Between H. and N.

New Zealand Graphic, 24 December 1891, Page 17

Between H. and N.

4 CHRISTMAS FRAGMENT.

BY

MRS L. FROST RATTRAY,

AUTHOR OK * SUCH A

SUITABLE MATCH,’ ETC., ETC.

K ? CLOUDLESS New Zealand sky. A soft breeze from the South Pacific j Ocean gently fanning the ti-tree bushes, 3 and causing the punga-ferns to bow slightly <57) tQ eae |j o tij er to casual acquaintances. Lying full length under their welcome shade is a young man. The beauty of the Manakau Harbour, as seen from his resting place, has apparently no charms for him. The summer stillness, broken only by the monotonous swish, swish, of the incoming tide against the rocks,or the rhythmic lippie of the tiny wavelets on the shore, has no soothing effect upon him. Something very serious indeed is amiss with Paul Rivers. And what is it 1 Merely that he has proposed to the wrong girl I * And how I could have been such an idiot is what puzzles me !’ he exclaims, sitting despairingly upright, and ruthlessly pulling a tiny fern from its cosy nook in a little hollow.

The sound of approaching steps causes him to glance crossly towards the oeach at his right hand. Another young man, holding a towel in his hand is leisuiely making his way under the shelter of the overhanging rata in the direction of the cove celebrated as a firstrate bathing place. The new comer looks towards the pungas as if meditating a short rest in his journey. Naturally, he sees Paul. • Hullo Rivers,’ is the characteristic colonial greeting, * what are you doing there?’ * I came out for a think,’ avers Paul, mournfully. * I say, Neilson, I’m in a horrid scrape.’ Rupert Neilson resolves on at once taking a rest under those inviting fern trees. He is excessively curious what sort of scrape his sober friend ean possibly have got into. Rupert whistles as Paul briefly and baldly states his position.

• You’ve proposed to Nettie Singer instead of to her cousin, Hettie,’ he says. * Well, after all, you might do worse than marry Nettie. She’s not half a bad sort.’ ‘ Perhaps not. But, strange as it mny seem, I don’t love her, and Ido love her cousin. I’m awfully in love,’ Paul adds after a terrible sigh of regret. * Tell nre how you came to make such a mistake,’ queries his friend.

‘ Well, you see it’s my bad writing partly. I never thought of asking which of the two was really Miss Singer . You see Nettie’s people always living here, we young fellows called her by her Christian name, until she came back such a swell from tbat school in Germany. Then we called her Miss Singer. And when her jolly little cousin ’ — here poor Paul groaned—‘ came up from Christchurch exactly six weeks ago, wc heard her spoken of so much by

her Christian name, and she was so sweet and lovable, wealways called her Miss Hettie.’

* Yes,’ assents Rupert, * she’s a very attractive girl.’ This is enough to set Paul raving about his lost ladylove.

‘Oh, Rupert,’ he exclaims, ecstatically, ‘let me tell you all about my first sight of the darling. You know old Singer's house, don't you? Well, I rode up to the iron gates at the entrance with my usual indifference, and halted to open them. I nearly knocked my head against the stone pillar, for sitting on the circular seat under the huge tree on the lawn was the most bewitching and divine girl you ever saw. She had on a white blouse bodiee and a blue skirt, and she was pretending to sew, and all the time peeping round the trunk of the tree at me. “ Who can it be ?” I thought, and I nearly walked into the pond, as 1 led my horse up the drive (I had dismounted, because I could stale at her over my horse’s neck). Then I was introduced to her, and played with her little work basket, and mixed up her cottons. That was Hettie !’

Paul groaned. ‘Oh ! Well, go on, old fellow ; skip those groans, you can fill them in afterwards. How did you ever make a mistake in the proposition—isn’t that the word ?’ ‘ Don’t make fun of it,’ says Paul Rivers, clasping his hands round his knees. It’s awfully serious for me, you know.’

* I’m not making fun, I assure you, Rivers. On my honour, I’m really sorry for you.’ Paul, seemingly reassured by the earnestness of his friend’s tone, goes on self-reproachfully : * I can’t think how I could have been so stupid, but I be lieve men in love are always more or less imbecile. I heard Hettie was going South by Thursday’s boat—last week.

you know. I couldn't get a word alone with her, m> I wrote to her.’ * Well, didn't she get the letter?' * No, her cousin Nettie did.’ * Good gracious ! And did she accept you ?' * Yes, in most loving terms.’ * Whew ! But I say, how did it happen ? Nettie didn’t open Hetties letter, did she’’ *No It was this way. Thinking Nettie was Miss Singer, 1 carefully addressed ruy letter to * Miss Hettie Singer,’and you know how bad my writing is always. Being in love and shaky, made it worse, and the H looked just like an N, so as Hettie’s letters are always addressed • Miss Singer,’ Nettie naturally concluded it was meant for herself. Whatever shall I do, Neilson?, ‘ It’s terribly unfortunate. Has Hettie gone South :’ * No, she received a telegram from her father telling her she could stay up here for Christmas. Now, I'm going a picnic with them all on Boxing Day, and she’ll be there of course. A pretty picnic it will be for me ! Engaged to one girl, and desperately in love with another.’

Boxing Day has come, and Paul Rivers has found no way out of his difficulty. He has kept aloof from Nettie Singer, pleading great pressure of work. But to-day he must face the awkward position ; there is no getting out of it. The weather is all that could be desired ; and though Paul had thought of wiring down to Wellington, entreating the ■clerk of the weather, Captain Edwin, to send up one, or if necessary, two gales, he had not carried out his idea. So presently he finds himself in the large brake which is to convey the party to their picnicking grounds in the Waitakeri Ranges. He is seated next to his betrothed, and opposite the girl whom he loves. It is dreadfully hard to refrain from an occasional too-regretfully affectionate glance in her direction.

After lunch though, Paul’s troubles really begin. Their engagement lias not been made public, but naturally Nettie expects her lover to ask her to stroll off with him through the bush, to enjoy the dual solitude proper to their position. ■Conversation rather flags. Ordinary topics seem, even to Paul’s preoccupied mind, not quite orthodox. But for the life of him he cannot say to Nettie what he knows he could have rapturously expressed to her cousin, had their positions been reversed.

Nettie feels his coldness acutely, and wonders what can be the cause of it. They have had no opportunity, as yet, of indulging in the delights of a lover’s quarrel. A prostrate totara tree bars their progress, and Paul disconsolately suggests they should sit down. He has suddenly made up his mind to accept the apparently inevitable, and to try and behave towards Nettie as a man should to the girl who has generously consented to marry him. Paul decides that he will speak to his companion as if she were the cousin whom he so loves, and perhaps his voice ■may sound affectionate enough to deceive his faincie. But, unfortunately his thoughts are too full of the absent one, and be makes an awful slip to begin with. * Hettie, darling,’ he says, and tries to insinuate his arm round her waist.

But she repulses him. ‘I am not Hettie,’ she says, •coldly. Through the red bronze produced by the hot December sun he can feel that he is blushing like a girl, and hastily tries to amend his unlucky words. * I meant Nettie, dear,’ he says. ‘ Oh,’ she retorts bitterly, ‘ she is Hettie darling, and I am only Nettie dear.' * No, no !’ lie asserts, a sudden fellow-feeling for Ananias asserting itself in his heart. ‘Of course I meant—that is to say, you, Nettie, are the darling. My darling, I should say. •On ! dear !’

He is a shocking actor. He has no self-command. He is just an impulsive, common-place, and at this moment, most miserable young man. Nettie looks at him in astonished disgust. ‘ Please do not force yourself to apply adjectives to me which you evidently don’t mean, Mr Rivers,’ she says, sternly. By this time she is quite as miserable as he is. She is really fond of him, and his extraordinary conduct puzzles and distresses her.

For a full minute they sit in dismal silence. Then a happy idea evolves itself from the hopeful brain of the girl. ‘ You do not seem quite yourself, Paul ’ (lingering over the name); ‘ have you had a sunstroke ?’ The distracted young man at once clutches at the straw she holds out to him.

‘ Yes, yes ; that’s just it. I had one a week ago. It’s made me a little queer, you know. I write letters and—and all sorts of things, and—and address them to wrong people ; and all that kind of thing. A man who’s had a stroke always does idiotic things, doesn’t he ?’ The dreadful truth is out at last. Paul breathes heavily, telling himself he is behaving like a brute, and feeling that he really shall go mad if this trying state of affairs does not speedily come to an end. An awful silence follows the incoherent speech, then Nettie, with a woman’s natural instinct to hide her wounded feelings, successfully simulates a laugh. ‘So you really did mean your letter for Hettie ? As it was addressed to me, I read it, and could not resist answering it! Was it not an excellent joke ? I believe you really thought I meant it too !’ She laughs again, and Paul is too utterly relieved to note how forced is her merriment. His laugh is boyishly jubilant. ‘Of course I did ? Ah ! Miss Singer, you are too good an actress for me ! You really ought to go on the stage. But,’ anxiously, ‘ you have not told anyone of the trick you have played me ?’ ■ No, of course not,’ she glibly replies. * That would have spoiled the joke.’ Paul has quite recovered his spirits. ‘Suppose I had kissed you ?’ he suggests. "I should have boxed your ears,’ she retorted. ‘lt is Boxing Day, you know. Why, here come Hettie and Cousin John ! I propose an exchange of partners.* The exchange is effected accordingly.

An hour or so later, as Paul and Hettie leisurely return to the tea-rendezvous, Hettie says demurely, ‘ I shall have to teach you to write, Paul, else you will be making another mistake between 11. and N.’

‘ Then Nettie did tell you ?’ ‘ Yes, she told me the very day she received your letter. Is she not an excellent actress?’

* Indeed she is,’ Paul answers, wondering, as a perverse man will, whether, after all, Nettie had not wilfully taken the H. for an N. But she never tells.