A MATTED OF DUTY.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1404, 26 January 1899, Page 11

A MATTED OF DUTY.

"No doubt marriage is the saving of a 'oung man,” said my Aunt Tabitha, sqhentiously. I assented, for I find it pfl3'S to give a •eady acquiescence to abstract proposi:ions. " You must marry,” continued my aunt. I hesitated, for to assent to the concrete s more dangerous. " I am slid very young,” I said, meekly. My aunt turned to my mother. "Whom shall Alfred marry:” My mother shook her head. "Somebody nice/ 'she volunteered. "What do you say to Letitia Brownlow?” isked my aunt. " I would prefer to say nothing to Letitia drownlow,” I interrupted hastily. " Or Amelia Staffortli ?” "Is she not rather ” My mother waved one hand. "And Alfred is so slim.” " I think she has a very fine figure,” responded my aunt. "Or there is Gertrude /illiams. She will have a fortune if she utlives her sisters.” “ There are only five of them,” I said, ilayfully. " Or Mabel Gordon ?” " She has taken a course of cooking lesons,” observed my mother. "No, none of these,” I cried, decisively. My aunt looked offended. " Very well, then, choose for yourself,” be said, tartly. " Perhaps that would help,” I remarked, houghtfully. , “ You will choose somebody nice, won't ou, Alfred?” said my mother. " With money,” observed my mother. “ Not too young,” added my aunt. • “And religious,” begged my mother. " There is no objection to her being goodloking?” I ask, a trifle timidly. "Mo, 1 think not, said my aunt, " project she fully understands that beauty 3 not skin deep.'' “ I will tell her,” I murmured. " Well, said my aunt, impatiently, after : short pause, " whom do you suggest?” 1 thought for a moment. "What do you say to Winifred Fraser?” "That minx!” cried my aunt.

"Oh, Alfred!” echoed my mother. "Whv not?” I asked. "Such a dreadful family!” said my mther. "So fast!” interjected my anut. " But have you never noticed the sun on er hair?” I asked innocently. Mv aunt drew herself up. "We have not noticed the sun on^ her air,” she said, witli much dignity, "nor !o we wish to obesrve the sun on her hair.” I was instlv annoyed. "I really think it must be Winifred ’raser,” I said. " She is very fond of me nd ” "How can yon be so cruel to me ! cried ly mother. " Have you not noticed how rey my hair is getting? You will not have ie long.” She drew out her handkerchief.

"You will come to 1 tad .end,” said my nnt. " I always tbumht you vru doraved. If yo 1 ntiry that paint'd lus«y, ou must not expert mv countenance. Under the o.irc.i lunvi .os, T will not aarry Wnifred Fra v.r. I s.«:d. with p.-ent agnanimity, for I did not particularly nit my aunt’s coumo.-: mce. Mv aunt sniffed.

" You had better not.” "I merely joked.” I said, soothingly, " The truth is ” —I dropped my voice— I am in love with someone else.” "And you never told me!” said my 1110- ! ier, reproachfully. " The girl I love is not free.” " Not married—but engaged.” " Who is if?” asked the mother, gently. I was silent for a moment, and then I "It is Constance Burleigh.” “ It would have been a most suitable atoll,” murmured m.v mother. " Verv suitab!e,” repeated my aunt. " I did not know Constancy was enaged.” it is a secret. You must not repeat l. ' T don't like these secret engagements,” aid my aunt, brusquely. Who told you?” ” She told me herself.” " Who is the man ?”

" I do not think I should repeat his name." ?

” I hope Constance is not throwing herself away." I shook my head doubtfully. "You know the man?" » I nodded. " Is he quite—quite ” Again I shook my head doubtfully. "What have you heard?" my aunt asked eagerly. . I

" I don't think I ought to repeat these things." “ You can surely trust your mother," murmured my mother. "And my discretion," said my aunt. "Well," I said, "I have been told he is cruel to his mother." "Reially!" l cried the two ladies in a " Tlis. mother told me so herself." " How sad!" said my mother. "Another relation of his told me he depraved." “ Poor, poor Constance!" whispered my mother. f " And would probably end badly. "I expect he drinks," said my aunt, grimly. J "Does Constance know this, asked mj' mother. " I don’t think so." "You did not tell her?" " Of course not." " I consider it your duty to." " I really cannot." " Then I will," said my aunt, resolutely. " What I have said has been in confi-

dence." " I do not care.” " I beg you not to do so." "Itis my duty. lam too fond of Constance to allow her to throw herself away on this worthless man.'

I shrugged my shoulders. "Do as you please, but don't mention my name. By the way, Constance Baid she would probably call this afternoon." ! At that moment the bell rang. " That may be she," said my aunt, flying to the window. "It is." I got up slowly and sauntered into the conservatory, which adjoins the drawingroom. From behind a friendly palm I could see without being seen. I saw my aunt look towards my mother. "If we open her eyes," I heard her whisper, "it may pave the way for Alfred."

My mother said nothing, but I saw the same hope shine from her eyes. The door opened and the servant? announced Constance. She came forward with a little eager rush; then stopped short, embarrassed by the want of reciprocity. ’ "We are glad to see you, said my mother, and kissed her. My aunt came forward. "We were just speaking of you," she said, solemnly. " Sit down.’ Constance looked a little crushed. “ I thought Alfred would have told you,” she murmured. "We have heard ” began my aunt. " Hush,” interposed my mother. " Come nearer, Constance. Won't you take off your hat ?" Constance came and sat by her side. " I was anxious to come and tell you that —that " "If yon are alluding to your engagement," said my aunt, somewhat severely, “ we have already heard of it." •* You have heard?" cried Constance. "With the deepest sorrow.” Constance drew herself up. " You do not approve ?" sh% asked, proudly. "We love you too much, said my mo ther, gently. Constance looked bewildered. " You are too good for the wretch," cried my aunt. "What—oh, what do you mean? exclaimed Constance. " xi you marry this man,” continued my aunt, vigorously, •” you will regret it.” My mother took her hand. •• My sister should not tell you this so suddenly." . , , T „ “ It is my duty to speak, and I will, cried my aunt. " I will not let Constance unite herself to this man with her eyes closed." "What have you against him? demanded Constance, a red spot beginning to burn in each cheek. -He drinks,' answered my aunt, almcsi triumphantly. Constance sank back in the cushions. " I don’t believe it," she said, faintly. "He ill-treats his mother—beats her, 1 believe," continued my aunt. "This cannot be true," said Constance ‘fMrs Granville, tell me." My mother podded sadly.

Constance rose. "This is awful," she said, holding on to the back of the sofa. “ I could never have believed it." She put her hand to her forehead. “ It is like a bad dream." " My poor, dear Constance," murmured My aunt brought up her artillery. "He is thoroughly depraved and will come to a bad end. His relations are at one on this point.’*

Constance buried her face in my mother’s she sobbed.

" We thought it right to tell you,” said my aunt, moved by her tears, " though Alfred begged and implored us not to." " I could never, never have believed it," sobbed Constance. " Poor, poor Mrs Granville."

My mother soothed her. “ How difficult you must haVe felt it to tell me this," exclaimed Constance, drying ner tears. “It was so good of you. I wiJi not give him another thought. To treat his mother so cruelly. oh, Mrs Granville, I am so sorry for you." " It is I who am sorry for you, said my mother, doubtfully. "And no one would have dreamed it. We always thought you were fond of him and spoiled him so utterly. And all the time you were hiding your sorrow. How noble of you." My mother looked at Aunt Tabitha, who returned her stare.

" Whoever is it ?' said Aunt Tabitha, whispering. ' Find out. "Where did you meet him, dearest?” whispered my mother. " Meet him ? Why, here, of course, said Constance, with opening eyes. ” i r es, yes, of course, said my mother, mystified? “ I thought you would be so pleased, and I hurried across to tell you." "Can Alfred have made a mistake?" muttered my aunt, hoarsely. The two elder ladies stood still in the utmost embarrassment.

I shall never be happy again," said Constance, mournfully. “ Don’t say that," implored my mother. " Perhaps there is a mistake." “How can there be a mistake?” asked Constance, raising her head. " There can be no mistake,” said my aunt, hastily. " How could he be cruel to you? cried Constance, kissing my mother. " Cruel to me?" cried my mother. " You said he was cruel to you." " Of whom are you speaking ?" cried both ladies.

” Of Alfred, of course." The two elder ladies sat down suddenly. " You are r.ot engaged to Alfred?’’ they gasped, simultaneously. "To whom else?" said Constance, in amazement. „ ” There is some misunderstanding. 1 observed, smoothly, coming in at the moment.

The three fell upon me together. It took at least an hour to explain. Yet I had said nothing which was not strictly true. " You will not allow these practical jokes when you are married, will you, Conny ?" said my mother, fondly. x will not, replied Constance, tightening her lips. „ "Marriage is the saving of a young man, repeated my aunt, grimly.—" Ladies’ Gazette."