My self, and Maude, and Mother.

Observer, Volume XXXV, Issue 51, 28 August 1915, Page 15

My self, and Maude, and Mother.

I WRITE this at the request of my Mother—whom, I am glad) to think, I have hardly ever disobeyed. She hears that Maude and Maude's mother are spreading false reports as to the reason why the engagement was broken off, and she wishes the truth for my family s sake. She will then, she says, be quite willing to let the world judge as to who was dishonourab c—the girl who was false to her plighted word, or the man who was willing to live a lie for the sake of her whom he loved. She also desires me to state that she never took a fancy to Maude, while she saw the sort or woman Mrs Sevier was from the moment she set eyes on her.,bhe realised, she declares, from the bednnin" that Maude was not good SXglTfor me ,a,d that Maude and her mother were both- after my money. The reason why she did not Sution me was! that she saw my heart was set on Maude and like th? kind soul that «!he is, she did not wish to interfere with my happiness rXmld mention that no cross.won! has ever passed between by Mothei and myself. Did I write Never? Perha/s I should not have .aid that rwo and once only, did my cleai Mother and I liave a little difference, S then it was over Maude. Maude had a cold and, my Mother forbade me to W» her while it lasted, m case Fshould catch it. But even then I rftSSnber, my Mother's loving kksine on the cheek so that 1 ran nio risk of infection. Wasteful Nimv that I know how distasteiiu +hp «Tliance would have been to my MothWT consider it a pert ft I '^t [ T S tTvrcviI can trace in it tlie hand of Provi dence-that matters should have in ti£ sdettior, of a wife one ought --^^abt^re^a dear.n»o^Bopi^,»d^not imagine how 1 came w > vMaude without doing so. It has cer Sly been a lesson which I orgetthrmighoutmyhe[• To *h«£ h ' OT \T a blunder c W £*■*"* should have now how unsuuea we , f been- to one another i instance, was fond o aH J«de I have sions. Worst of all, she only piajea when she had a new hat My dear mother has been in the J i -i t 1-iivf* been writing ass? hXSj^^ir^ the comforter she is waking for me, and kissed me good W• rf real . And vet, although 1 clear iy reai what a'grave mistake the match would have been, yet, somehow try If I may, I cannot bring myself to dislLSaude as much as^mother tells me I ought, ™*f\\*™™y«iioih.t It is curious, .and 1 hate my self for it. I imagine now she will marr? her cousin, the great hulking m £L ™d I find I cannot dislike student, ana i *",,,. -r \,»ia 4-Vmt her enough to wish this. x hold that the correct definition of the woid "gentleman" is a man. You might search far to find anyone from this description than this cousin of Maude's. I will only say that he is as vulgai as his name, Aich is Bob and anyone less worthy to marry Maude than this loutish fellow, reeking of biute strength-this rowdy-I was almost saying this Hooligan-* cannot conceive. It was one of the things about Maude that I could not U£ derstand, that she should Relate him. Instinctively we took a dislike to one another the first time we met and I was determined that, atter

our mariage, he should set no foot in our house—with his noise, and his stupid jokes, and smell of filthy tobacco. The thought that this coarse fellow should marry Maude makes me shudder, and now and then I wonder whether I could forgive her, to save her from this. If only she hiad not been so rude at the end. I should mention that she was pretty —in a worldly sort of way. Well, the facts will not take long to tell. For some little time—a chance remark or two of Maude's gave me the hint—l had had an idea, which I was reluctant to believe, that Maude was dissatisfied with my personal appearance. One evening I taxed her with it. At first she fenced the question, but I kept her to it. and finally she said she thought I was "all right," except for my mouth, and' she wondered I did not grow a moustache like Bob's. Also, she wished 1 I would have my hair cut shorter, like Bob's. I was rather mettled at first, although I kept control of myself. I told her that Bob was not at all my ideal of a man ■and that if she liked Bob's mouth and hair, it was a pity she did not have the rest of Bob a® well. As tor my hair, I did not intend to be like every common fellow you saw in the street. At this she began to cry, and said it was a shame, as 1 had forced her to say it, and then, after being stern for a little, I made it up, declaring that anyhow she had a pretty enough little mouth for the

two of us, when she did not cry. My Mother afterwards told me 1 should not have said this, as it was liable to make her conceited, and 1 believe she was right. My Mother was also most hurt at Maude s remark about my mouth; she insisted that it was; a fine mouth, and that it o-ave me character, and that on no account was I to hid it with a moustache I recollect I had some difficulty in preventing her writing to Maude on the subject. She wished to say that anyhow I had not a face like a doll, and would have gone on to draw attention' to her (Maude s) mother's mouth. Dear Mother never got on well with Mrs Seyier fehe also said she would be seriously displeased if I ever had my hair touch--6 Soon after this I got a nasty ocm o-h—l am very delicate, and have to wear woollen things all the year round—and|, as it had not gone at the end of a week, acting on my Mother's advice, I wentto the bouth Coast for a month. While there I ocmldl not help thinking over Maude 6 suggestion about the moustache, and'finallly came to the decjsion that, to .please her, I would grow one. It would be a® well to let Bob see that I could do the same as he if I wanted to. In this I was running counter to the wishes of mv Mother, and it is quite possible that what happened was a judgment on me. 1 consulted, a barber, and he recommended me a preparation, which he declared would be effective, if anything could, in a fortnight. However, after a fortnight's use, nothing came but a rash, which was very ugly. So I went to the man to complain. While waiting in the shop my attention was attracted by some sham moustaches on a card', lhe

fancy seized me that I would like to see how I looked in one. So I put one oni. It completely altered me. The effect was hideous. I was handing the thing back to the man—who, though his opinion had not been asked, had! declared impertinently that it was a distinct improvement—when suddenly I thought, No, I would buy it. A joke had; struck me. Although naturally of a serious disposition, I am yet fond of an occasional innocent' piece of fum, so long as it causes no pain to others, and so long, I would add. as it is realy funny. What I object to is the senseless buffoonery that one sees so much, of nowadays, when any vulgarity seems to pass for wit. The idea that had occurred to me was this. When next I was to see Maude I would wear the false moustache! It would do no harm, I thought, to let her know that her cousin was nmt the only one who could make jokes. And it would rid her, once and 1 for all, of her silly wish to see me with a moustache. This would be just as well, seeing that I evidently could not grow one. I well recollect my next meeting with Maude. It was a Saturday evening., and I fixed the moustache on while waiting on the steps of the house at Clapham. The servant stared rudely when she opened the door. I was shown into the drawingroom as usual. They were all there, Mrs Sevier, and Maude, and Flo_. and Effie. Mrs Sevier at first did rot recognise me, though she > nut up her lorgnettes, but Maudta said at onoe, "Why, it's George, with a moustache. What an improvement!" Then, before I could explain, Maude rushed me into the little study, and I had never known her so nice and affectionate before. She told 1 me I could have no idea, how pleased she was that I had

made a little sacrifice for her: she know that I myself did not want to mrow the moustache, but that I had done it for her sake. She declared that it had entirely changed me, and that she loved me more than she had ever loved me bofere. No one now, she said, could call me ugly. (So they had'i! Master Bob, I doubt not.) ".Luckily I have not sent out the photos yet," she went on. We must be done again," and she took down the large cabinet (photo of myself from the mantelpiece, looked at ;•- IflAijrhed "t it ard t.VirPW it uito the fire. "I really don't know how I could have accepted you before, she said. "Why, even you must acknowledge now that you were ugly then," and, without waiting for an answer, she kissed me, andl declared that I could have no idea how proud she was of me now. After that, what was I to do.' lhe way she was taking it was most disconcerting. It was so very different to what I had imagined It was weak of me, but I felt I must not undeceive her yet. I had not the heart to rob her of an innocent pleasure. Besides, her new mood was so pleasant. I would wait for a bit. So from that day, to my shame— and ultimate confusion—-I began, to lead, a dbubie life. To the world at large I was clean-shaven: to Maude I wasi moustached. I need scarcely say that to a man of my temperament—brought up as I had been— the deception was peculiarly pamrui. And, on the top of that, there was the gnawing fear lest I should be found out. The strain soon began to tell on nic, so that I wonder my dear mother did not notice it. _ Once, actually, I met Mrs Sevier in Oxford Street. I hurried by without saying a word, and she dad 1 not

recognise me. In the evening I had the mortification of hearing her tell Maude she had seen a man exactly like I used to be, only with a nastier expression. This did not make things any easier for me. Every- day I intended to tell Maude, and every day I put it off to the next. It was so difficult. She was so palpably proud of me now— prouder than she had ever been. She seemed quite different from what sihe used to be. I did' not care to interfere with her happiness. Soon a date was fixed for the wedding, and she had almost agreed to our living with Mother, so that she (Mother) could look after us both. She had said anyhow we could try it for a little. Meanwhile I had! madb up my mind that I would tell her after the wedding. Then the end came, quite sudden- * I had brought her a little present of a piece of jewellery that evening. On such occasions she was always specially affectionate. She flung her arms round my neck, and kissed me very, very fondly. That must have loosened it. Later in the evening—she was absurdly childish at times—she began, to turn the ends up. I begged her to diesis*, for a saw what it might lead to, but no, she was obstinate. There may have been a slight struggle. Anyhow, suddenly my mouth felt cold, and the moustache had come away in her hand. With a little shriek she let it fall. We both watched the thing, as, with cruel slowness, it flickered to the ground. n , I do not propose to reproduce the scene that followed. I am ashamed to say that Maude forgot herself. She was very rude to me. t The next morning their arrived a quite unnecessary letter from Mrs Sevier. Later, the moustache came

back in an envelope, with the words "You left this yesterday," written on the flap. It was all very bad taste. And a note from myself to Maude was returned with the remark: "A man who deceives in little things will also deceive in big things." Those are the facts. My Mother has just been down in her dressing-gowni to. remind me to take my drops before I go to bed. Dear Mother! That is just like her. She is always thinking of me. Perhaps, after all, I am better with her to watch over me. I should certainly have forgotten the drops. Mother asked me particularly to mention that ishe is* dfelightedl the match is off. And' I myself think I should have been sorry to be tied to a person with such a horrid temper. I am nearly sure of it. At the same time I am not quite certain that marriage with her cousin will not be too severe a punishment. Still, perhaps, it may be a lesson to her, and teach her not to forget herself. The late Walter Emanuel in "Only My Fun."