ANDROMEDA: A TALE OF THE GREAT RIVER.

Otago Witness, Issue 2397, 8 February 1900, Page 53

ANDROMEDA: A TALE OF THE GREAT RIVER.

I . „ ' I By ROBERT BUCHANAN,

Author of "God and the Man," "The Shadow of the Sword," "Stormy I Waters," "The Wedding Einff,"' "Father Anthony," "Lady Kilpatrick," etc., etc. j COPYRIGHT. ! nxr^mm T.Y.— AT THE LAURELS. JS SOMERSET lived in a small but genteel cottage on the fringe of Holland Park, not then abandoned utterly to the suburban architect and the jeirybuilder. " The Laurels," as the villa was called, was quite an old-fashioned place, | with wainscotted reception rooms, a large wainscotted hall, a fine staircase of old oak, and a splendid old-fashioned garden. It was a matter of tradition that the great Edmund Burke had once spent a summer there, while writing certain portions of his famous " Essay on .the Sublime and Beautiful," and close at hand in Holland Park, the later coterie, illumined by the effulgence of Count D'Orf=ay and the lovely Blessington, had held their literary revels. Associations such as these were far from distasteful to Mrs Somerset, despite the fact that she was the widow of an obscure gentleman in the Civil Service, who had lived for many years in India, and had finally retired on a small independence. He had died when Charles was a boy of 15, studying at Harrow, but after his death the widow, on an income of about six hundred a year, left to her by her husband, had contrived to send the boy to Cambridge, where he had taken his bachelor's degree. Finally, to his mother's surprise, and not a little to her disgust, he had announced his intention of becoming a professional artist, — a modus vivendi not quite so profitable in those Bohemian days as it has become since, -and infinitely less fashionable. The late Mr Somerset had pin-chased " The Laurels " on a long lease, many years of which had yet to expire ; so that the widow lived practically rent free, and kept up a quite respectable position on her modest income. Charles was her only child, and she was an affectionate, if not a, very demonstrative, mother. No sooner, therefore, was it made quite clear to her that her son was determined to follow Art as a profession than she did her very utmost to forward his views and supply him with the necessary money. It was a pinch, of course, but she made it cheerfully enough. Thanks to her he was able to study under the best masters, both in London and Paris, until he had become, in the course of time, a very fair painter. Of late years he had chummed with Bufton and Leroy, only stay'~\g with his naot-hev at intervals ; and at

1 the time when the tAvo ladies made their [ unexpected visit to the studio, he had not I visited " The Laurels "' for several Aveeks. This was the more extraordinary as his cousin, Ethel Norman, to Avhom he Avas informally engaged, Avas just then slaying on a long visit to her aunt. Ethel, Aye may explain, Avas the eldest daughter of Mrs Somerset's half-brother, avlio vras one of the lesser magnates on the Stock Exchange, but Avho liA-ed on a small estate at Woodford, A\here he had brought up a large j family. It Avill be gathered from this that j Ethel was. likely to inherit money ; her ! mother, indeed, lu'd possessed a considerable j fortune of her oavii, Avhich Avas to be divided I equally among her children. Ethel, as Aye haA-e seen, was a someAvhat unconventional girl of rather free and independent manners. She had only one sister and half-a-dozen brothers, tAvo of them, her elders, being employed in the city ; and conslant intercour.se Avith these brothers of hers, who had the go-ahead manners and , habits of their class, had prevented her from acquiring the timid mock-modest airs oi less sophisticated young ladies. For the rest, she Avas clever, not unainiable, and very accomplished, especially in music, for I which she hud a natural gift. On the evening of the doy when they had called at the studio in Bloomsbury, Ethel ' and her aunt sat together in the draAving 1 room at '" The Laurels." Mrs Somerset was I seated by the fiie, reading one of the jour- ! nals ; Ethel had just risen from the piano. I Both the elder and the younger ladies Avere I attired in the dinner costume of the period — a costume hideous enough from our modern point ot A'ieAV, since, alas ! large I skirts and crinolines were then the fashion. j " I don't suppose he'll come after all," ' said Ethel, carelessly. "He didn't seem over keen about it." " But he promised."' returned Mrs Somerset, looking up from her journal, " and you know he always keeps his word." "Always, aunt?" queried the girl, with a curious little laugh. " Why, of course. I'm afraid. hoAvever, that you annoyed him exceedingly this morning. I Avas shocked at you, Ethel — really shocked". The AA-ay you discussed that unfinished picture was really too dreadful! "Think foV murmured Ethel thoughtfully, rubbing the tip of her nose Avith the edge of her eyeglass. " Well, somehoAV or other Charlie and I always manage to rub each other the wrong way!" "There again!'' exclaimed Mrs Somerset, lifting up her hands. " Your expressions ! Sometimes they positively make my blood run cold !" I " I .suppose I pick them up from the boys !" i "Then I must entreat you to consider before you use them. You see, poor Charles is so sensitiA'e, and has such a lofty idea lof our sex. Little things like that shock him. "dear! I have often heard him say that the most -beautiful thing in all the world is maidenly modesty !" ! Ethel made a pretty little grimace and shrugged her shoulders. j " What do a t ou mean by that, you provoking girl?" demanded her aunt. " I Avas thinking, aunt, ' Avas the reply, j " that there can'.t be much ' maidenly modesty ' knocking about among the models ! of Bloomsbury !" "Knocking about!" echoed Mrs Somerset. " What an / expression ! Whoever Avould think to hear you that you'd had .such a perfect education ! As to Avhat you say about models, Ethel, you certainly exaggerate. Charles has again and again assured me that they are most respectable, Avell1 conducted persons, and that it is "a quite unusual thing for any one of them to sit for the — the undraped figure. Of course, dear, it is sometimes necessary, though I certainly cannot say that I approve of it." " Oh, it's all right, I suppose." said Ethel, turning to the fireplace, and drumming with the fingers of her right hand on ; the mantelpiece, while die glanced at her I self in the mirror aboA'e it ; then, after an , inspection of a feAv minutes, she said very i quietly, still Avith her eyes on the reflec- [ lien : I " Aunt, do you think Charlie really cares j for me?' 1 I "My dear child !" cried Zxlrs Somerset in honest amazement. " What are you saying? Cares for you? Of course he cares for you ! Are you not engaged to be married?" " Yes, of course, I knoAv that," said Ethel, still in the same quiet tones, and Avith her J eyes half-closed, peering into the mirror. I '' But I'A"e thought sometimes, and espec ially lately, that he doesn't find much fun lin our engagement. I seem to bore him rather ! 01 course, I don't expect him to be ahvays spooning me, like a. loA r er in a novel, but I think he ought to slioav me, ncAV and then at any rate, that I'm something more to him than a mere cousin.' 1 " Your expressions are terrible,"' ansAvered the elder lady. " HoAA-ever, you may rest assured that Charles loA'es you dearly. You mustn't mistake his buoyant manner for indifference. Y r ou see he is not at all demonj strative to anyone. He is like yourself, i Ethel — he very often assumes a light and cr.reless tone to conceal the depth of his attachments." "Is that really so, aunt?" asked the girl, with a quiet smile. "Of course you understand him better than I do ! I rather thought his tendency was to err the other way, and be all enthusiosm. At any rate he used to be a great deal liveliei*. IVe noticed a change in him eA'er since he ■went aAvay holiday-making last year." " Only youi fancy, dear. You see, the poor boy is so anxious to get on in his profession, and it worries him a great deal that he is able to earn so littto money. It is a thousand pities. I 1 hink;, that Jie ever became a painter ! If hfoctSSl only been willing, your father could fu't«>s c^secured <hira a splendid opening in the 'ci£ s. arid Ijg might luiA-e become a rich rmuil" ' " I rather admire him for that?" said Ethel. "For what, dear?" " For sticking to his art, and despising stocks and shares," Avas the reply. " I hate everything connected Avith the city; IVe been so overdosed with it between father and the boys. (And you don't think

he's really sorry about our engagement? Il he was, you knoAv, I'd be quite willing to let him off !" " Don't men lion such a thing!"' exclaimed Mrs Somerset. "Why, it has been a settled thing ever since you were boy and girl." It was now close on 7 o'clock — an uruusually late hour for dinner in the early sixties. " I don't think he'll come," said Ethel, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. However, they waited until nearly halfpast 7, and then as there was btill no sign of the young man, Mrs Somerset ordered the dinner to be served. They had just finished their soup ■« hen there was a knock and a ring at the door, and directly afterwards Somerset was shown into the diningroom. He explained, eagerly and apologetically, that he had been detained 1 by some unexpected business, and then sat down to the table. During the meal he was very talkative, <md drank — Ethel noticed this "though his mother did not — an unusual amount of wine. His tone was light and gay enough, but to Ethel's thinking there was* a certain constraint in his manner, and she observed that he seldom or never looked her in the face. After dinner, hi the drawing-room, Ethel played. Presently Mrs Somerset stole quietly from the room, leaving the young ccuple together. There was a long silence, filled only by the low music of the piano. "How beautifully you play,"' cried the young man, as the girl paused with her fingers on the key?. She waited quietly, half-expecting that he would come over to her, as he had done on former occasions, and steal a caress; but he was sitting motionless in an armchair, with his eves on the fire. Her ringers trembled on the keys ; then, turning round on the music stool, 'she at him quietly through her eyeglass. ° Hei under lip quivered slightly as she said with her usual careless manner: " You're not angry with me, Charlie, foi what I said in the studio? I was only chaffing, you know.'' " Of course," he answered, still not looking at her. '•Then what's the matter? You don'fc seem^ yourself to-night." "I'm not myself," he said. "I'm— Pro worried out of my life." "About money?" " Oh, no, not' about money !" "What then? Can't I help you? I'd try, you know, if you'd frankly tell me what troubled you." He did not reply, nor did he turn his eyes towards her. After watching him quietly, .she walked over to him and placed her hand on hij shoulder. " Look here, Charlie,' 1 she said quietly, " cards on the table please ! Is it anything about our engagement?" He was still silent, but she felt him trembling beneath her touch. " I thought so,"' she said, withdrawing her hand and moving towards the mantelpiece, on which she leant one elbow, while she looked down at his averted face. " Well, why need that worry you? If you want t9 carry your goods to another maiket, I shan't make any objection ! Only, you might have been straight Avith me and cold me a little sooner !" "I was afraid!" he murmured. "I dieaded to give you pain." " Awfully thoughtful of you, I'm sure," die returned, not without a certain bitterness. " Well, better late than never ! You want to be free? All right! Cut the traces and gallop off!" He looked up at her- at last, Li^ eyes sparkling, bis face flushed. "Do you mean to say you don't mind?" " That's my business, not yours ! I certainty don't want to keep 3*oll against your will, and I'm not likely to break my heart for any man. I'm thinking more of your mother than myself. She'll be awfully worried, you know!" " But you, yourself," he exclaimed, rising and standing by her. " You're quite sure that you don't care?" He' took her hand, but she diew it away a little impatiently. " I've told you the truth," she answered. " You're free to go. Please don't be sentimental about it ! I think you'd better leave me to break it to your mother ; I'll choose my own time, and I promise not uo give you away." " 1 hate myself for what I'm doing ! It - makes me feel so mean.'' She smiled coldly and shrugged hei shoul- . ders. '• We shall always be friends?" ha pleaded. "Of course. Aren't we cousins? By. the way, Charlie, who's the party? -.You might as well tell me all about it." She seemed so careless, so indifferent, that he was almost on the point of doing as she requested, when she continued : " On reflection, perhaps you'd better not. I'm not at all curious, only I hope for aunt's sake that she's a ludy, and l.ot one of the girls you paint in natural bathing costume ! " So saying she walked over to the piano and began to play a lively tune out of the last Strand burlesque. Very little more Avas said, for she seemed to resist all further attempts at conversation ; and a little later, before the re-appearance of his mother, he hurried from the house. When Mrs Somerset entered the room she found her niece still at the piano, playing softly one of Beetho\en's songs without words, and in answer to her inquiries Ethel explained that the young man had had to hurry away to meet an important engi.^'-v imt. No suspicion that anything wa& wiong crossed the elder lady's mind ; bui r _§U§ had. been a little more observant she might ~"ha\o'.sccr. that the girl's lightness of manner Avas only assumed, *nJ that she had been quietly crying. For a long time Ethel continued to play, and all the time her boi om liea\-ed painfully and her eyes Avere misted Avith tears. Meantime Some I'set had bounded in on, Bufton, who Avas seated by the studio fire, reading a voluuu> of Ruskin's " Modern Painters." In a few words he explained Avhat had taken place, and expressed his

satisfaction that Ethel had taken the disclosure so phlegmatically. " I told you she wouldn't mind," he concluded. ""She Avas as willing to release me as I was willing to go ! " Bufton looked him from head to foot and grinned ferociously. "You miserable young cad," he replied. j"Do you think that those feel most Avho shriek' and blubber, and Avear their hearts upon their sleeves? Your cousin's a brick, and Avorth a dozen of you ! If you stuck a 'knife into her heart, she'd be too proud and plucky to utter a word ! " " I knoAV her better than you do," retorted Somerset. " She took it quite coolly, and almost Avished me good luck." " Much of that you deserve," growled the cynic. "It would serve you right if the Monster came up from the sea after all, and made a meal of your Andromeda ! " • (To be continued.)