleep of an unimaginative man.

H— is, as we have said, remote and unimportant, while the village —■ —, two miles beyond it as the crow flies, is one of those peculiarly sleepy and out-of-the-worlcl little nooks, of which a few may still, by dint of diligent searching, be found in England.

It was curious how familiar the place seemed to him, in spite of lapse of time; how Chalmers recognised the old landmarks as, after leaving the quiet, trim little station, ho turned into the high road and almost instinctively took a narrow path leading up through the woods. There was, he remembered, a white gate further on, where the trees, ceasing abruptly, disclosed a strip of meadow land, a spot whence the gables of Beechcroffc should be in view, he told himself.

Gilbert Chalmers, invigorated by the bracing country air, swung along the path rapidly. Desire was strong in him to-day, and he felt almost a boy again in the eagerness that had suddenly come, upon him. Approaching the gate, however, he noticed that his steps were overtaking thoso of another —a woman—also walking that way, and ho slackened his pace, then quickened it. The woman turned as her hand touched the gate. "Allow me," murmured Chalmers, his eyes eagerly scanning the. face before him. Th woman was about to pass through with a slight bow and the usual conventional words of thanks, when an exclamation from Chalmers stopped her. '• Margaret! I—should say. Miss Aidrich !" And she looked up, quick surprise, giving way to sudden recognition. " Gilbert Chalmers? Surely notyot I do believe it is !" And she contended her hand frankly. Chalmers took it, and for a moment held it in silence. A curious tumult was going on within his brain. Ho could have shouted his triumph. He was rigid, he told himself exultantly; had he not felt he should be justified of his belief? She had not changedthat is, in no greater degree than that the girl ho remembered had matured, entering that riper glow of glorious summer-time. No longer in the flush of early summer perhaps, yet such women as Margaret Aldrich, he told himself, are endowed with almost eternal youth; and with her rich beauty, bounteous health, and calm and steadfast mind Margaret at thirty was younger, ho felt convinced, than half the women of his acquaintance whose summers not yet numbered twenty-five. To bo the wife, therefore, of a man past his fortieth year, what more, fitting companion in the wide world than this beautiful, smiling gentlewoman, thought Gilbert Chalmers, still holding her hand. A pause followed this first recognition; it is difficult, this taking up the thread of acquaintanceship after an interlude of years, and the embarrassment seemed more on the man's side than the woman's. "Have you been back long?" she inquired of Chalmers. He had taken his place at her side, and both continued their walk slowly across the meadow. "Indeed, we had no idea you were in Europe, let alone down at ," added Margaret with a pleasant laugh. "We?" questioned Chalmers, while an almost jealous suspicion rang out in the tone of his voice. "Wo?" Margaret noticed the interrogative accent, and misconstrued its true import. "Ah" she murmured, a shadow passing over her beautiful faco, "you are thinking of the gaps down at the old home.' And she nodded in the direction of tho house, an old-fashioned one of moderate size and without pretension, which they were now approaching "My father's death you, of course, beard of some years ago; and then my brother. Yes, in that awful wreck. His poor little wife soon followed him; indeed, she never got over the shock—and so—so"—trying bravely to steady her voice, '"this is all I have now." And following her eyes, in which the sunshine struggled with a certain dimness, Chalmers became aware of a small person, hatless and pmafored, who was making her way through the long grass as fast as two sturdy little legs could carry her. "Donald's child, explained Margaret, picking up this bonnie baby girl. " So, you I see, it is always ' we' now in everything,

isn't it, Mollie? Indeed, I seem to have forgotten the use of the 'first person singular' entirely!" , , Gilbert Chalmers looked at Margaret and then at the child in silence; and the chilu, returning his gaze with two unabashed blue eyes, said: "Man! go—way!" , . , "Oh, Mollie! And a friend of dear dad's?" remonstrated Margaret, struggling between solemnity and a smile. Mollie wavered, and graciously stuck out two red lips. Chalmers, unused in the way of babyhood, only looked embarrassed. " She wants to be kissed," prompted Margaret. ' Chalmers, by no means specially grateful, nevertheless bent his dark head and received this token of toleration on the part of Miss Mollie. . , "And now," said Margaret, putting the child down again, " will you run and tell Hester that a friend of auntie's has come to lunch?" ' vi i "'Ess!" consented Mollie, _ and scrambled off hospitably intent, leaving her elders alone again. _ "So you have "remained on at the old place?" remarked Chalmers, almost brusquely, as they entered the porch a few moments later. " Why, —of course," answered Margaret in slight surprise. "The place was our own, though too big in some respects for babv and me; yet there seemed no reason to go away. It is hardly well enough furnished to let, otherwise I might, have taken her abroad for the sake of her education. Still, she is very small yet; for a long time I can go on. teaching her myself, and, after all, 'gang oast, gang west, hame'sbest.' But"—and she smiled at him"but perhaps you African millionaires don't agree with that homely proverb, and I'm very oldfashioned —" n " I don't know that I'm a millionaire,' broke in Chalmers almost roughly, and knowing all the time thai he was. "No?" replied Margaret, as she busied herself cutting up the small person's dinner. "No? Well, I think I'm rather glad you'renot quite that, for we had heard .you were horribly rich." " 'Ess!" commented Mollie severely, and staring at him again without the faintest comprehension of what was being said._ When Gilbert Chalmers retired that night to the seclusion of the "best bedroom" at the Blue Dragon, it was with a whole host of thoughts, both mw and old, in his mind from these, however, one in particular detached itself and stood out plainly enough, and that was that he would most certainly marry Margaret. It was, after all, he told himself, the " very best thing that could happen to her. His mind was very content; he had even won over Mollie, having consented for one solid hour that afternoon to be every beast that had ever entered tho ark, and as such giving utterance to their various cries, to Mollie'a entire satisfaction. " They must bo very badly off," he mused; "and, of course, he would have to adopt Mollie." Still, Margaret's devotion to the child would moderate itself when once she had him, hor husband, and possibly some babies of her own to think about. "They would keep Mollie and be kind to herrum little beggar Donald's —best thing Donald ever did was to get drowned went through everything—most of Mar-, garet's money, too, selfish brute!" remarked Chalmers to his last cigar. Well, he could set that all right—being a millionaire wasn't such a bad line, after all!" 111. It was the evening of Chalmers' third day down in " Sleepy Hollow." They had been strolling through the woods and were standing near the white gate again. Chalmers, with a curious look on his features, seemed dumbfounded. Could he trust his senses? Margaret—Margaret Aldncli, this woman of thirty, with the merest pittance in tho world and a child to support out of it, refused him! He was about to speak agiuin, but Margaret, rather pale, stopped his utterance. " Oh, please don't say anything more, Mr. Sir. Chalmers; this can only bo painful to both of us. Let us forget what has been said." And she looked up cntreatingly. Gilbert Chalmers was, however, by 110 means convinced that Margaret knew her own mind. He looked irritated and sullen, like a man with whom some carefully planned business venture had gone wrong. "Twelve years ago," ho began; and Margaret turned her head so that he could not catch her expression. "Twelve years ago," ho continued with evident pique, "you would not have treated me as you are doing now." She was silent, and he floundered on obtusely. "Do you, or don't you remember," his voice getting harsh in his annoyance, '"how up in these very woods, almost where we are standing, that, night before I wont abroad, you let me kiss you? Then I might have had your love for tho asking'. It seems times have changed!" And lie broke off with a short laugh, as Margaret turned 011 him, her face blazing: "Yes," she repeated, "times have changed, both for you and for me. Twelve years ago," and she spoke very quickly, "you might, perhaps—as you seem to have known —'have had my love for the asking;' but you didn't ask. You taught me the lesson, and ' rode away.' I was only a girl then, perhaps younger than my years—you know how simply we lived. I — don't mind telling you now that when you went away—l almost died *1 shame*—to think that you had kissed me—like thatand then just left me —

" I could not marry then; it would not have been prudent to say anything," began the man. But it, was Margaret's turn to laugh. It jarred on him unpleasantly, and Chalmers for the first time felt vaguely ashamed. "Margaret!" And there was moro passion in his voice now than it probably had ever had before. " Oh, Margaretdo come to mel want you so— But Margaret Aldrioh only shook her head. "I shall not marry now, neither you nor any other man. These years I thought had taught me to see —just cold and rather .selfish. And yet my one consolation lias been that you never knew; yet now you tell me self-complaocntly that you did know, but were— prudent! Oh, pray don't say another word—after all, the world is full of women, younger women, who will bo only too pleasedfor you know you arc a millionaire after all." concluded Margaret with a slight smile. "And as for me, what more can I want but Mollie?" Her voice lingered lovingly on the* small person's name. They were standing in the twilight near the gate of the gabled house. "Then good night and good-bye," said 'Margaret more gently. "For you will be going up to town to-morrow, will you not?" But Chalmers, after muttering some indistinct reply, strode over to his inn, flung his traps into his portmanteau, and left that night— sadder and, presumably, a wiser man.