A SMALL PIECE OF GOSSIP

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 27, 4 July 1891, Page 136

A SMALL PIECE OF GOSSIP

AND ITS CONSEQUENCE.

ELL, it was awfully mean of her !’ * But really, Kathleen, if you think she wrote the article you complain of, your most honourable course is to go to her and tax her with it. I think this backbiting and slanderingabsent people is mean, if you like.’ * Oh, Maude, I shouldn’t like to mention it to her. Perhaps she didn’t do it after all.’ * I still maintain that you should either drop the subject altogether, or give her a chance to explain herself.’ ■ Hullo '.’ cried a hearty voice. ‘ Are you girls gossiping again ?

Who is the unfortunate victim this time’’ • We were not talking about anyone personally, cousin Philip,’ said Kathleen, ‘ but we were condemning someone’s action.’ , , r • The conversation is pretty safe to drift from a person s actions to a person’s self. <>f whom are you speaking ?’ and Philip balanced himself on the arm of an easy chair as he took the cup of tea his cousin proffered. • Well, you mustn’t say anything, Philip, but you remember that concert we got up last week 1 Do you know, Miss Stalk actually wrote a report of it to the Wellington paper, and pitched into all the singers most unmercifully !’ • But,’ said a quiet girl who was reclining luxuriously against the sofa cushions, ‘ I don't believe she did write it. She’s not clever enough for a sarcastic article like that.’ • I am quite sure that Miss Stalk would not do anything underhand, or that would be likely to hurt anyone’s feelings,’ said Philip, warmly. Kathleen glanced sharply at him. Two or three times lately she had fancied that' this wealthy, handsome cousin, whom she fully intended to marry herself, had been rather too pronounced in his attentions to Dolores Stalk. So she said, maliciously : ‘ Well, it will not be the first time she has been guilty of underhand conduct. I think she is very sly and designing.’ ‘ I thought you and she were such friends,’ said Philip, looking searchingly at his cousin. ‘ So we were, but—oh, well, I won t say anything about it, as it’s all dong past now, but she and I will never be friends again.’ This version of a severed friendship, which had been caused by Kathleen’s love of gossip and jealousy of pretty Dolores, made Maude and the quiet girl on the sofa exchange amused and meaning glances, for Kathleen’s designs on her cousin, and his preference for Dolores, were well known in the little suburb of Brelat. The friends separated, Maude still generously urging that it was only right Miss Stalk should have a fair chance to prove herself innocent if she really was so, and Kathleen laughingly protesting that it wasn t worth making a fuss about. The thing would die out of itself. But it did not die out. Nay, as almost every piece of idle gossip does, it gained by every repetition over five-o’clock teas and club dinners, until Philip, who had been away from Brelat for a week, was greeted on his return with the same story so improved ami enlarged as to be unrecognisable. With a pang he realised how dear this deceitful girl was to him, and how unworthy of his love. There was a large masquerade dance just coming off, to attend which Philip had specially been urged by his cousin to return speedily. Somehow he did not now care so much about it as when, only three weeks ago, Kathleen and Dolores and he had been discussing fancy dresses at the house of a mutual friend. The meeting had been accidental, for though Kathleen and Dolores still exchanged occasional visits, they saw very little of each other, and only Philip’s attention to Dolores, and his cousin's devotion to him, hml drawn them together over the interesting, important, and ungrammatical question : ‘ W hat shall Igo as? On entering the ball-room, Philip eagerly scanned the motley crowd before him, looking, but in vain, for a little grey nun. Then Dolores was not there. Had the committee gone so far as to intimate to her that her presence would not be acceptable ? Or had she feared to meet those whom she had — according to the latest rumour —cruelly wronged and foully slandered ’. Ah, well, he would think of her no more. He would dance with any figure that took his fancy, and forget the girl whom he was, he believed, forced to imagine, no fit wife for an upright, truth-loving man. So he invited a quietly robed Greek girl to be his partner in a polka, and then for the barn door dance he delighted Kathleen, whose costume he knew, by a request for the honour, etc. As the Russian nobleman, in his sable-bordered coat, and the gipsy, in her bright, appropriate costume, turned and twisted, clasped hands, then again assumed a more affectionate attitude, a dainty figure, in white skirt composed of petals of satin overlapping each other, a green satin bodice representing the stalk of the lily, whilst lilies nestled on her shoulders and crowned her flowing hair, watched the only two whose masks did not prevent her from recognizing them, since she had heard them plan the costumes. Perfectly ignorant as yet of the base slanders in circulation amongst a small portion of the Bretal community, Dolores had changed from the grey nun she had first decided upon to the far prettier design of a lily. Hence, when attracted by her dress, Philip presently asked her to waltz with him, Dolores gladly consented, and was at some pains to disguise her voice. She was exceeding amused at his second remark.

• Do you know Miss Stalk ?’ t * Yes, I believe I have seen her, that is——' • There are such queer stories afloat about her, pursued Philip, who hoped to hear some denial of Miss Stalk s guilt if he'made sufficiently numerous inquiries concerning her. ‘ t jueer stories ?' breathed Dolores. • Yes. But if you have not heard them, 1 shall not say anything about them to you. W hat an odd sight all these veiled acquaintances are!’ * I should so like to hear the stories,’ murmured Dolores. * Would you ? That’s just what everyone in Brelat has aid, I imagine, and for pure love of gossip, or for want

of something besides the weather to talk about, that poor girl’s misdoings have been made the general subject of conversation for the last fortnight or so.’ ‘ Then you believe her guilty of whatever she has been accused of ?’

Philip sighed. ‘ I have no choice,’ he said. * Have you ever given her the opportunity of proving her innocence ?’ queried Dolores keeping up her feigned voice with great difficulty. • No, oh, no. I could not insult her like that. Supposing she really was innocent, which, I fear, is utterly impossible, she would certainly never speak to me again. If she is guilty But I cannot discuss this question with a stranger. I onght not to have begun it, but I cannot help thinking about it. Thank you,’ as the waltz ended, and Dolores, her voice strained and hard, all need for disguising it taken away, withdrew her arm, saying, ‘I am tired. I am going to sit down,’ and abruptly left him. Where could she go? She felt stunned and bewildered. They were just beginning a country dance, the signal for a general unmasking. He would know who she was. He would think she ought to have told him at once that she was Dolores. He was such an honourable man, he would think she should have checked him when he mentioned her own name. She bad listened to what he most certainly did not intend her to hear. But what were people saying about

her ? She could not think of anything she had done or said that could possibly have given rise to general gossip about herself. Before she had made up her mind what to do, the unmask - ng began. Philip was standing nearly opposite Dolores. He raised his mask and turned to see who his partner would prove to be. It was the Maude who had suggested that Dolores should have a chance to prove her innocence. The eyes of the two girls met. Maude started. ‘ There is Miss Stalk,’she cried.

Philip looked, and Dolores read astonishment then contempt in his expressive eyes. With a half choked sob she left the room. The next day Dolores sought Maude in her own home, and entreated her to explain what Philip’s cruel words the previous evening could have meant. Maude made her remove her walking garments, ensconced her in an easy chair, and strengthening her by a cup of good tea, told all that she knew. At that moment Philip and a friend of his were announced. Dolores left her seat ami stoo 1, half hidden by the windowcurtain, her hands clasped, gazing into the garden. Philip saw her, and fancying she had not observed him, said in a low tone to Maude : ‘ If you will kindly excuse me just now, I will call later. Meantime, accept as my substitute Dr. Jackson.’ He quietly retreated, and Dolores, whose keen, listening ears had beard every word, turned round as the door closed, and fell in a dead faint on the floor. ‘ She is not well,’ Maude explained, as Dr. Jackson lifted her up and laid her on a sofa. * Her sister’s children have

had the iniinenza, and she has been nursing them. Besides she was tired out with the ball, and owned just now she bad not slept a wink all night.’ Thus did Maude try to persuade the doctor that poor Dolores had only these very natural causes to thank for her sudden swoon.

Dolores was very ill for days after this meeting with her lover, and the medical man in attendance called in the young doctor who had recently begun to practise near Brelat. Dr. Jackson shook his head.

* She has received a severe mental shock,’ he said, * which coming after her days and nights of nursing, has been too mnch for her.’ * Maude,’ whispered Dolores a few days later, * I have found out who wrote that article. •It was Kathleen herself.’

* Don’t agitate yourself, dear,’ said Maude, who was a frequent visitor in the poor girl’s sick-room. ‘Tell me quietly how you know.’ Ana Dolores explained that she had told the whole story to a friend of hers who had just gone to Wellington. He had made inquiries, which had resulted in proving that the author of all the mischief was undoubtedly Kathleen. As Maude was walking home she encountered Philip, and promptly told him the whole story. * Oh, Dolores,’ he cried, * how could 1 mistrust you ! How could I wrong you so !’ Maude did not know what to say. His strong emotion surprised her. * I must see Miss Stalk at once,’ he exclaimed. * Will you take me to her.’ Maude hesitated, and tears came into her eyes. ‘ She is dying,’ she murmured softly. ‘I do not know if they will let you see her.’ Together they, a few minutes later, entered the sickroom. Maude gave Dolores some medicine, with the nurse’s permission, then they left the room, and the lovers were alone. ‘ Dolores, I know all. Can you ever forgive me?' Philip sank on his knees by the couch, and took the white, wasted hand in his. A beautiful smile passed over her face. *lam so happy,’ she said. * I could almost wish to live now.’ ‘ You shall not die,’ he cried, passionately kissing her hand. ‘My darling, my darling ; I love you. Marry me and live.’

A perfectly satisfied sigh escaped the girl’s lips. ‘ Oh, Philip,’ she breathed, ‘this is too much joy,’ and with his kisses on her lips and brow she passed away. Truly a sad ending to a small piece of gossip. L.F.R.