KIPLING’S ROMANCE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 9, 28 February 1891, Page 15

KIPLING’S ROMANCE.

A Pretty Story of the Popular Author’s Love. Affair. Years ago a pretty and very bright girl living in Beaver, married a young Englishman. He was a pleasant, well bred, well educated young man, with good prospects. Shortly before the marriage the husband obtained an appointment in the Indian Civil Service, a first rate position. The bride was delighted with her new home, and her letters home were full of expressions of delight. After a time there came mention of the names of new friends, men and women who had welcomed the young lady, and among such allusions were frequent references to a young journalist and story writer who was said to be a really wonderful fellow and a great friend of the husband of the letter writer. Then there weie long leaves of absence and the Beaver home welcomed husband and wife and a friend of the husband—the young journalist, who was on his wav to England. This guest remained in Beaver almost a month, and, although a modest and retiring young man, he won the good will of everybody. A few days alter the party arrived the gossips began to say it was evident that the journalist was deeply in love with Iris friend’s wife. She did not seem to be at all aware of it, nor did her husband. Her treatment of the guest was frank, friendly, and ladylike, without a particle of affectation or Hirtation. All the gossips agreed on this point, and they said further that it was a pity the journalist could not have bestowed his affections in a quarter where theie could have been hope of return. This was a year ago last summer. The young wife and her husband ieturned to India ; their friend went to London. There have beer strange changes since then. The shy young man from India has become one of the most notable writers of English fiction of his day. Hard work—and perhaps some hidden unhappiness—has broken down his health, and he is now in the Riviera seeking strength under the Italian skies. A few days ago there came sad news from the Indian Hill station. The husband had died suddenly. Later came word that the young widow would arrive home some time in December. One evening during that summer visit to the little town the journalist had a long talk with an eldeily married lady who had won his confidence. Nobody knows what they talked about, but the gossips say that since the news of that death in India a letter has gone across the seas which bears in the first line of its superscription the words, ‘Mr Rudyard Kipling,’ and the gossips wonder if there will be another chaptei to this story. .

Mis Omens: ‘Do you believe in signs, Mr D. Aubert’ Mr D'Auber : ‘ Yes, indeed ; 1 paint ’em.’ Cadley : ‘ What is it your little boy calls you ?’ Marlow : ‘Pretty papa.’ Cauley: ‘lsn’t he rather young for saicasm