LOVE’S MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1536, 7 August 1901, Page 13

LOVE’S MATHEMATICAL PROBLEM

It was Charlie Eemp who noticed, it first.

He noticed that the professor’s voice ©oftened, that his eyes gleamed more Boftly than venal—the professor’s eyes attracted a second glance from even the most casual observer—and that the professor sometimes stammered when he spoke to Deborah. r He _was also wonderfully patient when she, in her turn, stammered over her translations, nor did he rap the table with his pencil, nor look at his watch while ©he fished in the lakes of her memory for the past participle of the verb to go. True, Deborah was a personal friend of the professor’s; but, then, so was he, and so was Bella Tubbs. They , had all met at Heidelberg in the summer, and had renewed the acquaintance when they came up to Cambridge. But then the professor did not allow him—Charlie Kemp—any latitude, though he pored for hours over his Herman dictionary and his grammar, while Deborah’s preparations for her lectures were not worthy of being dignified by the name. Charlie, of course, soon grasped th« meaning of these vagaries on the prafessor’s part, and felt personally aggrieved.

He had made his plans to a nicety. He was to go through his college course in Deborah's sweet company, and after that time—thanks to a kindly Providence that had ordained that all his future labours ehould be entirely voluntary—he was to ©ettle down to happy married life with Deborah.

Deborah had not expressed her opinion of this arrangement as yet, because she had not been asked.

Charlie wanted to be sure of his ground first. The fact was he was rather afraid of Deborah. She was so awfuly clever and pretty, and she had a way, too, of dropping down on a fellow occasionally, and making him feel so small. He rather wanted to watch Deborah and snatch a favourable moment when she should seem more kindly disposed towards him than usual.

Still, haug it all, if another fellow were going to carry Deborah away under his very nose he had better take his chance at once.

- When .Charlie came to this conclusion, be was smoking over his afternoon tea, and nothing short of an impending calamity would have roused that lazy youth from his comfortable lounge. He glanced at his watch. It was 4.20.

Twice a week Deborah had an hour to ©pare between two lectures in town, and bad obtained permission to spend that hour in her brother’s room.

, This was -one of the days, and Deborah would be there now.

He hurriedly donned his cap and gown, and then went off to his own particular crony.

. "Look here,’* he said, hauling the said crony along amidst a series of expostulations, “you’ve got to do me a good turn; I’m going to St. John’s rooms, and, when I’ve got inside, you’ve to call him out, and keep him out till I come.” “All right,” said his friend, "but what’s the game ?” "I’ll tell you when it’s over.” said Charlie, and having reached the staircase that led to St. John’s room, plunged up it and into the . room. Arthur was drinking tea. and Deborah was toasting cake at the fire. She lifted her eyebrows in comical surprise as Charlie came floundering into the room. '‘He must have smelled it.” she said. "Have some, Charlie, it’s perfectly delicious?”

But Arthur intervened. "Avaunt,” he Baid. "1 have given my word that while my sister is here .my room shall have the ninety of the waiting room at a convent/' "Can't help it," said Charlie. ‘‘Hero I am, and here I'm going to stay." And he settled himself on a sofa. At that moment there came a loud voice from outside, "St. John, I say! St. John! St.-John, 1 say!" "Oh, bother!'’ said Arthur, getting up. rr lt is that fellow Mortimer! I won't be a moment. Deb." And he was gone. Charlie gazed at Deborah. Her face was flushed with her toasting exertions, her grey eye s were sparkling, and little bright curls lay lovingly ‘over her forehead and round her ears. “T say,’' he said sheepishly. "Well," said Deborah pertly, "what do you say?” Charlie was nonplussed, and there was a two minutes' pause. "Most interesting," said Deborah.

"Oh, I say, look here. Deborah," said Charlie, roused at last. "It's all very *wqll for .you to*.be sarcastic ana down on me. I know I'm a poor sort of chap" —astounding humility for Charlie—“and you're as clever as you can be’'—Deborah makes him a mock courtesy—"but you might help a fellow when he's trying to Bay something he's wanted to say for the - last six months. You're the only person , who can help me/

Deborah is quite grave now. • "And I'm afraid I can't help you, Charlie,” she says. ' "Then," says Charlie, getting up and rumpling his brown curls, "what am I to do?"

Deborah's .eyes flashed amusement at him.

"Why not consult the professor?" she says demurely.

"By Jove! So I will," says Charlie. i And, with a quick farewell, he, too, is gone. ' ■ Deborah, left alone, gazes into the fire, sighs and packs up her books, and makes her way to her lecture. Deborah was very quiet on the way back to Newhham, and .' Bella Tubbs had to speak to her three time s before she could make her hear, which was amazing, for Deborah generally listened most respectfully to Bella's learned remarks. That night, too. while having a solitary “cocoa’' with Bella, Deborah crossed both hands behind her head and lapsed Into a brown stpdy. . • "What are you doing?" said Bella,

'‘Tirinp —-piuuiUiflT"' said. De- — at Bella, and wondered if she would understand. But Bella Tubbs was plain and scraggy, and despised men, so Deborah held her peace. "Is it very difficult ?” said Bella. "Very.”

"Then why not consult the professor?” Deborah gave a ringing laugh — ; then buried her face in her hands to hide her sudden blushes.

Consult the professor! Consult the man she loved, and who did not love her, about the man who loved her and whom she did not love? No. no no!

Two days afterwards, ag- Deborah was walking to Clare College, she heard voices behind her. One was the professor’s. "I assure you she is beautiful and charming—ah. yes, charming!” he was saying. ff l like not my errand.” The other voice, with just the suspicion of a sneer in it, said: "Well, my dear fellow, if she is so charming, why not usurp the privilege for yourself'?’’ "Ach nein!” replied the professor sharply. "I haf no chance. I haf not —what do you call it—the cheek! She is far above me. I would lose my friend and gain nozzing. Nein! nein! I gamble not mit my happiness.” And in another moment the men passed Deborah in the darkness. '

Deborah walked slowly on, with burning cheeks. She had grasped the situation in a moment. "That odious boy!”—for so sh® now designated Charlie—had consulted the professor, and he was going to plead with her. But he loved her himself. Deborah had grasped that also, and her heart sang songs of joy. She lingered for a few minutes, hoping that the professor, not finding her in Arthur’s room, would have gone away, but when she opened t?ie door he was seated before the fire, with a piece of cake on a toasting fork. "Ah, my dear yor-ng lady, he said, jumping up at the sigut of her. “Arthur Bays you will destroy us both if you do not haf toasted cake for tea, so we make ready. Toasted cake —ach!” And he held it in front of him with a comical gesture. Deborah’s gay laugh rang out. "Try it, professor," she said, "and then scoff if you will/’ But the professor was proof against the temptation of toasted cake, and seemed to find his happiness in toasting it for Deborah.

Tue conversation was brisk, but in the middle of an argument with the professor, Deborah discovered that Arthur had slipped away. Deborah grew vaguely uneasy. The professor rose from his seat, and stood in front of the fire. He was a tall, well-set-up man of about 35, his black hair waved back from a broad, intelligent forehead, and his bright eyes were full of the light of human kindness. s Deborah,” said, “I want to ask you something.” "Is it a problem?” asked Deborah, taking out a notebook and pencil. She did not want to meet the professor’s eyes. The professor’s grave face brightened. "Yes, yes, that is it. It is a problem. We will call it the problem of A, B and C.”

"I hope it isn’t awfully difficult,” said Deboran, "Decause T never could master Euciid/'

- j*±y dear young lady,” said the prolessor, "it i 3 even more subtle than Eucud. Let us take A first,” he continued. "A ia a young man, handsome, rich, well connected, er ” "Clever?” asked Deborah mischievously. ‘‘Clever? No, you would not call him clever. No. perhaps not; but then, what is cleverness? lie is good, good natured, good hearted, fine teliow.” •'H’m! ' says Deborah reflectively. '‘Now, B—B is a young lady. She is—well ’* The professor stretches out his hands. He can find no words. Axil, I understand. She is quite impossible.” says wicked Deborah. The professor grows excited. His eyes glow.

"Impossible ! You mistake me. Beautiful, charming, and—yes, clever.” "And C?” she asks, as the professor pauses. The professor’s sensitive lips quiver. r ‘C? Oh, he is quite impossible!” he says almost gruffly. ’ "And the problem ?"

"Ah. yes, the problem.” The professor rou-res himself from his meditations. "It is this: A inclines to B, but B inclines away from A. A then calls in C to assist A in making B incline to A, and a complete union of the two.’’

Deborah is silent. Her heart is beating so violently she cannot speak. The professor has drawn nearer. She feels his penetrating glance upon her. Then she snatches at her fleeting courage. “I think,” she says, speaking very quick, ly and nervously, "the only true solution is to make a complete union of B and C, and eliminate A altogether/’ And then she hides her blushes in the professor’s coat cellar. —"Home Chat.”

The fifth annual Zealand dinner was given on June 18th at the Holborn Restaurant, London, the Hon. W. P. Reeves, Agent-General, presiding. Sir E. Montague Nelson,. K.C.M.G., was vice-chairman, and quite a number of visiting New Zealanders were present. Lord Onslow, Sir lan Hamilton, Sir John Hall, Sir J. Cockburn, Mr J. CathcartWason were among the speakers. Among th e entertainers were some notable colonials. Miss Phoebe Parsons sang two solos, namely, “Summer.” and “My Dearest Heart,” the latter being after the toast of “Continued prosperity to New Zealand.” Princess Te Rangi Pai (Mrs Howie, Gisborne) sang “The Song of Thanksgiving" after the toast of “The Imperial Forces,” and a “Slave Song.” Mr J. K. Campbell, of Nelson, also contributed a couple of solos. The toast of “The Visitors” wa-s proposed by Mr Wason, formerly a member of the New Zealand House of Representatives, and now M.P. for Orkney Isles.