LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1557, 14 February 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THAT OTHER FELLOW.

I never knew her ago, but she was the daughter of rny tutor, and a dainty, winsome little lady. 1 was about twenty, ardent in the pursuit of field sports, tole ant of most things save advice, generous perhaps, impulsive undoubtedly, and over head and ears in love with Constance Silverthorno.

My education at that period was anything but complete. 1 was de-t ned for the diplomatic service, a calling for which time and opportunity have since discovered me to he singularly unfit In those days, however, I was vaguely ambitious, and sustained by hope, a perfect digestion, and the conviction that, as an Englishman, I was superior to the less fortunate mortals born on the other side of the British Channel.

Nowadays my hop s are few and by no means invigorating; my digestion is the thing of the past, and as I have taken in and outwitted by every foreign diplomat with whom I have had dealings, my national egotism is somewhat less obtrusive than in the days of my giddy youth.

Not the least memorable event in that cay and reckless period was my sojourn at Greybridge with the Rev. Dr Silverth >rue, a wise and learned minister of the Gospel, whose knowledge of the classics ond theology was renowned. He was rector, with a large house a small living, and an only daughter. At one time fellow of hi? college, Christopher Silverthorne had established his fame as a tutor, and to him I was attracted in my despair at the prospect of a civil service examination, and a general idea as to my own incompetence to pass it. Greybridge, as every one familiar with our dear old river knows, lies about a mile distant from the Thames. The church, however, and the adjacent rectory stand on high ground between the two and the private garden, which is full of old trees, tenanted by hundreds of squirrels, stretches from the top of the hill down to the water’s edge There was every comfort at the rectory—indeed, most of the luxuries of life were discussable and enjoyable The pupils could do pretty much as they liked, and with scarcely an exception they liked the company of Miss Constance Silverthorne. When I joined the household in the month of July, the only other pupil was r'tuarc Smart, a gentleman from Christchurch, who was leisurely reading with the doctor for his forthcoming examination in ” Mods.” Smart was a cheerful, healthy, well-conditioned fellow, with the prospect of a pecunious future before him, liable to laziness, except in the matter of cricket, and more than imperturbable in the matter of feminine advances.

IHi rohvr et ces triplex Circa pectus erant,

as far as woman’s wiles were concerned. At all events, he gave me that impression, and others also.

The doctor received me affably, and with an air of cheerful dignity, made me acquainted with the details of the household, and left me to my own devices until dinner. Naturally enough I studied out among the trees, watched the frisking squirrels with some interest, and in a few minutes found myself on the river’s bank. A canoe and a pair-oared skiff were floating temptingly beneath me Evidently they belonged to the house, so I settled myself in the canoe, and paddled on a voyage ot discovery up stream.

The sun was hot; I was disinclined for active exercise, and the little craft was urged but slowly forward. Perhaps a mile of river was leisurely traversed, and then the Berkshire side rose into high and thickly-wooded ground. Foliage lightly kissed the wavelets, and the bank was broken here and there with shady recesses fit for meditation and flirtation, if fortune and a lady favoured. I paddled towards an inviting willow, anxious to avoid for a few moments the glare of the sun, but was suddenly interrupted by a girl’s voice on the left.

‘ At the risk of being thought inquisitive, may I ask what you are doing in that canoe ?’

With a sweep of the paddle I turned my craft and faced the speaker. She was young and pretty, and was seated in a came similar in size and shape to mine. A book lay upon the waterproof which covered h< r dress, and the look with which she greeted me seemed to convey surprise, indignation, and defiance.

‘ I beg your pardon, I’m sure,’ I replied, not quite knowing what to say. ‘That’s very kind of you Do you happen to know that the canoe is private property —is mine, as a matter of detail ? ’

I told her that I had no idea of that interesting fact ‘ I thought it belonged to Dr. Silverthorne,’ I humbly protested. * Not a bit of it,’ said she impatiently ; ‘it belongs to me. Papa gave both these canoes to me early in the spring.’ ‘ Oh ! then I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Silverthorne?’ ‘ Yes,’ said she, ‘ you have that pleasure.’ ‘ Allow me then to introduce myself—my name is Stow, Godfrey Stow.’ She burst out laughing. ‘ 1 see it all now; you are the new boy. I didn’t expect you till week. ’

‘ Hang it! ’ I thought; *m w boy, indeed ! This pert little miss must be taken down a bit ’ I hated to be called a boy, perhaps because I bore such unmistakable evidence of being one. I had in those days a horrid habit of blushing, and I wjas conscious of feeling red from my hair down to my collar. Bhe laughed again, not in fa feeble, insane g : ggle, which so often accompanies girls in the r teens, but a clear, ringing, enjoyable laugh, which seemed to be set to most melodious music. When Constance Silvertlmrne laughed, her dark brown eyes glittered, her cheeks broke into dimples. She was a most enjoyable sight. * I can’t help laughing,’ she cried, taking two strokes with her paddle, which brought her within a yard of me, ‘you blush so delightfully.’ However attractive her presence might be, Miss hilverthorne’a conversation did not add to my composure. I blundered on : ‘ I am happy to be able to amuse you,’ I returned pettishly. *Do you never indulge in a blush V

‘ No; it doesn’t suit my complexion. Besides. I never say or do anything which should cause me to blush.’ And she dipped her paddle into the water and glided out into mid stream.

‘I am going home,’ cried she, looking hack at me over her shoulder ; qui m’aime me suive.

‘ I’d rather accompany than follow yon,’ I returned coming up alongside, ‘ And yon have not known me long enough to —er —to do the other thing,’ ‘ Not quite ; but you may live in hope, Miss Silverthorno.’

‘That in better,’ quoth she, ‘you are capable of improvement, I see There, don’t blush ; aliens

The stream carried us swiftly down to the boat-house in the rectory garden. I disembarked first, aud stooped in order to steady her canoe as she rose. She sprang on to the wooden step, and with her finger-tips lightly touchtd try cheek. ‘Good boy,’ she said, demurely, and without another word fled towards the house.

I hardly know whether I was more surprised atihe caress than at her sudden disappear; ce I lighted a pipe, in my doubt, and lay down on the bank and thought about her. Truly, she was a most unusual young lady Kot that my kn >w!edge of womankind was extensive or deep but with the confluence born of my twenty years of life I flattered myself I knew a thing or two, and woman was one of the things, of course.

‘Her presence certainly adds a flavour to the place,’l thought to myself; ‘she will

help ms to spend my leisure pleasantly enough. I b ave r.o doubt.’ And then the dinner bell sounded, and I strolled off to dress.” When I descended, the renter was stand* ing with his back to the fireplace chatting to Stuart Smart. I was introduced to the gentleman, and agreed with him that the weather was all that could be desired. Then the doctor was of opinion that if the rain did not fall within the next six weekaa drought might possibly ensue ; and so in the interchange of other original and appropriate remarks, in the unimpeachability of which we were general ! j agreed, five minutes slipped by. ‘Ha! at last,’ said the rector, as Miss Silverthorne glided into the room. ‘Constance, let me introduce Mr Stow, my new pupil ’ She bowed rather frigidly, I thought, and busied herself with some roses at a side table.

‘ Will you t'ko my daughter into dinner, Mr Stow ? ’ asked the re tor, ures ntly I bowed, approached her. and off-rod my arm • rather awkwardly, I must admit. She placed the tip* of her finger* on by my e'bow, and walked into the adjoining apartment,

She sat on my left at the tab’e, and I had occasional opportunity of observing the beauty of her figure, and the easy grace of her movements. She wore a dress of some light materia l , which fitted her perfectly. Her bosom and arms were covered with black diaphanous muslin, which showed up, rather than concealed, the dazzling whiteness of tho skin Her hair was light, with an inclination toward auburn, and had here and there a golden glint; her eyes wore very dark, and produced a decided effect on me when, dashing out from under yellow eyebrows, they met mine. On this occasion Miss Silverthorne was chary c f her glances, and though I was lost in admiration, she gave mo no encouragement. When the claret was put upon the table, she rose without speaking, and left the room. The doctor was chatty, and compared notes with Smart as to the difference between Oxford of to day, and Oxfo v d of years ago. I was not interested in their discourse ; I louged to bo away, to talk with Constance, whom I could see playing at fancy work on the lawn, for although the restrictions of society closed her Christian name to my lips, in my thoughts she was Constance already. I took the first opportunity of escaping from the dining-room, but as I found my way to the lawn, she escaped into the house through the French window. ‘ Vitas hinnulse me similis, Chloe,’

I quoted in my despair. Could she be angry with me ? Had I offended her ?

I paced up and down, smoking a cigarette. Presently the rector and Smart came out into the soft, summer air, still discussing the virtues of a proposed University Reform Bill. I threw away tho tobacco, and approached the window through which she had disappeared It led into the drawingroom, and Constance was sitting in the far corner running her hands idly over the keys of the piano. ‘ Can’t you be tempted into the garden, Miss Silverthorne ?’ 1 asked in my most insinuating tone, ‘Oh, yes,’said she listlessly ; ‘when the tempter asks me, I’ll go.’ This was encouraging, so I entered the room and faced her. ‘Very well, here he is.’

She laughed lightly, ‘ Dear, hear ! How the boy flatters himself.’ This was hardly encouraging; still I would not be rebuffed.

‘ Y >ur father and Mr Smart are engaged in a most iuteresting conversation ; come out and listen to it.’

‘Tha-'ks; I leave inquisitiveness to the men,’

‘You needn’t trouble to do that,’ I answered glibly ; ‘ they have plenty of their own.’

She played a bar of music. ‘ You don’t understand me, Mr Stow ; I’m not at all curious ’

‘ Then I certainly don’t understand you ; for to my lights you are the most curious little lady in tho world.’ She smiled, rose from the music-stool, and took my arm. The contact thrilled me strangely ; she gave me one serious look with her eloquent brown eyes, add led me out half dazed into the happy twilght. ( To ho cont n».ed )