SHORT STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13780, 19 June 1908, Page 3

SHORT STORY.

THE COST OF A FLIRTATION. Re.va Grange was the prettiest girl in Bolton and the biggest flirt. - All girls flirt, you say? "Well, perhaps; but I think I know several who do not. Rena certainly did. She could never see a man without making eyes at him, and very handsome eyes hers were, and eloquent; she could make them say anything. I think Rena was really so much in the habit of flirting that she tried her hand on the women sometimes. Certainly they were almost as much in love with her as their sons, which proves that, notwithstanding the story I am going to tell you, Rena must have had a kind and generous heart, and a great many other good qualities, or the women whoso sons she fooled would not have been so ready to forgive her and take her to their arms. I am not making any excuse for flirting. I consider it one of the meanest devices Satan has ever invented for the beguiling of man. But I knew well the girl I call Rena Grange, and I confess I never could see that she had but that one fault. She was the most truthful girl I ever knew, and the most unselfish. She must have been born a flirt. I cannot account for her being one in any other way. After all, it only amounted to this: She had what she thought was an innocent fashion of laughing and jesting with young fellows, of lifting her small rosebud face confidingly, of looking their hearts out 01 them with eyes whoso expressiveness, perhaps, sho did not herself know. Among Rena's married friends there was one, much older than she, of whom who was especially fond. Her name was Mercor.' She was a widow, having lost her husband under peculiarly painful circumstances, when they had been married only two years. She had novor married again, and seemed to live only in her son. her only child, who was in California, where he had been for five vears past. Rena had never seen him. Mrs. Mercer thought Rena the sweetest, loveliest girl that ever breathed. She did not think that she had one fault. Even that foolish habit she had of trifling with gentlemen quite amused her, till her son red wrote that he was coming home. Then, indeed, the mother's heart misgave her. She knew that Rena's parents would never consent to her marrying even a young man with her Fred's perfections without money. She was one of those- women who tell all their thoughts, except now and then, When they keep a secret that destroys them. " Rena, dear." she said frankly, the first time she saw her favourite after her sons lotter, " I want you to promise me that you won't flirt with, Fred." Rena laughed, and then made a face. " Now, Mrs. Mercer, you are as bad as the rest. You know I never flirt." "I know you do, my darling, dreadfully, and I don't suppose, in a- general way, it matters much. Most men have tough hearts. But now and then there is one whoso nature is so inflammable that for a pretty girl like you to smile and look sweet at him is like a spark of gunpowder." "Really, you quite flatter me," said Rena gaily. "I had no idea I was so dangerous." The elder lady looked distressed. "Dear Rena." she said, "you know how I love you, and how dearly, if such a thing were possible, I should liko you for a daughter. But even if you liked Fred, which is improbable, you know as well as I do that your parents" would never consent • and so, doar, I wish you wouldn't flirt with him. Now, that is frank, is it not?" There was a look of trouble in Mrs. Mercer's face, which Rena was quick to see, but not to fully interpret,' not having the key If her friend had told her all it might have made a difference and it might not. Who knows? As it was. she really did mean to be careful about Fred Mercer. She had already one or two unpleasant reminiscences connected with young gentlemen to whom she had been too kind, and she did not wish to add to the list. Still, sho had heard so much of him from his mother— his good looks, his manliness, intelligence, his affectionate disposition, his passionate temper—that she was curious to see him. She was disappointed in him. Instead of the gay, eager, impulsive young fellow she had expected, sho saw a tall, cold, haughty, reserved man, who looked much older than he really was, and in place of appearing at all dazzled by her charms showed her only marked coldness and avoidanoe. Rena's vanity was piqued. ■.'■.;..,-.: •- ■*■ ■ "He shall at least treat me decently," sho resolved, and set to work, as only a woman can, to make him do. so. .The result anyone could have foreseen. In a wook he was at her feet, not as others had been, though. '"I did not want to love you." he said, simply: "my mother told me you had no heart; but you must have, or you couldnever look at a man as you have at me. I am sure you love me, Rena. If you do not. heaven help me!" Rena hung her head. Tho agony of his voice, his looks, pierced her like a knife. .She had led him on; she know that she had enticed him with every sweet word and look. "I am a wicked girl," she said to herself. " I deserve anythingand after what dear Mrs. Mercer said to me, too." "You do love me, Rena? J was sure of it," he said. "My mother told me it was impossible; that you looked at everyone the same way, but T would not believe it. You will be my wife, darling?" Lower, lower went the bnorht head. No," she said—"no." But she could not look at him. He turned cold. " You don't meant it—you can t mean it!" he cried passionately. "No woman could act with a man as you have acted with me and not love him." "As long as I live, Rena thought, I will never flirt with anyone again." _ Fred Mercer fell on his knees beside her. His handsome face was white. The despair and entreaty of his looks were frightful to "You do—you must love me!" he said, once more. Rena turned away her head. "No," she answered again—" No. It I marrying von would right the wrong J. j have done "von, I would bo your wife. But | von know as well as I do that no woman j could wrong a man more than by marrying j him when she docs not love him." "But I will teach you tolovc me. Oil, no, no—forgive me Ho rose to his feet. . | "I will never forgive you'." lie said, bitterly. " You have done mo a wrong for which you can make no atonement except the one of becoming my wife. You will not do that? Very well. You have ruined mv life, and you did it deliberately. TtOU tried to do it.' If ever the time comes when I can make you suffer as you havo me, .1 will do it." • ' . And then he was gone. Rena Grange was alone. She was very pale, she shivered, and looked frightened. Then in a few moments her colour began to como back, ana she smiled nervously. ' , , "I'm sorry, and I didn't mean it should go so far," she said. "But who would have thought he would take it so hard. As for making mo suffer, I don't know how ho ever can." , . ~, But after what had happened sho felt a strange reluctance to meet him, and it did not' seem to her she could ever look Mrs. Mercer in the face. s Sho went the very next day to make a long-promised visit to some friends who lived in a distant part of the country. When she returned, some months later, it was to got ready to be married. fane had found her fate at last. She loved with* nil tho strength of her nature John Arundel, the man she, was going to marry. The Mercers had gone away, no one knew where, and Rena felt herself the cause. But with her remorse there mingled an undeniable sense of relief that they were gone. She married in due time, and went away on her bridal tour. One afternoon as she sat looking from the window of the hotel whore they were stopping for a day or two she saw a lady and gentleman coming in. They were Fred Mercer and his mother. Both were very much altered, she saw, even in the brief glimpse she got of them as she drew back quickly, her face white. Had they scon her? In five minutes she knew. Someone knocked. It was Mrs. Mercer. She- spoke very coldly and hurriedly. "My son is just out of the insane asylum," (die said. " His father was so ; ho killed himself. I ought to have told yon, but I could not bear to tell anyone. The doctors pronounce Fred cured, but he is very excitable. Rena. don't let Fred see you. I'm afraid he has already, for he refuses positively to leave the hotel. *' He sha'n't see me," Rena answered, her white and trembling lips refusing to utter another word. The conviction smote her that he. had seen her, and that he would try to speak with her. She had not forgotten his Inst. words: "If I can ever make you suffer as you have inc. I will do it!"' -. Her husband was asleep in tho next room. She passed into it. and stood looking at him. A fair, frank-faced man he was, with curly brown hair, and lips that smiled even in - slumber — much like that other cf whom she was thinking with such droad.

"If he ever does hurt me, it will he through you, my darling," she thought. - ~';■■ One window of this room looked upon a small flower garden belonging to the. hotel. As she stood she raised her eyes to it, and sho saw Fred Mercer standing on tho terrace outside, and gazing into the . apartment. With one hand he held the curtain back, with the other he motioned her to come toward him. U . '■■'■■,' , Involuntarily she wont, though his deathwhite face, hi 3 flittering black eyes, turned her sick with fear. Was he mad again.' Oh. if her husband would only wake 1 Her visitor loosed the curtain and laid a cold hand upon her bare and shrinking arm. "I have come to keep my word," he said, in a whisper. " That is your husband there, is it not?" and he took a pistol slowly oat of his breast and pointed it at the sleeping man. Utter one sound," he said, "and I shoot But the caution was needless. Rena was too frozen with horror to either speak or move. ' "You tovo him, I suppose?" he went on. At last, at this moment, you suffer some, nt least, of those pangs you once made me endure." Rena could not have moved or spoken if she had tried. She just sat and stared at him, and wished John would wake, and prayed inwardly with all her soul: '.'■■, " Dear God, don't let me faint. It isn't John who is to blame, but me. and you know I am a wipked girl better than I can tell you." Which was indeed very true. However, to make a long story short, Rena Grantre Arundel did faint, and her husband was waked by the sound of her falling. Fred Mercer stood inside the room now. " I am an old acquaintance of your wife, he said, in answer to his stare of amazement. " She was standing at the window talking to mo when something frightened her and she fainted." At this moment Rena opened her eyes. Sho was in her husband's arms, and ho was saying to Fred Mercer in a very stern voice: " I know all about you. The -best thing you can do is to leave." Rena shuddered, but. to her amazement, Mercer instantly passed through the low window outside, turned and looked at her. " I beg Mrs. John Arundel's pardon for keeping my word so literally to her. I shall never trouble her again." And he was gone. Rena clung to her husband convulsively. "I'm the wickedest girl that ever lived, John. Fred Mercer has just come out of the insane asylum. There is madness in his family, and if he goes back again it will be mv fault." ' 'it "He won't go back—no fear, my darling, ' her husband answered .soothingly. There was a long silence, and then Rena,'without lifting her'head from her husband's shoulder, said: "John. I am a wicked girl, am I not?" John Arundel laughed. "You are my darling." "It is a million times more than I deserve," she said: "and you are the best man that ever lived to love me so, knowing my faults." *' J don't think you have any." "That is just the way you men all talk; and you help us to flirt— know you do." "I don't doubt it, my darling. Men are as bad flirts as women, and I think they do just .is much mise'iief." "Yes, I suppose so." Rena answered sadly. And here is where I' believe in Rena. They were in society, and sho was much admired, but she never became a "married flirt." She had girls of her own in the course of time, and they got the benefit of her experience and remorse, in such earnest and oft-repeated words of caution that they never forgot.