A Romance of Cross Purposes

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 17, 26 October 1907, Page 57

A Romance of Cross Purposes

By

ARTHUR GRAHAM.

IN a more robust age, when the world was younger and less polite, Barbara would have broken the hearts of Emperors, provoked wars between great nations, and altered the map of Europe. In the effete twentieth century she merely arrogates to herself the admiration that should, properly, be shared among half a county full of girls; is adored — more or less openly — by all the men she knows, and hated more or less frankly — by most of the women. I have been an onlooker in many of her affairs of the heart, or rather her affairs of other people’s hearts. As an onlooker perhaps I have seen most of the game; at any rate, I count it an excuse for my existence that she calls me her friend and asks my advice—not of course meaning to follow it. I was sitting in my garden smoking, and not reading the paper, one morning when Barbara came in and sat down on the grass by the side of my chair. She sighed twice without speaking. Barbara always prefers other people to start the conversation. Afterwards, as a rule, she attends to it thoroughly. “Hadn’t you better tell me all about it?’’ I remarked. “I am so unhappy,” she began. “1 have never been so unnappy before.” “Surely,” I exclaimed in some concern, “you are not ia love, Barbara?” “No,” indignantly. “I am unhappy for somebody else.” “Tell me,” I commanded, and Barbara settled down to a full outpouring of her sorrows. “It’s Bobbie,” she began. Now if there is one among my friends less unworthy than the rest to love and be loved by Barbara, Bobbie is the man. Equally with her, he makes me the confidant of his troubles —so I listened eagerly for further revelations. “I can tell you because you are a friend of his,” said Barbara. “The sillyboy has fallen in love with me.” She paused dramatically. “Quite right and proper,” I observed judicially. “That leaves only the policeman and the butcher boy in the village who haven’t.” “It’s nothing to be funny about,” said Barbara, and I could see she was really serious. “You know I like him. He’s the dearest boy 7 and perfectly adorable. But I don’t like him—in that way. And it’s so ridiculous of him and inconsiderate.” I nodded sympathetically.

“But what can I do? If Igoto a dance, he’s there. He turns up at every tennis party within twenty miles that I

go to. If Igo anywhere for a. week-end, lie travels by the same train.” “Perhaps he’ll get over it,” I suggested hopefully. “Other, men have, you know.” Barbara shook her head. “He’s going to prop. Z-e,” she said despondently. “And then when I’ve refused him, of course, things will never be the same again. He won’t be able to forget and neither shall I. And we’ve had the very jolliest times together.” “Are you sure he’ll propose?” “He’s certain to. He tried the other night. It was at the Warrens’! I was very '.’red, and in a. weak moment I sat out a dance with him in the conservatory. It was a lovely place—l’d found it three dances before with Captain Jackson—and so long as Bobbie was content to sit and flirt quietly like an ordinary man, it was jolly. But he got serious, and said ‘Barbara’ two or three times as if he was speaking out of his boots. Then he got hold of my hand, and as I saw a proposal written all over his face (Barbara is thoroughly cenversant with the symptoms) I got up quickly and said rather-nervously: ‘I think you had bet-

Who passed Senior Honours, Trinity College, pupil of the Sisters of Mercy, St Mary’s Convent, Ponsonby.

Ceitifieated Pianist, A.T.C., pupil of the 'Sisters of Mercy, St. Mary’s Convent, Ponsonby.

The magnificent State dessert and coffee service which King Edward has presented to King Alfonso is a reproduction of the historic service made at the old Chelsea works in 1763 by the order of Queen Charlotte for her brother, the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. The present Grand Duke has lent some of the models. The service, which is exceptionally handsome, has been hand-painted and hand-gilded, and consists of the following pieces Thirty plates, eight square dishes, two curious jardinieres with covers, containing ice buckets, two round bowls, one oval centre-piece and stand, four oval covered dishes, two oval sugar dishes with covers, and eighteen coffee cups and saucers. The white china, which is decorated with embossed gilt, bears dark blue panels at intervals, containing gilded insects —moths, flies, butterflies, etc. —in relief with floral festoons in between, while in the centre is the quaint exotic bird peculiar tc. the old Chelsea of this date.

Children frequently exhibit a resolute reluctance to clean their teeth, but the invention of Odol has made a great change in the attitude of children towards this essential part of hygienic cleanliness. The taste of Odol is so agreeable, and the effect so refreshing, that the little folk will hail with delight the production of the Odol flask, that they may morning and evening enjoy the benefits of its wo iderfully invigorating effects.

For the little one. the solution of Odol should not lx* made too strong, at* ihe dedicate membrane in the mouths of young children is no much more sensitive than is the case with adults.

ter take me baek to m.v chaperone.’ ” (Barbara rolled this ©ut with indescribable relish. She so seldom uses one!)

“But, unless you can help me, it’s only postponed,” she went on dismally. “If he doesn’t do it this afternoon after tea, he’ll do it to-morrow after the tennis tournament.”

“How can I help you?” 1 exclaimed in dismay. “I can’t tell him ’ “Not tell him,” pursued Barbara insinuatingly. “Oh no, just give him a hint. I’m sure you can do it, Arthur, you are so diplomatic, and so—so discreet.”

“I won't,” 1 declared flatly. And yet when half-an-hour later Barbara left me to my pleasantly disturbed smoke, such is the weakness of my nature, or the strength of hers, that I was

pledged to administer in the shape of a gilded pill the information that my poor friend Bobbie’s passion was a hopeless one. It was that same day, I remember, that Bobbie dropped in unexpectedly to see me. It was after lunch, and I was in the garden again. “Now for it,” I groaned, as I saw him coining down the path, and I groaned again as he settled himself not two inches from the spot Barbara had occupied in the morning. “You’re looking rather cheap, Robert,” I ventured. “Feel it,’’old chap,” he responded shortly. “Fact is, I’m worried.” “Perhaps I can help you,” I remarked, feeling that things were being made easy for me. “I believe you could if you would,” he

said slowly. “Have you noticed something—er— rather strange about Barbara lately?” “No- I said, doubtfully. “I believe you have. Look here, old man, I’ll tell you what I mean without any beating about the bush. You know I’m not a conceited sort of chap, or anything like that, but it’s just this. I’m afraid the poor little girl is falling in love with me.” I whistled. Rather vulgar perhaps and not very appropriate, but words failed me. “I’m afraid so,” Bobbie repeated. “Of course, she’s the jolliest little girl in the world, and I like her awfully, but the fact is she’s not my style, and I can't—can’t—” he hesitated.

“Reciprocate,” I suggested. “That’s it,” he said. “And it’s so horribly awkward. Wherever I go, she goes. I meet her at teas, tennis-parties, and week-ends. Then at the Warrens’ the other night, we were sitting out in the conservatory. She knew the place evidently, and —well, old man, I suddenly found her hand in mine—mind, I don’t say she actually put it there, I don’t say that—but well, I think she expected me to propose to her—and—l didn’t. I felt an awful cad when she stood up and said in a quaky little voice: ‘I think you had better take me back to my chaperone.’ ” “H’m,” I said. “Now. you know her so well,” he pursued, “she talks to you so freely—l

know she does for she’s told me —that you might ” “Give her a hint, eh?” 1 said rather snappishly. “Well, why not? Think of all the pain it would save us both. I should hate to make the poor little girl miserable.'*

“Bobbie, my boy,” I said, “you ask no light thing. Yet such is my friendship for you —for you both, in fact—that I will see what can be done.”

“You’re a brick, old man,” he muttered huskily as he wrung my hand. I think I noticed a tear in his eye as he turned away and hurried down the path.

I saw Barbara again a day or two later, and I told her I had spoken the word of wisdom to Bobbie, and that he had said she was not to worry; that he hoped time would heal even a heart lacerated as his.

“How splendid of him!” she said softly, and a tear fell into the middle of the pink geranium she was wearing. “I wish,”- —she began.

“What do you wish?” I asked, and I couldn’t help smiling a little. “I wish,” she repeated. “Oh never mind—and it’s perfectly horrid of you to be amused.”

“By the way, Bobbie,” I said next time I found him alone. “I had a chat with Barbara the other day. She wants me io tell you not to worry—that she quite understands, and that it needn’t make any difference. She wants you still to be friends with her.”

“Poor little girl,” he murmured sentimentally. “Poor little”—he broke off savagely. “Oh, yes, it’s very funny, I know,” and threw himself violently out of the room. I suppose I must have smiled.

I didn’t see quite so much as usual of Barbara or Bobbie during the w’eeks that followed. Nor did they, so far as I could make out, see quite so much of each other.

But at last she came to see me looking quite unlike her usual radiant self; and

she actually began the conversation. “Bobbie seems to be looking very ill lately, don’t you think?” “He does,” 1 said shortly. "Is it —” she began and paused. "I’m afraid so,” 1 replied. "He always seems so depressed and wretched nowadays.”

“I wish I could do something,” said Barbara earnestly. “Do you think if I saw him and talked to him, it would cheer him up?” “Wouldn’t that be rather dangerous? Besides, the wound ought to be nearly healed by now’. It would be cruel to open it again.” “I am not so sure,” said Barbara with an entire lack of logic. “And do you know I don’t think you can have given him that hint very diplomatically—and I particularly asked you to be very kind and eareful. . . . Did 1 hear you say anything ?” “Er—nothing particular,” I said hastily.

“Well, I believe you were horrid to him, and I’m going to sit out two —no, three dances with him at the Warrens’ to-night, and be awfully nice to him just to make up. And I don’t care if it opens the wound again or not. So there.” I made a point of seeing Bobbie quite casually that afternoon. After saying the usual things about the weather, I broached my subject.

"Barbara isn’t looking half the girl she was. Seen her lately ?’’ Bobbie scowled.

"Yes. And 1 must say, old chap, it seems to me that you must have been beastly clumsy over what 1 asked you to tell her. . . . \\ ell, you needn’t swear. Of course, 1 don’t doubt you did your best.

“It was a ticklish job.” “That’s no excuse for being brutal, and I can’t bear to think of her feeling wretched about it. I’m going to th« Warrens’ to-night, and if she’s there I’m going to dance as many dances with her as she’ll give me.” "An excellent idea,” I observed. “And don’t forget the conservatory.

I went to the . .arrcns’, and 1 danced one dance with Barbara early in the evening, which was only half iny usual allowance. I hardly saw her again, or Bobbie eicner, for the matter of that, till people were going home. Then he was arranging her in her carriage. Quite unaccountably he shook hands wnn me as if 1 were a long lost millionaire uncle. Barbara blushed, looked the other way, and quite refused to speak to me; but this I understood when Bobbie came round next morning to tell me that I was to be (by tier special request) stage manager of a certain important function looming in the near future.

TWO SUCCESSFUL AUCKLAND MUSICIANS.

Who is again in England on a visit to his Majesty.

By the death of Viscount Goschen, his son, the Hon. George Joachim Goschen, has succeeded to the title. His wife, the new Lady Golchen (Lady Margaret Evelyn Gathorne Hardy), is a daughter of the first Earl of Cranbrook. They have one son and two daughters. The Hon. Phyllis Goschen is shown in the photograph. She is a great heiress.

Who is reported to have received from a gentleman an oiler of £25,000 if she would marry his nephew, the condition being that she gives up the stage.