THE JOY OF BATTLE.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume XXXIV, Issue 10957, 27 April 1907, Page 5 (Supplement)

THE JOY OF BATTLE.

He was one of those small, fragile-100..---ing men whose appearance inspires everj woman with a yearning to watch ovei them, to see that they have their meals regularly, and that their clothes are pro- . nerly looked after. When he volunteered for South Africa, all the matrons ol his acquaintance cried simultaneously that it was a sin and a'Bhame to send that poor dear brave fellow where ihere was no one to take care of him, and when he was invalided home with enteric before he had seen a shot tired, they remarbd Unanimously that it was a mercy it had happened so soon. ■_• * This was not at all hi* view of the case, and to soothe his wounded feelings they conspired to treat him as a conquering hero covered with glory, and made his life a burden to him, for he was a modest man, by overwhelming him with kind attentions. Things being as they were, it waß only natural that during his convalescence he should fall m love with the tallest end strongest girl m his neighborhood— a girl who was.out m the open air all day, and never knew an ache or a pain, who rode, bicycled, played hockey and golf, and Was altogether a being as unlike a ministering' angel as the; mind of man could conceive. , Her name was Gladys— which for some mysterious reason is generally the name -of this particular kind of girl— and she cherished the belief that she was unhappy at home— also a not uncommon misfortune. With singular blindness, her family persisted m imagining that it was Gladys who made home uncomfortable for them. Her mother existed, m an. atti • tude of disapproval, and her brother m one of protest, out because they were peace-loving people, and Gladys pleased was easier to live with than Gladys crossed, it was usual for Gladys to have ber way. They both liked her lover, but they welcomed him into the family without enthusiasm, even with veiled compassion - . '■■-„-. "I always had a sneaking hope that ' Gladys would marry a nian big enough to thrash her," lamented the brother to the mother m a confidential moment, and the mother «gbed heavily, and said, "Pwr Geoffrey!" Nor did she ever refer to her future son-in-law by any other cP Gladys herself was radiant, She always got what she wanted, but thiß^ was a thing she had wanted very much indeed.. Ih the days when she^was lot certain whether Geoffrey really liked ber, she had even lost a whole hour a sleep one night, So anxious was she lest Hhe had made him walk too far that afternoon, and now she found complete satisfaction m the thought that she should always be able to take care of him. it did not strike her that Geoffrey hated being taken care of, and had .die been told so; she would have opened her eyes wide m surprise: It gave her^real pleasure to discover that star was developing a helpfulness; quitenew to her character, m her intercourse with him. , By. nature Gladys was not gifted w.th tact, and no one would have confesfwd this more readily than herself, but t»eotfrey had found her honest bluntness very refreshing. Now, however, she began to see things from what she imagined to be her lover's point of view, and 1.1 her anxiety to be tactful and sympathetic; she rode roughshod over his feelings almost hourly. He could have laugheCwith her quite happily when she made fun ct ceople who .were short or delicate, or who caught cold easily, binV when ohe would break off suddenly, with a enmson fdee, and turn remorseful eyes upon him, he found her contrition hard to bear. He suffered many things at her hands, nearly all springing from this misplaced tenderness for his weakness, and he began to feel that life would be unendurable^ n Gladys remained faithful to the idea that she had a mission to make things easy for him. Their future course lay very clearly before her. She would plan, a;i(l „rrarige, and. direct, and Geoffrey would have no trouble, no responsibility, so that, all<would g*as smoothly as it would have dohe^'honie if only btherpebple s obstinacy bad allowed it. The unfortunate thine was that her plans were t made for her actual self, but for a wholly imaginary Geoff re- mvi Geoffrey realised that Tie was sailing under- false colors. As an honest man, it was necessary for him to declare himself, and he pr jpared to do so without aU^of •*"* .trepidatidn . that v?as general W -J w»jy dearest at the pros«efct\*.ta cbiitest with her. It was vol easy to disturb her ideas, he knew; out it was clear; that it had to be^dope, and she was an opponent worthy of his steel. Perhaps he took an unfair advantage iti thus making ready ior battle without giving her warning, but he threw away th's superiority recklessly by meeting Gladys on her own ground instead of awaiting an attack. ... Calling one day to take- her for a walk, he perceived that the' domestic atmosphere was disturbed. Gladys' mother wore an air of having abundance to say if opportunity offered, and Gladys herself strode out ot the house with a lowering brow. He had not long to wait for. an explanation. L ■ „ "Mother has been going on about tne Bown-an^Bells' dance," grumbled Gladys, with her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her coat. "Cora has. promised to take me"— Cora was a skittishimarried cousin— "and we mean to have an awfully good time. And she says they re not. nice." . \ ' ," .'•Well, they are rather bounders, aren t •T think they're awfully jolly," said Gladyßcrushingly. "Why don't you say at once you 1 don't want me to go ? "Why should I?" "Because I can see m your face that you don't." "Then it's hardly necessary for me to say so, is it?" ' , . Hf* all because of you—" Gladys had harked back to her original grievance. "Mother says she doesn't see howT can care to go where you're not nsked. As if we were living fifty, years ago!" VAnd, of course, it'll he quite easy 10. you to get me an invitation." He knew very well that his presence was not desired, but Gladys found- herself confronted with the necessity. of telling. him so. "Oh, I don't think you'd care for it," ahe began. . "But if it's to be frightfully goo I? Everybody says that the Bowman-Bells do you thoroughly well.'" "But— or, you don't understand ! Well, they're not your sort of people at all. ' "But if they're your sort they must be mine, surely? ' "They're not my sort either. You ought to know that." "All the more reason I should go, then" "Whatever for?" throwing grammar to the" winds iri her astonishment. "To take care of you." "You take care of me? Why, I could take care of you better. • Oh, I don t mean to say that. I mean— Cora wjll Le there, of course." . "Judging from what I have seen of her, she'll have her hands full with her own affairs.'' ' ■ t "WeU, and what then! Can't I tak-e-arc of myself? I do believe," with terrific scorn, "that you're jealous— of Bertie Bowman-Bell !" "Oughtn't you to feel flattered if 1 am? " , ■':'■, „ "I don't a bit. It s^moan and.hornd to be jealous." "Then you ought to know that I could not be jealous if I tried." * • ' #■■.♦._'• Gladys scathed him with a glance. "I despise a mun who gets cross if a girl looks at anyone but himself." . . "So do I, I assure you. At .least I should if I knew oue. Do you know any man like that " "You know you would be perfectly atrociously enraged if I danced witn Bertie all evening " "And you would rather I didn't mind whether you did or not? Well, there's no accounting for tastes. Look here, to show that I don't grudge you the little pleasures that come iv your way, lot's make a bargain. You get me au invitation, and while you devote yourself to the fascinating Bertie, I'll hang about that fetching sister of his all the even ing." "You won't do anything of the kind. I wonder you're not ashamed to suggest such a thing. There isn't a girl I know who's such bad form as that Mignon Bowman-Bell." She caught his smileperhaps not quite an involuntary one, and her tone changed. "I believe you think I'm jealous!' "Never mind. I didn't say that jealousy was mean and horrid," he -aid soothingly. "I suppose you would like to feel that I was jealous* about you? But if you think," with a rapid' change of front, "that it's playing the game to accept the hospitality of people you call boun ; ders I don't." "Nor do I. Nothing but a sense of duty would make me do it." "You might have the grace to say that it would be a pleasure to go with me, at any rate."

"But it wouldn't. If yon are going to dance with young Bertie all the evening, well, you might enjoy it, and of course he would, but I really don't sei how you could expect it to be a pleasure to me. And I don't cure, as you Bay, lo accept the hospitality of people I should prefer to cut. "I suppose you mean that when you are married you'll insist on my dropping them!" "If I said that was my fixed intention, whnt would happen?" . "I should say that our engagement was off." "Then you may be quite sure 'that I shan't do anything so foolish." Gladys turned and glared at him, and he met her angry eyes with a cheerful and innocent smile. She tramped <>n again. "I think you are perfectly horrid- tor day !" she declared frankly. "You take mother's side and talk against my friends, and you have said every single hasty thing you could think of ■ since we started, . trying to have the last wor i and make me feel small — " "Oh, no, impossible !" he said quickly. "I beg youi' pardon; ought I to have said that!" with a very fair imitation of Gladys's own manner when she imagined that his feelings must be hurt "I know you hated my being tall !" she cried. "And it's" wretched of. you, when I'm always trying to make you forget it." •''l don't want to forget it; I'm too proud of you. If only you could forget it, I should be perfectly happy." "How can I forget it! Seeing you nnd talking to you makes me remember it continually.'' "If only yon didn't feel obliged to remind me of it, then!" "Why, I- told you just this minute that I was always trying to make you forget it. And you said you didn't want to forget it, you were proud of, it. 1 never knew such a contradictory creature m all my -life." "I'm sorry," he said sadly. "Nothing that I say seems to ple_fse you this afternoon, somehow. Shall we talk about something else?" "What would be the good, when we should both be thinking all the time that you. don't want me.. to go where 1 mean tog o?" was the unanswerable reply. "But if I don't say what I want, and you don't do it, my wishes won't trouble you at all, surely ?" "' : - . -•''■■' "I, suppose you think you have said it often enough already!" "Now that; you mention it; I don't think I have said it at all." "Why, you have talked of nothing else since we came out!' she cried, m justifiable anger. "I beg your pardon; you said you could see my wishes m my face. After that it hardly seems necessary to put then, into words, whatever they may be." «'*.-» , ♦ * . Glndyß reviewed the . conversation swiftly, accepting the r temporary check, aud changed her ground with fightnirg speed. "Then you've been trying to ma l.«. me do what you want without actually saying it, which is mean. You've been trying to manage me, and you ought to know that there's nothing a woman hates more. .1 should have respected, you ti-n times as much if you haa just put youi foot down arid said 'Gladys, I won't have you 'go to the .Bowman-Bells' dance.' "But;" he objected mildly, "I thought if I said that sort of thing you meant to throw me over?" > .-■■•' "There you are— putting the blame on me, of course ! . I Bald I Should break off our engagement and I should. But 1 should think far more of you for saying it." "Doesn't it seem a little hard to throw me over the minute you have learnt, to respect me? Are you bound to despise tne if we stay engaged?" ■'-' "It would be your own faulfr if I broke it. off; and besides, of course, , we mig.t make it up again— -if you were very, very penitent.'' ■ "It worild be too late then." " ~ "Oh no," said Gladys hastily. never ashamed to confess if I nave been hasty._ That makes it all right." "For you, perhaps."; ~ . "No, lor you. How silly you are, mistaking everything T say !" "But how should I know anything about it?" ; "You don't mean to say your wouHn t 1 be penitent?" ."Why; should,.! be penitent if I, had made you respect me? The more 'psiiU tent I was the further I .sliould, keep away from you; lest you should despise. ; me again." :.;..' : ■;-, "Not really?" Gladys wag half-incredu-lous, half-impressed. , ''Really.'' There wa§ something m his '. tone- that carried conviction, but ishe , struggled against it. "Thut's nothing but pride. Well, per- : haps I would write to you, if I was fee', ing very miserable." "But what difference would that make?" "Do you mean to tell me that you wouldn't make it up if I took the i.rst step? If I spoke to you — if I — well, if I simply entreated, that you wouldn't do it then?" "No." He uttered the word bravely, carried away by the ardor of the moment, but he was conscious of a chill doubt. It would be very hard indeed to resist a penitent and- entreating Galdys. "Then you would be a brute!" cried Gladys passionately, and the poignant reproach m her voice made him agree' With her promptly,, .But to yield now would be to lose. all that had been gained. He laughed as cureless as he could. Don't let us be so tragi," he said. "There's no harm done." "No harm? when we have all but — " An indignant sob followed, which was turned into a cough. "Well, nothing irrevocable has been said, after all." • "Said ! nsMf words signified ! It's you. ' "But I haven't done anything— except try to keep off dangerous ground." "But there had no business tg be any dangerous ground. Why should you suddenly begin to talk about breaking off . It isn't fair. You ought to have let me know, you were going to be so horrid.' "But really, I have been most awfully careful. Haven't I warded off the danger three times at least m this very- walk? Did you expect me hot to mind if you broke off our engagement? How was 1 to know that With you it only meant making it up again next day?" "It's not .that. Nothing a bit like what I expected.- You're quite different. I never thought — " . ' "I'm sorry," he said again, "but 1 don't quite know whether I have done wrong. What did you think I was like?" "Oh, I don't know." She could not very well say, "I was sorry for you, and I knew you were nice, and I thought you would never be troublesome, and wou'd let me do just what I liked." Even Gladys saw that this would not do, and the fact that she recognised it before speaking marked a stage m her mental growth. "T never expected you to be a tyrant," she said lamely. "I'm sure I never expected to Jbe oue. either. But happily there's no chance of it." ' "But you are one, you know— a frightful tyrant. Aud you're proud of it, that's the worst." "Now I know you arc joking," with relief m his tone, r, for you d never stand that." "I don't know," she said seriously. "It depends how it's done, and who does it. I think I rather likfrr-But I fee. as if I had had a tremendous escape from something. I believe I was afraid of you for" a pionient. I'm quite shaky." ''Nonsense .'Take my arm." Sne obeyed with more than meekness, with positive alacrity. -."Afraid of me, what stu.l Why should you be afraid of me? You know you could knock me' down easily if you tried." "No, really; I don't know anything of the kind. I shall always think of you as about ten feet high m future. What have you done to yourself — or is it to me! How did you manage it? Are you really like that always, or have you just been pretending ?" "Like what? There's been no pretending that I know of." "But it's so funny. Somehow I feel as if I would rather do what you liked than what I liked." "I passed Gladys and Geoff m the lane, said Gladys's brother to his mother, "and they never saw me." "Why, were they talking so hard?" "Going at it hammer and tongs, 1 should say." Gladys s mother sighed with unutterable meaning. "It isn't our business to fight poor Geoff's battles for him," hhe said, "but I think Gladys is treating M v shamefully. Still, of course, he knew what she was like when he asked her to marry him." "Perhaps he'll stand up to her yet. Ho has some spirit, though he looks us if Gladys could put him comfortably, m her pocket. If she comes back alone, we shall know — Hullo, there's the gate !" There was a moment of eager silence, as mother, and son listened intently. "They are both coming m,"' said the mother, m deep gloom. "Little .beggar's knuckled under, then. Well, I thought better of him. He's

done for himself now. Gladys will simp ly walk over him." "Mother, you didu't send my letter to Cora to the post, did you?" asked Gladys, coming m bright-eyed and rosy. "No, dear; I trusted — " with a sigh--"that you might change your mind. "I'm so glad. Geoff has got tickets for a concert that night, and he's going to take me." —Sydney C. Grief, m The Scotsman .