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Star (Christchurch), Issue 7543, 28 October 1902, Page 4

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vote myself to philosophy, to become what is known as a ' blue-stocking; ' ; to give up the put-suit of pleasure, and in its stead to follow the drudgery- of hard, matter-of-fact, unromantic study."' Well, that task would prove uncongenial, but -then she had an object, to attain, and that would make , the sacrifice seem less severe and distasteful. There was still another factor to be taken into account. Away in Scuth Africa there was a certain Arcihbald Perry, a captain in a volunteer regiment. Though not actually engaged to him, she knew that he regarded her tenderly, and was more than half-convinced that he had her heart in his keeping. Now what would Captain Perry say if by any chance he were*' to hear that she had designs upon Professor Abercrombie? What explanation had she to offer that he would regard as satisfac- j torv- I Alma did not rush thoughtlessly into the affair. She carefully considered her position in all its bearings, and came finally to j the conclusion that, whatever might or might ! not betide, 'it was incumbent upon her | that she should teach the high and mighty professor such a lesson as he would not j readily forget. The" scene of the first act of the comedy she was to play was the lawn in front of Mrs Smith-'Evans's house ; the occasion was I a garden partv, which, contrary to his | usual custom, "professor Abercrombie attended.- Always somewhat impulsive, j Alma attacked 'the professor on the very first opportunity which presented itself. She opened the assault with a neat com•pliment on his latest work, which she had specially digested for tihe occasion. * She even quoted passages, and would have ventured upon a little mild sort of criticism., only she feared that by getting out of her dep'th, she would so" 1 disgust the professor that her scheme would be irretrievably ruined. As it was, her tactics turned out) successful. The professor was as gratified 1 as he was surprised. / "It is not often," he said, " that ladies take am interest in suoh things, and, if you wiH pardon au author's conceit, I really must congratulate you uponi your choice of literature. I had feared that your sesx | was devoted to work? of a- lighten-, and, again I 33k your pardon, less substantial character." Thereupon Alma opened the floodgates; in other and more precise words, she read her companion a lecture upon tihe absurdity and injustice of permitting personal prejudice to be the found'ation of such a sweeping condemnation of the sex. " Think what a small proportion of men are interested in such works," she declared', with well-feigned indignation ; " for everyone who will read amd enjoy your ' Psychic Philosophy,' for example, there are hundreds, if not thousands, who could not for the life of fchean advance a line beyond the i preface. No, no ; the notion that the lords I of creation have a monopoly of brains has been far too long accepted as gospel truth. Why is it that you learned folk will -insist' in picturing us women, as giddy butterflies, flitting idly from flower to flower — light, delicate, fragile, thoughtless creatures, unwoirthy of anytMng and everything beyond —beyond' " unable to keep up the meit&phor of the butterflies, she jerked out, " the halfpenny novelette, or the latest design in summer hats?" Professor Abercrombie was deceived. He felt that it was his privilege to have comas across what he had never expected" to meet — a woman of mind and taste ; and, when) Alma went on to intimate her desire to study under his direction, he was as completely entrapped as ever a " Calm Intelligence " I could be. Thus did it come about that ProI fessor Abercrombie, confirmed bachelor and! reputed woman-hater, took as his pupil ono of the prettiest, merriest and most charming of aU the young ladies who revolved round that bright orb of society, Mrs SmdthEvans. * Ckf course, people wondered, gossiped and prophesied all sorts of things. " Almai waa «_wa.ys a strange girl, a very strange girl," said Mrs Smith-Evans, when Alma's latest escapade was brought under her notice, "but, really, I never imagined tihat she would develop into a blue-stocking." Someone menitioned it in a letter to Captain Perry, and, in process of time, Alma was a little staitled at receiving an amusing missive from the gallant officer, in which he addressed her as his "fair philosopher," and playfully suggested that she should' wear "frightful blue goggles," have her hair cut dose, and, generally, cultivate a masculine appearance. But Alma was not to be joked out of her scheme. She had put her hand to the plough, and no one should make her turn, back until sh^ had accomplished what she had set out to do. And, meanwhile, th<ri work iteeilf was not proving either so hard or so disagreeable as she had anticipated. Naturally intelligent, the course of reading snapped out for her by the professor was more and more appreciated by her. " You may poke fun at me as much as you like," she wrote to Captain Perry, "but I certainly am dipping into the sea of knowledge, and, do you know, I find it much, more refreshing and invigorating than I ever anticipated. Seriously, I like the

work — although at times it does grow a little irksome and monotonous." The months sped by. Alma had undoubtedly made great progress, and Professor Abercrombie was quite proud of his promising pupil. He seemed to have changed somewhat, too. Mrs Smith-Evans noticed it and talked about it. A strange, inexplicable yielding mood came over him ; the hard, set lines of his stern face seemed softened ; his very voice changed from ita peremptory, decisive, unattractive tone. Neither Mrs Smith-Evans nor her friends' could understand it ; but Alma could — or imagined she could. The "Calm Intelligence" is coming round, she thought; but, somehow, her desire for revenge grew less acute, and there were times when she almost hoped that her plan for bringing Professor Abercrombie to his knees would fail. " It would be a shame to humiliate him," she muttered ; " after all there is no humbug about him. He has brains and — and — that is not too common an occurrence nowadays." She even grew to dislike certain passages in Captain Perry's letters. They were intended to make her laugh, at the professor's expense. She "was not able to analyse her own feelings. What was coming over her? Surely, she was not really getting to care for the "Calm Intelligence?" No, no; that was quite impossible. Could any girl possibly prefer the grave, dignified and somewhat bombastic man of learning to the brilliant young officer, who had placed hi? life at the disposal of his country, and whose heroism had already been mentioned in the newspapers? How she w-ished that Captain Perry would return home and again appeal to her, as he had done before he " marched away with the boys !" Yet the professor had never breathed to her a syllable of love. He advised, directed, instructed — nothing more. But she was beginning to look forward to meeting him, and the difficulties over which she wished to consult him were occurring more frequently. The scene is once more laid in the grounds of Mrs Smith-Evans's imposing residence ; and again there is a large and brilliant assemblage of Society people. Amongst the number are Professor Abercrombie and Alma Lockwood. Tlie gathering is held in honour of the return of Captain Perry, who is a relative — a somewhat distent one — of the hostess. The gallant officer is determined, should the remotest chance offer itself, to insist upon Alma ending the uncertainty of their relationship by a definite and formal engagement. He is the more resolute in this decision, since Mrs Smith-Evans hinted that Professor Abercrombie may be a possible rival for the girl's affections. Not that he credited the suggestion. The very notion was really unspeakably funny — " screamingly funny," he called it. Mrs Smith-Evans shrugged her shoulders, and gave vent to an aifeoted little laugh. " There's no accounting for the whims and caprices of pretty girls," she said, " and, as Alma is well worth winning, I shouldn't advise you to delay. In love matters as well as in things more prosaic, delays are dangerous." It is one thing for Captain Perry to make tip his mind that he will fling down Uie gage of fortune; it is quite another tiling to find a convenient opportunity. Although her greeting to him had been warm enough, Alma seemed purposely to avoid him. She trips about, here, there and everywhere, "as pretty as a sunbeam and as hard to capture," thinks Captain Perry. With each passing moment a feeling of dread grows upon bim ; it becomes positively intolerable. He sees Alma talking to Professor Abercrombie. What if, after all, the hostess's suspicions are well-founded, and Alma is really in love with the dry, unsympathetic, conceited professor? He waite till the conversation is over and Alma is leaving the professor's side ; then he rushes up to her, and, speaking excitedly, though not loudly, says: — "Miss Lockwood, may I have a word with you?" The professor overhears, but is too wellbred to indicate it either by word or gesture. Alma feels the rich blood surging to her face, and knows that her cheeks must be suffused with blushes. She strives hard to suppress the wild beating of her heart, and to conquer the agitation which takt-s possession of her, making her shake perceptibly. Her woman's instinct tells her what is coming. Captain Perry will have his answer now ; it will be definite, irrevocable, final. "Will you please conk into the wildert ness?" asks Captain Perry. The " Wilderness," as the name suggests, is a part of Mrs Smith-Evans's grounds which is allowed to run wild — to grow as Nature dictates. The gardener's pruning knife has touched nothing here ; trees, tangled briar, long coarse grass, grow with more or less vigour. Even paths are not permitted, nor, indeed, is anything that can remind one that there is such a thing as civilisation. Captain Perry offers his arm to Alma, and mechanically she takes it. Near the gateway which lead's to the " Wilderness," however, she hesitates. "My dress may get torn," she explains. " Perhaps you are right," he replies. " And what I have to say to you can be ■said as well here as in yonder. He stops as though waiting for some reply ; but none is forthcoming, aud he goes on : "* Miss Lockwood, Alma, I — l have brought you here because I want to know my fate. lam not an ideal lover ; I know it. I am a plain, blunt man, and cannot express myself as 1 ought to do. You know, you must have known, that I love you dearly, and that I want you to be my wife. Will you — will you answer 'Yes?'" Again Alma tries to master her agitation, and again without avail. " Why — why do you ask me at such a time a6 this?" she stammers. "It is unkind—cmel of you !" "Cruel! Unkind!*' He repeats the words with deep indignation. "How can you think a- man unkind, when he tells you what I have told you? Surely. Alma, you were not wholly unprepared "for this. " It is you who are cruel and unkind. Do you not love me, Alma? After all tttese yeans, " Don't speak like that to me. You have no right to. I am under no obligation to you, nor are you to me. At lea*t, do not expect me to answer you now."