THE ROMANCE OF A MINIATURE

New Zealand Mail, 12 November 1902, Page 8

THE ROMANCE OF A MINIATURE

(By M. Coleborn.)

She looked the very picture of weariness and dejection as she leant against the.hard back of a seat in the Park, and watched the human stream of pleasure ebb and flow.

“A chair would be more comfortable,” she reflected, “but I can’t afford to spend an unnecessary penny, and as tor seeing Lady Hermoine—-why, I’m sick to death of her and her vagaries. She’s had the box seat on the Duke’s coach times without number. She’s refused two earls and a marquis, and she’s only waiting for the virtuous millionaire to turn up—in disguise, of course—before marrying him, and being happy ever after.

“She’s not a woman, she’s a monster, and I wish I dare kill her straight off in this chapter, bpt I suppose the readers of ‘Fireside Jottings’ wouldn't stand that. If I can’t kill her, I may as well give her a new frock—and this seems the very thing!” glancing up, as a tall woman in delicate grey swept past, with a frou-frou of silken petti-

Hftl all unconscious of the shabby iig--.Vlioso rapid pencil was making uiin'nfce’vnotos.bf her: toilet. • - v .; - * ‘‘She's too old for grey, and distinctly; mo stout," mused Mollie Carnforth, «but I must say I wouldn’t mind white silk - petticoats and lace frills, and Moliie looked down at her shabby black , frock and sighed. It was a very feminine sigh, but a very short one, strangled in its birth by an indignant ‘‘Oh 5 you horrid little wretch. How darayou 1” A Sunburnt young man coining across tho ©•ass, looked up in surprise at lhe . startling address, • but Mollie did not even -see intent was on overtaking a gteup boys who were chasing a that yelped prteonslv as it tried to'evade its tormentors. Mollie was fleet of foot, but she was no match for the London street arabs, who were rapidly disappearing under the trees. There was no policeman in sights no one but the .sunburnt young man .hurrying towards her. - . “Did you see them? ’ panted. Mollie. “Yte-/little brutes!’* • ' . “(Sn'you catch them?”-- r , i ‘Til try,” was the modest rejoinder, and -&s Mollie watched him running swiftly across the grass she quite iorgot' to reflect that a frock-coat is not the most graceful costume for athletic exercise. Five minutes later the sunburnt young- man deposited a trembling little fox terrier puppy in Mollie’s lap. ‘Tin afraid he’s hurt—rather badly, too,’”- he said, feeling the dog’s limbs with'firm but. gentle fingers.. “Ah! I thought so.’* _ “Is the leg broken.?’*'said Mollie, as tlie puppy gave a piteous whine. “Yes; we must have a splint of some sort,*’- searching in his - pocket as he spoke - . “Will this do?” said Mollie, producing her pencil. “Capital! Now you hold him, please,” tearing his handkerchief into strips as he spoke, “and I’ll manage the bandaging.”-; ■ , • • . • -- . 1 ,

There was silence for a few moments, broken, only by a feeble whine from ihe dog, while Mollie watched the deft but gentle movements of the man’s fingers. “There! I think he ought to be fll right in a couple of weeks,” he -aid, patting the puppy’s head as he spoke. “But if I were you I should keep him quiet till the leg is really set. When you have a valuable dog *’ “But I haven’t—l mean—he doesn’t belong to me,” said Molly, bluntly. “Really—then someone must have lost him; lie’s quite pure bred; look at his points.” “I don’t understand them,” --aid Mollie, laughing. “But he's a d'ear little creature, and I should like to keep him myself.” t “Well, why not? You can always advertise him, you know, and then if the rightful owner doesn’t turn up—■—” “Yes ,” said Mollie dubiously, then stopped/for how was she to explain to this young man that the introduction of a fox-terrier might prove the last straw to break the patience of a none too long-suffering landlady. If Mrs Grimwood were to object—then Mollie looked down and met the terrier’s eyes, and her resolution was made. Yes, she would have something—somethjng of her very own to love and i ake care of.

The sunburnt young man wondered a little at the sudden glow of joy on the girl's thin face as she rose to her feet with the puppy in her arms. “I ought to thank you,” she Was beginning. “Oh, that’s all right, you know,” he said awkwardly. “I’m awfully fond of animals, and—er—-er, if you should ever wish to get rid of him—l mean, if he should be a nuisance or anything, .here’s my card, and if you’d just send me a wire ” „ ‘"Thanks,” said Mollie; “but I don’t think it is likely I shall want to do that.”

■‘No, I don’t think it -is,” said the young man. “You are not the sort of woman .” The sentence remained unfinished, for Mollie had risen, and with a little bow and murmur of thanks was already out of earshot. “By George!” murmured the sunburnt young man, “Aunt Honcria couldn't have done it more neatly herself. Now I wonder -” watching Mollie’s letreating figure as she made her way through the Park gates—“what brings a girl like that to—by Jove! the top of an omnibus!”

CHAPTER 11. Curiously enough, it was from such a coign of vantage that Jack Mervyn next saw Mollie.

He had been looking up an old college chum, .who was rather “down on his luck,” which, being interpreted, meant, that. Jack Mervyn had a habit of sticking to .‘his’ old friends, whether their luck was good or had. It was a dismal afternoon in February, with just enough rain to make the streets of the shabby litflo suburb look their very worst'.' Jack Mervyn instinctively looked round for a cab, but there were none ir sight, then struck with a sudden thought dived into his pocket., *

“By George 1 I’ve cleared myself

out,” ruefully regarding a handful of coppers, “but What’s a chap to do, when a woman looks half-starved, like poor old Master’s wife?”

“Well,” philosophically, “here goes for a ’bus, which must start some time, though it doesn’t look like it.”. “Yes, sir, we start ,in three minutes,” said the conductor, civilly. Tack Mervyn climbed to the top,, and had a full view of the bar of the public-house, as of the interior of an adjacent pawnbroker's shop. “H’m, two of our national institutions that are not exactly pretty to look at,” he mused; “I don’t know which, is the more sordid—by George !*’ breaking off with an exclamation of astonishment, as he leant forward to get a better view of the dingy interior cf the pawnbroker’s -shop. A girl was standing at the counter holding a miniature in her outstretched hand, whieli the shopman ' appeared to be regarding with supercilious indifference. The girl’s face stood out like a cameo against the dusky background, and when the shopman took the picture, and after examining it at the window turned to make a suggestion, Jack Mervyn could see the girl’s face distinctly, and even noted tho pained flush that mounted from chin to brow. Yes, there wift no doubt about it, the face was that of the girl ho had seen in the park about fix months before. If any further proof had been wanting, it was furnished by the fox-terrier, who bounded forward to. ’meet the mistress as she came out of the shop.

“Down, Mascot, down!” said Mollie, and as she struggled to unfurl her shabby umbrella Jack Mervyn noted that, there were traces of tears on her face. “Mascot, -indeed,” he reflected, “it doesn’t look much as though the little beast had brought her good luck. I’m afraid she’s awfully hard up. Good heavens, to think that a lady—l wonder whether I dare—there’s no harm in trying,- anyway,” he concluded, enigimatically, as he watched the girl- disappear down the shabby suburban street, and then descended from his perch on the omnibus, disappeared into the pawnbroker’s shop. ? ‘Minatoors, sir?” said tho shopman, glibly. “Yes, sir, we’ve rather a. good collection, they’re quite the rage just now,” placing a number of miniatures on the counter as he spoke. Jack Mervyn glanced at them indifferently. “Are these all you have?” he said. “All that are for sale, sir —at present. I’ve' a very choice thing here just come in, belonged to a lady of title, as you can see by the coronet, but our customer was most pertickler to say she didn’t wish to sell it outright. “But they all say that at first, you know, sir; and I’ve no doubt she’ll part with it in time—that is to say, if you should happen to take a fancy to ’ave it,” handing the miniature across the counter as he spoke. Jack Mervyn found some difficulty in suppressing a startled—“By he took the picture and examined it eagerly. “I suppose you don’t happen to know who it is?” he said, quietly. “No, sir, I don’t, but it’-s a lady of title, no doubt, on account of the coronet. There’s some Initials on the hack,

but I carn’t sye as I can mike them oufc, and tho young lydye didn’t mention ■what they was.” “Do you think the-—er—owner would he inclined to sell the miniature?” said Jack Mervyn, carelessly. “It all depends on the price offered, I should say,” said the shopman, shrewdly. “Nearly all our customers begin by saying nothing would induce them to part with the things, but it generally comes to that in the end.” “Perhaps, if I communicated with the owner direct,” hazarded Jack Mervyn. “No use, sir. I’ve a name and address, but they’re safe not to be the right ones, but if you’ll give me yours I’ll let you know in case the lady feels inclined to deal.”

“Thank you,” said Jack Mervyn, producing liis card-case, “but if I were to see the owner and talk it over ”

“Very sorry, sir, but I can’t give you her address.’*

“For can’t, read won’t,” Jack Mervyn decided, as the shop door closed behind him. As he jolted back to town on the top of the ’bus he found himself resolving over and over again the one puzzling question, how had the girl become possessed of this valuable miniature, whose loss Aunt Honoria had been deploring ever since its disappearance a couple of weeks before. She was convinced that the picture had been stolen, but that did not account for its being in the possession of this shabby little girl in the suburbs. -She might have found it—but here commonsense stepped in and argued that that wasn’t likely, hinting at another possible solution, which Jack Mervyn scouted with hot indignation. CHAPTER 111. The problem was still unsolved a week later, when he came in late for luncheon, and was greeted by an excited “Jack, Jack, it’s found at last!” from Aunt Honoria. “What is found?” questioned Jack in some bewilderment.

“Why, the miniature, of course—-at least I know where it is.”

Jack Mervyn looked astonish od—almost startled. “How on earth did you manage that?” lie said^ “Oh! I thought it was no use trusting entirely to those detective people, so I just advertised on my own account, and yesterday a horrid - little Jew pawnbroker came to interview me and said he had the miniature in his possession.” - ,

“Did he produce it?”- said Jack Mervyn, eagerly. “No; . but he described it exactly, said it had come to him in the way of business a couple of days ago, but before having tho thief arrested on suspicion “How the dickens did he know she was the thief?” interrupted Jack Mervyn, hastily, then paused as no caught Aunt Honoria’s astonished glance. “I don’t think I mentioned the thief was a woman,” she said, quietly. “But I thought your maid Collins

“Collins has nothing to do with ic—the person who pawned the miniature

to this dreadful little Jew man was, tie assured me, ‘quite the lady,’ and that is ” f “Hardly a description of Collins, I take it,” murmured Jack Mervyn.' “How tiresome you are this morning, Jack; and just when I wanted you to be particularly nice to do something for me—will you, dear?” Aunt Honoria was stout and on tho shady side of fifty, but she had a charming way of getting what she wanted but of most men.

j “Of course I will. Wliat is it, Aunt ‘ Honoria?”

“Well, I want you to go off to Camden Town, and investigate this business for me. To tell you the truth, something the pawnbroker let drop (besides his h's) made me rather sorry for the woman who stole my miniature.” “But, Aunt Honoria ”

■ You’ll say it’s romantic nonsense, of course,” continued Aunt Honoria, placidly, “but I don’t care. I believe the woman must have been driven to desperate straits before she was compelled to turn thief.”

“But, Aunt Honoria, there may be some other explanation.”

“Precisely what I want you to find out; so finish your luncheon, and then go off like a dear boy and find out all about it. If it’s a question of a few pounds, and the poor thing is very hard up, I imagine—well, I can trust you to use your own discretion about that.” “Aunt Honoria, you’re a trump. I always said ”

“Hush! Here’s your uncle,” was Aunt" Honoria’s hasty rejoinder. CHAPTER IV. An hour later found Jack Mervyn. standing outside a shabby little house in a shabby little street in Camden Town. j He had already rung twice . without . any response, though he could hear t?ie tinkle of tho bell reverberating through the house. Then came the sound of a j window being hastily opened, and a voice from an upper story requested ! Mervyn to “leave the milk can at the i top of the area steps.” “But I’m not tne milkman,” remonstrated Mervyn, stepping back to get a better glimpse of the upper window. There was a pause, then an' excited—“Lor, if *e ain’t got on a tall ’at!’’ And the window was shut with a bang. Jack Mervyn thought it about time to make another assault on the bell, but just at that moment there was a sound of shuffling footsteps, and the door, opened, revealing a diminutive maid-servant, whose face shone with excitement and a liberal application of yellow soap.

•- ‘‘Very sorry to ’ave kep’ ycr waiting, sir, and fer tikon’ yer fer the milkman —but I’d jest gorn up ter clean myself, and bein’ about ’is time I thort as ’ow you was ’ini,” she explained affably. “It’s of no consequence,” Jack Mervyn assured her, then, “Is Miss Carnforth at home P”

“Step this way, sir, if you please,” said the littlo maid, promptly. “Mind v tho ’ole in the linoleum, sir, it’s a trifle dark on these ’ere stairs, and I sometimes triD over that ’ole myself ”

■-- To-describe tE© staircase as "a trifle, dark” was, Jack Mervyn thought putting the matter mildly, and he caught himself; thinking how Miss Mary Camforth must hate such dingy quarters.. Arrived at the top of the stairs, his small guide gave a smart rap, and almost simultaneously opened a door with a laconic—“lt’s a gentleman to see you, miss.” Then as the sound of clattering cans became audible from below—“ Drat that milk-man!” she exclaimed, and hurried downstairs, leaving Jack Mervyn standing on the threshold of a tog bare room. The rays of the winter sun were pburing in at a window at the farther end, and at first Jack Mervyn was conscious of nothing save this effect of brilliant light forming a background to the figure in a black gown who rose at his entrance. “I’m afraid there’s some mistakedown, Mascot, down,” this to the terrier, who yapped with delight round Mervyn’s legs, rendering his explanations inaudible. “I don’t remember—then ■ suddenly holding . out her hand, “Oh, I beg your pardon, of course I remember now, you are Mr Mervyn—no wonder Mascot welcomes you. Won’t you sit down?” indicating the only other chair the room contained with a little wave of her small hand. So Jack Mervyn sat down, and what is more, he did not get up again for quite thirty minutes by the clock, and though the room was in reality only a garret, and a bare one at that, he would have assured you that it was a thousand times more tasteful than half the drawing-rooms he knew, just as this girl in her shabby black frock was more interesting than nine-tenths of the smart women he was in the habit of meeting. He was in some danger of forgetting his real errand till his attention was caught by a picture hanging just above the girl’s head. Then—“l see you collect miniatures,” he hazarded.

“Collect them!” echoed Mollie, just a trifle bitterly. “No; I’m afraid that’s rather an expensive hobby for a struggling journalist. I have only those two miniatures, and they are portraits of relations. This one is my great grandfather—he was a French Canadian, and the dress is rather picturesque, but t ot so pretty as great grandmother’s. Her picture is”—then Mollie stopped and a swift flush dyed her pale cheeks as she glanced at an empty nail on the wall—“her picture is not in my possession now,” she finished, in some confusion. “Will you tell me your great-grand-mother’s name,” said Jack Mervyn, quietly.

“Certainly. Lady Betty Holroyd.” “I knew it!” exlaimed Mervyn, starting to liis feet, “directly I saw the miniature.”.

“You have seen it,” stammered Mollie, confusedly, “then you know that—that I sold—l mean that I pawned it?” bringing out the word with a little gasp. Then Jack Mervyn told the truth, or as near it as he deemed expedient, ending up with a cheery, “I think it was. most awfully plucky of you, Cousin Mol-lie-—you are a sort of cousin since Lady Betty Holroyd was my great-aunt, you know. I should have sold the whole bally lot of my ancestors long before this if I’d been hard up. However, I’m jolly glad you didn’t or I—l mean we should never have found you,” he added, laying his hand for an instant on Mollie’s. There was a short silence, broken at last by a whine from Mascot, who thrust his head into his mistress’s hand, saying as plainly as a dog could speak that in his opinion as chaperone of the party, Mr Jack Mervyn’s visit had lasted quite long enough. Jack took the hin' and his leave, at the same time, and an hour later dashed up the stairs to Aunt Honoria’s boudoir, full of the result of his mission. He found Aunt Honoria in tears. “It’s that horrid Collins,” she explained, between her sobs; “she’s turned out a regular thief—it began with my *missing my pearl necklace, and and—well, they had to get a policeman in, ■ and all sorts of things were found in her box. My point d’Alencon flounce, the pearls, and great-aunt Betty’s miniature—so that dreadful pawnbroker person must have been taking me ,'n unless he’s -unearthed the duplicate, which isn’t likeiy, seeing great-aunt Betty took it away with her when she ran away to marry some dreadful foreigner in the backwoods of America.” “Canada,” corrected Jack Merwn mildly.

“Well, it’s all the same, and besides, it’s of no consequence.” “But it is of consequence, Aunt Honoria,” persisted Jack Mervyn, “and I’ll tell you why.” So he told her, and for once Aunt Honoria was too much astonished 10 interrupt the story. • .' : . “Jack,” she said with characteristic decision at its conclusiqn," “tell them to call a cab at ohoe, please.” ' “A cab ? Why, the dressing hell has just gone!” ••

.“Bother the dressing bell l I’m going to drive over to Camden Town at once and fetch that miniature and my great-niece^-—or cousin, or whatever, the is, at the same time!” . Mollie never said. much, about lhat mterview except that she , had no idea until she mot Aunt Honoria that’people

were ever, glad to unearth tlieir poor relations. " , .

“But it was just like you, Aunt Honoria,” Jack Mervyn .remarked some weeks later. “You know you-have a perfect passion for romance in any shape or form.”

“It’s a family failing, Jack, dear,” Aunt Honoria said sweetly, “and at the present moment I could make a pretty shrewd guess as to the form your romance takes.. Well—she certainly has fine eyes—and—and I give you three months, not longer,” she added, migmatically. But qs a matter of fact, it was just five weeks later that Aunt Honoria came upon them both in the library at dusk. They were standing close together apparently examining and comparing the two miniatures of Lady Betty Holroyd. The light was certainly not good, and as everyone knows miniatures require to he examined very closely. Perhaps that accounted for the close proximity of the two heads. Aunt Honoria evidently thought differently, for ai the sound of a murmured word from Jack Mervyn and a still lower reply from Mollie, she did the only practical thing that occurred to her. -She wentsoftly from the room, closing the door behind her.