JUST A MISTAKE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3418, 19 September 1919, Page 66

JUST A MISTAKE.

By Leon Mead. [Copyright.] Though' an unconscionable flirt, there was not a higher-minded or more virtuous young -woman in Riverdale than Marjorie Ferrin. Her personal charms were so numerous that merely to catalogue them would fail to give you an exact portrait of .her indefinable loveliness. Within this apparently flawless tenement of clay dwelt a soul which received impressions from the outer world as though it were a waxen tablet wrought upon by the ancient stylus. A unique contrast to her glossy, jet-black hair (a type seen occasionally among the Celtic race) were her turquoise eyes, in whose luminous deeps a subtle intelligence constantly played. Indeed, it was no wonder that at eighteen Marjorie's admirers had become legion. Everyone petted and adored her, and to confide in a young womanhood so lovable seemed as easy and natural as to inhale the ambrosial fragrance of an apple blossom. Among Marjorie's latest, and consequently most favoured of gentleman admirers was a promising young "litterateur," Mr Wilkrd Ougsbury, who had come down to Riverdale to recruit his health. Besides being a real novelty, he was a decidedly clever and agreeable chap—handsome, chivalrous, and devoted to the manufacture of original, and even, creditable sonnets. Therefore, Marjorie, without aiming to achieve any serious conquest of his affections, would have been quite disheartened if anything had prevented her from adding so distinguished an attache to her court. It was, however, by a slow and assiduous process that she enlisted Mr Ougsbury's interest, and even when she had so far conquered as to find him her obedient servant to command, Marjorie saw or fancied that his attentions were less the

result of a feeling which has no equiva- ' lent than a merely gallant admiration. But quotidian association perceptibly increased their intimacy, and Marjorie's demeanour towards her old disciples grew cold and forbidding. All her coquetries and blandishments of manner were now reserved for Willard j but they were after all only the secondary forces she employed to inspire his romantic passion; strong emotional sentiments came to her assistance which she had never experienced before. She imagined that a fan oscillated by Mr Ougsbury in front of her fevered brow, after an industrious waltz, effected a larger and more refreshing current of air than any other male denizen of the ballroom could produce with the same apparatus. As a mark of favouritism she consented j to ride with him one beautiful afternoon into the open country. Marjorie, mounted on a gentle but spirited animal, was exhilirated by exercise and entranced by Mr Ougsbury's charming discourse on the English poets. Their rout led them along the picturesque bank of the Connecticut, a fashionable drive among people in that neighbourhood, both on account of the excellent macadamisation of the road and the enchanting scenery! The far-away hills never had been more exquisitely upholstered with graceful foliage and choice verdure. On their right the river wound through tho peaceful valley like a huge silver serpent, sparkling with the sunlight glinting its surface; and on the left a large orchestra of roadside choristers warbled amid the full-leafed branches of the stately elms. Marjorie's heart, not to say her little pink ears, thrilled with the rapturous music, and her cheeks glowed with the tint of a "Gloire de Dijon" rose; while a smile rippling on her lips presently broke into a laugh that disclosed her milk-white teeth. The sun was still high when they turned homeward, and after a lively canter, they slackened the speed of the horses in order to enjoy the serenity of a woodland glen down whose rocky slope a noisy little brook splashed hurriedly in the direction of a deep, bloom-tangled ravine. It was an hour of transport for Marjorie, but Willard seemed either less impressed or more occupied with, other themes, for he relaxed into an absent mood which prompted his companion to offer a penny for his thoughts. Willard rallied himself, and replied with assumed gaiety j "Ah, Miss Ferrin, has not a man in love the sanction of Shakespeare and all the_ poets to be merry or sad, abject or whimsical? You see before you a man deeply, yes, desperately in love." "It is coming at last," murmured Marjorie to herself. "But I must deceive him no longer. I will laugh at him." Then she said aloud, "Indeed ! Let me take a good look at you then. Ha, ha! I should like to note the symptoms of a state come to be problematical nowadays." "Pray be serious, 1 dear Marjorie, for my sake," urged Willard', in an earnest voice, "I cannot jest on this sacred subject; it is one too deeply involving my happiness.' We have known each other for but a short time, Marjorie, but I am not one who believes that the growth of friendship must always be measured by months and years, I think I know you quite as well as though I had been acquainted with you all my life, and I am s ur e you will not think I claim too much in asking you to listen to me. Oh, the lov e I feel is so deep and sincere that it demands and must have expression. May I speak freely " "Oh, no, no!" cried Marjorie, in a tone of distress. Ther e was a limit beyond which her coquettish indulgences could not be practised without shame, and their pleasure was destroyed in this instance by the real pain and suspense of her victim. "Please do not tell me any more, 1 am sorry, very sorry, Mr Ougsbury, if I have clone wrong, but I cannot return your affection." "You have made a natural mistake, Miss Ferrin, and one it would, perhaps, be more polite in me to leave uncorrected; but my policy is always a straightforward one, and I will confess it was not to your respected self to whom I made allusion a few moments ago, but to Miss Sadler of New York. The cordial friendship you have been pleased to give me induced me to hope that you might allow me the luxury of conversing with you about one who constantly occupies my | thought. I trust you will permit me to do so still, will you not?" Marjorie's face was suffused with scarlet blushes. _ She had made the most trying of feminine mistakes. She had dropped the reins and hid her face in her hands, overwhelmed with confusion and unable to utter a word to extricate herself. Willard caught hold of the bridle and led her horse out of the grove, striving all the time, by saying the kindest things in the world, by treating the whole matter as a trifling joke, and bv skilfully presenting to Marjorie the only consoling feature of the case—that her seply had amounted to a refusal —to banish her annoyance and mortification. At length she rather coyly exchanged glances with him, and soon afterward followed the promised confession, which simply consisted of a lover's ecstacies over a fair divinity whom, nothwithstanding his secret adoration for, his poverty forbade him address. Marjorie proved a very interested and sympathising listener, and though she had no advice to offer, Mr Ougsbury was gratified by the absorbed attention she gave his story, and they parted true friends that day. Early in the autumn Willard returned to his arduous pursuits in the city. During the course of four weary years his genius elevated him to the responsible dignity of a popular author. Thus realising a success beyond his wildest dreams, he treated himself to a summer vocation, once more among the vine-clad rocks, the sylvan hills, and luxuriant vale 3 of Riverdale. As a matter of course, he renewed his acquaintance with Marjorie, whom Time's deft touch had rendered more attractive,

were that possible. And she was still unengaged—a fact anent -which Willard had been solicitous for months—the reason being that a matrimonial event in which Miss Sadler was a principal participant had entirely dissipated his youthful fancy for that young woman, who had become a wife, before pecuniary circumsLances could justify him in declaring his attachment. And then there was the salient possibility that she might have jilted him, despite the evident fondness she manifested toward him during the winter he had been a magazine editor in London. So he now met Marjorie with a free heart. His advances to her were now permeated with a different spirit from that in which they were once tendered. Marjorie, however, quite unaware of this change in his feelings, received him on the former friendly fooling. Indeed, she was far more secure and self-possessed than- before, for she imagined she exactly knew_ the condition of Mr Ougsbury's affections, and her familiarity with him, therefore, could not possibly lead either astray. She was willing to walk, ride, or talk with him unreservedly, if he desired her companionship. Sometimes, it is true, she fancied there was something in his manner she did not quite understand, a vague suggestive something ; but she decided she must be deluded again, and tried to forget all about it. One day it happened that they rode out in the same direction they had taken upon the occasion of their first ride. Arriving at the shady avenue they turned aside as before to explore the deep recesses of the everglade; to discover if perchance four years had produced any changes in so retired a spot. '• As they halted near a moss-bed Willard carelessly asked: "Do you remember, Marjorie?" "My awkward mistake?" she interrupted. "I was just thinking of it. But please don't mention it." "I was thinking," remarked Willard, quietly, "that it was my mistake, not yours." "How so?" "Because I have since learned that my confession of love made then was based upon the wrong person —in short, it should have been made to vou, Marjorie; and I cannot imagine where my wits were that I did not know it. Let me correct my error by telling you how much I love you." "He looked at the trembling girl, perhaps for encouragement, but not meeting the responsive glance he doubtless expected, he added in alarm, "Surely, surely, Marjorie, you will not repeat the same cruel answer!" _ "I can scarcely tell," she said with considerable hesitation. "You take me by surprise—you must give me time to reflect. But," she added, with a seductive blush and shy smile, "I will make a confession. I was thinking just now that if I had felt toward you then as I do now I might possibly have made my blunder still more awjtward by saying 'Yes' instead of 'No.' "