SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3624, 28 August 1923, Page 66

SHORT STORIES.

A VESTURE OF ROMANCE. By Camilla Carlisle. (Copyright.) She lived in a cottage remarkable even among country cottages for its beauty and its inconvenience. The village was at her door, and through her open windows she looked across miles of pasture land to dim purple hills. Little wonder that, like the silkworm she spun herself a shining vesture. Many things made up the strands of it. First came her favourite books, the friends who spoke to her from well-worn covers. She was' apt to be in the same danger as Tennyson’s Prince, mistaking realities for shadows and shadows for substance. She was no lady of Shalott, however, but mingled freely' with live people. The social life both of the village and the little country town where c.:e went for *‘shopping” and “calls” afforded hex full scope for unusual endowment of sympathy and kindly humour. Friends dropping in at the cottage were always sure of a welcome and invariably returned home cheered and stimulated by contact with “Miss Judy” in her happy environment. For there was the garden to be done, and the cottage to be beautified and the pony to be cared for, as well as the cat and the goat and the hens, not to mention Jerry, the Irish terrier, who could not be classed with ordinary animals. So the bright days slipped by 7, full of service for others and pleasant occupation. At thirtyfive, Judy considered herself a happy woman, and a settled “old maid.” When Dennis Chandos took the cottage next door with the field adjoining, she received him and Phvllis. his young sister, with her usual cordiality^ “My brother likes a country life,’" Phyllis explained above Jerry’s black muzzle. His attentions to his friends were vociferous and he had at once decided to include Phyllis among the elect. “Dennis had a pretty ghastly time in Flanders,” ehe went on. “He w r as one of the ‘First Hundred Thousand.’ It is such a joy to him to be here, pottering with his animals «nd garden.” “I should think so indeed. He is musical too, is he not?” inquired Judy. “I heard the piano yesterday.’’ Phyllis tweaked Jerry’s ear, and looked impishly at her hostess. “Oh ves, he plavs a bit to amuse himrelf and me,” she admitted. “No, I don’t think he will play at your village social. He is—rather shy.” She grinned, a schoolboy's grin of sheer devilry. Judy saw a good deal of her new neighbours. Phyllis and her endeavours to keep house gave the village something to talk about at first. Her patient brother never knew whether he would come in to an elaborate five course dinner exquisitely served or whether he would be regaled with bread and cheese and fruit because the oven went wrong. Judy came to the ■rescue and under her tactful guidance the giri began to turn into an accomplished little housewife though her temperament would always ensure variety, not to say Bhocks, from time to time. With Dennis. Judy progressed a certain distance and then stuck. He was so intensely quiet, so apparently absorbed by his garden, and his animals, that she finally came to the conclusion that he was rather a dull person, though how anyone could be dull with vivid copper-coloured hair, brilliant blue eyes and long, sensitive fingers, was a mystery. He never played to her and she only heasd the piano in the distance. He and Phyllis frequently ran up to Town, for concerts and theatres, the girl explained. “He gives me a jolly good time,” she remarked one day, “I am so glad you are helping me not to spoil his digestion in return.” After Dennis and his sister had been about, six months in the village. Claude Haliton, the clever young journalist, came to spend his holiday in farmhouse lodgings. He could talk. Unlike Dennis Chandos, who had little to say and spoke with slow quiet humour, he had a very great deal to say on every subject. The cottage delighted him. He made epigrams upon the pony and the goats, and teased the latter until they butted him, when he retreated with dishonour. The goats had the best of the argument. “But how should he be used to animals.” Judy defended him in her own mind, “he is no farm hand but a townsman of exceptional ability. And he is always so clean.” She was right. Mr Haliton’s idea of suitable country dress consisted of speckless white flannels and a new blazer. Dennis Chandos often wore an old Eton blazer, but it spoke aloud of the garden and the stable. Haliton was suprised at himself. The Jadv of the cottage exercised over him a fascination such as he had never experienced before. “Dennis, I want to talk to you.” Miss Chandos having been worsted in her first attempt to milk the Jersey cow, was leaning against the white-washed partition in the sweet-smelling byre, watching her brother as he filled the milk pail, and the Jersey munching hay as placidly as though she were utterly unable to demonstrate the verb “to kick.” “I have no objection to being talked to,” Dennis permitted graciously. “I want to talk about Miss Judy.” Phyllis kept shrewd eyes fixed on his face. “She is completely deceived by that Haliton man.” There was a pause. Then she went on : “Judy lives in the world of romance. It is a good world, and I think that for her ft is a true one. She accepts people as she finds them, and they are generally decent —to her. That Haliton is being more than decent; he is doing all he knows to charm her. He wants to marry her.” The Jersey suddenly stopped muching, and aimed a vicious kick at the milk-pail.

“You only just saved, that,” remarked Pkyilis, thoughtfully. “Buttercup had some excuse that time too. Dennis why don’t you exert yourself? Oh, it makes me miserable to see a shallow, nambypamby, cynical beast winning a woman like Judy. And he will win her. Simply because she takes him at his face value, and believes all his falutin’ nonsense. I don’t wonder. He is a clever man in his way, and he believes himself in love. He is exerting himself to the utmost to win her. And, if he succeeds he will penetrate that veil of romance which she wraps round herself. And, sooner or later, he’ll tear it up.” Phyllis gave a little choke. “For a child—” began Dennis in his pleasant drawl, “pardon, for a grown-up lady of eighteen, yc%i are a remarkably discerning young person.” A week later Claude Haliton asked Judy to be bis wife. He asked her as they sat in her garden on a golden August evening, and so well did he put his case, that she was on the point of saying “Yes.” For, as Phyilis had seen, she had wound her j vesture of romance around him also, Claude of the handsome face, and dapper, well-dressed person. Only, while he spoke, she noticed his hands, which were fleshy and his lips, which were sensual, and she paused before replying. While Claude awaited her answer, Jerry decided he needed attention. Or. perhaps, he found the atmosphere electrical. For doggy reason, he put his fore-paws on Claude’s 'knee, and was promptly put down by the eager lover. Jerry, unused to repulses, tried again, after the example of King Bruce’s spider, but this time he did not succeed either, for Claude kicked nim. Jerry sat down suddenly, with a little surprised yelp, and a fleck of blood and froth showed at his lips. Oh, let the dog alone, and give me my answer,” cried the over-wrought young man. “I haven't hurt him. Look, he is walking away. And if I had, I -would give you a dozen Irish terriers—” “But could you give me another Jerry ? ’ demanded Jerry’s mistress, her face angrier than the man imagined possible. “You want an answer? Yo-u shall have it- It is ‘No ; thank you.’ And now, if you wiil excuse me—” “Wait! ’ said the man. “You must hear me. kou mean that answer finally? Yes, I see you do. It is because I kicked your dog ? Oh, what sort of a world do yo-u live in? Let me tell you before I go.” His love turned to contempt, he took her silken vesture of romance and tore it into shreds. It had been punctured before. Who can live in this -world and not have it punctured? But time and nature had healed it as they heal a cut finger, so that no scar shows. Now it lay around Iter, destroyed past repair, and the man showed her a new and terrible world where men and women were all grasping and seM-seeking. He proved her ideals to be false with what seemed irrefutable logic, and religion he showed as a myth. He took delight m the smash and in her white, agonized face. “Even your poets and musicians only work now for gain,” he stated. At these words, a shadowy picture floated, before her. She was at the extreme back of a hall; she could see nothing, except the heads of the people in front, but from the platform there had run through the hall the tones of a grand piano played by a master. One little “Chanson” composed by the pianist had haunted her ever since by its beauty and by its singular purity. She knew somehow that the man who wrote that would not be “Even that chap everyone raves about,” Haliton’s sneering voice cut across her thought with a lover’s uncanny intuition. “What’s his name?—Challoner. The fellow that refuses to go on tour and make a fortune. \ou’ve never seen him? No; well, I have, I happen to know that he lives not a hundred miles from here, and the reason he won't go on tour is a woman. The woman is not his wife.” The horrible way this was said broke the spell which had held poor Judy as a rabbit may be held by a snake. She ran. The next twenty-four hours passed like a nightmare. Judy was a shivering stranger in a terrible underworld A subconscious part of her answered callers and went about its daily work. Evening came round again, and she sat at the far end of her garden, a book open m her lap, hoping to be undisturbed. Then voices came through the hedge. “You’ll excuse my saying you are a fool!” said a cross one. J Dennis Chandos answered good-temper-edlv. “I’ll excuse anything you like, so long as you take my answer as final.” “You decline to take that tour to America?” “I do.” “And all for the sake of a girl!” “My sister is not strong. It would be quite impossible for her to come with me, and how could I leave her here alone?” ‘You might pay a chaperone.” “But why should I? I have enough keep her and myself in such comfort as we like. More money would he superfluous.” “You are the first I have ever heard call it so.” “Moreover,” Dennis continued, unheeding _ “I have a fancy for writing—composing, if that is not too ambitions a term. I can get on with it here. It would have to be put on one side if I went on tour.” “But the extra money. Mr Challoner ” “.‘Chandos,’ if you please! I am not anxious to pose as a celebrity in retreat. Don t I tell you, I do not want more money, my good fellow!” Judy sat bolt upright. “Challoner!” Many things became plain to her hitherto distorted vision. “Forgive me,” the other voice was saying, ‘ ‘but is there no other lady ? Do you mean you are giving up this entirely for your sister and your composing?” Then Judy understood what underlay the copper-coloured hair and the very bright blue eyes. She listened breathless to a trenchant summary of Mr Chandos' opinion of his concert agent. His final words capped the climax. “Since you are so interested in my private affairs,” concluded Dennis “I may tell “'you there is a lady for whom I have

the deepest regard, but, as I believe her to be already engaged ” At this enthralling moment, Judy was disturbed. Her charlady arrived breathless and flustered. “Oh, miss, it’s come again!” she gasped, “I had to run and tell you at once. Two soldiers what was staying at the White Hart brought it. Mrs Jackson’s down with it already, so’s Charlie, so’s Rube Hanley, so’s ” “Down with what?” “With that there influenza, miss, drat it!” For a minute or two Judy wavered while her charlady's tongue ran on like a gramaphone. What was the use of staying amid infection? She remembered only too well the awful outbreak two years ago when she herself had been a victim. She could run up to her friends at Scarborough by the first train to-morrow; the change would do her good. Some of Claude Haliton's mocking phrases rang in her head. Why should she stay? Accompanying the horrid sneers was the motive of a “Chanson”; very distinctly it drowned the other thoughts and wound on like a march of triumph. Dike the Montealvat music in “Lohengrin” it translated her for the time to a higher plane. “We must set to work at once,’’ she heard herself saying. So she did. She and Dennis Chandos, Phyllis, and the Yicar, fought the epidemic through five long weeks. The doctor had to come three miles, and the parish nurse two. but the patients were cheered and tended and pulled through. Some had it badlv, but not one life was lost. She had little time for thought these strenuous weeks, but one ■' fact impressed her at every turn, namely the cheerful heroism of the village folk themselves. Everyone who could get about waited on the patients as a matter of course. It probably meant taking ‘flu, but no one hesitated on that account, and no one seemed to expect any reward for kindness. At one end of the little street was a rather pretentious house inhabited by n smart Jewish family who had a shop in the town. When ‘flu’ came, Father was bundled off to sleep in town, while Mother and her two •» smart daughters worked as hard as anyone among the sick. Phyllis made wonderful jellies and creams to tempt convalescents and did as much Actual nursing as her brother would allow, but Dennis was everywhere welcome, and turned his hand to any job that came, from consoling the babies to making a bed, or acting as errand boy to the soup kitchen. Judy was constantly meeting him. and in his sane, jolly company—for he had dropped some of his quiet reserve—she began to wonder whether her Vesture of Romance was as irretrievably ruined as she had thought. It surely was not such a bad world after all. When he finished up by getting the mfluttiza himself, she was surprised at the blgjik his absence caused. "“I’ve disa pointed Mrs Jackson frightfully,” he told her on the occasion of bis first being allowed down to tea. “She made sure I was going to provide a nice, cheerful funeral. She came in to buck me up, bless- her! ‘lt is much worse in London ’ she told me ; ‘ thirty-four funerals in one week and four more waiting for their coffins, poor dears, so i heerd.’ ” “Dennis, your levity is most ill-placed, ’ Phyllis reproved him, “but- Mrs Jackson lias the funniest notions of bedside conversation. She is a constant joy to both of us.” ‘‘Don’t I know her!” grinned Judy. But his careless words made her realise something in a flash of illumination. If this man had died, it would have meant more to her than even the tearing of the vesture she had spun so beautifully. She gave a little bewildered gasp and Dennis sat up and looked at her. ‘Pliyl, can you milk Buttercup?” “Can I?” scoffed Phyllis. “Haven’t I done so. all the time youi were ill??” “Don’t know, I’m sure. You said you had, but ” Phyllis flung a cushion at the invalid, and went out of the room. Instantly Dennis was on his feet, swaying a little and stuttering with eagerness.—a new Dennis, corresponding to his brilliant colouring, and having little likeness to the self-contained person she had known. “Judy,” he cried, “Oh, July, could you, would you, ever love me? You could. I see it in your eyes! And I thought there was no chance for me. • Oh, July, do you think you could ” “Bless the man.” Judy was laughing and crying as she hurled herself into his arms, and they both subsided on the sofa. “Can’t you see you are the only one in the world for me. And I thought—oh, such a lot of foolish things. Dennis, I think I loved you ever since I knew you, but I never knew the real you. You were such a quiet person, I only had peeps at you now and then.” “And you?” Dennis sat up and pointed a stern finger at jker. “You lived in a dream world and wouldn’t let anyone in ” “But I’ll let you in. Oh, Dennis, most people are brave and self-sacrificing and clean —yes, I know it and I’ve seen it. It is only here and there one is really bad, and even then—well, who can judge ? And you refused a fortune to stay with Phyllis!” “How do yon know that?” demanded Dennis. “Oh, I heard over the hedge. I meant to tell you, hut we have lived in such a whirl ever since. I’ve let you into my dream world. It is all yours, Dennis. Will you let me into a little corner of yours?” v “Into all of it. Did you think romance was dead, sweetheart? It can never die as long as men and women live. Come.” He took her to the grand piano in the room set apart for music, and played his love to her more eloquently than any words could have spoken it. He, Dennis, of the brilliant hair and eyes; be, Challoner, who swayed thousands by his golden touch, was alone in the room with his chosen instrument and the woman lie

loved. Never was such a love-making. Never would be “Dennis, you unutterable villain i” Phyllis stood accusingly in the doorway, a milk pail in one hand, a stool in, the other. “If you don’t go back to the warm room this instant I’ll throw this pail at you. Do you forget this is your first day out of bed? What a time you two people have taken to settle your affairs! Why, I knew you’d do it two months ago. No wonder they call love blind.”