THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF PEGGY.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume 1, Issue 14, 21 February 1914, Page 4

THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF PEGGY.

(By MME, QUI YIVE, in an American w ' Paper.)

We have spoken.. I, tremble as I-write these words. Our eyes have met, I have heard the tender music of his voice, I have been in his presence, my soul aching with the great wonder of the moment, •-

He said, ",How do. you do?" and I said, .'/How do you do?" , I?. it. not thrilling? To think that, at last, Hank and f are friends—Hank the great halfback, -Hank the- silent and adored one, Hank o.' my dreamy? ,Ap I sat through the dreary , length of , dinner this evening,, speaking lightly of light matters, but with my' yearning soul many miles away, I-wondered if ; my parents realised that'l am expeiii,encing a wild, fiery, beautiful romance. Parents! How pitiful .to be a mere' parent! Did they ever love as I love? I often see. them smile : kindly at- one; another and press hands quickly, buti that is dull, slow affection. It is still j water compared to the rushing torrents; of the sentiment of youth. i

My mother forgets that I am a woman now; I am 17; "Mamma's baby," says she, in that soft, superior, way of hers, "does it' think it is grown up? Does it pile its hair high on its head, and has it a satin tail to its pretty, gownf Wonderful! "Wonderful! And when will it bring home a creature for mother to marvel over?" My ownest Hank, when shall I see you sitting by the hearth, and when for you shall I play the talking machine and coax you into a tango with "Too Much Mustard"? May heaven speed/the ( l a y —oi perhaps I should say the evening. .Twilight is the beautiful hour. I wish we had a harpsichord instead of a talking machine. I remember once seeing a beautiful picture of a lady sitting at a'harpsichord.' There were flowers at the window, and a singing bird, and the atmosphere was dim, as if it were twilight. , All the high school girls are crazy about Hank; that is, the seniors, members of my class, are wild about him; There is something so splendid in his personality. He has the most beautiful They say he is afraid of the girls, but that is not true. He has not found the right girl. His brain is with weighty matters. He is a liefd'. He is the Great and Only Hank, He cannot be conscious of the female sighS' that flutter round him like f a cloud when he walks across the campus. Beanjr: claims Hank took her to the suburban station one day, but I have my doubts. She wasn't satisfied With that fib, So she stretched it by saying that he bought her ticket. It is

scornful laughter within me as I write these'words. He adores me'. I. know it.-- He looked at me' in French tos-day, and. smiled at. me in English. I think our . English teacher saw him,, but it does not matter. Nothing matters except that Hank and I have found each other at last. Ah, the many years that have passed. Little did I know

Well, I do not what little did I know, for while writing? the foregoing lines my mother came into my rotorf.'' I '- She kissed my chili aiid the' end of my nose, which I consider "most childish behaviour. Then, she ; safcj dpwh. in nxy rocking chair and tried.'to gathjer iner into her" lap, singing that' absurd ! "Bye Baby Buntin" messr of ttoiisense. ;l There's not enough-of her to hold'half of me. With my lower limbs spread about I;he rug I must, appeared, anything but : dignified. I from her and stood in the middle of "the floor with flushed cheeks. .• » > '' Mother, you don't understand anet"! I,.exclaimed, .... ;i ,n; ! '' Understand youl'' she asked.'' Pos*; sibly I. don't,." she added thoughtfully. "Toil are a very cbtoplex nkture.i Who, may I ask, is this Hank' person whose euphonious name you have writ- : ten all over my blotter!" "Mother!".l cried. Do ; not (torture me! You do not khowU k woman now, and you treat me like a child. I shall be 18 next summer. You were married at 18. GrafodiriPther was married at 16. You must treat me with; greater respect. I'm no baby any more. Ah " and this was said with great effect—'' I fear you are not the true friend to me I thought you were." "No, little lamby," she replied, with a queer, one-sided smile that she wears once in a while, "I'm not your friend. Hank's your friend." '> ! Fancy that, little journal. His name hurled about so lightly. Just for that I'd run away and marry him when he asks me, and make my mother feel pretty bad, I guess. I felt my eyes snapping and my heart beating. Of course, my nerves are overwrought. A ■seeret affection of many months does ,w,ear on a soul. And now that we have spoken everything means so Very, very much.

Then my mother laughed. She sat 'beside me on the bed, stroking my hands. , t "Little kitten,'' said she, "it is quite .true that you aren't a little girl any more. You are, indeed, a woman. And soon some brave Hank will come and take you from me—you, my baby, whose every eyelash I know —you, who are just a little me, going through the same experiences of life. I've noticed your jjtinsive little moods, my baby, andl've seen you put pepper on the. jelly, just as I did when I was first in love. I Javed at 17, too. He was the. man that the fire engine. Then aftfej;wards the man who delivered "the( milk. I loved him because of th«J way his

hair curled about his ears. " Hank will have his day, and -then Bill or Tom or Buddy or Bed will "come along," and he will be much?nicer than Hank.' Ha>3 your little dreamjs, lovest. They are si beautiful. But k'eep-yourself sweet and fine, and don't let the creatures come close. All pf them. haW u^' y *6f a way with them, you know, -and. we women must be always on the 'guard.'' "We women." At last my mother is understanding. /■ - ' c She heaved a deep sigh as she arose, and jvhen she kissed .me again a little tear sparkled in her eye. "Ws are going:-to 'h'avfe a party," said she, "a very nie-e party. And, as youjr pa knows Hank's ; pa, Hank is coming, tOO. " : ; . w . Think of' that! My pulses still beat!. "He of the sileiit mien! The great half-back! The here of the high, school! . ■ • Oh, mother! Oh, Haiik! ' ' " Oh; journal! ; Oh, joy! . , ;