WITHOUT A REFERENCE.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXIV, Issue 4871, 24 January 1903, Page 2 (Supplement)

WITHOUT A REFERENCE.

(By Morris Cole-born.)

What un a wild (lay ! T here was sonic juslihcatii/a f— Am y ill ngscolc s ■• Ssia,,.aUon as siio sinod oil i-ho Uirc-.-uoi-I oi u iillle sUiiioiicr's shop m th« Pimi;;;<> road, and watchi-d tho steady i.o .i .ipour i-ia-. was mindly convert! n# the :--.r-;-t into a slippeiy son. or niud. . , . , It, was not a particularly cheerful liUe; t?lscj Ij, yel Alary Jie.-iil.alcd 0:1 Die in 10 I.m-m «s 11 loth lo Joavu it. Slit! I'la.iicod lit ilio ■words “Ladie.V Pegistry, and rum one,; more tho list of situations vacant. 'dr only I luul been a cook," she atgluxi. “But I’m not. and as there seems absolutely no market for governesses, 1- must do something else.’’ ... But what I' That was Just the dilhcuUvri . , ~.. Alary Kingscoio sighed ;.igiun. ‘J in alrald pooi’ ui-ar r was icaixtuly h---hind, the tiim-rt or sho would huve a;> jiifOitictai me to a milliner or souieLhiu;.;. How 1 wish, sho had. Even. a housomaid ,** Alary Kr/igscoU* .struck with a sudilcra :dou. ‘‘l'M do il/ Haiti, and ii-ojd'jiod tho shox* ohco Juoro. i'tvo inijj uL< v o later >ho camo out again, a smile hovering round hoi' mouth. The*' rho rosoluUly unlurii/d her umbrella and slopped into tho si ice t. ‘•1 shall In? wet through before I pel to Hurley stretib, lout i can’t iiUord an omuibus, ii'iid it’s no pood wailing t'n to-morrow —because, as the woman says, the situation might bo snapped up at any luomeut. ‘I know wliat I’ll do. I’ll go into the National Gallery and think it over," Mary Kiugsrcoto crossed the road with the assistance of a mud-hu3pattered policeman, and having deposited her dripping umbrella with the porter made her way up the wide staircase. Most of tho bigger rooms wort; fairly crowded, but at last Alary found herself in a smaller one - , which was empty save for two elderly gentlemen intent on the study of a picture, which they were examining through a magnifying glass. Mary hardly noticed them us she seated herself mechanically in front of a canvas represent!ng a Dutch interior with -a woman scouring a bright copper pan. “It doesn’t look such horrid sort of work after all—in a picture,” she mused; “ami besides, I suppose a may wear gloves if she plcaso. How cud ’ it sounds .” Then her face became grave as she took out her little purse, and examined the contents.

"There's no help for it, I must do something'; I’ve just eighteen peace left, and when that’s gone ■” She broke oh abruptly. The two old 'gentlemen had taken the chairs behind her, and were deep in a. dissertation on art.

"By the way, Harland,” said the older of the two, "I had an interview with that Jew follow yesterday about the , Ecminev. Ho swears ho is not mistaken about its being genuine, and undertakes to restore the money if I’m not satisfied.” "What is his price?” “Two hundred and fifty.” "How did ho got hold of it ?” “As a matter of fact, he hasn’t actually got possession of it yet. It belongs to someone who hod it as an heirloom, hut Moss seems to think there’s no doubt about the eventual acceptance of his offer.”

"I suppose there’s no chance of getting at the principals In, this affair.” "None —you know what Moss is.” "What’s the subject of the picture?” "Girl’s head—treatment rather like his 'Parson’s Daughter,' only the hair is nor powdered. He’s to let me see the picture on Monday if ho succeeds in his purchase." "I’ll come up with you and look at it. If it’s all right, two fifty isn't such a very tall price—as Moss’s prices go.” The two elderly gentlemen strolled away, leaving Mary Kiugscoto still seated motionless in front of the Dutch interior. “Fancy two hundred pounds for a picture, and the old gentleman looks quite shabby!” was Mary's naif reflection as she made her way through the gallery and out into the streets. Half an hour later she was standing wet and shivering under the portico of an imposing looking house in Harley street. ‘•ls Dr. Douglas in?” she inquired of the smart parlourmaid, who opened, the door. . . ' “yes, mm, will you s,cp this way, please?” Marry followed the young woman across a well-carpeted hall to a largo nom at the back bf the house. “What name, please m’m ?” “Miss Kingscote,” said Mary, then blushed as the smart maid disappeared. “I suppose I ought to have said plain Mary Kingscote. Or does a liousemaid nowadays use cards, or—■ —. Vv hat a comfort a fire is on a day like this." Mary sank into a chair, and held out a chilled little foot to the blaze. "How awful my shoes look! How can one preserve one's self-respect when one’s boots are covered with mud.' She drew her feet hastily beneath her skirts as the door opened to admit a tall young man, who looked keenly at her as she rose to her feet. "I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, madam, but it is rather past jay hour for receiving patients, and ." "But I’m not a patient,” interrupted Mary ICingscote, nervously. ‘‘I —I came .in answer to your advertisement for a parlour-maid.” "A parlour-maid? echoed the doctor, and there waa.no mistaking the look of astonishment in his dark eyes. ‘‘Yes, X—l thought from the advertisement that it—it would bo the kind of situation that would suit mo, provided I suited the situation.” “My dear young lady, I'm afraid there’s some mistake ” ••Mistake?” echoed Mary, obvious disappointment in her tones. “But you did advertise for a parlour-maid, did you not?"

' “Yes, but I—l hardly think it would bo the kind of thing a lady would'care to undertake. There are other servants, you see. and perhaps—but to tell tho honest truth, I don’t know much about it, as my aunt generally looks after such .matters’for me. She’s out this afternoon, and won’t be in. I’m. afraid, for another hour. If yon could spare the time to wait, I would send you in a cup of tea, ami ** "Thanks, I’m afraid I can’t wait an hour—l have an appointment at five o’clock, but I will call again to-morrow if you will tell me at what hour.”“My aunt is always in in tho morning, between ten and twelve. You won’t wait and have a cup-of tea, then you must drink this, please,’" pouring out a glass of wine as he spoke. Theu ho opened the sideboard and produced a biscuit-box. while Mary Kingscoto made the mental .comment that be had tho 'kindest face she had ever seen, CHAPTER 11. Mary Kingscoto’s appointment was not -exactly in what one might term a fashionable neighbourhood, being, in point of fact, a small room up several flights of stairs in a tenement house in I’imlico. Mary herself lived in a similar room -till higher up, but though her own room was bare, there was that indefinable something about the arrangement that betrayed the fact that its occupant was a lady, No. sa. Granger’s Buildings, had had no such pretentions. It was scrupulously clean, but there was an oppressive feeling of stuffiness that made Mary Kings cote gasp a little as she stood on the threshold. “Well, Harriet, how ore you to-day?” the said cheerily. "Pretty much in my usual. Miss Mary,” said a tired voice from an old-fashioned chinlv, covered chair drawn close up to the fire. , Mary glanced sharply at the wrinkled face. “Have you had any pain since yesterday ?’’ "Well, Miss Mary, to tell ’ec the truth, I ’avc. It grip me tur’rblo bad in ray arm this afternoon, an' I was obliged to send Baxter’s little maid for the doctor,”

“What did ho say I” asked Mary, somewhat anxiously. “iio give mu iomc more powders, an. j v. iii r.iy Ibe',* di-.i tho paJU a power of good, (lilt-re ain’t much to com plain 01 so le-ng as I don’t move, but-; “'linn vt,u’ve had no tear’’ “U eli, no, I ’adn’t tin; ’cart to get it r.-ady."

Mary -aid nothing, but she busied herii,v-- out the .-.rmj<lo preparations I 10.- lu, and in a K-w moments the aelI I),, v,,0, -n.;;ing on the hob. ! The oh! woman’s weaiy eyes bnghlenea ! ns Alary poured out a cup of steaming imt lea, and prcpaie-d a couple of thin thee-, 01 hreau and butter. ’•There’.-, no cup for yourself, Alms Alary,” -aid ihe oi.i woman, setting uo-.vu her own. . ■ i really don’t want . But old Harriet Baxter was obuurale. Alary fetched a cup for herself, and sat down "at tho other side of tho fireplace, watching with kindling eyes the old woman’;, evident enjoyment of the meal. "i feel a different creature," she said. “It does a body a power of good, does a cup of lea—not to speak of tho plt-asuie of seeing your sweet face, Aliss Alary, which is like seein’ the sunshine ’ , ■’Why, Harriot, .you’ll make mo citato conceited if you go 011 in that strain,' objected Alary, laughing. "No fear of that. Alias Mary', for you was alius a sweet-tempered little maid. Now, .Master Jim ’o’d set tho nursery in a, hubbub before ’e’d been ome not ten minutes. ’B were a lurriblo 'andful let yor ma were Master Jim.” Tho obi woman sighed, and her eyes closed as she wandered oil info a reverie. .Alary rose softly, cleared away tho tea tilings, swept up tho hearth, and was just buttoning up her cloak when Die old woman opened her eyes. "I’ve been thinking. Miss Alary,’ she said, qui'dly, “that I’ve a keepsake by mo cz I’d like yer ter ’aye ’ “A keepsake?” echoed Alary. “Wliv, Harriet, you’re not going away, and “Maybe I am. maybe I’m not, sajd the oid woman thoughtfully, "but whichever way it lie I should like you to ’ave tho pic ter, Miss Mary. “’Tain’t «», lurr’ble pretty, but it were t'ive-n me by mv mother, and sho ’ad it from ’er old mistress. It’s flying on the top of the box yonder." Alary handed a fiat brown pajieT parcel to the old woman, who undid the wrappings with trembling lingers, disclosing a portrait of a young girl with Hair pilot! up in tho fashion 01 tno eighteenth conlui’V. ‘‘WJiy, Harriet, it’s lovely/' said Alary, "iiii'i i tio believe—* ** • She checked a little exclamation of delight as sho examined the corner of the picture in the firelight. “The young woman's pretty enough, Imt it do seem ez iier gown is not cut quite modest—but I suppose it were the fasti 10a in those days. Anyhow, I’m glad you like it Miss Mary; I’ve a sort of liking 1 exit’ myself. That's why I couldn’t make, up my mind to lot the young man as lodges downstairs hive it, though ’e offered me a most turr’ble pretty piclcr instead. "There wuz a church and fields at! covered with snow, and a cottage.with lights in the winder, all that natural as you'd hive said ez fwer real. “Maybe, you’d’ave liked tho picter best, Aliss Alary, but ” “No no; I’m quite sure I shouldn’t,” said Alary, hastily. “But, Harriet, I’m not going to lot you give me this picture ■” “But I’ve made up my mind to do it, Aliss Atai-V. I wrote it down on this piece of paper,‘in case I were took sudden wish that turr’ble pain. There’s no use argyfyin’, Aliss Alary: I wants ” “Very well, I will take care of tho picture iu the meantime,” said Mary; “and perhaps—who knows —It may bring me luck!” . ...

She stooped and kissed .the withered old cheek, and with a cheery "I'll look in again to-rnorrow,” made her way up the uncarpcted stairs to her own room, carrying the picture under her arm. CHAPTER 111.

“It’s quite out of tho question. I never take anyone without a reference —and certainly not anyone—er —supposed to bo a lady!” Mary Kingscote rose. "Then I must regret having wasted both your tium_and my owii, madam,” she said quietly. ‘‘Good morning.” •‘Good morning!” acidly. “Oh—er —er —wait a moment. You are entitled. I believe, to tho amount of your railway or 'bus fare, if you will inform me ” “Thank you, you needn't trouble,” said Mary, as she walked to the door. Her voice sounded calm enough, and she was determined that Miss Douglas should not see the sudden tears that rushed to her eyes as she realised what this disappointment might mean. She fumbled over the handle of the door, which seemed very stiff and troublesome. Then she realised that someone else was turning the.,handle from the other side, and in another second Dr. Douglas himself stood aside to let her pass.

“Good morning. Miss Kingscote,” he said. "Will you give me five minutes’ conversation, please ’’ leading tho way to his study as lie spoke. Mary bowed. She couldn’t have spoken a word to save her life—the tears were too near for that. Moreover, she had walked from Pimlico to Harley street after a very scanty breakfast, and Miss Douglas’s harsh words, added to her disappointment, proved too much for the girl’s strength. She sank into the chair Dr. Douglas drew toward, and waited with trembling lips for him to speak. “From what I overheard just now, I am afraid my aunt is not inclined to entertain your application for the cr—er—vacant post?” he questioned, busying himself in drawing up the blind as ho spoke. “I’m afraid not,”- said Mary, in a low voice.

“Are you willing to take other employment—nursing, for instance?” "I’m not a qualified nurse, but ” “I don’t require a qualified nurse. My patient wants someone who is bright and cheery and fairly strong.” "I’m. strong enough,” said Mary; “at least,, 1 ." The doctor turned sharply from, tho window with a quick exclamation. Mary Kingscote bad fainted. Half-an-hour later she replaced an empty cup on tho dainty tray by her side. "I’m all right nop-. Dr. Douglas. That soup has done mo ever so much good,” she said, gratefully. ‘‘Glad to hear it. One moment while I finish writing yon a prescription.” “A prescription? But I really don’t want ”

“X demand just one thing from my nurses,” smiled Dr. Douglas, “and that is obedience,”

“Then you really think I can undertake the case. Of course, I—l have no reference beyond—” The sentence remained unfinished as the door was suddenly opened, and a cheery voice exclaimed: “Jack, my boy, I’m most anxions—Oh 1 I bog your pardon,” catching sight of Mary, “I didn’t know you had a patient.

“Come in'” said. Dr. Douglas quietly, “you are the very man I want. This is Mr Ilarland, whose_uiece .” “Ilarland?” echoed Mary, recognising in one swift glance the shabby old gentleman she had seen in. the National Gallery. “Yes. my dear, my name is Harland,” answeied tho old gentleman, beaming kindly at Mary over his spectacles. “Then you aro the gentleman who wants to buy a Romney from Mr Moss ” "God bless my soul, how did yon know that, child?” exclaimed the old man in blank astonishment. Mary explained. ‘ Then I nnderstand the picture is yours, said the old gentleman, excitedly. “Oh, no,” simply, Tm taking care of it because I didn’t want Mr Moss to get hold of it.” “Then, my dear yonng lady, wo must go and see old Harriet Baxter at once,” said Mr Ilarland. "Jack, will you tell them to call a hansom, please V’ “But how about my patient?” objected Dr. Douglas, smiling. "Oh, I’ll bring Nurse —er—er. I didn't catch your name, my dear.” “Mary Ivingscote," said the girl quietly. “What!” said the old man. Then dart-.

oil forward, seized Mary’s two hands in ids, and gazed inloutiy in her face, "Yes, you are Alary King.-icole’s (laughter, right enough—though you aie not half as pretty as she was thirty year, ago. is—.s vonr mother in London;-’ “She died thice years ago,” Said Alary, in a low video

“Bied three years ago! Bonnie Alary K i-ngseote died three years ago,” repi ti;a oid man mechanically, Mien iv» Lillie win-low, and stood the;c a jionnn:; without speaking. “The hansom is at the door, sir,” said the smart parlour-maid, and live minuter lattr Alarv King-tote and the old man were driving towards Pimlico. “X think i’ll lake a rest, on this landing,” said Air Hariand aiier climbing to the’ third story of Granger’.-; Buiidim-s. "Aly legs are not, as nimble as they used to be. Perhaps you would go on aim tell the old woman I am coming about lU {> picture." Mary ran up the intervening High!, of stairs, and tapped at No. There was no” reply. She knocked again, then opened i lie'door, and went in. “Harriet,” sho said, advancing towards the big chintz-covered chair, “Are you aslee p r” But the old woman did not answer—sho had fallen into that sleep which knows no waking. An hour litter Mary Kingscote followed old Air Hariand dowti the stairs of Granger’s Buildings They were preceded by a man carrying Mary’s unpretentious luggage, while Afr Hariand himself bore the pi-ecinus iiomney. They wore just passing into tho street, when an excited little man turned ‘-wi.itly into tiic passage, "Bead, did you say.' lie called to someone over his shoulder, “then where tho deuce is tho picture.'’ “Here,” said. Mr Hariand, quietly tapping the parcel" under his arm. “Air Hariand!” gasped the Jew, A a 1 1ing hack in amazeroear. Then quickly recovering his self-possession. “Bxcu.se me, sir, but I had practically concluded the purchase of the picture. The proprietor ” . “This young lady owns tho picture,’ said Air Hariand suavely; “but I am doubtful whether a—she would be inclined to exchange it oven fer an oleograph of a winter scone.”

Air Moss’s reply was inaudible —at -.cast to old Air Hariand and Alary, who were driving rapidly towards Harley street. Alary Kingscole did sell tho Jdomney after all, but it was Hr. Douglas, not Air Hariand," who eventually purchased it. Everyone knows that you can’t buy a thing of that sort without a good deal of discussion between buyer and seller, and Dr. Douglas certainly required a good many interviews with Aliss Kingscote, who had taken up her abode with Mr Hariand and Ills niece at Herne Hill. “I hardly know which light suits it best,” said Dr. Douglas one evening. “Twilight, my boy, twilight,” chtickl-nl the old gentleman, as lie ushered Jack Douglas into tho dusky drawing-room, where Alary Kingscote happened to bo sitting alone iu tho firelight. “But, Jack,” said Mary, raising her head f rom her lover’s shoulder half an hour later, “what will your aunt say?” “That siio could not dream of taking a niece without a reference,” said Jack Douglas, tcasingly. “But, seriously, Jack .”

“I’ve not the remotest intention r.f being serious," protested Jack Douglas, and—well, perhaps, "he was right. It was not exactly tho word that would describe the conduct of two lovers, seated together in tho twilight.