MY RUINED LIFE

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXVII, Issue 8367, 1 March 1913, Page 10

MY RUINED LIFE

(By an Engaged Girl.) Surely every girl in the world dreams her girlish dreams of the future, and looks forward to the time when she will become engaged. At any rate, I built my castles in the air, and when my engagement became a fact, it more than realised my ideal. In spite of that, I killed my own happiness by my mistakes, and tills story is the history' of how it carao about.

X was just nineteen when Harold Grant came to stay with our friends next door. He was four or five years older thqn J was, and very, very good looking, with a strong, firm, open face, full of character. He had dark, wavy hair and blue-grey eyes, and he was good at athletics, and very manly apd straightforward.

Sylvia Webster, the girl next door, was in love with him, as, indeed, most of the girls who saw him were; but, to my great surprise (for I hadn't a particle of vanity in those days), he singled out me —poor, ordinary looking, little me—for his attentions, and did not fall a victim to the brilliant Sylvia,' or any of the other local belles. We played tennis together, and went boating, and before long ‘he asked me to be his wife. Often and often I used to stand before the glass and wonder why 7. had been eo fortunate. I used to say to myself : ‘'Molly—your nose is a decided snub, and, your mouth is much too wide —what can there be about you to make you eo attractive in Harold’s eyes?" Needless to say, I was devotedly fond of him—who oonld help it?—he was so kind and chivalrous—an ideal lover, in fact/ It was April, and we were to be married the following September. My father and mother both heartily approved of our engagement, and so did Harold’s peoples and, to all appearance, we were going to settle down to a. life of unclouded happiness with one another. . The,more I knew of Harold, the more I admired hie character. He was like a knight out of a fairy story—tender and brave. He had faults, of course—who hasn’t?—and one ’cf these was jealousy, especially jealousy of me. It took possession of him like an evil genius, and under its horrible influence he seemed like another: being. :* Fancy, the dear boy could hardly bear me to dance with other men! I have seen his handsome eyes flash and scowl because I laughed and joked with fellows I had known for years, and one dav wo had our first quarrel over this very thing. . "Molly," he said to me one fateful afternoon, "I do wish, you wouldn’t ho quite so friendly with that fellow Simpson. You danced much too often with him last night. Ton didn’t mean any harm, I know; but people were talking, and naturally I felt beastly about it." "Oh!” I said coldly, "so you want me to cut all my old friends to please vou, I suppose, now that I am engaged, to you?" “Certainly not," he replied; "but there is a difference between cutting a person and dancing four dances with him in one evening." “Charlie Simpson is a capital dancer," I said sulkily. “And I am not. Well, anyhow. I. have told you what I feel about it because I always believe in speaking out." I, replied hotly, and we had a bitter quarrel and parted in anger. For days I was miserable, and then I could not bear it any longer; eo I gave in and wrote Harold a penitent little note. He came to me immediately, and our making-up was so delightful that, as I told him, it made falling-out quite worth while.

A few days later I had a note from Charlie asking me to pro to the theatre with him, as no had tickets for a ulay I wished to see. Harold was absent on business, and Charlie knew ho was well out of the way. I was quite aware that, if Harold ever came to hear that I had been out with Charlie after what he had said, he would bo simply furious; but a spirit of mischief possessed me and prompted mo to say "Yes." Really and truly, I did not care a button for Charlie: hut I wanted to defy Harold, and let him see I was independent. I wrote him a letter, and added a post, script: “Am going to the theatre with C. §. to-night. Wish you were coining with us." Well, we went; but I did not enjoy myself a bit, and I'm sure poor Charlie didn't, for X was as cross as two sticks. Yon see, I was perfectly miserable about Harold the whole time, and whenever Charlie tried to cheer me, I nearly snapped his head off. Next day there was no letter from Harold. X waited three days—still no letter. Then X wrote to Charlie and asked him to oome round to tea. He came and I flirted shamefully with him. Harold did not write and I took a malicious delight in letting everybody soe that Charlie was like a dog. always at my heels. At last Harold, who, of course got to know about- Charlie from mutual friends, wrote saying be now knew X bad never cared for, him, and that he released me from my engagement. He wrote a beautiful manly letter, but I was too self-willed to try to make friends, and 1 sent him back his ring without a word. . So I lost him, and as time went on I saw what a mistake I had made, and what a little fool X had been. Had I helped him to overcome his jealousy instead of feeding it, 1 should not have made two people miserable. We are both unmarried. I have never cared for anyone since, and I feel sure Harold hasn't either. > ' If only there was some way of making it up. But I could not humble myself by teiling him—and he will never, nevci come. What would I give to be engaged to him once more, and to know that he loved and cared for his broken-hearted Molly ?—“Home Notes."