THE PRETTIEST GIRL IN LONDON.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LX, Issue 143976, 19 December 1912, Page 5

THE PRETTIEST GIRL IN LONDON.

By JOHN H. DUOS.

Author of “A Society Shine*,” “A Mayfair Mystery,” “The Ruling Passion,” “Vengeance is Mine,” etc'., etc. CHARACTERS IN THE STORY; RICHARD OSBORNE’(Dick), a struggling practitioner. STEWART OSBORNE, his brother; a mystery. KATE MARSTON, the Doctor’s sister-in-law. JEREMIAH DOBSON, a lawyer with many secrets. ’■ SMALLEY, his ever humble and ‘attentive clerk. ELIJAH J. PERKINS, from Chicago, and wealthy. CHAPTER I.—-Continued. THE SISTERS. “Helen, my dear,” said the doctor, ‘here’s Stewart—my brother, you know come to see us at last. Stewart, lot me introduce you to the best little woman in the world and the. best wife Unit ever was, in this world or any other.” “Dick has often spoken of you,” said Helen, shaking hands gravely with the younger brother. “I am very, very pleased to see you.” “And this is Kate Marston, Stewart,” said tho doctor. “Kate is also known as tho prettiest girl in London, but yon must be careful not to let her hear you say so, for, between ourselves, she’s quite conceited enough as it is.” , The doctor laughed heartily at his little joke, while Kale, blushing furiously, took Stewart’s proffered hand. Helen immediately began to busy herself at the table with the ten cups, and Stewart had leisure to examine Ids surroundings, and especially the two women.

The contrast between Helen and Kate, although they were sisters, was very striking. In tho matter of good looks, however, Nature had provided for both with unstinted generosity. Kate was rather under tho medium height, very fair, with that delicate pink and white complexion which helps a woman to keep her, youthful look long after she has passed middle-age. Sho had pale blue eyes, which sometimes took on a very wistful expression, but which more often glowed with the light of mischief, and a wealth of glorious red-golden hair, which she wore somewhat, in the fashion of an aureole. Surely, Stewart thought, as he sipped his tea, the doctor had not been "far wrong in describing her as “the prettest girl in London. Helen, on the contrary, inclined to be dark, and her features were cast in a more severely classical mould than her sister’s. She was taller than Kate, too, more amply proportioned, and there was a certain something in her carriage and the poise ;of her head which lent her a dignity in advance of her years.

Stewart reflected bitterly on the contrast between his brother’s happiness and his own unfortunate lot. Six years ago, when he had gone to America to seek his fortune, Dick had only been tho under-paid, over-worked assistant of an East End practitioner. Now he had a find house in tho northern! suburb of Hampstead, and, if appearances went for anythng, must bo making at least four: or five hundred a year. All the time he was answering his brother’s questions, and helping in a perfunctory manner to keep the tenoral conversation going, Stewart’s itterness was growing, and when little Lottie came in, to bo netted and made n fuss over. by her father, ho could stand it no longer. Dick’s smiling, happy countenance filled him with unreasoning hatred. “1 must be going,” he said suddenly, getting up and handing his empty cup to Helen. “You’ve almost made me forget that I have an urgent appointment in tho City for four o’clock.” “Oh, blit (I thought you’d stay and have a bit of dinner with us,” the doctor protested, looking across disappointedly, and setting lus curly-headed little daughter down-on the floor. “It’s all of six years since I saw you, remember. and. now you’re running off like this!”

“1 must go,” Stewart replied, curtly, impatiently. •

“Oh, well, if you must, you must, of course,” said the doctor. “You’ll have to come and see us again soon, mustn’t he, Helen?” “I shall be delighted,” said Helen, drawing her little girl towards her. “Say good-bye to your Uncle Stewart, Lottie.” ,

Lottie obediently put up her chubby face to be kissed, and Stewart lightly brushed her lips with his own. Then he shook hands with Kate Marston, who smiled bn him with unaffected friendliness, .and finally with Helen, who cordially repeated her invitation for him to come again-Soon . Outside in the hall the doctor handed him Ids hat and stick.

“Good-bye, old chap! Don’t forget wo shall expect you very soon,” said the doctor. “Dick,” said Stewart, hesitating on the doorstep, “won’t yon—won’t you do that for me, old follow?” The doctor frowned. - •

“No,” ho said. “How can you ask me to do anything that is likely .to ■bring misery and unhappiness on those two innocent people? It’s not to bo thought of for a moment.” “Oh, very well!” was the sulky rejoinder! and Stewart made his way down the stops to tho street. “Curso him!” he muttered, under his breath. “I hate - him—X hate him I”

When the doctor went back to tho sitting-room lid felt that some apology was necessary for the abruptness with which his brother had taken his departure, “Yon mustn’t take any notice of old, Stewart,” he said. “Tho poor follow’s in rather low water just now, and that naturally doesn't improve him. But he’ll pull through all right, and I’m sure you’ll'like him when you get to know him hotter, Helen. He’s a bit difficult at first, but a jolly decent sort at bottom.” “Oh, I’m sure of that,” said the confiding Helen. “Ho wouldn’t be your brother if he wasn’t. And now r , Kate, give tho doctor another cup of tea.” CHAPTER 11. • THE MAN FROM CHICAGO. “What is it, Smalley?” Mr. Hobson asked, impatiently, as his conf'Tcntial clerk canlo into the room with that peculiar kind of shuffling motion which was habitual to a him. “X thought I told you I was hot to be interrupted unless'Mr, Stewart Osborne called?” “That is so, sir, ! remember perfectly, sir. But this gentleman, said,” said Smalley, his weak voice rising and falling in a. monotonous sing-song, “this gentleman is very insistent,” “Oh, well,” Dobson said gruffly, “give mo the card. Er—'Perkins?— Perkins? Don’t know the name,” i he went on, holding the piece of I paste-board well away from him with I one hand, and running the claw-like fingers of the other through his ragged fringe of iron-grey beard. “Elijah

J. Perkins, of Chicago! Humph! Don’t know the gentleman, but 1 suppose you’d bettor show him in.” “Yes, sir,” said Smalley, shuffling to tho door.

1 “Oh, Smalley!”, “Yes, sir?” and Smalley shuffled back a step or two. “It Mr. Osborne calls while, this gentleman is here, you’re to heel) him until I’m disengaged, don’t forget that!”

“No, sir. Very good, sir.” This time Smalley shuffled right out of the room, rubbing his Jong, lean hands together as if lie wore washing them in invisible soap and water. Mr. Dobson threw himselt back in his chair and stroked his beard. Ho glanced at tho card again, thoughtfully, but without apparently derh ing any inspiration from it.

Mr. Jeremiah Dobson had an unctuous apologetic sort of manner that served him' well with a- certain class of client. It was his misfortune, perhaps, that the majority of clients who came his way were of tho mean and pettifogging order of litigants. It may have been, However, that Mr. Dobson's extensive . acquaintance with the seamy side of life peculiarly fitted him to represent tins particular class. Certain it was that for “smartness,” in the opprobrious meaning of that word, Mr. Dobson was without his equal in London. Not that there was anything smart, or even remotely suggestive of smartness, in his appearance; indeed, his well-worn, snuff-stained frock coat and weather-beaten silk hat, both of ancient shape and fashion, were a frequent source of ribald mirth in the young Elect Street bloods who took their shilling ordinary at the little hostelry which lie patronised every day. Mr. Dobson now took a furtive pinch of snuff, and, thus fortified, turned to receive the nciv client whom Smalley was ushering into the room at that moment. The newcomer proved to ho a spruce, well-set-up man of any age between twenty-five and thirty; lie was clean-shaven and well-dressed, wearing a grey lounge suit which obviously proclaimed itself of Transatlantic origin. Ho carried a soft grey felt hat and a newspaper in his hand. “Er—Mr. Perkins, I presume? Howdo you do, sir?” said Mr. Dobson, with oily affability, “Take that chair. Yes, that’s it. Er—and now what can 1 do for yon to-day?” “Elijah J. Perkins,” said the visitor, seating himself with much deliberateness, “of Chicago.” “Oh, precisely 1 Of Chicago, of course!” echoed Mr. Dobson, mentally taking careful . stock of Mr. Perkins. “What can I have the pleasure of doing for you?”

(To be continued.)