LOVE’S PACE MAKER.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2185, 14 September 1907, Page 1 (Supplement)

LOVE’S PACE MAKER.

(By Bertha ltuek.) i. “If that brother of yours is no good at exams.,” remarked Aubrey’s prosperous brother-in-law to Aubrey’s sister, “no good at anything in the Colonies, and no good at working in my office, the question is, what’s ho good for at all?” “He’s such a dear,” pleaded the sister of the ne’er-do-weel. “He’s awfully good-looking, and he’s a champion golfer. He’s a first-rato polo player. And ho can make a success of the dullest house-party that ever saw weighted with superfluous girls.” Her husband replied mildly that he didn’t see how the Honorable Aubrey—it was in a moment' of irritation that he flung the lad’s rank in his teeth I —could manage to make an honest living out of his golf, his waltzing, and his popularity among a lot of idle fools. “Oh, don’t you? Well, but I just thought out a scheme,” retorted his wife triumphantly, “whereby, in your odious City jargon, Aubrey can make quite a good thing out of' ’em’.” “Really. To which of the heiresses are you about to marry him?” “Ono mesalliance in the family is quite enough,” she declared teasingly.’ “I would not) sacrifice my brother. Besides, he never seems to like any of the girls who are rich; says they: are correspondingly unattractive. So I’ve invented a new profession for Aubrey. He must set up as a i>acemaker.” “What, to racers in flying-machin-es ?” “No. To ‘laggards in love.’” “Explain youreslf.” “Well,” began his wife, “suppose a girl 'knows that some particular man admires her; suppose she doesn’t know whether lie’s merely flirting or whether he really wants to marry her. Suppose this girl is desperately fond of that particular man ” “f suppose,” put in her husband, “that you mean Mel’herson. And my cousin May—poor little soul!” “I’m citing an abstract case,” she protested. “Suppose the man continues admiring her, continues to say and look things that mean everything—or nothing. He doesn’t projjoso.' What is the obvious course for that girl t'o pursue? Why, she introduces another man into the affair. She flirts; plays him off against the first man. He, wounded in his sense of proprietorship, proposes before ho can think twice about it.” “Not always?” “In nine case out of ten. Often enough a girl’s life-happiness is wrecked by the failure of the other man to appear at the critical moment. Think and dangerous rival, what a demand there is for him—for a man like Aubrey, for instance, a lieart-wliolo and consumate flirt; tactful and quickwitted. The idea ought- to bo made into a limited company, paying good dividends, too,” she wound up. “How much would your good-natured old uncle—May’s father—give my brother Anbrey to see May happily married to that suet-pudding of a Scotsman?” “My dear girl!” remonstrated her startled husband. “You can’t mean “Yes I can. I do! I mean to make Aubrey take the job—‘on a business footing 1’ See how the iron of living in a commercial set has entered into my soul. But your uncle is an old dear, even if he did make his money in soap. lam now going to write him a lovely letter.” She did. She posssessed a facile pen, a pretty persuasive turn to her phrases. What she wrote covered several sheets of the largest notepaper, and it brought hack the consent of May’s father (who would, if he could, have bought up the very moon .out of the sky as a cresent foi May’s hair) to sign an agreement conriage to Mr. Sandy McPherson. His sister had more trouble in coaxing her indolent Adonis of a brother to agree to this agreement. At first- he swore he would do no such thing. “Not even to do a poor little thing a good turn,” she suggested, after much expounding of the doctrine of expediency. “Every nice boy who’s anything of a sportsman, and who has any girl-friends at all, plays this game at one time or another.” “Certainly,” replied the Honorable corning a handsome cheque to he paid to “the Honorable Aubrey’s” -account on the occasion of May’s marAubrey, “but if he is anything of a sportsman he only plays for love. Never for money.” “Oil, if you’re a soul above money!”—retorted the wife of the selfmade man rather impatiently. “I thought that you wanted it pretty badly.” “I do,” admitted Aubrey, his brow darkening. He had just remembered how much of it ; was required to pay off a debt light-heartedly incurred at bridge; a debt of honor. “But to hire oneself out to force another fellow’s hand! The whole scheme seems so d ,so desperately undignified don’t you know.” “M’m,” she said, and looked at him steadily. “Few of our family can afford to he—choosers.” Whereupon the Honorable Aubrey’s handsome bov-face flushed scarlet. He wes realising that- few things were less “dignified” than the incurring of debts which oue’-j relations by marriage were called upon to pay. And this last debt weighed heavily upon him. “Well then,” he concocded briefly. “Right.” Two days later lie and his sister were guests at the house of May’s father, where the phlegmatifc McPherson had just invited himself down to spend the week-end. In the hand—now about to he “forced”! —of Mr Sandy McPherson, the “line of heart,” as the palmists say, “was dominated by the line of head.” What heart he had rebelled when his head was turned northwards, to a certain castle in his native Perthshire, occupied now by an American oil king, who could have bought up May’s father several times, and who bad daughters.

McPherson’s “lino of head” inclined him to woo and win one of these fair Americans. Put which— Glory, Virginia; and Sadie were coheiresses. Which of them was the least extra vagnat, the most likely to intrust frankly her share of her father’s fortuno to the good-looking Scotch landowner who seemed a favorite with all of them ? While ho gavo due consideration to this matter, there remained, as an amenity which appealed powerfully to liis ‘‘line of heart” the society of pretty, English May. Her house was within easy reach of his London rooms. It was comfortaide. There were good golf-links near by; and the little thing adored him, he knew. To do him justice, he did not know that his non-committal attentions had driven the roses from her cheeks, and that she could neither sleep not eat for pondering over the ancient problem: “Does he care? If lie does why doesn’t he say so?” May’s big blue eyes “said so,” for her part, till all the world might see. “Could anything bo more piteous, more impolite than the way that child show; her hand?” was the comment of her cousin by marriage. “You to play, Aubrey.” “Right!” responded Aubrey, and he strode out to ma’ko a third on the golf-links with McPherson and May. At the sight of the slim, alert young man in the eminently becoming Norfolk suit, May’s mouth drooped woefully. She had not been let into the secret of Aubrey’s new profession. Why, oh, why was he coming to interrupt a tete-a-tete?” McPherson glowered. “The Honorable Aubrey” smiled pleasantly. (He had a kind, of smile which makes many friends.) He then; took May’s clubs He made her tee for her, praises her “style’,” hypnotised her into achieving two quite 1 respdatable drives, and encouraged her generally into a state of mind so uplifted that she even ventured upon a tiny joke upon the silence of their companion 1 McPherson played golf according to a scientifically deadly arid elaborate method. Aubrey, who possessed an off-hand, breezy, you-be-dashed stylo of treating the ball, beat the Scotsman by eight holes up. “Fancy, oh fancy!” breathed May awe-struck. “And Mr. McPherson holds the record here.” “I’m always in bad forrrm,” explained the record-bolder, “when I play with people I do not know well.” A vicious glance provoked a smile from the new champion. “I’ll he better this afternoon,” growled McPherson. But that afternoon he found to his amazement that his only companion upon the links was to be Aubrey’s sister. “I wanted my brother and little Miss May to make up a foursome with us,” she remarked. “But I find lie’s whisked off mademoiselle for a long spin in the new motor, without a with-your-leave or hy-your-leave, The dear boy lias such a Locliinvar sort of ‘way with him,’ you know!” McPherson -was fated to become even better acquainted with that “way” of Aubrey’s. Tlio motorists did not appear until dinner-time, when May came down in a new and very frivolous-looking pink frock, to be taken in by Aubrey. Alter dinner he—McPherson—would give May his opinion of the fellow. After dinner he found that the fellow had swept May off to the further drawing-room, to play liis accompaniments while he sang. The puppy! He sang something about “lips so red!” and “eyes so blue!” and “kisses,” and “soft curls of sunny hue,” until "McPherson was fairly sickened by the sentimentality of it, and said I so in a loud aside. May, who had thought the words were “lovely,” threw a timid glance : towards the scoffer, and half rose from the piano. But Aubrey checked the move by setting before her a rousing soldiers’ chorus, which he sang with such spirit as to give delight to • everybody in the room—except to McPherson, who retired savagely into the furthest! 1 corner of it. He was : feeling that the satisfaction of owning a third of the oil king’s wealth would be no less to him than the satisfaction of showing that penniless : young fop how utterly futile were his .endeavours to divert the affections of and hor brother rushed in tempestuously. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed at the sight of his face. “Have you cut the billilard-table cloth, or What’s the'matter?” “I am going away,” he told her. “That’s all. I’ve finished the job I came for. I’ve pulled off May’s marriage for her. Now I’m off. Goodbye.” “Why—wliat?” cried his sister, clutching his sleeve. “Pulled off May’s marriage? liow did it happen at the finish?” “Wo were in the billiard-room. She doesn’t know how to hold"a cue properly. 1 was teaching her—putting her hand right for her, you know, when that lout of a Scotsman blundered in as though the police wore after him—(pity they aren’t!)” said Aubrey, “and made us jump!” “While you were holding •her hand? Good! How cleverly you managed, dear old boy,” murmured bis sister. “You’re luck as well as skill, though.” “Luck! ‘"Well,’ he said to May, ‘aren’t ye coming out on the links this afternoon?’ (A vicious mimicry of McPherson’s accent.) Oh course I butted in and said ‘Just* wait until Miss May finishes her lesson. There’s half-an-hour more of it to run. And —excuse me, hut I think a looker-on makes her nervous.’ ” “Well played. And then?” "He .said: ‘Then 1 think, if ye’ll forgive me. I’ll rrelieve yo of tho rrespunsibility. I’d like half-an-hour’s quiet talk with Miss May,’ said he. turning to her. ‘Don’t put me off this time. It’s about something imporrrtant —most iinporrrtant.’ I saw—anybody could see!-—that the brute bad brought himself up to the scratch at last. So 1 bolted. That’, all. There’s a train up at 4,1.0, isn’t there?” “Yes, hut why go?” she responded “The old man likes you awfully. He’;, been murmuring things about getting you work you could do in Iris business. Anyhow—stay and watch the happiness of the two young ” “No thank you.” Aubrey cut her short with a laugh and a lcok upon Iris face which were, to his sister, those of a stranger. Not I!” She stared at him for a moment. Then the truth flashed upon her. “Aubrey!—Oh, my poor, dear old boy!” slis crietj remorsefully, “Do’.vou

mean—d’you mean you’ve fallen in love with her yourself? you weren’t —acting all the time then? Oh!” “Acting, ’’lie repeated bitterly. “I’m well paid out for all tho acting there was in it. It was all over with me after the first time we played golf together. I wish to lieay’en I’d swapped outfits with the nearest crossingsvveeeper before I took on this business. No I don’t. I’ve had one perfect week, and I’ve got her what she wanted anyhow. Say good-byo to her for me, will you? 1 can’t. And I’m off— for good—this time.” “Where to?” she asked frightened.

“Oh, Audrey! what will you do?” “Nothing you need be ashamed of,' old girl,’ be fold her, setting his jaw, “Knowing—her has made me sick and ashamed of myself, and I can’t go on with the old racket again. I shall be able to work now, seeing I don’t want to play again. I shall go abroad. Join Jimmy in Canada, if he’ll have me. If not. I’ll get sointhing else—-something—anything-—that’s a man’s job.”

And he was gone. It was in tho midst of his sister’s tearful explanation to May’s father, in his study, that the origin of all the mischief put her curly head in at the door.

“Ah, come in, lass,” said tho old soap-merchant rather heavily. “Como and lot’s give you joy. Where’s Wliat's-his-name, McPherson?” “He’s gone,” May said shamefacedly'. “Ho went off in a great hurry; very angry-” “What?” roared her father. Two octaves higher Aubrey’s sister shrieked: “What?”

“He’s awfully augry because I—l don’t want to marry him!” explained May trembling. “He said that I was all kinds of a flirt, and that L encouraged him to think that I cared for him, and then when I told him that one often made—made mistakes in 0110’s first feelings towards people, he told me I ought to have been sure of my feelings before he came down this time, instead of leading him on so that he hadn’t' troubled to get a cheap return ticket! And lie’s going to catch, the 4.15.” “The 4.15!” echoed the elder woman faintly. “Then he’ll be travelling up with Aubrey 1” “Aubrey!” cried the girl sharply. And there was no mistaking the giveaway anguish. in which she added: “Oh, has Aubrey gone away?” One brief, significant glance passed between Aubrey’s sister and May’s father.

Then the father brought his hand down on the electric bell. “Drive like mad to the station,” ho ordered the man who answered the summons, “and bring Mr. Aubrey back—home.” Thus ended “the Honorable Aubrey’s” first and last engagement as— A Pace-Maker!