FOUL BREATH.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9933, 23 August 1910, Page 4

FOUL BREATH.

Tile old saying that "Distance lends enchantment " was never more aptly to the point than when applied, to those people whose breath is laden with evilsmelling and offensive odours. Many persons appear most attractive at a distance. but produce a feeling of pity and d is g us t when close to, because of the condition of their breath. F or instance, it makes little difference. how beautiful a wom a n ma y be o f ho w clia rming her manner, if her breath is foul; her charm is gone, and she is at a disadvantage whenever she conies in contact with other people. Foul breath in woman arouses in man a feeling of repugnance and a desh« to got out of the company of such a woman as quickly as possible; and even women will avoid her. It is, therefore, important for every woman who values her personal attraction to take such care of herself that this unpleasant and unnecessary complaint is avoided or corrected.. Dr Morse's Indian Root Pills will be found a searching and cleansing remedy, which will overcome this complaint. They give you clean bowels, a healthy stomach, a. lively liver, and blood that is r'oh and red. They arc a safe, suro ana reliable remedy, and will prevent many of the complaints so common if taken once or twice a week to Keep the system in a healthy condition. They are purely vegetable, and their action is not accompanied by any nauseous or griping sensation, but is mild, and gentle. For all complaints arising, from Imperfect Digestion and Impure Blood, Dr Morse's Indian Root Pills are unexcelled. 2

the comedy now!" lie cried, with tears in his boyish voice. "I am so beastly miserable. Nina—if I may call you so. And, oh, I love you!" She was like somb dark queen—her eves flashing. "' u You?" " Ah, if words could tell " Eut her flash of scorn had cooled in a moment. '•'Come—be wiso wise! Tf you say words of that sort to me again I shall have to tell Mrs Garry, then Mrs Garry "'will only ask me to seek another place, and you do not desire that." After this a whole month, which was like an empty eternity to™ him, passed without one sight of her, except in the village church. Then \thoy met one noon in a lane. He blushed, took off. his hat, and was about to pass her. But her smile was deliberately inviting. He took her hand. "Am I forgiven?" he asked. "Freely," she said, and smiled; "but you know on what condition. I am going down to the rectory with a message. You will be my escort. He was with her two delightful hours, and, in parting from her, said, " I ara going home now to sit and think over everv word vou have said."

" Forbidden ground," she interrupted.

"My name is—Gomez. Supposingl wished to be what you are pleased to call 'kind,' I could not." " Why ever so?" " The reason is that I am bound by a promise—a vow if you like. Listen to my story: I have a verv dear friend who, three years ago, suffered a wrong at the hands of a man. Her father was a Spanish merchant who became poor, and, to save liim from want, she sacrificed herself to the extent of consenting to marry an old baronet. 1 wish you to understand that, for a girl of her kind, born free ' and wealthy, high-spirited and highly-nurtured, this was really a sacrifice, but at the moment of reaching out her hand for whatever compensation there was it was dashed from her reach."

"Ahl" said Harry,*" haggard with shame.

"Yes"—with spite. " The baronet had made over his whole estate b.v a settlement to his bride. But lie had «i nephew who <l?wised some trick by which the clergyman was kept from performing the ceremony. The same day the baronet died. The wealth which should have been hers went to the liepheW. My—friend's father died soon after in poverty. Poor mail, his heart was broken! - ' ) "But—but—surely." stammered Harry, "the heir offered' her a portion "

" I believe he did something of that sort. But the whole was hers.—Nina ■ —her name was Nina, like mine—rejected his offer with tho disdain it deserved." / But the ' vow '?"

" I am coming to that. Nina's father was also mv—guardian. Once he called us to his side and made us promise something. He was an Andalusian, and those old-fashioned people still exact vows—and know how to keep them, too." "Well, and the vow was?"

"Never to marry an Englishman of what in his later days he called ' the false class ' —ho meant the titled class -r-except in the improbable event that every shilling and rood of the purloined property was restored to his daughter." "Impossible!" breathed Harry, " your friend does not know the tremendousness of the thing she asks " "That she asks! But she asks nothing," and she held out her hand. " Good-bye!" He kept the hand against her slight effort to withdraw it. saying, " Supposing—l only say ' supposing ' —l gave her back all; for you' know very well that ' I am the man.'- Only it is too tremendous a thing! I doubt if it could be done! Still, I "say, supposing I made myself a pauper, would you promise "

"Oh, no, no! I would promise nothing." v

He pressed her hand silently and wa% gone.

"Ho will do-it! Ho will do it-!" she whispered to herself. " Oh, my Father, if you had. but lived to see the winning back of our own again!"' During the noxt ton day* Harr.v Haroourt passed through the hardestfought struggle of his life—a struggle that was prolonged by the reflection that-, even if he gave up his all to Nina de Miraflores, this Nina at the Glen, perhaps, meant to do nothing to reward him. Yet a fateful hour came for liim when, like a, blind and desperate man, he took the train for London, and disappeared so long that Nina's heart, which counted, the very hours, grew sick with disappointed hopes. But one evening, as the clock was striking ten, he came. Nina was alono in tho drawing-room, singing in a murmur at the piano that wild sailor-song "The Paloma." And suddenly she was aware to her inmost soul of a. quiet presence with her., and' with a startled twist spun round. He took her hand, then dropped wearily upon a couch, then, throwing something upon a card table near him,

said, with a sigh: " That is what I have brought." It was a parchment endorsed with three lines of largo'writing. " And this is——" she asked. " A deed of gift of all I directly inherited from my uncle in favour of your friend Nina de Mirafiores." Nina's whole loveliness lighted up. "But you bring this—to iner" " By your hands let it be conveyed to the owner. I don't even know where she is." 1

"In that case I shall have to go to London. And now, let me tell you I think this pretty good of you, you know —awfully, awfully , noble and goodl" _ ' "Not much nobility about it, I'm afraid. I'd. give a good deal more than that. I think, Nina, for you." " Well, that is Hattering." she said, with studied coldness. " But. you will not forget, I hope, that 1 owe you nothing for this— have promised nothing " " But, for the love of heaven, don't sav it! Oh, I implore! Tell, me now—-" She laughed ironically. "No ! I decline to bo claimed, or to bo bought. Don't imagine that I am going to give my life away to you simply because you have signed a just document. But I have no time for talk. Now I must—pack! Will you say good-night? I hope we may meet—some time—again." He turned as pale as a corpse. She looked into his face, saw her power, tripped to-a desk, scribbled a few words, and handed the paper to him. "That," she said, "is an address in London. I will meet you there —in the street—if you care, to come, say this day four weeks, a.t eleven in the mornins:. Nina de Mirafiores will be there." He wrung her band, and went away with a feeling that the earth had slipped from under his feet; and she, when he was gone, sat a long time by the fire, her head on her hand, gomething dejected and powerless in her air. I>ut suddenly some passionate emotion transported her. Her eyes flamed, her cheeks flushed, and the words.came from her: "Oh, my dear love, I do love you!" She added a minute later: "Because women are poor, simple little mice, Sir Harry, you see." Then she shrugged, murmuring: "Well, it is no use fighting against it, 1 suppose!" and she held the parchment, won with so much difficulty, to the fire, and watched the embers crumble in the coals. Though summer was not far off it was a dingy day, and in. the offices and streets of London gas-jets were burni UKHarry Harcourt had been waiting ten minutes in a low neighbourhood on the Surrey side, wondering at the whim of Nina which had brought him there. He -consulted the paj»er with the address which Nina had gi fen him; there could be no mistake—" 12, Warner Street, S.W."—and presently Nina drove up with another "lady—she robe<l in ivory satin, the other lady, who was Ethel Bede, robed in white j Harry took her down from the cab; his lips breathed the words, " Nina, you are come!" and he added l : "Is this your friend, Miss Nina de Mirafiores?"

"No," answered Nina, rather flurjled and short of breath. "Nina de Mirafiores will be insido- presently. Come, let us go in." " In—where?" he asked, in astonishment.

Slio pointed to a little church right opposite. Harry's heart was thumping violently. A heavenly, vague expectation filled his being. But he was still all at sea. Ho went with her into tho church. At the altar, wheh they camo near, they saw. a clergyman waiting. Who was it? It could not be—yes, it was Jones! Jones, with the old, dry, sardonic smile and tho slightly-coloured nose! And, why, this was no other than Jones's church—the Church of St Mat thew-in-the-South-West!

"It is all right, Harry!" Jones whispered into his ear at the altar. " Everything has been arranged by me and the bride. Here's the ring all right, and I've publdshed tho banns. And don't be nervous, old chap, I shall do it gently." Jones married them with due solemnity. It was only when they adjourned to the vestry to sign that Harry, for the first time, knew his wife's real name —not Nina Gomez, but Nina de Mirafiores.. And with the knowledge there swept through his mind the memory of just such another morning, not four years ago, when his uncle's' wedding had failed for want of a parson. He looked at Nina's dress—the same; the church—the same; the dark day —almost as dark as that dark day; Jones —not at all asleep this time—was there. Ethel Bede was there, as before —really bound for the Continent this time. And so the wrong was righted. Harry almost fell on his knees-to worship tho woman who had made hirtv the victim of this heavenly vengeance.