GUARDING ANOTHER'S SECRET

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1651, 21 October 1903, Page 10

GUARDING ANOTHER'S SECRET

It was a little thing, but it was big enough to make two people very miserable.

Tlio two people wore Tom Ilalkett and Marjorie Page, and it began in this way: Tom had come into the room quite unexpectedly and had found Marjorie with an open letter in her jap. Now, the moment Marjorie discovered Tom's presence, she pounced upon the* letter, crumbled it hastily, and throw it into the fire.

"That wasn't nice cf you,” said .Tom. Marjorie turned very red. "I didn’t want you to see what was in the letter/’ Marjorie never prevaricated. "So it would seem,” returned Tom. "Don't be angry,” she pleaded. "I'm not angry in the least,” he roll! i eel, “or ly— -sorry. ” "Tom, I've hurt you !” cried Marjorie penitently. "Forgive me, dear; I didn’t mean to.” "There's nothing - to forgive/' said Tom in a cold voice, "’Tom, I know what you're thinking/' Marjorie went on hurriedly. "You think I don't trust you.” "What else am I to think.” "Dear, vou are wrong quite wrong. That letter ”

"Please don't trouble to explain,” interrupted Tom. proudly. "I've no wish to force your confidence.” "Tom, dear, do let mo speak.” '“Your action just now spoke volumes. And, really, Madge, I’ve no curiosity whatever on the subject of that letter Supposing we. talk of something more interesting ?” "If you're going to look at me like that, Tom, I don't want to talk to you at all. One would think I'd committed a, crime.” "I'm sorry my looks annoy you; would you like me to go away*?” "Go, by all means,” cried. Marjorie, angrily, and Tom, hurt and puzzled, waited for no second bidding. On second thought, perhaps, it was not such a little thing after all. It involved a lover's principle hitherto cherished by both Tom and Marjorie—the principle that without perfect confidence there can be no love. Marjorie that day had shown, only too clearly, that there was something - she wished to conceal from Tom.' It mattered little to Tom whether that something - was great or small. It was the principle, he told himself, that mattered ■"Tho woman who doesn't trust the man she has promised to marry ought never to have- given her promise.” They were Marjorie's own words. Tom smiled bitterly as he recalled them now. "By her own showing, she dqesn c really care for me,” he thought, with a sinking heart. For a whole week Tom brooded in solitude over the wretched little incident. He made no attempt to see Marjorie, and the seven days seemed like seven years. By the end of week his mind was made up. Marjorie had given no sign. He was persuaded she no longer loved him. and his duty lay clear before him. He would go to her and offer to release her from a bondage which must be intolerable to her. Circumstances favoured his resolution. Marjorie was at home —and alone. She came forward to meet him, eagerly, with outstretched hands and a happy smile on her face. At the sight of his look she hesitated, then her hands fell to her side. "I wag just sitting down to write to you. Tom,” she said, timidly. "Then I can save you the trouble.” he returned, "unless you prefer to write what you have to say/' Then, with a sudden impulsive movement, she placed her hands on his shoulder. "Tom, you dear old bov. I want to explain,” she whispered. "I can explain everything now. It's a secret no longer. That letter,” she went on hurriedly in her eagerness to get rid of her trpnblesome secret, speaking so rapidly that the words almost tumbled over one another, "that letter was from Nellie Hastings—you remebmer Nellie, don't you—and in it she asked m.y advice about an awful thing she thought of doing, and she said she trusted to me not to breathe a syllable to anyone, and that I was the only living creature she dared to tell. After that I couldn't let you see the letter, could I? You see, the secret wasn’t mine, and 1 it would 1 have been ai breach of confidence, wouldn't it?” And Marjorie looked appealingly at Tom. "Yes, darling, of course, he murmured contritely. J _ . , "Of course I wrote off at once to Nellie imploring her not to do it; I was bound to try to dissuade her, wasn't I? I couldn't bear the thought of her doing it/' "Doing what, dearest?” "Why running off with that dreadful Bob Harding. Didn't I tell you? That's what she's done.” "I'm beginning to understand, said Tom. "She begged for my advice, Marjorie continued, ‘‘and then, when I gave it to her she didn't take the slightest, notice, but married Bob all the same. I've just had another letter from her. They've run away together, and now they haven't a cent and her father will never forgive her. Toor Nellie! Isn't it horrible?

She says she’s perfectly happy in spit® of everything. Everybody knows about it now. but I couldn't tell you before, because it wasn't my own secret, was it?” “No, sweetheart, you are quite rights and I was a fool. You ought to have remembered that some secrets have to be kept even from the people we love, because they 'don't belong to us.” "But I was to blame, too. When I snatched away that letter —Tom, no wonder you felt hurt—l ought to have explained, but you were so proud and angry, and—and—-I ” "And! then you began to feel proud and angry, too,” continued Tom, and they both laughed at the reconciliation—which was a sure sign that they understood each other perfectly once more.