FANNY THE FLOWERGIRL.

Western Star, Issue 2216, 24 June 1898, Page 6

FANNY THE FLOWERGIRL.

Who is it, Mrs. Graham ? ” “ A man, madame. He gave me his card and I was to ask if you would see him. The housekeeper advanced, presenting a dainty card-tray towards the speaker. A look of mingled curiosity and annoyance pa-seil over the features of the lady as she raised the soiled card from the tray and glanced at the name it bore.

The letters were scarcely legible,“ ‘Char les what is it, Mrs. Graham ? 4 Charles George Court —Courtney.’ Ah ! A moment Mrs Graham, please. Leave me for a moment. Then I may see him.” “ The housekeeper marked the strange look which clouded the speaker’s beautiful tace as she read the full name. Pain, contempt, and sympathy were in turn discernible in the rapid alternation of emotions she betrayed. Mrs. Graham retired and waited for a further summons.

The lady sat in her easy chair gazing upon the soiled card which she held in her hand.j • • Perhaps he is ignorant of it —I mast sec him ” she soliloquised. 44 Violinist,” she continued. 41 Strange I Poor Charlie ! Now for retribution.” A (ouch of the bell brought the housekeeper

again. 44 Show the gentleman up, Mrs. Graham , I will see him,” was the instruction given in a calm and dulcet tone. The strange look had passed fiom the speaker’s face and now peace and sympathy dwelt there. The housekeeper again retired. There was the sound of voices, of footsteps on the stairs, and the door of the chamber was re-opened. .. Mr Charles George Courtney, madame.” exclaimed Mrs. Graham, as the stranger passed in. He was a man of about five-and-tbirty. His thin countenance bore traces of careand struggle, and scarce hid the workings of a cynical nature soured by conflict with the world. His farworn dress confirmed the revelation of his

features. «• Miss Emeline Revelle, I presume, he remarked, advancing towards the lady, and bowing faultlessly as be cast a hasty glance around the luxuriously furnished apartment. 44 Yes ; Mr. Courtney I believe,” she replied, with a graceful bow in response to that of the stranger. 44 T0 what do I owe this visit ?

“ I am a musician, a violinist, madame, and have taken the unusual course of waiting upon you to inquire if you can engage me. 1 know it is irregular, but circumstances are—pressing —madame— ai.d—and —

Miss Kevelle h-id changed her position. The light now fell fnll upon her features, and a pair of eyes of singular birghtness was fixed upon those of the stranger. As her face, turned towards him, was revealed by the bright morning light, he stammered and paused, and his eyes fell to the door. A sudden change had come over him. “ Be seated, Mr. Courtney,” said the lady calmly. “ Tell me your story.” He sank mechanically into the nearest chair, and with an evident effort raised his eyes to look at the lady. “ Tell me everything,” she said, with strange emphasis upon her last word. “ 1— 1 didn’t know of this. I must apologise ] didn’t know it was you,” he stammered, “ So you didn’t know that Emelina Revellc, of the Ceeilian Company, was little Fanny the flower girl of nine years ago,” she said, with a touch of cynicism. “1 did not—l did not," he answered uervously. I’ll —l’ll bid you good morning.”

“ Stiy, Charlie,” she said, motioning with a hand and arm of surpassing lovliaess, for him to keep his seat. ** I asked you to tell me your story. You did not. You know you dare not. You want to run away now you know who 1 am. —Stay ! Hear mo tell the story.”

“ When Charlie Courtney professed to make love to poor Fanny Kevelle, nine years ago, a girl’s heai t and love were given him in return. She believed in him and worshipped him. She thought of him by night and day, and wondered how she might make him happiest. Hut her hops and love were blasted, ruthlessly. You know how. You learned that ‘ Angel Fanny ’ as you were pleased to call hi r, was a poor flower girl with only love to give in return for love. You had not that to give. You had neither money nor love, and had no talent that could win you fame. You turned in scorn from the ‘ common flower girl ’ and went after a painted butterfly more poor than she, and as worthless as yourself. Now, you are penniless and loveless. I am Emeliue Kevelle, the violinist I have wealth, and the world wor-

ships me.” “ I know—l know—” he groaned. “ I wits a fool—l have always been a fool—l’m done. J wish I were dead—dead 1” he exclaimed, bending double in his agony. “ Here. Take this. You don’t deserve it for blighting a poor girl’s love. Take it and B She drew a small leather case from her pocket, and took from it two bank notes. Without looking at their value she handed them to him. “ I cannot engage you for I cannot trust you. You deceived me once. It was enough. Now go,’’ she said, as he tremblingly took the paper from her hand.

“ Very mysterious. That man’s aged twentyyears since he went up Ihose stairs,” said Mrs. Graham to herself as the door closed behind the tottering form of Mr. Charles George Courtney.