"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7606, 16 January 1903, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

TRUTH FOR A DAV.

(By MYRTLE REED.)

The house party at Morristown was undeniably stupid and Mrs Claxton, the hostess, was on the brink of despair, for dinner was over and the third day of rain was drawing to a drizzling close. Soma of the- men were upstairs playing billiards, while others lounged ungracefully in the drawing-room, frankly bored. The women * were clustered in forlorn . little groups. Gossip was exhausted and bridge was tabooed. , Reginald Kerwin, though proverbially good-naturedv sat with his back to the company. He was bending over the window seat, having cast the cushions to the fioor, -and was apparently interested in a pack* of card*>. Mrs Claxton, desperately seeking a conversational lead, called out to him, with assumed cheerfulness : , "Oh, Reggy! What tfre you doing?" There was no answer and Helen Clax- ; ton, the pretty sister of the host, sauntered leisurely in his direction. "Didn't you hear the<_adyspeak to you?" she inquired. • " No," he responded, without looking up. "What lady was itf" "The lady of »the house, of oourse," she retorted. " Nobody 'else is likely to." " Oh, t don't know," he said,, lazily. She sat down on the window seat, at a little distance from the scattered cards. " What are you doing?" she asked, smothering a yawn. • "'Playing- solitaire." v . .-■-.'■ ir "Tim lasfc resource of a vacant. mind." '• Not always," he replied, gathering up the cards. "This is the game Napoleoi^ invented to relieve the deadly monotony ofl St Helena. I though^ it especially apropofl of the occasion." i ;V; ■ "How tactful ybiiv ares' she exclaimed* with evident admiration., - * '■„■■■' -* I " That 'isn't tact ; it's truth; : Tact is thei »rt of lying gracefully." , . , * I He snapped a rubber band around the\ cards and tossed them aside. .'.'.Qn, the dead, Helen, isn't this about the Voirst" house party you were ever caged upLinf i"iy -.'fit certainly is," she answered, with more- animation. "Can you do something to liven it up a bit?" ' ■' . '■' I came here for entertainment," he complained', "and I'm not getting it. It's up to the Clapton, family." ... "We caii'-. do anything with a wooden Indian," she said, pointedly. " I might propose to yon again," he ventured. " I don't know any parlour tricks, but I pride myself on my one accomplishment." .--■ She sniffed scornfully and left him. "Ive been presented with an epigram," ' she announce^, going toward her sister-in-law. ""'Tact is the art of lying gracefully.'" ■;.'..,■-.'" a '-Of course' it js," said Jean Griffin, sitting up straight in her chair, for, next to golf, she loved an argument. • ' 1 Kerwin joined the group. "Ive got wisdom to burn," he said, oracularly. " Lying is the only thing that keeps : society together. If we ail s|Jol_e the exact 'truth we should be a nation of hermits, each living, in his own little hut." "I don't, tell fibs," answered Mrs Clax,'tou with a %tural" -resentment, since ehe ;was fsecab& : ior her tact^ "If I think nice ithingsalbbut; -people .(/say them, and if I ; don't I keep stdl." L "Truth concealed is the same as a lie," [argued Kerwin. \ Miss Griffin had a, pSetty colour- in her cheeks, being interested in something for <3_e first time in three long- days. "I'll tell you how we'll prove it or disprove it," she said. "To-morrow all of us ■will tell the exact, unvarnished truth ail day." There were faint murmurs of disapproval fram the women, audi the. lig^ht of amusement came jnto K'erwin*s hazel eyes. At the unusuaFsigns of life three or four men • came from distant corners of the room and thoughtlessly approved of -the suggestion. Mr_) Claxton, scenting disaster ahead, < hastened 'to say: • " Oh, no, let T s not do that 1" "You just said you didn't fib," retorted Jean. "Aren't you willing for the rest of us to follow in your -virtuous footsteps for one day only?" " Bargain day in morals," suggested Miss , Jeffriesf laughing. " Truth' marked down — this' day. only." Mi<3 *Cla_-toj-*rele**t-<l. " All right," she said eoberly, " if it rains, -we will do it." -.. ■'■ The 'Msst'LbjE...yt^c' guests were speedily drawn into .tie Arrangement. '?. ." The tT«£hV tho whole truth and nothing but the truth," "explaineil Kerwin, "for tomorrow only. After that — an armistioa." "You're a pessimist," said Miss Griffin, accusingly, as the guests separated 1 for- the ftight./ v "I'd just as soon he a pessimist as an anarchist," ihe responded. "Nice little. bomb you've jpufc into* the party- If somebody is'n't tnrt, I thiss'' mygoea"'." Still it was not until _-<_■ was alone- in his room that the possibiKtiSs of the situation were fully revealed, He fmiled' afc\first and chuckled softly some moments latjer. "TU try it," he sand to himself. "It's the last throw of the dice. I guess I'd better pray for- rain." The morning ©f the fourth day made no change in the monotonous drizzle. From his window he could see the links, soggv^ and dotted with pools of water. He was MM enthusiast -who did not mind cold, but iH __a_ no Jfeidhess for aquatic golf. ~ H As he was dressing there was a rap .H the door, and ai card appeared on the threshold. Hfe picked it up, and read in JimEVy Okrton's clear, hold' hand : T "^flie troth, the whole truth and iiothine but tie truth, for one day only." Ml He beani the servant rap at Miss- GkriH finis door, furhher down the corridor, prH sumiably with the same message. H " They'll all getit/'^he mused, ' harppiljl "TtflFbe a peach of a row. I'll have tB ttart things, though — there's no mor© monotony for this house party." "When he went "down to breakfast, there were but two vacant places at the 'table.. They -greeted _____ with' the usual -chorus of Sfand sa-trtet-on, but ho .settled down in ohair without speaking. ""Wiiijr don't you' say" good morning?" asked Jfeam. ".Beeauso it isn't a goods rooming," he replied without emotion. "It's going to bo a vil_adnous day, and if there's anyujing I toveit'e truth." . Thera waa an awkward silence, andi the., sedate bntilep coiighed. / "I trust you slept well?" said Mr Ckxtoo, anqmringly. "I slept as well«s Xever do in thatbea_*t*ly bed. of yours," he returned. "I don't especiailly mind the bills in the mattress, but I hate to have to poke my. feet out at ' - ■* «AV^lp^*

" I regret very much that you are "iircomfortable," -said .Mrs Claxton , icily. " Perhaps " / " Oh, come off, Dorothy," exclaimed her husband jovially. "Don't crush the pgor worm — he's only telling the truth. - ' Miss Claxton arrived at this juncture, late, as usual. She looked unusually pretty in a, crisp white shirt waist. The colour ■flamed in her cheeks, there was a dampness around tbo roots of her hair, and she had the ifflnamahle freshness which comes with the morning plunge. Ken-ran stared avb her, and she smiled as she took her place beside him. "Don't I look nice?" she asked .in her most irritating manner. ; " As nice as usual," ht* responded calmly. "You're going to comb your hair a£t_r I breakfast, aren't you?" i y'i comb it Saturdays,*' she replied cool- j ly, "and this is only Thursday. You mui't possesa your -soul in patience till then." Jimmy Claxton, at the head of the table, was 'enjoying iMmself hugely, but his wife was plainly frightened, amd he winked nt her reassuringly. Jean was talking with Miss Jeffries in a low tone. " It's bad manners to'whwper .. at the tabic," volunteered Reginald. Miss -. Griffin ..flushed, but made no other sign of- having ncard him. Helen helped herself to- a large and luscious looking banana,, then moved the dish , toward him. "Want one?" she asked, taking the first delicious bit.. " No, thank you," he answered coldly. "Don't you honour bananas with your distinguished approval?" she inquired, lightly. '" Nofc since I went through the Italian quarter in New York and saw how they ripen 'era." he answered. " They — ouch ! there's no need for you to walk on my :fc*bt!'\ ' Miss Jeffries, who had the skin of a banana ou her plate, asked to bs excused, and somewhat hastily left the rosrn. Kerwin disappeared immediately after breakfast, coming in a little later in his mackintosh and brandishing an umbr-l.'a. "I'm going to swim down to the village after the mail," he announced. "Any of \ you want anything V" "Don!t you want the trap/old man?" _ Eked Claxton, kindly. "It's quite a swim down there.." "No, thank you," returned Kerwin, sboitly. "I could overtake that old ping -f yours in a walk any day." For the first tima Jimmy Claxton was irrii.,itd. His thoroughbred chestnut .niare was the. pride of ,- his heart, even though s'iic had never vron i racj nor taken a prize at the horse show. . The shaft struck Halan even more keenly, for she had a .•igi.-sj.iritE.d woman's love for a beautiful .ior.*'*, and &pc-nt many ati hour in the trap- behind Juno, watching the glossy coat .quiver v.-ith the joy of kv--irig', and her h&art beating quickly. in response to rhe sbra-jj clatcer of the mare's little: feot upon th*. -broad highways of Morristown. " Can I do, anythh\g for you, Helen?" inquired Kerwin. • '' 'Miss Claxton,' if you please," she comlhauded. "I want nothing that you can give me. Nothing!" she repeated, with emphasis, , and flounced out of the room. After obtaining various small commissions from the. others, Kerwin sallied out into the rain, biting his_Jjj2s_jjL___fi_ffl__fia^__. gravating leisure. "Itoses-for you, Mrs Claxton," he said; " carnations for you, Miss Griffin ; a book "No letter for me !" sighed Helen, as she sorted the mail. " Never mind," said one of the other girls, soothingly. "What did you get out „ of the lottery?"* ' ■ fc Her colour rose high, but she did not >ero])orise. I- - Nothing," she answered bravely. Luncheon was a very dismftl affair. Seemingly by common consent, no one took any particular notice of Kerwin, though he came into the conversation briskly whenever it was possible, and Claxton,. mindful of the duties of hospitality, endeavoured to be amiable. During the afternoon a servant brought Helen a letter and a note, which, she opened first. It read as follows : — " Mr Kerwin presents his compliments to Miss Claxton and also the accompanying 'A ...y+f... - '•«• • .Vr-- >•

letter, which came in the morning post. While he is mindful of the fact that s>he dws not want anything which he can give her, and while he wishes above all things (o pleat v her, he does not feel justified in 1 further delaying, the United States mail." The tyter was of a disturbing nature, and his note did nob mitigate it in any degree. Helen, never very submissive to circumstances, lost her temper and went to her own room to have it out with herself. In the hall, she encountered Kerwin. ; "Whither away, fair maid?" he asked, pleasantly. She passed him, as if she were totally unconscious of his presence. -- vUV „ "The cut direct," he muse'd^'fte stood at the hall window, looking out into the rain. "If I mistake me not, the gaff sticks." Late in the afternoon as he was reading in (the library, she came in and closed the door. " Cornered !" he said to himself. ." There'll be something doing presently, I think." He appeared to be deeply interested in his book. ' She" waited for a moment, then spoke to him. "I beg your pardon," he answered, in apparent surprise. "I didn't — I mean, how long have you been here?" •' Not over an hour. I hope I don't disturb you." , "Nofc at all. Is there any book you would particularly like? If there is I'll get it for you." " From where ? Prom my brother's library or the public library?" "I'd rather get it from your brother's library," he amswered, ignoring the thrust. " It's 'more convenient, and, besides, public library titooks have germs in 'em." "I don't want any book— l'd rather talk." "I wouldn't — I'd like to read,/ if you don't mind." « " Don't be mean. Beggy," she returned sweetly . 'M want to ask you about things." It When she 'spoke in that particular tone k was as wax in her hands. I " Hurry up, f hen," he said, with an asnned haste, as Ive laid his book aside. Helen sat down and toyed with the paper nife. • The- sunless afternoon was shading Uo r-.ght, but the last light lay lovingly on her face. j '"What do you know about Jack Townsend?" she asked. She was outwardly calm, but the tremor in her voice did not escape him. "Why do you want to know?" he asked. "He isn't any of your affair, is he?" "Not just at present, 'but he wants: to. be. He has asked me to marry him." "The dcv— really?" " Yes, really. ' You gave me the letter this afternoon."- * '■ "Wasn't it nice of me to give you the letter, after yon said you didn't want anything I could give you":" " Come, now," she said, sharply." "This isn't fair, Helen." "That doesn't make any difference — you are under bonds to tell the truth." "Wait till to-morrow." " I won't wait till to-morrow. What do you know about him?" '• A footstep soundeJyoutsiyde, and Kerwin looked for an interruption, but there was none. . "I am waiting," Helen reminded him. He rose and went to the window, thrusting his (hands into his pockets. " I don't know much about him, Helen," he said, in a different tone. " The man is a cad— that's all. .. I'd rather see you dead than married to him," he continued, without emotion, "even if I didn't — if I didn't think so much of your brother and sister," he concluded, lamely. His manner! nettled her. " You're sure you're not influenced by personal interest," she inquired.; The kindly shadows hid his face. " No," he said, judicially, after a moment of deep thought. " I'm sure I'm not. . I .shall never ask you again. That part of my life- is all sealed up, and for the present forgotten. s ln the after years I hope it will be a pleasant memory. I ava fully satisfied — A it is happiness enough to have loved you, even without a return." His voice sank, and the last words were in i a husky whisper. There was no sound for a moment save the rain beating against j ths windows ; then Helen rose, with a soft silken rustle, and came toward him. "Thank you," she said, gently, "for a great deal." Ho made no reply, and inwardly- blessed j the darkness that sheltered him. She was trembling, for his use ofM-he past tense had thrilled her with sudden pain. A lump came into her throat ar.d she went slowly out of the rcom. He sighed heavily as she closid the door. At- dinner Kerwin was graciousnnss its?lf to everyone else, but he- did not speak to Helen. * She carefully avoided him. but no one seemed to notice it. He was extravagantly gay in his manner and no/ one would have guessed that he had a heartache, so well was it concealed. Ho bestowad graceful compliments on Mrs Claxton and laughed at 1 the jests of hi-s host to such good purpose that the irritations of tho morning were quite forgotten. "I' don't see -that this is any differentfrom other dinners," said Miss Jeffries, meditatively. " We're getting on all right even if we are speaking the truth. You're wrong, Mr Kerwm—^-veracity wouldn't make us a nation of hermits, each in ihis own little hut." / .\ Was it fancy, or did a shadow cross his ( face?

"I'm sure I can be agreeable without

lying," returned- Mrs Claxton, with distinct emphasis on the personal pronoun.

" You could not be disagreeable, no matter how hard you tried," answered Kerwin galiuntly.

"There's a Roland for your- Oiiver, Dorothy," said Jimmy Claxton.

" Coals of fire, rather," commented Miss Grilnn. "'I think were all fitted for polite society .except Mr Kerwin. I expect to sco hiin -in his little, hut before very long."

" Yes, of course, I'll liave a day at home," he replied. " 1 tliink I'd mako a nice hermit, don't you?"

The thought of Reginald Kerwin as a hermit raised a general laugh, in which Helen ostentatiously joined, but'a close observer might have noticed that her laugh had no mirth in it.

After dinner, some of them gathered in the drawing-room and others went to the billiard-room and tlie den. Miss Claxton got a book and drew a chair up near the lamp, Kerwin watching her narrowly.

" Oh,' Iteggty," she called. " Yes, what's the trouble '•" he responded, without moving.

" You may got me a cushion if you want to," she said, sweetly.

■He felt his heart thumping madly, but he managed to compose himself enough to say:

" I don't want to get it, but I will." When he came back with it, .she leaned forward and he put it between her shoulders: "Why didn't you want to get it?" she asked, softly, with her appealing eyes fixed on his face, "Don't you love me any more?" His senses reeled, but he met her gaze squarely. "No!" Sho smiled, but only, for a. fleeting instant. All the youth fad*.d from her face and her lips whitened. The words dancc-d on tbe page of her book as she tried t-o read again. His footsteps died away, and a moment later she heard his laugh in response to some witty sally. It so-emed' an age before she could escape. At last, under pretence of returning hor book, *sho got into the library, which, she j knew, was unoccupied. • j There was no need to wear the mask which she had kept -on all day. She laid j her book on the- tabic, her mouth quivering pitifully. The lights swam and* Irarb her eyes. With a sudden impulse- she shut off I;he current and groped her way to the j window seat in the dark. j It had stopped raining, and two- or three timid stars were to be seen amoug the cloud-*. Beyond, in the east, was a white rift whore the moon *\vas hidden. Kerwin'- stern, un.compiomi-.ing "No !" sounded again in her oars. She, knalt by tho wiKdow sis&l, burying her face in the cushions and sobbed bitterly, her self-con-trol quite gone. Shortly afterward he missed her and went in search of 'her. He entered the "library and finding it dark was about to leave the room when the sound of a woman's sob _ came through tha. stillness, cutting into his heart like a knife. He had reached the window scat before she realised that anyone was near her. -' " Helen !" he exclaimed. " What- are you doing here?" " Playing solitaire," she answered, with a desperate effort to be calm — "the last resource of a. vacant mind." She tried to laugh, but failed miserably. Kerwin sat down on the window, seat- and drew her up beside him. The moon broke through the clouds and revealed the sweet sadness of her face, wet with tell-tale tears. A great tenderness overmastered* him, and he put -his arm around her, buj* she started from him violently. "How dare you toych me?" she cried, "vl hate you.!" " Helen 1" he said tenderly. "My darling girl!" At the unexpected gentleness she broke down. Like many another woman -she was strong in the faco of opposition, but weak at the touch of sympathy. Unrebuked, he turned her lovely tear-stained face to his and for the second time. in his life kissedL her. - y "Oh !" she sobbed, "haven't you insulted me enough?" The tears came witih a rush, and she lay helpless in his arms. " Don't, darling, don't," he pleaded. "I can't stand 1 your tears." His kisses fell unheeded on her hair. "You've been — so horrid— to me — all day ! You said you wanted to be a hermit — in a little hut- — and you've made me — wretched — and you said I—you1 — you didn't — love me — any more !" ■? With a great joy surging in his heart he kissed her again. " You little wild bird," 'he whispered, "have I won you at last?" Gradually she became calm. He was soothing her as only a lover can, gently

wiping away liev tears and pleading passionately for pardon — a-nd love. She sat with her head against his shoulder, like a tired child, in that listless peace which coiws after pain. "Tell me," she said, "was it true?" " Was what true, dai'ling?" "Everything." v "Don't you know, Helen, after all these years of love and waiting?" "Tell me— dear!" sho pleaded.

He laughed 'happily and drew her close, crushing her lips to* his. Far in the distance, a clock chimed twelve.

" I've been lying all day, .svreetheart," he _aid.