THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5006, 14 May 1889, Page 4

THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER.

LITERATURE- '

‘ It’s impossible to take too black a view of it,’ said Mrs Buddlecombe, passionately. , * 0 pooh, pooh/ said old Bolitho, jauntily. ‘1 have heard the whole story, and I must say I don t agree with you.’ ‘Heard the whole story. Then you have seen him and he has told you.

‘No, no. I haven’t seen him—at least not since this affair. I heard the whols thing from her/

‘From her.’ ‘Yes; why shouldn’t she tell roe. She knows how I love her.’ ‘ Hove her. You love her/ gasped Mrs Buddlecombe. ‘ You tell me you love her as well as Joshua.’ ‘ Bless roy soul, what does all this mean. Love her as well a? Joshua. Well, I know he loves her dearly, fondly—— ’ * 0, this to roy face/ sobbed Mrs Buddlecombe, with her countenance' once more buried in her handkerchief. ‘lt is brutal/ T ‘ But hang me if I don't believe 1 love her more than he does. Mrs Buddlecombe rose from her seat, and “wrapped herself up in her virfcue.” „ T ‘ And this is the man from whom 1 expected consolation andi advice, she said, in scathing tones, accompanied by a look of supreme contempt. ‘Mr Bolitho, with that last speech of yours you have blotted out—and with a foul blot too—the friendship of years. After my triple experience of this day, everything in the shape of a man will henceforth be loathsome in my eyes. Leave me at once, please ; and if chance throws us in each other’s way, pray do not further insult me with any attempt to renew our acquaintance. ‘ Well/ said old Bolitho, regularly gasping for breath in his bewilderment, ‘conscious innocence, which is generally credited with such soothing properties, is, in roy opinion, a humbug. I don’t find it soothing me in the least —quite the reverse. What there can be so very disgraceful in my loving Florry as if she were my own daughter, ‘ Florry. Who was talking of Florry.’ ‘Why, I was—of Florry and Algernon Warriner. Who were you talking about.’ ‘ 0 Mr Bolitho/ said Mrs Buddlecombe, in a burst of penitence, ‘forgive me for my rude unfeeling words. The misunderstanding rose out of my selfish grief. I was not thinking of my poor darling little Florry, but of my own self. I thought all this time you were alluding to Joshua and that horribly lovely woman.’ ‘ What horribly lovely woman/ said Mr Bolitho.

‘ O, it’s shocking,’ replied Mrs Buddlecombe, wiping ber eyes with her handkerchief, and with difficulty restraining another fit of weeping. ‘ You are the only one to whom I would divulge this tale of shame. From Florence of course il must be most sacredly kept.’ Mrßolitho was not a victim to idle curiosity, neither was he a lover of scandal ; nevertheless be drew his chair nearer, and listened. Mrs Buddlecombe did not keep him waiting long. ‘ 0 Mr Bolitho, I have found Joshua out in a liaison with a most lovely woman—l must admit that much of her, the vile creature.’ Mr Bolitho, pushing his chair back half a foot, gazed with horror on his informant, * It’s impossible. You’ve been imposed upon, ray dear Mrs Buddlecombe, by some foul lie,’ ‘ Nothing of the sort,’ returned Mrs Buddlecombe ; * seeing is believing. I wish to goodness it wasn’t. I traced him to the White Hart at Bradingfield, and surprised them in the midst of their assignation. I wish I had not, now. I prefer the state of blissful ignorance I was in yesterday. But now that I do know it, I cannot calmlv submit to it, 0 Mr Bolitho/ concluded Mrs Buddlecombe, in a passionate appeal to her old friend, ‘ you have known him from boyhood ; you have influence over him ; win him— O, win my poor erring Joshua back to the path of virtue.’ Mr Bolitho was pierced to the very centre of his great tender heart. He was also shocked beyond measure ; for he entertained a very high opinion of the marriage vow—all the higher, possibly, for never having taken it himself ; and there was a grand air of steadfast resolve on bis benevolent countenance as he replied, ‘ I will/ and strode from the room.

It is not extraordinary for persons to be blinded by their own tears; but old Bolitho was frequently blinded by other people’s. By ‘other people’ is of course meant -women. Men’s tears, from their rarity, are hardly worth taking’ into account. When men cry it is, in nine cases out of ten, dotage or drink, though there are occasions of course when a man can play the woman with his eyes without any slur on his manhood. If Mr Bolitho had not been an old bachelor he might have taken matters more calmly; but the mackintosh of matrimonial experience had not descended on his shoulders, rendering him waterproof to these bitter showers, and whenever one burst over him he was invariably drenched through and through by it. So, as be strode on his mission ot winning Mr Buddlecomhe back to the path of virtue, he felt nothing, he saw nothing, but Mrs Buddlecorobe’s tears, and he burned—as unslaked lime burns under the influence of water —to wipe her eye in one sense, and Mr Baddlecointie’s in another.

On arriving at the supposed Lothario’s study-door, Mr Bolitho applied his knuckles to it with a virtuous..indignation that nearly sent them through the panel. Now to every gentleman there is something specially sacred about his study. No matter if he never performs any more important operation there than paring his nails or answering an invitation, he persists jn looking at it as a hallowed spot dedi-

cated to that immortal part of himself, —his mind. Mr Buddlecombe on this, 1 as on most other points, was even more combustible than the generality of gentlemen, and to have his study-door thus rudely assailed amounted very nearly to a personal assault. So there was a great deal more than met the ear of Mr Bolitho in the responsive ‘ Come in/ which, indeed, as far as pitch and tone went, sounded a great deal like ‘ Get out/

‘ Bolitho,’ snarled Mr Buddlecombe, as the door was opened, ‘ I was under the impression that the use of the battering-ram had gone out with the fail of the Roman Empire ; but you have just undeceived me/ ‘Look here, Buddlecombe/ said old Bolitho, dropping the usual familiar ‘Buddie/ and addressing the friend of his boyhood with marked severity by his patronymic in full, ‘ I’m not in the mood for bandying words. I have something serious to say to you—something very serious/ * Have you really/ said Mr Bnddlecombe/still smarting under the affront to his study-door, and vending -his wrath under a cloud of sarcasm which fitted him but indifferently well. ‘ Have you really, Bolitho. How, that mean you are going to prod me in the ribs, and then blow my head off with a guffaw.’ To this Mr Bolitho did not deign to reply further than by a savage grunt, as he seized a chair, planted it violently on the floor exactly opposite to Mr Buddlecombe, and, seating himself upon it, confronted that gentleman with a steadfast stare. (Tote Continued. )