A SHORT ACQUAINTANCE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 16, 22 April 1893, Page 380

A SHORT ACQUAINTANCE.

Scene. — Library in Mrs Fraser's House. MBS FRASER DICK FRASER MISS BOLTON Mrs Fraser, (food looking woman of forts with bonnet on, is writing at a writing table. Dick Fraser, her nephew, young man of twenty eight having just finished a late breakfast, the remains of which are on the table, is standing by the mantelpiece, smoking.

RS FRASER : ‘ It’s the only thing to be done the only way I can possibly think of to fol \W| help yon. Marry Miss Bolton—try, at least, tv to n,arr V her—and I’ll see what can be done. feggcySfey If you don’t, 1 simply wash my hands of you. ’ Dick : • But, aunt, I never was a marrying man. Mrs Fraser : ‘ Then you must learn to be. Dick : ‘ But can you fancy me marrying for money ? Fancy me marrying at all ! I’m not suited to it—l m too fond of domestic life. No doubt Miss W hat s-her-name will want to go out every night to dances, and parties, and that sort of thing—and I’m not a dancing man? Mrs Fraser : ‘ Then you must become one, if necessary. I’ll tell you what it is, Dick—it’s not the slightest use grumbling. It is settled—or rather, I hope it soon will be. Make up what you call your mind to it as soon as possible. She’s coming to stay with us to-night.’

Dick (starting): ‘ What ?’ Mrs Fraser : ‘And yon must begin at once, please, to make yourself as agreeable as you can.’ Dick : ‘ There is one thing you seem quite to forget, aunt. It’s possible that an heiiess like Miss Bolton might not care for a fellow in my position, with no money and no prospects, and not particularly good-looking. (Turns round and looks in the glass over the mantelpiece—smiles.) I say it’s possible, you know, I don’t say its probable.’ Mrs Fraser : ‘ Miss Bolton has every reason to wish to be married. She has no parents, and it is very dull for her, living in the country with a companion, or else staying about with friends in London. She is five-and-twenty now.’

Dick : ‘ How is it she has not married already.’ Mrs Fraser : ‘ Well, that’s her peculiarity. She has such a dislike to the idea of being married for her money, that she discourages everyone as soon as she suspects anything of that kind. You must be very careful, whatever you do, not to appear to think of her

money. . t Dick (stupidly) : ‘ How am I to help it ? Mrs Fraser : '• Oh, I think I can leave it to you !’ Dick : ‘ And is she pretty '! Mrs Fraser (emphatically) : ‘ She has five thousand a year !’ Dick : ‘ Is she very ugly ?’ Mrs Fraser: ‘Oh, what a nuisance you are, Dick ! Having once made up your mind to try, what does it matter whether she is or not ? There’s no object in blinding your-self to the facte. Why pretend you’te going to fall in love ? For I suppose yon have decided, haven’t you ?’ Dick : ‘ All right. I’ll be as base and meicenary as you like. Tell me what she is like, though—what sort of gill she is. Because I can be any sort of fellow, almost, if I only know the sort she likes. Is she athletic? I’ll talk golf, tennis and boating with her. Is she aesthetic ? Then I’ll shave off my moustache, wear a green carnation, and get up quotations from the last French poet. Is she fond of art,? What are her “ private views ”on the subject of Impressionism? Is she musical ? You might tell me !’ Mrs Fraser: ‘Well, though you don’t deserve it a bit, she’s simply a charming girl. It would serve you right if she were everything you detest, but she is not. (holds letter.) She’s very much nicer than you deserve. I must go out now —there’s a sale on at Marshall’s which I couldn't feel myself justified in neglecting. (Arranges bonnet in front of glass.) I leave you to think it over. She is musical now 1 remember.’ Dick : ‘Ob, horrors ! Monday Pops, orchestral concerts, vocal recitals, operas, tenors and baritones. Well, one thing I’m determined—l’ll sing to her.myself. It may cure her of her taste for music.’ Mrs Fraser : ‘ Dick ! I entreat you ! Don’t—before your marriage, at any rate. (Goes out ; returns, saying) : Oh, by the wav, I am expecting a governess here whom I’m going to engage for the children. If she arrives before I come back, don’t let her go. Keep her, mind, until I return.’ 1 Dick (takes up paper) : ‘lt’s not a bit like me, plotting and scheming, and that sort of thing—l’m generally rather impulsive. There’s no news in the papers —nothing but influenza. (Stretches himself. A ring is heard.) Dick : ‘ Who can this be ?’ ; Enter Miss Holton. Servant announces her unintelligibly, ,<a clears the breakfast.) nick : ‘This must be the governess—what a pretty girl and how smaitly rigged out, (aside ; coming forward) ; Oh, Mrs Fraser asked me to tell you she was obliged to go out and hopes you won’t go before she comes.’ Miss Bolton : • Go? I’ve only just come.’ Dick : ‘ Quite so. She hopes—l mean, you’ll wait a little, won’t you ? My aunt told me she was expecting you to talk about—a —teaching the children. Miss Bolton (aside): ‘He thinks I’m a governess. (Goes to the fire to warm her hands.) Yes, to be sure; it was not quite settled.’ Dick : ‘ But I hope it will be.’ Miss Bolton : ‘Why ?’

Dick : ‘The children would be very lucky, I think, and I’m very fond of them. I shouldn’t like them to be unhappy, {.aside) horrid little brutes !’ Miss Bolton : ‘ Do you like children?’ Dick : * Well, to be perfectly frank—no, I detest them. Either they shout, and knock things down, and say the wrong thing ; or else they’re “ shy,” and valuable time is wasted in trying to make them say something that nobody wants to hear. It seems to me awfully hard lines that anyone so—excuse my saying so—charming as yourself, Miss -’ Miss Bolton : ‘ Jones.’

Dick : • Miss Jones—yes, I remember my aunt told me—should spend your whole life giving them lessons—teaching the young idea and that sort of thing—to creatures that are incapable of appreciating you.’ Miss Bolton (smiling): ‘lt is hard—sometimes !’ Dick : * You ought to be going out, enjoying yourself, dancing every night—that sort of thing.’ Miss Bolton : ‘ Oh, that’s not at all my idea of enjoyment. I think there is nothing so pleasant as to spend an evening by the fire in a cosy armchair, with a nice book and a nice friend.’ Dick : ‘ How odd ! That’s exactly my idea 1 And do you object to smoking ?’ Miss Bolton (laughing) : * Oh, you may smoke if you like !’ Dick: * Not for woilds ! I was speaking hypothetically. But really it must be very hard work looking after these little brats.’ Miss Bolton : ‘ The trials of poverty yon see !’ Dick : *Ah ! isn’t it a dreadful thing? To whom do you

say it ? What have I not suffered from it ?’ Miss Bolton : ‘ You ?’ Dick : ‘ Certainly ; it’s the tragedy of my life. Born of poor but rather dishonest parents, who brought me up with tastes which I am not in a position to gratify, I have now nothing on earth but debts, and not even many of those. I’m retrenching now, and it’s very. hard. I’ve given up hansom cabs. Yon don’t know what that cost me !’ Miss Bolton : ‘ What—the cabs?’ Dick: 'No—the sacrifice.’ Miss Bolton : • But why don’t you work ?’ Dick : ‘ Why, I have tried almost everything, but it’s not so easy. I wanted to go in for literature. I sent a lot of at tides to papers—’ Miss Bolton • ‘ And were they returned ?’ Dick : ‘ No, they weren’t returned, because I forgot to enclose a stamped and addressed envelope. But they never appeared. It comes to the same thing. I wrote a play ouce, and was very happy because I got a manager to read it. But, just fancy, this fellow—who scarcely knew me—wrote me a letter about it just as carping and critical as if he had been my most intimate fiiend ! Discoui aging, wasn't it ?’ Miss Bolton : ‘Still, I can’t believe that there’s nothing you could d<>.’ Dick : ‘ My dear Miss Jones, if I had someone to encourage me —sympathy, a guiding star, that sort of thing—it would be easy enough, but I’m almost alone in the world.* Miss Bolton : ‘Are you really ?’ Dick : ‘ Yes. I have no relations except my aunt—not that I complain of that, but so it is. I have numbers of acquaintances, but no friends ; heaps of invitations, but

not a soul that cares to see me—upon my word, I aven’t.’ Miss Bolton : ‘ Oh, you exaggerate 1’ Dick: ‘On the contrary. 11 seems an absurd thing to say on such a short acquaintance, Miss Jones, but I should be so grateful if you would be my friend.’ Miss Bolton : ‘ Certainly I will, if you like.’ Dick : ‘ Thanks, thousands of thanks ! (Tates her hand.) And you’ll let me talk to you about my ideas —prospects, that sort of thing. (A ring is heard.) There’s my aunt. May I ask you one thing ; however your interview with her may end—l mean if it’s arranged or not—will you promise that I shall see you again ?’ Miss Bolton: ‘ With pleasure.’ (She escapes from the room by one door while Mrs Fraser enters from another.) - Mrs Fraser (opening a telegram)-. ‘Dear me, how tiresome !’

Dick : ‘ Aunt, she’s come ! she’s come 1’ Mrs Fraser : ‘ Who’s come ?’ Dick : ‘ Miss Jones.’ Mrs Fraser : ‘ Who's Miss Jones?’ Dick : Why, the governess. She’s charming, perfectly charming. I’m in love at first sight. You must have her for the children. You can’t imagine how pretty she is I’ve almost engaged her 1’ Mrs Fraser : ‘ For me ?’ Dick : ‘ No—for me—at least I should like to. And, aunt—l’ve been thinking over that other matter, about Miss Bolton—but it’s no good—it won’t do. You must put it out of your head. She never liked me—l mean, is sure never to like me—and I must work—it’s degrading to marry for money. I won’t do it. Am I not a man—haven’t I a brain, two arms—’

Mrs Fraser: ‘ Dick, 1 think you’re raving mad. I’ve just had a telegram to say the governess could not come. (Enter Miss Bolton.) Mrs Fraser : ‘ Oh, my dear ! lam so glad to see you. I didn’t know you were already here. Let me introduce my nephew.’ Miss Bolton : • Oh, he has already introduced himself !’ Dick : ‘ How can I ask you to forgive my stupid mistake ?’ Miss Bolton : ‘ Why, of course I will ! We’re great friends, Mrs Fraser, I assure you — though, as yet, it’s only a short acquaintance.’ A.L.