MAN PROPOSES BUT—

Otago Witness, Issue 3277, 3 January 1917, Page 58

MAN PROPOSES BUT—

By 11. Felicia. (Copyright.) "Do say something, John," she urged, "why do you stand there staring like a ghost?" At last John found his voice. "I come to-day, Lilla," lie said solemnly, "to ;k von to bo my wife." "Oh, John," she cried after a horrified cause, "but bow co"ld J know?" tears welling up in the kind brown eyes. "¥ou hut no so long, and although women are pro.erbidUy patient," a little smile showed round tho corners of her mouth and played hido and seek with tho tears," yet even they can't wait for ever." You loitered by tho way too long. You trifled at the gate.—Christina liossetli. John Flint alighted in a leisurely fashion from the three-forty-five train at the little village of Brierley. He happened to be the only passenger, and as tnc train moved slowly away be turned and surveyed the peaceful rural scene with some disapproval, mixed with slight contempt. " Why on earth does she choose to live m such'an out-of-the-world spot?" ho said to himself, as he made his way along the platform. John Flint was a stoutkh, rather goodlooking man of fifty. Evidently prosperous, if not. wealthy j a well-set-up', selfsatisfied city man, such a.s one meets by the score in London. J3ut ho had an intelligent face and an honest one, and, looking at him, you felt instinctively that he was to be trusted. As a matter of fact, many people had trusted John Flint, for he was a London lawyer with a good practice, and with quite as much work on his hands as he cared for. His eldest son was in the firm, ahd was very promising. As he walked along the white road on his way to the village, his mind was busy with thoughts of the future. As he swung briskly along he went over his new plans. First, he would begin more and more to leave things to his son. He was a good fellow, and could manage well enough, and, of course, the old clients could still 6ee the head if they wished. Then there was Doris. Her future was secure, ho hoped, for she was engaged, and likely in a few months' time to make an exceedingly good match. He felt lie had made sacrifices for Doris, for as long' as she was likely to remain at homo he would never have displaced her as mistress of his house. She reminded him of her dear dead mother, who died when Doris was fourteen, and new she was twenty. What a capital housekeeper the girl had made! If it had not been so; if his home had been less comfortable, the change which be was to-day contemplating might have taken place years ago. "Ah, welll" he mused, "perhaps things have been for tho best. Of course, we are neither of us as young as we were; but Lilla understands. She will know that I always meant to ask her, only circumstances forced me to wait. I am sure she will see it so."

A shade of anxiety crept into his eyes. Su)sposing she had given up expecting his offer—supposing she thought it too late. A woman is always Ider than a man, and Lilla was certainly middle-aged now. Why, she must be forty-two at least! An old maid ! Yes, he had let her remain an eld maid all these years till his plans were ready. Weil, he would make it up to her now. He had always cared for her. They had fallen in love even before his marriage ; but he was bound, and nothing could be done. And afterwards, when his wife died —and his grief for her loss was very sincere—it was to Lilla ho for consolation. She was a good woman, and very fond of poor Mary, and she had advised him about Doris and the boys.

And after that he got into the habit of going to pay her a weekly visit. She lived m London then. And in time, as his grief for his wife wore off a little, his old affection reasserted itself, and he had on one memorable occasion told her that he still loved her. His face flushed at the recollection. He remembered his earnest, passionate words, and how he had thrown his arms round the slim delicate figure, and drawn the smooth brown head on to his shoulder And he had kissed her lips, and she had not resented the kiss, but had clung to him silently. And afterwards—the day after—his native caution had stepped in, and he had thought that perhaps his action had been premature. Would it not have been better to wait till the children were awav and provided for? Although he knew they loved "Aunt Lilla," yet a new mother was rather an experiment. And Lilla could wait. Why, of course, she could. They understood each other.

But he must keep away from her for a bit' in ease she might harbour foolish hopes. !Tc had gone 'further than he intended fa. shamed look crept into his eye.--), but he had been carried away by his love for her. An dshe loved him, had always loved him. Why else had she remained unmarried?

And after that momentous interview he had not gone near her again, for he had not dared to trust himself. A-.-A after a while she had written, asking why he had not been to see her, and he had put her off with excuse after excuse, until at last the letters ceased. It was quite a year ago now since he had seen her.

When she gave up her London flat s-nd moved into the country, sh« had smt Jrw> a rather formal but friendly little telling him of her new address, and n* had answered it in the same fashion, promising to run down some Sunday and see. her new home. But he had never been. Partly he was

ashamed and partly lie distrusted himself. Anyhow there it was! And so they had spent this last year as strangers. She must have bad rather a lonely life ho feared. Ah, well, he would soon alter all that!

•" Really the country is not so bad," raid John Flint to him bit*. " and this is a pretty spot. I don't wonder Lilla is fond of itj she was always rather mad about Nature, I remember." He smiled indulgently at tho thought. " I wonder what her house is like," ho mused. "Rather queer and original like herself, I expect!" By this time he was passing the little village church, with its square tower and white headstones standing in its green churchyard. The sexton was just closing the gates. He looked rather flurried and important, and, seeing a faint, trace of rice on' the smooth gravel path which led to the church door, uohn thought that he understood the situation. " So you've had a wedding to-day, my man," he remarked genially, for John was always agreeable to his inferiors. " Yes, yes, sir," responded the sexton, touching his hat, "it was a rare and pretty one, and the bridegroom is one of the open-handed sort, he is," and he loudly clinked the coins in his pocket. John nndded again", smiled, and passed on. Up the long village street he went, past the thatched cottages and the larger houses with their red-tiled roofs, until at the very end of the place he turned into a little grassy lane, which led uphill for a quarter of a mile or so. Lilla had described this lane to him in those far-away letters when she had begged him to come and see her. Well, here he was at last! W T ould she be pleased to see him ? He had little doubt of that. Tho pretty, low white house came into view. Tt stood high up above the village, with tho wide-swelling downs in the near distance and a dark nine wood at its back. "By Jove! it's lovely," he ejaculated under his breath. " Lilla never told me it was like this," and an uneasy thought of his conventional house in a conventional London square, camo into his mind. "Tt will bo a chancre for her," ho murmured ; "but she won't mind." And cheerfully he pursued hie way. Pushing open the ornamental iron gates, he walked up the short drive. Flowers were everywhere—groat clumps of narcissi, daffodils, and purple violets, and near the house two large trees of almond blossom, delicatelv pink. The dav was a warm one for early May. and most of the doors and windows stood wide open. Round the house ran a wide, green verandah, just now filled with a group of about a dozen people, all drinking coffee out of tiny cups. The fragrant sm'ell of the coffee and the scent of cigars minrrled with the spring-like odours of the garden. John rang at the open front door, at which a motor was drawn up. He began to feel uneasy and badly used. "Tt is just like Lilla to have a party on the very day T fix upon to come and see her," he. thought fretfully. But he was a just man, and he knew that he had not troubled to write, so sure was he that she would always be at home —waiting. A* buzz of voices came from the balcony, and in a minute n trim maid servant appeared. She was in blue, with a fanc.v cap and aroron, and again Flint wondered what it all meant. He asked duly for Miss Furneaux, and after a brief hesitation the mnid led the way to a room on the ground floor, evidently used as a studv. Walls lined with books, a rua or two on the polished floor, a useful-lookinrr writinor table, some deep, comfortable chairs. a.nd a great blue china howl of flowers. This is what he saw as he looked round somewhat criticallv. The mom was quiet and shady, but he could still hear the distant hum of conversation, and the occasional ripples of laughter. Then there was a light sound of feet on the stairs, the door ononed, and his old sweetheart came quietlv in. Lilla Fnrncanx was a tall and graceful woman. Her head, crowned with coils of bright bronze hair, was carried rather high, and her hazel eyes mot' her visitor's with a glance of quiet astonishment. She was dressed in soft cvey cashmere, (rimmed with bands of silver embroidery, and the gown 'railed behind her in graceful folds. ,A little silver toque was on her hair, and a rich sablp fur was thrown carelessly round her shoulders. Tn the laces round her throat sparkled a diamond solitaire, and a bunch of violets was pinned into the front of her dress. She came forward in her usual friendly manner, holding out both hands to her visitor. But John did not take them. He only stared and stared at the broad gold circlet on her left hand. "Won't you shake hands?" Lilla said, half nervously. "What a coincidence that you should turn up to-day! T have been expecting you all these months, and now you choose my wedding day for your appearance."

Her colour rose, for the situation was embarrassing. Still John was silent. "I know T ought to have written and fold von all about it." she went on rather hurriedly: "but you did not »ive me much encouragement, did you? How many unanswered letter:; of mine do you possess?" plavfully. "And it has been rather a sudden thing. Walter (that's my husharid). Walter M'Pherson has to sail For Imba in July. Re is in tha civil service there, and lie wanted me to cro out with him. At first I said it was too soon, for we have been cnga"cd for only three months: but ho persuaded me. and. indeed, there was nothing much to wait for. lam old enough, as you know," with a little laugh, "and Walter—well, he Is' just my own So we sefrVd to be married and to have an English honeymoon before vo sailed." /Ml this rather breathlessly, for John's continued silence was getting on bar nerve*

She turned rather pale. "Do say something, John," she urged, "\vliv do you stand there staring like ghost?" At last John found his voice. "J came to-day, Lilla," he -said solemnly, "to ask you to bo my wife." "Oh, .John," she cried after a horrified pause, "but how could I know? tears welling up in the kind brown eyes. "You left me so long, an"] although women ar proverbially patient." a little smile showed round the 'corners of her month and played hide-and-seek with the tears, "yet cv.ii they can't wait for ever. I got to believe you did not really care, and I knew," with a little proud gesture of tho small head, "that I was worth caring for. "And then Walter came, and ho loved me and didn't fear to tell me so. And now I love him, and T am very happy." Her smile was radiant: but she grew •serious again as she watched John's downcast face. "Wish me joy, John," she said impulsively, holding out both her hands to him. "Mine has been a lonely life, but now," and her eves lit up, "now everything will be so different. Yes, yes, Walter," she cried in answer to a man s toice impatiently calling her name. "I m coming, dear; I'm coming." She stood up, and John Flint, accepting the movement as a dismissal, turned away with a puzzled, gloomy face.