[COMPLETE STORY.] Her Infinite Variety

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 9, 4 March 1905, Page 51

[COMPLETE STORY.] Her Infinite Variety

A Naugatuck Club Storij

Good gracious me!” It was iuvolutary. Slie could not help it. There she stood, holding to the strap and gazing at the unoffending cash-box. “What shall 1 do!” "Can 1 help!” asked the only other occupant of the stage. She turned. ■"Oh, no, thank you. I———” Then she sat down and tried to compose herself. 'Die stage crawled slowly across Forty-secoml street—a.s slowly as it usually does. The other occupant knew when enough had been said. Suddenly the girl stood up again, and keeping her balance as she best could she peered through the glass front of the cash-box- There was no mistaking the real dismay and perplexity on her face. Then she sat down in despair. Then she looked up. Then their eyes met. “If I can help you ” "I ” “You can trust me—probably, and he smiled across at her. She hesitated. He waited. "You—you won’t —nobody would believe mo.” “i'll try,” and he smiled still reassur"l’ll try,” and he still smiled reassuring to such a big hat, and such a trim little gown, and sueh—well, such an admirable piece of work on the part of the Creator as to the eyes and haX’ and troubled features. “Why, I’ve just put a frve-dollar gold piece in the box instead of a nickel —■ it’s true, really!” lie laughed now. "That needn’t worry you. If you’!] ride down to Washington Square ” “But, you see. I can't!” and the becoming perplexity returned. “I’ve got to hurry to the Thirty-fourth Street ferry and catch a train going out on Jxmg Island.” "That can be easily fixed,” said he. She looked up at him with hope written all over her face. "How?” “Give the driver your address and he’ll send it——” Ifimbarrassmexit now fought with the chi perplexity. “But 1 can’t! I—■ —” “Certainly you can. These drivers are reliable. Wait, I’ll ” “OU, please don’t! You don't understand ——” and now a dozen emotions were flying across the fair face. “But “I—l have’nt any more money!” gasped the girl. A pause. . “You don’t believe it —I know you don’t!” "Of course I do. Wait! I’m thinking Couldn’t you ——” "I must go on that train!” There was a hint, of tears. “I must!” They were passing the Union League Club. He moved over to her side of the stage. “Tell me all about it quick, and I’ll help!” Then she began, first haltingly, afterward with a rueh of anxious words. “I have just had a telegram that my 'friend is suddenly ill.” “Yes.” “And I slopped only an instant at Forty-fourth Street. Then I only had a. jive-dollar gold piece and a fivc-eent piece- ” "Go on.” “And—and—here’s the fivc-eent piece!” Tier face was so serious and yet so comical that he laughed again. “But wail 1” cried the girl. “1 haven’t got a ticket —and now—” “Let me give you five dollars, and I’ll go down to Washington Square and get the gold piece.” “Oh. no! I couldn't think of that. I ” "Of course you can. Here, take it!” and he held out a bill. "I wouldn’t do that for worlds.” "Why not!” "Why, suppose you didn’t find ” "But you sav it's there. I think your Ford is good.” "Oh, no ” “What!” laughing. mean—something might happen.”

Then her fare lighted up with hope. "If you would be willing to let me have a dollar I will return it to you.” "And shall I keep the five dollars?” “You could send it to me—no, no, that’s too much bother. 1 can write to the stage company.” “How silly! Listen, here is Thirtyfourth Street coming. Take it!” “But, there’s still five cents ” “'Well, good Heavens! Give me your five cents, then-’’ “You’re very kind •” “Here we are!” and he pulled the strap and stopped the stage. As lie got out to help her he said: “May I hope some day to see you, and hear——” Up eamt, the face again—a little severe, a little sorry, yet nice and friendly, too. “Please don't spoil it.” “You are right. Good-by!” “And you don’t know how much indebted to you I am.” “Don’t think of it again.” And he got back into the stage and watched her board a car. At the end of the line he went into the office, told his story, and waited for the agent to open the box. The box contained nothing but fivceent, pieces! The agent and the benefactor looked at one another with expressions that can be better imagined than described. “Some mistake, I guess,” said the former, carefully gathering up the nickels. “Well, I ll be doggoned!” said the latter. "That is the neatest thing that ever was played on me!” “It wasn't your money, then?” asked the agent with raised eyebrows. “Mine? No—worse luck.” "What sort of a lookin’ feller was he?” "Fellow! It was a woman!” Tiie agent allowed himself the luxury, of a smile. "To think of it! Me—done by a pretty thief! And yet I'll swear she didn’t look like one —but 1 apologize for the trouble I’ve given you.” And he walked out. “Me! Me! Done by a pretty girl! I’m an ass with ears a mile. long. It doesn't seem possible—here in my town—after all these years! And she was offended when I suggested that some time we might meet. 1 don't wonder! And I didn’t know how much I was indebted to her! Fool—ass—idiot!” At that moment over in Long Island City a young person opened her purse for the purpose of buying a ticket. Something dropped out. She picked it up and uttered a cry of amazement. There she stood, while the colour came and went on her face, gazing at a bright fivc-dollar gold piece that lay peacefully in her hand. IL It was nearly dinner-time out. at Naugatuck when a hired trap stopped at the Braveurs’ door. Out jumped a young woman wh’o was met by a maid. “What is it, Annette? Is she--is she dead ?” “Ah. no. mees. Madame was thrown out- —the ponies they run away—and monsieur, who is away—-Die.it, 1 am so frightened! I telegraph you ” “Yes, yes, Annette. But is she badly hurt ?” “The doctor is there—-” but the girl was half-way up the stairs. She found him sitting by Mrs Bravcur's bed, and he held up a finger as she entered. pointing out into the hall. "Oh. Doctor Blanchard, she isn’t dead?” whispered the girl as he followed her out. “Dead! What would I be doing hero if she ' were dead ?” The. girl gave a gasp of relief. “No, she’s all right, I think—pretty well shaken up, but nothing broken. Where's Jimmy Braveur?” “He's in Washington. But. Doctor ” “Well, he'd better come home. Bo qprefnl, though, whnt you telegraph

him. Don’t scare him.” Anti he went back into the sick-room. There was not a thought of anything but Lucy BraveuV for a week. Then the atmosphere cleared. Her husband had come home, and Lucy was sitting up in a big chair with nothing worse Ilian a few bruises and a sprained shoulder. ‘•Marjorie, dear, how Annette must have frightened you that day.” “Frightened! 1 nearly went crazy. 1 supposed, of you were dead — and then—” she hesitated. “And what?” “And 1 did a most awful thing.** Then she told her story. “Goodness, child! You don't even know the man's name.*’ “There isn’t the slightest chic. T-—” “Was he good looking?*’ “Lucy! What a question! I was so frightened and hurried that I don't believe I’d know him again if I saw him and 1 hope 1 never shall.” “What!” “I mean I should be too ashamed. Think of it! Think of what ho must have said about me —what he mu. t have thought—when he didn't find the money. I’m sick with worry over it all this week.” “We’ll find him some way,” said the invalid. “I wish I’d never gone to town that, day, anyway. I’d have escaped that telegram, and this awful mistake, and- a.ud the heat.” “Let’s see.” said Mrs Braveur meditating. “11? was to go and get the money at the office in Washington Square?” “Yes.” “Well, that’s the starting point.*’ “But suppose they don’t know anything about him?’’ “Well, that’s the only thing I can think of. Jim can go and find out ” “Not for worlds’” cried Marjorie. “Why not?” “Jim must never hear a word of this! Promise me. never to tell him. I should die! Promise me, quick!” “Of course, if you feci so. But he could help us.” “No. I’m going to do this myself.*’ And in a day or two slie went into New York and presented herself at the office of the stage company. The agent smiled at the story. “L remember, miss. The gent was in. and—and, well, yon see, we didn’t find nothin’ ’’ “I know, I know,” said she; “did he leave any word, or say anything?” “Well, you see. miss, ns there wa’n’t nothin’ there he kind o’ felt yon see “Yes, yes.” “Beggin’ your pardon, miss. seems like lie was a little mad, and ho says —he “Yus, what did he sav?”

“He seemed to think that you—that >s, the woman I mean what he thought you was—you see did him a pretty neat game ” “Oh,” cried Marjorie again. “Can’t you help me to find him? I*ll pay well if you will.” “Ihl tlo it right away without no pay if I knew where to begin. But, you see, I never laid eyes on him before nor since.” •Xnd so there was nothing to do but, go back to Naugatuck and ask for another clue from the amateur detective. They discussed it all the afternoon and found no suggestion. hi the morning Marjorie, as she had for nearly a fortnight past, took the supervision of the household* reported the needs of the cook, and received or* ders that were repeated in the kitchen. 'rh.cn she put on a big. white apron and took up the one morning occupation that Mrs. Braveur never ini«sod —the dusting of the library and the drawings room. She had got as far as the library when sumo one drove up. Nobody answered the bell, and Marjorie turned into the hall and opened the door her self. Then she stood frozen to the doorknob. There, before her, stood the mat of the Fifth Avenue stage. HI. Tie started to ask in the usual manner for Mrs. Braveur. His lips opened and then stayed open while their owner gazed at the apparition. She was on (he

point of crying out for joy, when she baw hia glance at her apron and duster and the cold, cynical expression that appeared on his face. “So, my good girl, this is a pretty small world, after all.” Marjorie turned suddenly pale and backed away from him as he entered with his eyes fixed on her. “Did you find your friend very ill?” The blood rushed to the high-spirited girl’s forehead. “It was a nice way to eke out your wages, wasn’t it? And I was a country looking chap to work on, wasn’t I ?" She started to answer, but anger choked her- and he did not give her an opportunity to speak. •Co and tell Mrs. Braveur that Mr. Morton is here, and then come back and give me a kiss for my’ four dollars and ninety live cents.” “Oh!” cried the girl in a low, choked voice. ‘‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself ” “Aren’t vou?*’ “I!” “Come, run along and do what T <*ay. I’m ashamed of you —so pretty and so Bly! ” Without a word, but with her head tip, she marched up the stairs, found Annette, told her what to do, and went herself to her own room. The library must go for that day. At luncheon she sent word to Mrs Braveur that she had a headache and would not come down. At dinner the headache was no better, but while the meal was in course she went into Morton’s room and placed an envelope with four dollars ami ninety-five cents in it on the bureau. Then she went back to her room and tried to gloat over the wretched man. though, if truth be told, she was getting tired of living in one room on a hot summer day. Mrs Braveur limped in after dinner nnd found her reading. “It’s better,” answered Marjorie to her question. "But why don’t you go to bed? And you oughtn’t to dear” "I haven’t any 'headache. Lucy.” “What is it, dear? asked the other in a different tone. “That —that man downstairs is the man in the stage.” “What. Teter Morton? You don’t mean to say. Why didn't you explain ft. to him?” “Because T don’t choose to, Lucy J” with extreme hauteur. ‘ False pride, dear. Tie’s as nice as he can be.” “He may he as nice as he can be, but ” “What under the sun has happened?” “He thinks f did it deliberately ” “Thai’s foolish. When did you see him ?’’ •'When he arrived.” “What did he say?” “He *oid— T won’t tell you. Yes. I will. He took me for a maid.” “Marjorie!” “Yes, he did. T was dusting the draw-ing-room. Ob. vou can laugh all vou like!” Mrs Braveur looked at her and continued to smile. “From present signs I begin to pity him.” And she went out still smiling. And *o morning came. And as the fair Marjorie, being distinctly a lively

person and fond of plenty of out-of-doors, had gone to bed at eight the night before, she awoke at six, dressed, and went out into the flower garden in search of fresh air before another day of prison. The morning was perfect. The girl was very nearly perfect. The flowers only waited to be picked. It was the fact that Morton woke early, too, that caused all the trouble. Of course, he made for the little garden also, and then -You know if you weren’t, so pretty—” “I believe I’d have you arrested, you did me so completely.” Then the Spirit in her ladyship's sprightly make-up took a hand in the game. She looked down at the flowers she had picked, and said demurely: “I’ve paid it back, sir.” “That saves me from ruin, not from mortification.” “I’m very sorry, sir. I hope you won’t tell.” ■l’m considering,” and he looked steadily at her. The Spirit became more courageous. Marjorie looked up. “I’ll never do it again, sir,” she pleaded. “What will you do for me if I promise not to tell?” “Anything! Anything!” “For four dollars and ninety-five cents’” “ft isn’t that, sir. It’s the disgrace.” ■’Why did you do it—er —Mary?” “Maggie, sir,” said she. looking down- “ Why did you do it, Maggie?” “I—l’d spent all my money —-—-” “You’re a clever one!" and still he looked at her. “I had to get here on that train, sir.” Morton came a little nearer and noticed the bright morning sunlight in the brown hair. “Did you actually need the money?” “I did, really—sir,” and she looked up at him suddenly with a most, sincere and earnest gaze. “Would you like it now?" “Oh, no!” cried the girl, stepping back. “T——” "Wait,” Maggie—-I don’t know—you fooled me so well once —arc you fooling me now?” “Do I look like it?” "That's the devil of it! You look perfectly beau—er—that is perfectly honest. But-^—” “I only want you to pardon me, sir,” and this time the long lashes had to come down, or the Spirit would have leaped out of her eyes and discovered everything. “I’ll pardon you on one—no, two conditions.” “Thank you, sir.” “Wait till you see if you will grant the conditions.” • It isn’t for such as me, sir, to grant to you.” “Yes, it is. First,” and he. held up one finger, "first, that you’ll take the four dollars and ninety-five cents ” “Sir. 1 ” Her expression ought to have warned him. “ ——.as a present! As a present!” “I don’t need your money!” ~ j | “But you said you did.” -IQ “I said—l said——l i

“Maggie, look at me! Look at me this minute!” I said I needed money.” "But not mine?” “Certainly not, sir.” “Whose, then?” “That’s none —that’s ” “None of my business?” “Oh, no, I wouldn't dale to say such a thing.” ‘“You might think it, though.” “Can I help my thoughts, sir?" “I believe, Maggie, that you’re a very deep one.” “Oh, no. sir.” “Wait. And second,” holding up two fingers, “second, that you will give me “Oh. aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” cried the girl, looking at him with blazing eves. “Well I ” "Do you call yourself a gentleman and insult poor, helpless girls like this.” "Helpless girls* God save the mark! There’s nothing helpless about what I know of you.” The girl’s throat swelled with anger. “Look here. Maggie, I can’t fathom you—wait, I’m talking now — you worked a confidence game on me “I did nothing of the kind! I ” “ And 1 forgave you. And now I’ll be switched if I’m not prepared to apologise for what I’ve just said.” A pause. “Come, I’ll apologise. Do you accept it?’ Silence, and examination of the flowers in her hand. “Maggie, look straight at me and tell me you'll accept the apology.” ••’I —I must go in. sir.” “Not yet.” “But I must.” "Why ?” “Why, to—to get the breakfast:” “Not till you’ve looked at me ” But she ran by him and walked sedately into the house. He followed, and entered the hall just as he heard Braveur’s cheery voice cry: "Hello, Marjorie. AU right again?” And then he stood still, gazing at the girl. Her face was the colour of the setting sun. “What’s up?” cried Braveur. “Oh, good-morning, Peter. Here, have you met Miss Apthorp?—er—oh, I guess you have!” Morton gathered himself together, and then said slowly: “I’ve just had the pleasure of discovering Miss Apthorp for myself.” IV. “Aren’t you a little silly, dear?” asked Mrs. Braveur that evening. “Silly! Why, that man isn’t fit to “Marjorie, haven’t you learned yet that men aren’t saints?” “There’s no excuse for such ” “You ought to be married.” “If marriage makes a girl accustomed to such behaviour I shall never marry.” Lucy laughed. “You’ll be married before you know it. Come, hurry now and dress. We are going to drive over to the Wintons to dinner.” “Is he going?” “Of course.” “Then I think I’ll have another head' ache.”

“Marjorie, behave yourself. Come, hurry along." And so the young lady arrayed herself in her best and got up on the front seat with Braveur without so much as * glance at Morton. But sire could not refuse to sit beside him at dinner. For a time she talked to the man on the other side, and then, a break coming in the conversation, she found herself turning toward him. “Tell me about these people.’’ said he in a matter-of-fact tone. “Who’s the girl in pink over there?” "Miss Turner,” dryly. “And the man next to her?” “Mr. Langdon,” icily. “Do you stay here for the season?” “No.” Her replies were the pith of dryness. Morton turned squarely and looked at her. Then his brows came together and the lines about his mouth tightened. “Have you accepted my apology, Miss Apthorp?” “I » “Because, if you haven’t, it doesn’t really matter.” She looked straight at him in amazement. This was a new attitude. “It seems that you do not confine your rather extraordinary belraviour to servants.” He hesitated an instant. The matter was getting serious for both of them. “My manner doesn’t change. It is the person to whom it is addressed who is kaleidoscopic.” “And yet kaleidoscopes and variety are often considered beautiful." “So are some persons.” “Are you going to pay me compliments now ?” “I shouldn’t dare to pay you anything more.” “You are unfair, Mr Morion.” “If I could discover what you consider fair— —” “I only wanted to be treated, as a re-

•pectable woman.” ’ ” ri , “What do yon mean?” "Within a few days you have treated toe as a thief and as a —a ” “And now," he interrupted suddenly, “you would like to be treated as an intelligent person?’’ “That is all I ask.” “’Listen, then. I offered a lady a little assistance in Ngw York the other day ” “I thought you considered her a ” “Would I have paid money willingly to a thief, Miss Apthorp?” She looked down at her plate. “The simple facts in the case ultimately gave me to understand that I had been deceived ’’ “'That sounds like a legal phrase. You ought to have known that I ” “But I only knew that you looked like a lady.” “I am sorry that I was wanting ” “It was the gold piece that was wanting.” Another- pause. “I did nothing. Why should 1? How could I? But suddenly I came upon the same person in servant's costume, and no matter how attractive, how beautiful ” “Do you think the adjectives neceseary ?” “No, you are right; the fact is selfevident.” “Really, Mr Morton, you are getting interesting; you are so rude.” “Then I discovered,” he went on calmly, -‘that person in a maid’s costume, and I took her at her costume, so to speak.” “Of course, any maid would steal';” “That isn’t the point.” “’That was what you thought, however ?” “It—it—that is- ” “Costume makes the person?” “To an idiot like myself, yes.” “I don't know you well enough to pass ®n your characterisation of yourself, but ” “So far as you’ve been able to see " “I wasn’t going to say so.” “You thought it?” “Hardly ‘idiot.’ ” “Say a stupid man who was just imbecile enough to be a good mark for a

fair lady to poke fun at in her many disguises.” “I didn’t make fun of you.” “You gave a wonderful imitation of it.” “Not at all, I only—l onlv ” “Well?” “I only got angry.” “Because I didn’t know that ‘you* could never deceive a stranger, and that 'you’ could never be a servant?” “Wouldn’t any girl have been angry?” “Couldn’t any girl have settled the whole thing in two words?” “But—er—l —you made me so angry ” "That you decided to take it out of me? Come, tell the truth.” “You hurt me very much.” T am sorry, really,” and his manner changed at once. “I wonder if you are?” “Are you a little sorry, too?” “Not a bit!” “Then I’m not, either.” “’What!”’ ‘Tm going to be frank some more. I’m getting mad——” A small nose was slightly elevated on his left. “1 tried my best to help that girl ” “And she thanked you for it, and does still.” “Wait a moment. I thought, as any one would have thought, that I’d been deceived ” “You know now that you weren't.” “It looked like it then. 1 found ths person who I thought had deceived me, and I thought again she was a clever and dishonest servant——” “But ” “Don’t interrupt, please. I know I should have known you both on the stage and with the duster, but I didn't -—and there’s the whole story. Now. you can make fun of me all you like. I’m not going to defend myself any more.” And he calmly turned back to the girl on his right. V. For a week the truce continued. The two were constantly together. She was polite, but not friendly. He was looking

for any sign of weakening on her part, but was bound to keep to his view and make no advances toward a settlement. Then Mrs. Braveur, who was as well as ever again, made up her mind that something was needed. She puzzled her brains in search of some means. Finally, one day, Miss Apthorp expressed a desire to ride. It was at the luncheontable, and, without giving any one a chanee, the hostess agreed that she must get on a horse, and asked Morton if he would act as her escort. Nobody could take any exception to this, and the girl herself eould hardly decline. Thus it came about that those two rode away together in the afternoon. Nothing was said for a while- until Morton asked: “Miss Apthorp, don’t you think you’ve punished me enough?” “I? I shouldn’t presume to ‘punish you,’ as you say.” “But you do. Here I am riding with you. and you might as well be clothed in medieval armour with your visor down for all I see of vour real self.” “I couldn’t be more natural.” They were walking the horses through a wood road up in the hills. “Then I’m going to ask you once more if you will be willing to forget my mistakes. I’m really sorry, no matter what I say to the contrary.” “Why, I’ve ” “No, you haven't. You're just as unforgiving as ever. You——” There was a sudden movement by the side of the path, and the girl’s horse jumped across into the bushes on the other side. She kept her seat only by a narrow margin, and then had hard work to bring him back into the roadway. Morton was by her side in an instant. “That was a vicious jump,” said he anxiously. “I don’t like his looks, anyway. He's in a bad temper.” The girl was startled, unquestionably, but she was not going to show it. “I can control him, thank you. as I ran others who are in a bad temper.” “I don’t care an atom for your kindly references. That beast has got something the matter with him! Won't you

—suppose we dismount and walk a little?” “Not by any means.” “He might easily get unmanageable. Miss Apthorp. He marly thicw voo then.” “Do you think I'm so poor a horsewoman as that?” "You are a beautiful horsewoman, but that animal is in a bad frame of miud.” They came out on the highway and started on a canter. Then —neither of them could tell how it happened—they both realised suddenly that the horse was beyond her control. Marjorie Apthorp was not a nervous woman, and she knew a little about horses —enough to till he)' that she eould make no impression on this one now. .Morton fearing another rebuff, let his horse out into a full run and gradually pulled up on her. “Can you hold him?” he called. There was no answer. She leaned far baek and pulled with all her strength—without effect. Then Peter took the risk. He jabbed the spurs into his horse, gradually came alongside the other, and. leaning forward, caught the reins, and added all his strength to hers us they rushed along the country road. “It's no use,” cried Morton; “he's crazy. Are you afraid ?” "No,” gasped the girl. "Then do just what I say." She nodded. “Get your knees clear of the pommel and let go when I yell'” He grasped her round the waist and cried. “Nov.!” Site let herself be drag- . ged out of the saddle. “Let go! Let go!” cried Morton, for she still elutehod the reins. And then if) a moment lie had pulled up and let her sink to the ground in a rather limp condition. “Are you alright?” he asked presently as she. -sat by the roadside. "Yes—l think so—how dreadful!” "Never mind, if you’re not hurt !” “Why should he run? Why should he?” she asked in a bewildered tone. “Heaven knows! but h<- did.” “What will Jim and Lucy say? It’st their horse, arid he’s lost.”

“Nui a bit uf it. I*ll go ami get him Jp’scntly. Somebody'll him/’ •‘lt only they ».“*ed never know.” Morton hesitated a moment. •'Would you wait livre a feu minutes while I ” "Yes, do. please. We could lead him home, and Uvy won’t know. J.uey would i»e frightened to death.” It was only a few moment* when he rude hack mount cd on the runaway and with io r saddle on his horse. She was nut by the roiiddde. and he had nearly pa'.sts! the spot when he discovered iter stretched ii|»«»ii the leaves jus! oft’ the road with her face hidden in her hands. In a moment he had di'mount 'd and w.i> lifting her. •'lt's nothing, nothing!” she said presently. wiping h» r eyes. •'Nothing! Why. you’re all unfit rung.” “No. I’m no*. Come, we will walk home.” Then she ,iw the changed saddle''. ‘’Vou mustn't ride him!" ‘ I 've just . idd-ui him a quarter of a ,mih . and it’s -nine distance to the house. Arc you up (•» mounting the other?” tShe turned i<» him a moment. and hesitated. "It'd lake some nerve, 1 know, but ” "I’m ready,” '■•aid the girl, and without 12 word ho lift-4 h r into the saddle, and they walked the horses three miles to the I’ravcurs. "Please go tight to the stuide,” she begged. As they walked slowly back to the house he turned to hor and said: “Mis> Apthorp, you’re splendid! Splendid! You’ve got more good nerve tluui I ever saw in any woman, or most men, for that matter ” But she only ran up the steps and through the hall. As idle went upstairs she heard Bra vein ask some question, and Morton reply: •‘No; Miss Apthorp .■.aid »he would go up at once and dross before tea.” In a few minutes there camo a knock. She got off lite bed where she had thrown herself, and opened the door a little. There stood Morton with a glass in his J>a nd. "Drink ibis—all of it—at once. Will you, sore?” She took it, nodded, and dosed the dpor. VI. When >hc camo down io dinner Morton was standing in the hall. He turned toward her and caught a look be had not seen in her fi< e before. Then they went iu io dinner. Afterward th. y were to go over to a tlant’p at the dub. On the way across the lawn he asked in a low voice: "All right?” ‘‘lfadn't you belter go to bed?” ‘No. I'm fptile right now—but ” “Can I do anything?” ‘An. I—” “What is it?” ‘1 you saved me from a—a bad-—” ‘ Never mind that. Como and sit here. We won’t go in just now." And they went to the end of the long piazza. There was no sound for a time hut :he wheezing of the summer insects. Yet Miss Apthorp seemed io have something oci her mind. Suddenly, without turning toward him, she said: "I think I’m going to apologise.” ‘•Don’t.” laughed he nervously. "It would keel me over.” "But 1 ought io.” “Because the beast got crazy?” “Oh. no.” ' “Why. then?” “Because I’ve been thinking the last Tew days—” •‘Never think,” murmured Peter. “ About my -about the stage.” Rhe was looking out into (he darkness >nd speaking very softly. “Don’t, please!” begged the man in jnite a different tone. "I must. I think I was angry at my’lelf for—fur not telling you at once when you came hero—” "Look here,” so id Peter abruptly. M [ can’t stand this. Il’s all right, if you’ll only not lay it up against me— ” "But I don’t.” ••J mean if you can forget niy taking you—that is. my saying what I did.” ‘ But. don’t you see, L was angry at myself.” •'Then you're not really mad at me?” •N o-o.” “And you don’t lay it up?” •No-o.” “And—and I can -that is, it’s alt light ?” u “Vea."

“And we’re friends?” • “Yes. if you’re willing.** “Well. I’m nut!” She whirled round on him, anger ready to blaze forth again; then her eyes fell. “Did you hear?” he asked gently as lie stood over her.” “Yes,” in a low voice. "Did you understand?” No answer. “Did you?” "I won’t —I don’t know —” "Look at me and tell me if you understand.” She turned her face tip to him with eyes that glistened a little. She could not ->peak, and so she nodded lier head. "Is it all right, then?” Still looking into his eyes, she nodded again. "No friendship?’’ The head moved slowly from side to side, and a little smile crept into the corners of her mouth. “And you’ll never be unhappy again?” For answer she put her hand in his. “Not cv -n if we have a servant named Maggie?” . ! “Don’t you ever mention that again, Veter Morton!”