The Story-Teller.

Ellesmere Guardian, Volume X, Issue 929, 25 July 1891, Page 4

The Story-Teller.

A SOCIETY' ACTRESS, Part I. (Continued.) Phe was much absorbed m lior arft, loved it. with a true, ever increasing jiassion ; Hit no art, no matter how. entrancing, " is. capablo of filling the craving of n woman's heart, and Mrs Adair \va9 fully sensible, strive as she might to blind herself to the fact., that life without love is ( f littlo worth. ; Bu^ a«» she had maile her bed, so she w»»s : determined to lie apon it. . -.:■(' Society, of course, had plenty to say on the score of Lord Darner's infatua-, tion, and bets at tr c clul s were offered, and taken as to its final termination.! It was deemed quite feasible ilvat' I/is lordship would propose; it was reebbried quite certain that m such a casey.tKe lady would accept — rumour eveh,v?^vt so far as to hint darkly of an existing, secret marriage ; and all the while .one of the three persona most nearly'concerned m the idle gossip went peacefully on her way, quite unconscious' 6 ! f the' .situation m which she stood. ; ; !l( ,<' She was .silting alone one afterhodn, quietly r acling m fragrant the too) ness of her pretty drawing- room, win ri ' Lor Y Dairvr burst unceremoniously., into the. room. She laid the volume . she Jield page downwards on her knee, and held out her hand with a smile of- greeting! She wns liressed m a flowing: role .of ■soft white, with clouds of Ircp,' 'And some yellow roses stuck carplessly iii her bosom. Lonl Danicr thonjj^t' he ' TiWrt , never seen her look so fair, '.more puny more womanly, end all his heart rushed, m his l'ps as lu> bent and : passionately; kissed tl,c Kift while himtl. heVhelib Sonifihini; m the touch of -lii's li|)sj tli* 1 warmth of his l<i.*s,' startled Mrs Adair "'to a suspicion of the truth, and a faint co'our mantcd her cheek, as she gently withdrew, her fingers, ami said' with'" a littli- laugh. ' You foolish boy ! The days of' chivalry are past nml gone. Now-a-days a woman's hand is for toil and lubonr, not a plaything upon which, to bestow idle kisses.' ; His lordship drew a low chair .'• for- : : ward, and seated himself close to h«r knees without, answering. She noted silently how flush'el his Vhow ex' cited his eyes, and, with a woman's swift prescience, foresaw a scene. ' I am reading such an interesting t.uio here,' she said carelessly. •= ' l)o you know it?' And she lifted the ,book from her knee, and held it towards him. Up topic the ffokiitte, Jaid it -on shf sofa, aii^l '■ 'cl»sp6d ; tlie : outsft-eich^J. pnlm. ' Claries, will you give me this hand, not us » plaything for idle' kisses, but for my. guidance a.nd comfort through life ?VHc;. S aTd" l^rliestly j %iv) :ss he spol'e the simple w rds which' were to seal his fate, \\U voice took a different, moie manly tone, >nd his boyish .face' was tran sfigureo by all a nian's passionate love and plea<lini?. ; • For one moment the temptation to accept the adoration laid at her feet, the longing to find herself safely harboured m a worthy man's love, the f till appreciation of the great social triumph that lay within her grasp, made the' woman hesitate before speaking tlie final words of: decision ; but tiie waver ing was but momentary, and the iriext instant she was mistress of herself again. 1 What you ask is impossible,' she 9aifi gently. ( _; '.;.-. But he only clasped the.band'he'held more firmly as he asked quickly, f.lmpQg, aiblo ? And why ? I would wait any namber of years to gain yprir ÜbVe; iiWo l ' task that you could set me tb'6 v hard ; only try me and see.' ' )U But she shook her head .''yvith , a , smile. « Not all jour love, all- your, votion, yonr patience, your constancy, , can undo the past,' she said' sadly. ;;It is the past that does, and ever must, separate us.' ! ' • 'Let the past lie,' he cried impetudukly. •It is the present and the, future for which I plead,' < And the past must over influence both,' she replied firmly. • Heaven knows I am grateful for your love, touched deeply by the honour that you do me m thus °eekint( me for your wife ; but >vhat,ypu tvish can never be. Some day you will be thankful that I did not take you at your word, and fling the heavy chains of my wrong-doingo about your innocent neckV You have doubtless already .beard something of my history from others ; listen now to the truth from myself. While you were still a boy at Eton, busy with your lessons and eager at your games, I had loved and lived and sinned. I was always a spoilt child, and fancied that life for me was to be one- long pleasant dream of joy and pleasure— a bad school m which to prepare for life's warfare ! Wedded at seventeen to a man almost twice my ago, matrimony appeared to me but the door leading to further amusement and excitement. No thought of its duties, its responsibilities, marred my gaiety. My husband was to be my slave I the object of hii adoration. But I soon learnt my error. Grave and reserved intharacter, with a strong dislike to society and a general leaning towards study and art, Maurice Faie found but little m common with his friroltns childwife. Slowly but surely wo drifted apart He was too cold, too reserved, I fancied' to understand or respond to all the cravings of my warm passionate heart, and there were but too many around me to whisper the same tale, (Continued m our next issue.)