A WAY OUT.

Franklin Times, Volume 14, Issue 260, 3 August 1925, Page 5

A WAY OUT.

SHORT STORY

By Conrad Triton)

J nn' 1 1 Nora at one o’clock, as arranged. Never in all my previous appoint men*! s with her had I met her at the time arranged. Once, it is (rue, she was only seven minutes lale. But that was a Jong time ago.

Tii'e little restaurant she had suggested is never Ailed. We found a table in an alcove and. sat down in silence. I ordered hutch and waited, pondering. Thai, some tiling was seriously perturbing Nora was perfectly obvious. Her punctuality might, of course, he: accidental. I was not inclined to af-i Inched too great importance to lint.' But her silence —she had not spoken a word since our greeting—was a different matter. It was phenomenal. Usually she chattered away pmvokingly on a variety of topics, jumping from one to the other with a bewildering inconsequence which left my poor masculine intelligence toiling- far in arreur. But to-day she was distrait, with, never a word to say. Certainly Nora was perturbed.

When the waiter had brought our coffee and there was little likelihood of our being interrupted again, I began taei fully to encourage her to tell me about it.

At first I could net get her to speak. Kvidenlly site found what she wislmd to say difiicull to put iido words, hut as she had invited herself to lunch with me (‘specially, as she had said. |o obtain my advice, J felt juslified in pressing her to unburden herself.

"it’s about, father and mother," sin admilled at last. “They've had a row.'

“A row?” I repeated, scarce believing, for Nora’s parents were nboul the last couple one would expect fo have even a decided difference of opinion.

: - “I'm!" affirmed Nora, sipping her liqueur. “Over me.” "Oh'r. I. said, beginning lo under-, stand. “And what have you been doing?” Nora replaced the l'iqueur glass on the table, its contents . apparently no less than before. . ' S

“Nothing,” she said vigorously shaking tier head. “That’s what tin row was about.”

“If you will explain a 1 iMI.• more clearly,” I said, “perhaps ” “It’s about my marriage?” she said calmly. “Your —your marriage?” I gasped, badly shaken by the suddenness of the announcement. “But—but I didn’t know you were going to be married.” “Well, I am,” she said, polishing off her liqueur in one quick gulp. “Arid, lienee —the rumpus.” I endeavoured to assume a judicial air.

“Don’t do. anything precinilah Nora," I said wisely.

“Don’t be prosy and ridiculous. Kdward,” she retorted rattier sharply. “It I were going to do anything precipitate, 1 certainly should nut come to you for advice \nd. anyway

you haven’t been' very helpful so far." “I'm sorry,” I said humbly, "but perhaps I shall be able io be of iimre use when you’ve told me more of I lie circumstances. For intanee, why do your parents object to your marriage? Have they anything against the man?" “You dftn’t understand in llm slightest,” she said. . “It isn’t they who "b-. jeet to my marriage. . . And there are two men.”

“Two men ?"I repeated womlering]y. “But that is impossible." "You’re very rude. Edward." she said reprovingly. “I see nothing particularly impossible in the tact <d’ two men wishing to marry me. Bui perhaps I'd better begin at the beginning. It all started yesterday when linger Moorcroft, in accordance wiiii Ids siern. Victorian upbringing, paid a t'orni a I visit by appointment to I'.dbein his study and besought my august parent's consent to a proposal o< marriage with which he was wishful to honour the said parent’s only daugnier at the earliest convenient opportunity. Of course, fattier was delighted. l->i-lil Moger spoke to him. he had not the least idea tliat my disposal was in his hands, and, naturally, not wishing to appear ungrateful to clear old lP'g'-r. he gave the parental consent like a bird. Also, ire asked the poor boy to dinner to-night, presumably lo give; him an opportunity lo complete the good work. Isn't it tin* gtmslly limit?” , , . She looked across the table at me appealingly. "I see nothing eitlier unexpected oi plrcnomenal in the situation." I remarked coldly, carefully avoiding tier eyes. “You have been very lriendt> -vviHi Moorcroft, and I think he is perfectly justified in finding out exact I > •what that friendship means. hither

She interrupted me with a quick and impulsive gesture. "But that isn't all." she said (pinkl. . “You see. whilst father was having, his momentous interview .with linger at home, mother was gallivanting round Bond Street buying Hols happened across ymmg •; (’.reeves. Now. Freddy, as you know, has been swH mi me for some lime and. being an enterprising seized the opportunity ol hawn,-. mother all to himself to enhsl bei (dllf.es against poor Moger and »»>«»"> else who might be in the held, with Ihe most linpp.v results. Mother, w m loves a romance, and who below, s m the prineiple of hall a loat being ' , Ilian no bread, promised Hvdd> >'• j she would use her inllueiire «* In um ]n‘r !M*r;ilrilmill dauphin* roundm of lliinlving. ami. in m-dor lo him a rbaiiee to plead liis own * ,l she invited the boy round to dinner. Now do you see the impossible pOMlion my dear parents have landed me

•“The situation is certainly berom jng more interesting.'’ I said Iboiight--I'idly. drumming with my lingers on Hie’table/ “And when does the enlerprising Freddy dine with you.’ Nora sal up excitedly. “Thai's wind I've been telling you. She said quickly. “Hon'l you under. stand? They are holli coming to-night. NYhal shall I do?" 1 am no I a liard-liourl ed man. ami Nora's oppoai slrurU ;i responsive

i•! jorcl. At the same time, I eouM see only one way out \of the difficulty and that, l'or reasons of my own, I was not yet ready to suggest. I thought it best to temporise. “It is a position which certainly requires very r;ireful handling,” I said thoughtfully. •'What were you thinking cf doing ?" ”1 can't marry them both,” Nora said reflectively. ‘‘lf I marry Roger, mother will never forgive me; and if t marry Freddy, father will sulk for a week." “And if you marry neither of them." i suggested, "what then V" “Then 1 shan't have a friend at home,” she averred, “and father and mother will lie at me for ever after until I make uj* my mind. . . . Bui you are not a hit helpful. I came to you for advice. You have done nothing su far but ask me a lot of stupid questions and agree, with a portentous frown, that I seem to he in a pretty bad state." “Well, what do you expect me to say?" I asked in aggrieved Junes. “Tell me what I am to do,” said Nora. 1 saw the time for action had arrived. Taking out my card-ease, I abstracted a piece of paper and passed it across to her. “1 ventured b> secure that—or—permit a few days ago.” I told tier. “J had a presentiment Dial some terrible Ramble was overhanging you, and I wished tu have the rigid to see you Ihrough it. I admit'. J" save argument. that it was possibly si trifle presumptuous*, on my paid, lml it, provides at least a. way out."

Nura opened the paper and gazed at it in blushing bewilderment. "i ill. Teddy." she murmured. “A spuria 1 license." I luuked at my watch. "A quarter In two.” I told her. "We can get to the Registrar's in ini minutes." "iili. Teddy!" she said excitedly and stood up.

Nora considers- our happening across her nether and father as we alighted Rom the taxi al Iho Registrar's ollice une of the jolliesl coincidences ol‘ her jolly, young life. lam still doubtful whether she suspects' the little plot which I hatched with tier parents with such eminently happy results. And J still wonder wind she meant in the train about seeing Freddie Grooves off tii South Africa over a fortnight ago.