THE ACTRESS’S PHOTO.

Western Star, Issue 1292, 27 February 1897, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE ACTRESS’S PHOTO.

•< It may be so,” said Mrs. Jobling with rather evident reluctance, “ but when I think of the change that took place in the conduct of Jobling, just when 1 was getting used to being the wife of a paragon, I tell you candidly I have my doubts.” Mrs Jobling sniffed portentously and assumed the aspect of a corpulent Cassandra. Sire had dropped in upon the newly-married Mrs. Sandford, and was seated In the comfortable attitude of conversational matronhood.with one glove off, her veil (which she called a “ fall ”) just raised above her nose, and a gla§s of wine directly in her line of vision. Mrs. Jobling was ill-natured and fat, although thin people are supposed to have the monopoly of bad temper, and when her own affairs admitted of no complaints she was oply too happy to discover grievances for her friends. She had watched the married life of her near neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Sandford, begin and proceed smoothly, and, failing any actual disagreement between them, she had felt it incumbent upon her to prophesy schism in the near future. Had not Jobling and she been at variance for twenty years ? Very well then. Bat Mrs. Fred Sandford, after a year of married life, felt no qualms, and had no fear of her own homo becoming like that of her visitor. Indeed, she felt it eould not, for she personally lacked the combative energy of Jobling’s spouse, whose debates with her husband wore models of exhaustless rhetoric. Neither could Mrs. Fred understand Jobling’s conduct, for he never “ rose in reply.” On the contrary, he maintained an unmoved silence. He was known everywhere as “ Jobling ’’ pure and simple. This in itself was instructive as denoting a personalty the reverse of awe-inspiring. “ But,” said Mrs. Fred, “ why should there be any awakening for me ? Surely all marriages are not unhappy ? Some men must be true and kind.”

« All men,” returned the prophetess, finishing her wine and preparing to go, “ are deceitful and bad, Some men arc worse than others Jobling would be the worst of ail but for my guidance— but they are all the same, as you. my dear, will discover “ Fred is consideration itself,” retorted Mrs. Sandford, getting angry ; “ why, ho does every thing I tell him !” » Everything ?” asked Mrs. Jobling. “ Yes,” said Mrs. Fred. “ I thought you objected to cigarettes,” said the stout lady, as she playfully pointed to a half-smoked whiff that lay in the fireplace. Mrs. Sandford was annoyed, not so much at the cigarette as at her husband’s detractor having perceived it, but she bravely replied. “ Well, that’s the only thing, and I’m sure there’s no harm in that. I don’t like it, but it would be selfish to insist—”

“ Poor dear,” ejaculated Mrs. Jobling with the pity of a guardian angel “ Poor dear. Depend upon it, if he disregards your wish in this, there are other things too ! Well, well, perhaps not. I’m sure I hope so ! ” and she surged down the garden path leaving a swirl of dead leaves in her wake. Mrs Sandford would have cried, had not Fred been nearly due; so she merely calhsd Mrs. Jobling an “ old thing ” (which she considered a violent cpithethmd pulverised the incriminating cigarette end. Fred was a quarter of an hour late, which was a common occurrence enough, but to-day his little wife was uneasy and worried about it. When he did come he explained that hi* office had kqpt him. Mrs. Fred seemed to find the phrase fraught with deception, and the evening was her first unhappy one. She nervously pictured her dear husband “ gallivanting ” (a favourite word of her late Visitor) that quarter of an hour away in the ribald society of some racketty debauchee possibly the recreant Jobling himself. But no ! That Mohock never never came before nine at least. It could not be he ! Was there, then, some other ? Mrs. Sandford cried that night, and excused herself on the plea of a headache. This was her first deception, bat she thought the euphemism was more than matched by Fred’s mention of a fictitious office delay. In the morning, however, ail the croukings of Jobling’s mentor were forgotten, and Mrs. Fred was her own light-hearted self again. She chatted merftly to her young husband, tried to over feed him at breakfast, and watched him down the path with the same smilihg face that he had learnt to look for.

Mrs. Jobling —a few doors off—saw Fred stop accidentally at her gate to light a cigarette. Sho sighed heavily, and beguiled her help-meet's last cup of coffee with several admonitory remarks that lasted till Jobling, too, went Oity-ward—atfd as happily as Fred—though from a different reason. That afternoon a messenger rang Mrs. Fred’s bell loudly, nearly startling that lady out of her mind. It was only a message from Fred, who bad left an important document in a coat-pocket and wanted it immediately. Mrs. Fred ran to get it, thinking how nice it was to be so useful to her hard-worked husband. It was really like helping him at the office. The blue paper was soon found, encased in an envelope, and handed to the messenger, who puzzled Mrs. Sandford by the largeness of his fresh smile. Ho must have heard her say “ Dear old boy !” Perhaps he thought it was meant for him ! Mrs. Fred blushed. But the blush died away, and a look of piteous horror supervened as she started to replace .her husband’s papers' in his pocket. For there, on the chair, among 'letters and papers, lay a photograph —a photograph of a pretty girl, with tho superscription “ Ever voure, Emilio Ventadour.” This sho saw as' she bent her head to read* though sho could not for her fife touch the fatal thing. Neither could sbo further displace tho papers. She felt that to touch fhem would tempt further evidences of guilt —looks of hair, faded flowers and euch like paraphernalia of illicit love. Fred's wife did not weep this time, she simply thought deeply. Should she consult the wronged Mrs. Jobling F Nji> ( A thousand times no. Her mind was soon made up, and she started to act. With half-uttered sobs and a swelling heart, Mrs. Sandford reviewed tho position, a petite version of the Tragic Muse. This, then, was the end. Ho was deceitful—wicked—false. He, too, forgot his wife when away frpm her, and lived another existence. He, too, was a Mohock, a rake, a—a Jobling. Nay. he was

worse than that. Jobling never rose to these heights of infamy. Worst of afl, he (that is, Fred, not Jobling) did not love her a bit—her Fred !

Half-an-hour afterward the garden gate clanged behind the departing figure of the much-wronged wife, a fugitive from a wrecked Paradise, a woman who had drained the cup of sad experience to its dregs. The libertine Fred, on returning home, received with surprise a letter from his spouse, at the contents of which he laughed aloud, such was his callous nature. Ihe missive ended with these words :

' “ All is at an end between us. I have at last discovered your perfidy. To attempt to trace me would'be useless. I have disappeared for ever. Besides, (pother would never permit me to return to such a monster.--P.S. 1 leave you the photograph of the person,in case you should follow me to obtain it.” The rake secured the photograph, dbnned his bat, and was leaving the house, when a portly figure loomed up the gravel path. It was Mrs. jobling. •« Has poor Mrs. Sandford returned yet ?” asked that lady. “ No, Madam,” paid Fred, politely, “Ah I poor girl!” ejaculated the visitor. “ I feared it would come to this ! Poor, poor girl !" Might I ask,” said Fred, “ what you know of this matter ?” “I know all,” answered his guest. “ I have called three times already, and I know she left a letter for you. You are discovered, sir. I told her how it would be,” Fred murmured something which doubtless confirmed Mrs. Jobling in her low estimate of his character, and left that lady rooted to his own gravel path. When Fred reached the house of his mother-in-law, about a mile away, ho was a little irritated, and met the reproachful glances of his relatives by marriage with a defiant glare, at which they sighed pityingly. Mrs, Fred was not visible, but ber husband demanded her production. A more woebegone bundle of misery never endeavoured to assume an air of righteous, indignation. She had evidently been crying with (he family, for her nose and eyes, as well as theirs, were red and stained.

“ What have you to say to me,” she asked, “ before you leaVe mo in peace ? ” Fred for reply produced the damning photograph. A shudder rose from the assembled family and died reproachfully away in the chandelier. “ You know this photograph ? ” asked Fred. “ Yes,” mumbled his injured wife. “ Will you oblige me by looking at the back of it. then P ” continued Mr. Sandford. Mrs. Fred tremblingly took the picture, turned it over gingerly and through her tears read t “ Try Trebizzonde Cigarettes. An autographed photograph of a favourite actress in every packet.” Mrs. Fred Sandford has taken Mrs. Jobline’s advice. She has insisted on her husband forswearing cigarettes. He now blows big clouds from an enormous- pipe.—“ Modem Society.”