SHORT STORY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17016, 14 April 1923, Page 1 (Supplement)

SHORT STORY.

SYLVIA’S ONE DAY. THE MASTERFUL WOOER. (Written for the “ Star ” by MRS E. BAIZEEN.) Amid crackly white tissue-paper reposed Sylvia’s one new evening dress lor the year. Jt was very suit and lovely, arid Sylvia, knew it would bo so becoming--and that was the main reason why she accepted her Aunt Smyth e-Lyons’s eleventh-hour invitation to a theatie-dinner party. “ They so seldom ask me, something must have gone wrong with their first plans-—anyhow, T don’t care! I’ll close with my luck while it’s in, and have at least my one day of life,'* she said happily to herself. She did not leave her boardinghouse m a golden coach drawn by white ponies ; she did leave it in splendour, though, for the Smythe-Lyons, who never did anything by halves, sent their car—a vehicle which, like every other thing belonging r.o them, had about it a superlative yet restrained magnificence. . . And the Fairy T’rince had been there—in fact, he had been very nice, but by to-morrow, she supposed, he vr.uld have forgotten all about her. She had not informed him that she was only a poor relation asked in at the death because another lady (a society lady) had suddenly taken ill. True, he had said, as he helped her into her wrap after the theatre, that he hoped they might meet again soon. But that was only politeness. And even if it wasn’t, even if he did wish to see her again, it was quite out of the question. There was no place in her life for society men, neither was there any for them" in the boarding-house drawing-room. Next evening, when Sylvia found a hook-shaped package with her letter* on the hall table, she was not surprised: and when, after ascending to her room, she opened it and found Sargent’.s card, still she was not surprised ; indeed, she was hot surprised until she realised, all at once, that she was not surprised—and that surprised her very much indeed. Could she have expected the bo >k without knowing she expected it? He certainly had mentioned it to her : t the play, but people do not send bo >ks merely because they happen to mention them. And how had he got her address? That was another item. Probably lie had asked the Smythe-Lyons. It was rather annoying; she dirhi’t want him talking to her rich cousins about her. Of course, the subject of this book—orchestral analysis—was technical : there was no sentiment about it. It was purely an intellectual offering. She would acknowledge it, and so terminate the incident. “ Now I am ."id of him,” she said, and to that thought she clung for several days with a strange lack ol satisfaction. Then, one evening, just after dinner, lie telephoned and asked her to the opera for the following night. His voice brought the pleasant picture of him back. She- said no. but she found it harder to say than she had thought. There was a pause. Then: ‘‘Aren’t you ever going with me anywhere?” he asked point blank. “ You’ve been very kind,” she said, tryjng to steel herself to sav that she would never go with him. “But I I don’t go out much !” “ Oh,” said Sarjent, “ I think r understand, now I’ve iron stupid. I’m sorry. 1 won’t annoy you again.” “You haven’t been stupid!” she ciied, stabbed by a sudden pang at having hurt him. “You haven’t an roved me! It’s not your fault at all. It’s something you don’t know about.” “Is there a dragon on your doorstep ? ’ ’ “ No.” “ An ogre?” “ No.” “ Perhaps you’re engaged to be married?” ' No. no.” ‘‘ I might kill a dragon or an ogre, or perhaps even a fiance,” he said. “hut in the dark like this Don’t you think you ought to tell me what’3 the matter?” Sylvia's heart beat fast. ft was unfair to lot him go on wyth the idea that she disliked him. An explanation would be merely just. “Mr Sarjent,” she began* “I want to explain, very much. But you’ll think it’s queer. You won’t unclerSar.jent laughed. “ I’ll have a dash U’ it,” he said. “Try me.” ■ All right!’’ raid Sylvia, with' swift determination. ■■ ff you don’t under luand. I can’t help it. Listen- I’m not the girl you met at the theatre. I m another g;r! entirely. Do you know about the butterflies that live only one day She was like that. That was her day, and now- she’s There! Do you see?” “ Not altogether, perhaps,” he said “ 8,,t lf that other girl is gone l e f-< forget about bet. What about you?” ‘‘l'm a humdrum librarian,” Sylvia told him. '• l have to work for mv hv.ng I'm , second sort of cousin to the Smythe.-I.yons—a poor relation “ It was over! She was relieved. More, sue was surprised, for site had a vacjue sense of his only partly understanding her fantasy. Still more lau S hhf„ B " rprised " he burst out ” Look here!” he said. “ l’ m coming up to see you right away.” No, you’re not!’’ “ Why not ?” > on haven't been invited 1 ’ ” If I waited for that I’d never come Ive tried everything else. I've sent you a book in sheep’s clothing 1’,.,. liiyted you out. I've hung 'around • °ui cou*in s house, hoping to meet you there. I even asked your aunt to'inrite you to tea. but you would never come.” (1 he Syrnthe Lyons had never mentioned the matter -.Sylvia would not expect them to do so. Sarjent was a ' catch ’ good enough for her handsome cousin, Edith.) “When was that?” she asked. Several times. Day before yester day. for example.” “No.” smiled Sylvia. •• T could not oorrie. Then, with a sudden flash of in tuition, she added: “It’s not convenient for me to go out in the afternoons.

because T work. I hope my aunt understood ?-” “ Oh, yes,” Sarjent assured her.

“ She explained that.” “Then you knew about me?” “ I’ve found out as much about you as I can. You’re mv favourite subject. That’s why I’m coming up to see you “ I shall not see you if you c-ome.” “Then I’ll riot in the hall!” “ But I tell you it’s a boardinghouse!” cried Sylvia. “I’ve no place to receive you.” “ Boarding-houses have their draw-ing-rooms, and ” “ I hey play cards in the drawingroom !” she protested. “ Then.” declared Sarjent, “ I shall have to turn the tables over and drive them all out—that is, unless we might go out somewhere. Understand, Miss Westbrook, you are dealing with a masterful man such as is seldom encountered outside the pages of the most improbable stories! Do not try to escape. Lf you do, I shall massacre the boarder*, sack the house, fling you into my car, and carry you off to—to the Service or some place for dinner.” “ I have already dined,” she said, coldly. “What’s that to a masterful man?” he flung back. “No use struggling. 1 shall be there in fifteen minutes. Good bye.” Slowly Sylvia removed the- receiver from her ear, and hung it up. Then, for some seconds, she stood glaring at the instrument. Jt seemed a« though Sarjent’-s half-playful nonsense had stirred the primitive in her. l r - was a curious sensation. She almost hated him, and yet she liked him. She had heard it said that some women were that way; that some of them liked to be beaten by men they loved.. “Heavens!” she said, with a little gasping laugh. “Am J half-savage? An; I reverting to type?” Presently the maid came with a box of roses and the news that “ the gentleman is waiting.” Sylvia put the flowers in a basim donned her hat and coat, composed herself, and descended trying to look suitably severe. “ We’ll walk,” she announced stiffly tu Sarjent. who was standing in the hall. “My car is here if you prefer to tirive,” he suggested as he opened the door. “ No,” she said firmlv ; “ just a short walk.” He sent the car away, and they set out. walking for a time in silence “ You shouldn’t have brought flowers,” she told him sternly, when they bad proceeded half-way down the street. “They’re a memorial for that one-day girl.‘” Again a silence. Then : “Of course, you know that you’ve been absolutely brazen,” she said. “ I tried everything else first.” “ Aren’t you sorry for the way you’ve behavbd?” “ Do you want me to be?” She knew he was smiling, but she 'would not look to see. “You ought to be.” she affirmed sharply. “ I’ll try to be,” he returned with vast insincerity. Then he added: “There; you’ve scolded me, and I’ve repented, and you’ve forgiven me. So now it’s all over, and we can talk of other things.” But she had not forgiven him— not by two streets. But presently she did. and then they began to talk of other things—in great variety. They talked of where to walk.

and of rubber heels, and of the cold bi illiance of stars, and of whether there were people on them. Then they talked about the opera and whether she would go with him next evening, just to show she had forgiven him for being masterful, and of how he would call for her before dinner, and how she’d dine at home, thank you, because it would save time, and of how he thought time didn't matter ; and of how she thought it did. because she didn’t want to miss a note of the first act : and of ! how she really must go home now. and how short the walk had seemed to him ; and of th e fact it had, upon the contrary,« been much longer than she had intended it to be. And when they reached Sylvia’s doorstep that evening they were infin itely better friends than they had been when they set out; and when they reached it again, next night, after the opera, they were better, better friends. When, leaving her in a sheltered corner, one evening after the theatre was over, Sarjent went to find his car. and for no particular reason whatevei she had a frightened fancy that he wa~ never coming back. Perhaps she had been dragging out her “one day” too far, perhaps “Why. Sylvia!” exqlaimed a placid voice with a “ what-can-you be doingtere?” inflection. Sylvia started, stared, and found herself looking into the face of Alls Smythe-Lyons. Edith was at her mo ther’s side. Sylvia marshalled her wit-4 and murmured greetings. Then she saw Sarjent coming back. Mother and daughter caught sight of him simultane ously, and realised that Sylvia was with him. •We must go.” said Airs Sinythe Lyons. “I see James outside. car must lie coming up.” “Why, Airs Smythe-Lyons!” exclaimed Sarjent, and both ladies returned the greeting. “ You and Sylvia —are here, together?” said Edith, in a fluttering sort of voice. “ Yes,” beamed Sarjent; “you see, 1 managed to unearth her after you both failed.” “Failed?” Airs Smythe-Lyons braved it impudently. “I don’t un derstand. Didn't you meet her at our house?” “Yes.” he returned, “but not as often as 1 wished to. You know vou tried a number of times to get Miss Westbrook to tea afterwards, but she* would never come.” “ Alother,” said Edith sharply, “ are you coming or not?” Then, without giving an answer or saying good night, they broke away to their car. A moment later Sarjent’s car came along, and he whirled Sylvia into it ■ Good hea\ ». ! I wouldn’t have be | lieved it!” he burst out. “ What?” asked Sylvia. “They never invited you to tea at all. did thev?” Sylvia did not answer. In his next outburst of indignation he began caning the Srnythe Lyonses a lot of na:m> then suddenly broke off and. leaning towards her. said: “After all. I ow<* meeting you to them —and you know

how much it meant to me—dort*t you. Sylvia, dearest?'’ he asked tenderly. “ Yes,” said a small voice near hi shoulder. “ And it was my beautifu one day too,” she added very softly. “One long day, then, one long dn» for us. dear, of everlasting love—wlia r do you say?’’ Sylvia said, “ Yes.’*