TO THE TUNE OF A DANCE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3085, 30 April 1913, Page 81

TO THE TUNE OF A DANCE.

By Alice and Claude Askew. Authors of “ The Shulamite,” “ Destiny.’* ‘‘'The Englishwoman,’’ “Love the Jester,” "The Blue Diamond,” “A Legacy of Love,” etc “ Isn’t the ‘ Eaton Boating Song ’ n ripping waltz, Miss Cowper—the best tune in the world?” \oung Xoel Harbord smiled cheerfully at his partner, the quiet little lady in grey satin with' whom he had been sitting out the last waltz, for Agues Cowper had declined to dance it. She had only come to the Midhust Hunt ball to chaperone her niece—pretty Molly Lester, —who must have remained at home if her aunt had not volunteered to look after her. For Mrs Lester—Molly's mother—had gone to bed with a racking headache, but Miss .Agnes had undertaken to convey Molly safely to the dance and bring her back again—moved to do this by the tears that had suddenly sprung into Molly’s soft blue eyes when it had unlikely that she would be'able to go to the ball. Miss Agnes had guessed at once why Molly was so anxious to go to this particular dance. The child was evidently hoping to meet some young man, and pretty Molly must not be disappointed, so Miss Agnes told herself—Miss Agnes, who had not been to a ball since she was twenty-six, and that would be a long ten years ago, and who had small reason—• poor little lady—to care greatly for dances or dance music; for everything had gone wrong since she last heard the “Eton Boating Song” played by throbbing violins—her love-song had ended m smoke. She winched a little as the well-remem-bered melody smote bn her ears—wined and fumbled nervously with her fan, — and she wished'?the band would play any other tunc. And why did this nice, pleasant boy—the boy who had so obviously come to the ball to meet Molly, just as Molly bad come to meet him—ask her if she liked the “ Eton Boating Song ” ? Why, the waltz was evoking such bitter-sweet memories that Miso Agnes feared every second she would burst into tears, for , just ten years ago—at another Midhurst Hunt ball—a man, the only man Miss Agnes had ever loved, had told her he loved her whilst the band played the “ Eton Boating Song,” and just aa Agnes, blushing as pink as her soft rose tulle gown, was admitting that she cared for Captain Preston, her mother—cloaked and shawled—appeared in the dimly-Hl sitting-room, and summoned .Agnes away» but not before Captain Preston had whispered that he would drive over to th< Grange next day and see her. But ha never came—lie never \vrolc--and two months later his regiment was ordered to India, and that was the end of Miss Agnes’s sad little romance. She had told no one of her disappointment—of the hopes that had come to nothing. Her blighted love-dream was her own secret; but Miss Agnes went to no more dances. She gave her people no explanation as to why balls no longer amused her, any more than she could give a really good reason for refusing to marry a certain Sir Charles Temple, who proposed to Agnes a few weeks after the

Hunt ball. Her mother was very anxious that she should accept Sir Charles, for he owned a fine property in Surrey, and he had a very large income; but Agnes—usually so gentle and yielding— displayed sudden firmness when called upon to marry a man whom she did not love, and she stuck to her guns valiantly. “You will die an old maid.” So her mother scolded, and Agnes nodded her head, for she was quite ready to agree to this. Now it seemed as if there was every prospect of Airs Cowper’e words coming true, for at thirty-five it was not very likely that Agnes would marry. Besides, she had allowed her youth to slip from her, and she was out of touch with her busy times—a gentle, somewhat pensive, lavender lady. Noel Harbord thought her very charming, however, and he liked her quiet voice and quiet ways. He also felt astoniehingly grateful to the little slim lady in the grey satin gown, for Molly had told him that if it had not been for her aunt’s kindness in offering to chaperone her she could not have up at the dance, and Noel would have hovered rest; lessly about the big staircase, waiting and waiting in vain; but dear Aunt Agnes had prevented such a terrible thing happening, so a thousand blessings on her head! , “ Yes, I like the ‘ Eton Boating Song. I —l think it makes a lovely waltz. Miss Agnes spoke in low, somewhat shaky tones, then she suddenly folded up her fan and looked straight ahead —looked down a long vista of dreary, empty years .—years that the locusts had eaten —and her face was quite pale when she finally glanced up at the young man who was seated by her side. “Do you know, it is just ten years — almost "ten years to a day—since I last heard that tune played —since I last attended a dance?” She paused a second “But I mustn’t bore you with my reminiscences,” she added. “You arc dancing this next dance, I expect —dancing it with some pretty girl, 1 hope.” “I am dancing it with your niece,” Noel answered, simply. He flushed a ■little. “I want to tell you something, Miss Cowper. I met Molly in London gome months back, and fell head over ears in love with her. She was staying with some friends of my sister’s, and we saw a good deal of each other; but I wasn t in a position to propose to her just at that-particular time—l wasn’t quite sure of my future prospects. Still, when Molly left London to return home —well, there was a sort of understanding between us; we had both had a peep into each other’s hearts.” He paused a moment, then a bright smile lit up his handsome, boyish face. “But everything’s going to be all right now. An uncle of mine—a dear old boy ■ —has arranged to take me into his office. He’s a well-known solicitor, and I’m to be a junior partner in the business, and that means that I shall have enough money to marry on. Yes, I shall he able to give Alolly quite a comfortable little home. I thought we’d take a flat somewhere —one of those smart new flats that they’re cracking up so much nowadays. I don’t suppose we can run to a motor-car yet, but that will come later on. I wrote to Alolly, and asked her to bo sure and come to this dance, for I had something to tell her —and you bet she knows what it is.” He hesitated for a second, then be turned to Aliss Agnes. “ I don’t suppose Alolly’s father and mother will object to her getting engaged, do you? There’s nothing against me— I can honestly say that,—and the money is all right. Of course, I know Alolly is very young —only nineteen; hut, still, some girls marry at eighteen, don’t they? and even at seventeen; and I promise vou I’ll look after Molly. You don't know how dearly I love her.” “Aly dear boy, I am so very glad that you have spoken to me so frankly.” Miss Agnes leant forward and gave Noel a sympathetic little pat upon his arm. “I have thought for a long time that there was a young man on the tanis. I knew that there was someone Molly cared for in London—l felt quite certain of it, and you may be sure that my sister and brother-in-law will give you a hearty welcome into their family. They will be glad to hear that Molly is so happily settled, for she has a sister waiting to come out. and there’s another younger in the schoolroom.” Aliss Agnes opened her fan. Her hands had suddenly begun to shake a little. Her face looked very sweet and tremulous. “I mustn’t keep you from Molly,” she murmured. “ Go and dance with her, my dear boy—go and dance, and come to me later on, when you have bad your little talk together, you two. and let me be the first to congratulate you. You will find me sitting here quietly by myself. iAn old maid isn’t wanted in the ballroom.” She leant back in her chair as she said the last words, and it suddenly struck Noel Harbord, even in the midst of his own joy, how sad and pale the little lady looked, and he realised that though Miss Agnes spoke of herself so frankly as an old maid, she wasn’t so very old after all. Why, there were heaps and heaps of women of thirty-five enjoying themselves heartily—dancing every dance, and being tremendously admired. —so why should Miss Cowper shrink back into corners and not have a good time with the rest of the world? Why didn’t she dance too? She was small and light, and if she had only worn a less sedate dress, and fluffed nut her pretty soft hair, she ■would have, looked as -well as any woman in the room, for her features were small and delicate, her skin was very white, and her eves were extraordinarily blue and limpid—but why had she got tears in them—big tears? “ Aliss Cowper ’’—Noel bent over her chair, —“ I don’t like to rush away and dance with Alolly all the evening and

leave you sitting out here by yourself. Why aren’t you dancing like the rest of us?" You know a heap of people.” “My dancing days are over.” Miss Agnes drew a deep breath. “ I only came to the Hunt ball to-night because I knew Molly would be so disappointed if she didn’t meet you. Besides, I had an idea that things might happen if I came —and they have happened.” She folded up her fan briskly. “ No, you are not to worry about me. I shall be perfectly happy sitting here by myself and thinking of you and Molly—and I honestly don’t want to dance. Several old friends have already asked me to dance this evening, but I declined. I wouldn’t have danced with you —or, rather, sat out a waltz —if I hadn’t realised that Moil}- was anxious that we should get better acquainted with each other.” She paused, then added slowly, reflectively: “ It’s the young and lighthearted who ought to trip it to the tune of the dance, I think, not women like myself, who have left their youth behind them. We must stand aside, we middleaged spinsters, and let the girls have their turn. It’s only fair —it's only just.” She gave Noel a pretty little wave of dismissal, but though the young man knew that his Molly was waiting for him, he was not to be sent away so easily. He was worrying about Miss Cowper—he was worrying horribly. Suddenly an idea occurred to Noel. There was another lonely person at the Hunt ball —an uncle of his, Jris mother’s brother—a soldier uncle just home from India, who, for no particular reason as far as Noel could see, had suggested coming down with him to Midhnrst and attending the Hunt ball. But for the life of him Noel could not understand why his uncle had done so, for the greyhaired soldier wasn’t dancing. He was merely mooning about the ballroom, looking very melancholy and reflective, and it occurred to Noel that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to introduce his uncle to Miss Cowper. He wouldn’t say a word, but would just bring the Colonel up to w T here Miss Cowper was keeping her solitary state, and he would tell the old boy that he wanted to introduce him to one of Molly’s aunts; and then —why, then with a clear conscience Noel would feel himself free to devote the rest of his evening to Molly —this evening which was the happiest of his life. The young man walked away —left the little sitting-room, with its carefullyarranged screens and big palms, and the tears that had been trembling in Miss Agnes’s eyes rolled slowly down her cheeks as s’oon as she found herself alone. But she hastened to wipe them away with a scrap of lace handkerchief, for it was too silly at her age, she told herself, to cry over a love-dream that had gone wrong. But it was the tune that the band was playing—the “ Eton Boating Song ” —that was reviving such a host of old memories, and she asked herself bnce again, as she had asked herself so many hundred times before, why —oh, why!— had Captain Preston told her that he loved her ten years ago and .ridden out of her life the next day? What had been his object in doing so? Why had he been so cruel? The portiere curtains that veiled the door of the sitting-iOom suddenly parted, and Miss Agnes glanced up hurriedly to sec that two men were standing in the narrow doorway. She recognised Noel Harbord at once; but who was the other taller man who stood behind him —the lean man with the grey moustache and the keen grey eyes. Was it a ghost from the past who, had suddenly risen up to confront her —the ghost of a dead love? “Miss Cowper’’—Noel came hastily forward—“ I have brought my uncle, Colonel Preston, round. I want to introduce him to you. He tells me he was in this part of the world ten years ago, staying with some friends in the neighbourhood, so you may have met before.” “Yes, we have met before.” Agnes rose from her chair; a curious dignity had come over her—a strange self-command. This was a big occasion ; she rose to meet it unflinchingly, and she betrayed fine courage. “ I am so glad to see you again, Colonel Preston.” She held out her hand as she spoke, and her hand neither shook nor trembled. It was Colonel Preston who turned ashy pale; not tiie little lady in the grey satin gown. But Noel had no idea of what was happening, as ho turned blithely away to seek out the girl he loved. He merely reflected that it was a strange coincidence that his uncle and Miss Cowper knew eaoh other—a lucky coincidence—for doubtless they had a heap of friends in common. “Did my nephew make a mistake when he called you ‘ Miss Cowper ’ ?” Colonel Preston spoke in low tones, and he gazed at Miss Agnes very search i ugly as he spoke. “ T—l quite understood that yon were married—that yon had married a certain Sir Charles Temnle. ” He rested a hand on the big armchair in which Miss 'Agnes bad been sitting, and his fingers trembled a little. Miss Cowper flushed to her forehead. “ Whoever told yon that I was married told vou a deliberate untruth,” she said, quietly, and. for her. coldlv. “I was never engaged to Sir Charles Temple, far less married.” She paused a second. Her breath was .coming verv hard and fast, and she wished to heaven that the music would stop, for why was the band playing the “ Eton Boating Song ” again just at this particular moment when she and her old love—the man who had treated her so badlv —had come face to face after the lapse of so many weary years? Ob, why was the past obtruding itself r-o painfull v upon the present? “Tt was your mother who told me, or rather wrote to me. that you were about to lie married to Sir Charles Temple,” Colonel Preston retorted, sternly. “ And she added in her letter—l have still got

it, so I can show it to you —that you had been merely amusing yourself with me — flirting, as she feared was your habit.” “My mother wrote that to you!” Agnes sank down limply into a chair. A startled look had come into her blue eyes. Her heart was beating violently. “ I feel all in the dark about things,” she murmured, “ I don't understand this at all; but neither have I understood why you never wrote to me and never came near me .after practically proposing to me at the Midhurst Hunt ball exactly ten years ago. I waited to hear from you, and I waited in vain. I might have been a second Mariana; but day after day I promised myself that you would either call at our house or else I should hear from you. But the days passed and you never came, and when I finally heard that you and your regiment had departed to India, why, then I realised that you had merely been amusing yourself at a foolish girl’s expense —saying things that you didn’t mean—at the dance; only—and that was the tragedy—l—l couldn’t forget you. I tried to, but I couldn’t. “ Agnes, is this the truth?” Colonel Preston bent over the little lady in the grey satin frock and took her hands in his. ‘‘Shall I tell you my story now?” he whispered, “and then perhaps you will realise that I am not quite the blackguard you must have thought me. Only I blame myself now, 1 blame myself intensely for not having insisted on seeing you, for, having believed the lie I was told. And yet it was your own mother who wrote to me, and who deliberately conspired against her child’s happiness and —and my happiness.” He paused • a second and pulled at his moustache. Tire music was still going on joyfully, and hundreds of dancers were dancing to the same swinging tune, and it seemed to Agnes, as she bent forward in her chair and looked into Colonel Preston’s face, that it was not so many years since they had been waltzing to this tune together, and that she was younger than she had fancied—-not quite so old as she had feared. “Do you remember what happened ten years ago in this very room?” Colonel Preston began, abruptly. “I told you that I loved you, Agnes, and just as you were about to admit that you loved me your mother came in, and appeared very annoyed at finding us together, and she insisted on carrying you off. She said that your father would be angry if the horses were kept waiting any longer. She was very stern and autocratic, and yon had to obey her—you had no alternative.” He paused a second, biting at his lips. “Well. I wrote to your mother that very night—or, rather, at early dawn. I said in my letter that I feared she had been annoyed with you for sitting out with me, for her manner had certainly expressed extreme disapproval; and I wont on to say that 1 had asked you to marry me, and I fancied you were not indifferent to me. I explained that I was by no means a rich man; but I was getting on quite well in the service, and 1 knew my father would make me sufficient allowance to enable me to marry if my wife would not mind accompanying me to India. I asked your mother if she would arrange with vour father to see me next day, so that I could make a formal proposal and explain my circumstances, and I got a letter back which made me sit up—just a cold letter of a lew lines —a letter in which your mother stated that you were practically engaged to bo married to Sir Charles Temple, that you had always been too fond of flirting to please her, and that was why she had been annoyed to find us sitting out together at the dance. She also explained that neither she nor her husband would be at all disposed to welcome me as son-in-law, for they did not wish their daughter to marry a soldier and have to go abroad; in other words, I was abruptly dismissed.” “Oh, how cruel of mother —how very cruel ” Agnes’s eyes swam with tears. “ I know that she was awfully anxious that I should many Sir Charles—terribly anxious;—but I refused him when he proposed.” She hesitated. “I mustn’t speak unkindly of mother, for .she is dead —she died three years ago. But, oh, this was a grievous wrong she did me—a grievous wrong!” “She wronged you still more bitterly,” Colonel Preston interrupted, “for when I got her letter I wrote to you—a letter in which I asked you if what your mother had written was tiro truth, and begged you not to answer my letter if it was. But you never got my note?” “No, I never got it,” Agnes answered simply. “You see, my mother always opened the post bag herself, and I expect she kept it back, recognising your handwriting. Any way, it never reached me.” A long pause followed, and the man and the woman on whom Fate had played such a cruel trick- —the man and ihe woman who had left their vouth behind—gazed at each other searchinglv; hut it was Colonel Preston who was the first to speak. “Dear,” he whispered, and his voice was very low, very tender, “there has never been anyone else in my life—no other woman lias ever taken your place In my heart. Are you still free, Agnes?” She nodded her head. “Yes,” she answered softly. “But you cannot want to marry me now ? lam old—old and faded.” “That’s all nonsense,” he interrupted, passionately. “Besides, lam older too, if it comes to that. Agnes, don’t be silly —don’t be foolish. Now that we have found each other we are not going to allow anything to 7)art us again. There are good years ahead ; of course, there are —glad years. ’ ’ He paused a second. The dance had suddenly come to an end, and there was great clapping amongst the dancers —the tune had evidently been highly appreciated —such clapping that the band started playing again.

Colonel Preston smiled, then leant towards Agnes, and offered her his arm. “We danced to the same tune ten years ago,” he whispered. “We will dance to it again to-night. Come, Agnes, this is our dance —ours !” They left the sitting-out room together, and as they waltzed into the ballroom more than one person turned to glance after the couple, for Colonel Preston looked a? if he had just come into a kingdom, and Agnes’s cheeks were suffused with a soft rose colour, and her bine eyes shone like stars. She seemed to have regained her lost youth, just as she had regained her lest happiness. Noel Harbord, waltzing with the other dancers, directed his Molly’s attention to the pair. “Look!” he said. “Look! My uncle and your aunt are dancing together, and, by Jove, they look happy, don’t they?” “They do, indeed,” Molly answered, and she smiled at her aunt as she passed hej’ in the mazy whirl of the dance, dimly aWare that they were both dancing to the same tune—the tune that Love was piping. [The End.]