WHAT MARY DID.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVI, Issue 20244, 2 May 1929, Page 5

WHAT MARY DID.

A SHORT STORY.

BY BEATRICE HERON-MAXWELL.

It; began at an afternoon party where, as usual, people were feeling mere or less bored, and were getting on one another's nerves. The rooms were too warm to b;gin with, and "everyone would congregate in the corner by the ices, so that the music room was almost deserted, and the artistes were distinctly annoyed at finding themselves warbling to a few stragglers, " I am so sorry for Lady Dunstan," said Mary Beresford to the man who had just been introduced to her. "I am afraid we are not treating her well Don't you think we had better go and listen to a song?"

"I would gather not," he answered; " but lam at your command. Only, will you do me a favour afterwards ?" She looked surprised. " Certainly, if it is in my power," she assented civilly. " What is it ? ,s

She was looking very comely and cool in a green and white dress of some diaphanous fabric; and there was an atmosphere of pleasant repose about Miss Beresford that people appreciated without ana,lysing it. It had never occurred to her to marry anyone, though the suggestion had been made to her from time to time; she was well off, sho had no near relations, and she had reached the age of 33 while still possessing tho charm for others, and the interest in life, which were hers at 26. Sho wa,j neither a feminine bachelor nor ail old maid, but simply an unmarried woman who was eminently marriageable. "I am the victim, or rather 1 suppose I should say tho hero, of a romance," continued the man, " and I have an intense yearning to tell someone about it. Will you let me confide in you 1" Mary laughed, and for tho first time looked to sco what manner of man this

A dark, clean-shaven face, keen and strong, such as you find in barristers or naval men; a tall, well set up figure; a gravity of voico and manner that were redeemed at times, as at this moment, by a twinkle in the handsome eyes, and a cleft, indicative of humour, a,t the corners of tho lips. " You must let me know your name," she said, "if you are going to tell me the story of your life. I didn't catch what Dunstan said."

" Lawrence Home,'.' he replied, " and I have just mot my fate." " Really 1" Mary's amused glance swept over the crowd round theru, and rested on a girl with straight clear-cut profile and dark hair, to whom she transiently remembered Mr. Home had been talking when their hostess divide'? them.

"I see you are trying to guess who is tho dea-ex-machina," he said, " but i want to begin from the beginning. Won't you let me off the song, Miss Beresford, and come to the balcony over there?" " It is very unprincipled," said Mary, wavering. " Lady Dunstan asked us "to go to the drawing room." " Principles can bo carried too far," ho argued. " Let us be selfish for once and chooso the balcony." "And so you are romantic?" asked Mary when they were ensconced in a shadv corner.

" Not at all by temperament," he assured her, " but I have become so lately. I saw a lady at a concert, and felt so attracted by her that I paid no further attention to the music. Since then Chance has willed that we should often be within speaking distance of each other—in the street—in a room—at an entertainment, and the attraction has grown with every meeting, so that when I have received an invitation lately I have said to myself, 'I wonder if She will be there?' She with a capital letter! But we have never been introduced until to-day. I found her here. I asked Lacly Dunstan to introduce me when a favourable opportunity occurred, and—the thing is done." " And you feel that your fate is sealed ?"

Mary began to be interested, for though his tone was easy and unconcerned, there was something—she could not tell what —which seemed to show he was in earnest.

" For better or for worse, yes," he said. "I am sure she is my alter ego, the one woman in the world for rne, but she may not have the same feeling. In fact, I know for certain that she has no feeling of any sort about me; and no consciousness of ever having met me before. So my only hope is to see her constantly, and that is not so easy as it sounds. For with the exception of our hostess we have no mutual friends, that I am aware of at whose homes we might meet."

" Oh, yes," said Mary, hastily, " I know Miss Matthews quite well. She is coming to lunch with me next week." "Is she?" he said, eagerly. " And you will ask me, too ? But that is too good of you." "Not at all. I shall be very pleasad. Romance deserves encouragement in these prosaic days. She is a charming girlEthel Matthews. I have known her quite a long time. We might go to a picture gallery afterwards. Sir James Hart is coming, so that we shall be a partie earee."

She rose to go, and extended her hand with a smile of encouragement to him. " Good-bye," she said. " I have an early dinner engagement, and I must go now. Don't forget—lunch at two o'clock." " You haven't given me your address." She took out a card from a little jewelled case and gave it to him.

*' 2, Mayfair Mansions," he said. " Thanks. I shan't forget, and lam most grateful." And as she went away and his glance followed her he said to himself: " That was a good mov« of mine. But what a piece of luck!"

The little " square" luncheon party at Mayfair Mansions was decidedly a success. Sir James Hart was a rising diplomat, indeed one might say that he was a risen one, and he talked even better than nsnal because he was anxious to please Miss Beresford. Ethel Matthews, who was accustomed to demand and 'receive admiration with a coolness that is characteristic of the latter-day young woman, accepted Mr. Heme's attempts to be agreeable graciously, and they were quite friendly by the time that they arrived at the Grafton Galleries. Mary Beresford, watching the progress of the little romance with a thrill at her heart that was half pleasant, and yet had a touch of odd sadness in it, decided to see the thing through, and later, before they all parted, she invited both Ethel and Mr. Home to dine with her the following week and do a play. It was very nice and civil of Mr. Home, she thought, to manage a call on her in between the two festivities, and she received him with gracious cordiality. More than once she was on the point of asking him how the romance progressed, but as he made no reference to it she decided it would be bad taste on her part. They drifted therefore into talk about themselves, and she learnt many interesting things concerning him, so that they seemed like old and intimate friends when thev parted. The theatre party promised well at the commencement; for the fourth man was a steady-going, middle-aged member of Parliament, a widower with pronounced views, and Mary monopolised him in order to give the romance freedom to i develop itself.

(COPYRIGBT.f

Yet presently it seemed as iif something bad gone Ethel Matthews. was distinctly initiating the widower »n th>? early stages of the a.rt of flirtation, while Lawrence:—piqued no ' doubt—betrayed a desire to take refuge from her neglect with Mary. It distressed Mary very much. She was surprised .to find that she was full of indignant sympathy with Lawrence—for after all love disappointments are very usual occurrences: and that she was actually taking a dislike to Ethel because that fickle young person had deserted Mr. Home for the widower.

" It is charming of you to tako it so well," sho murmured to Lawrence' when ho begged tho privilege of driving home with her; " but, of course, you must not let it become a real quarrel. You must insist on seeing Miss Matthews to Eaton Terrace,,"

His face fell. " But she has already arranged ," he said,, " that our honourable and worthy friend should bo her escort. I should net like to intervene." And a moment later Misu Matthews settled the point herself, by departing with the widower and taking a very brief and chilly farewell of Mr. Home. As Mary drove with him toward Mayfair Mansions Sihe was, trying to think of appropriate words wherewith to console this blighted lover; but she found it so difficult that when they reached the flat she had said nothing, 'and could only endeavour to convey her sympathy by a lingering hand-clasp. " May I not come in for a moment ?" he said. " I have something very important to say to you." " Poor fellow!" she reflected. "He is wretched, and may bo going to do something desperate. I must persuade him to be calm."

So she gave a gracious assent. " I havo been looking forward to this evening more than I can say," Lawrence began. " Will! it boro you il; I refer to my romance?"

Sho turned to him with tears of earnestness shining in her eyes. " Of course it will not boro me,'" sho assured him. " I cannot express to you how sorry I feel, how sincerely I sympathise with you. But I think that Miss Matthews "

Ho interrupted by faking her hand. "Need \vc talk about Miss Matthews?" he said, while llio smile and tho twinklo in his eye transformed his face. "It is such absolute waste of time. I would so much rather t»lk about you—Mary." Slio was so astonished that for a moment she could not speak, and he drew her a.littlo nearer to him by the passive hand bo held.

" I cannot wait any longer," he said. " I very nearly told you that I loved you that first day on Lady Dunstan's balcony, but I did not venture "to for fear of being banished and losing my chance. It hs;s seemed an eternity since then, and—to tell tho truth, I was getting so bored with Miss Matthews that I am afraid I showed it. Mary I have loved i you from the first moment that I saw you. Don't send me away." " But," she faltered, " it can't b© true. It must be-a mistake. You told me " " I told you the truth," be said, and captured the other hand. " And you, with your delightful lack of egotism, decided that :my ideal must be Miss Matthew%. Mary—Mary—how could it be anyone but you? Don't you know how delightful you are? Don't you ipndcrstand that my life would not he worth living without you. Can't you care a little bit for me?" She did not answer, for she was still too much amazed both at him and at herself to be able to speak; but he read something that encouraged him, in her eyes, for he lifted her hands up to his shoulders and,, bending, Said softly: " If there is a grain of hope for i me, Mary, give m« one kiss." And Mary did.