LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2024, 19 August 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

JOHN BALLANTSNE’S WOOING. * Dear, dear I what shall I do ?’ cried little Mrs Merton, wringing her plump white hands in comic despair. She had just come into her pretty breakfast room, through whose open windows the roses looked in, and nodded and laughed at her troubled face, as if they would say, ‘Be merry as we; let care fly away to the winds ’

Handsome John Ballantyne. lounging idly at the breakfast table, looked up from his paper and ashed, calmly : ‘ What troubles you, dear madam ?’ Nothing ever disturbed John Ballantyne. Just to look at his strong, calm, restful face did one good ; and, soma way, his friends had fallen into a way of taking all their little cares and worries (and greater ones, as well) to him, sure of finding always sympathy and comforting counsel. Not that he had always been so peacefnl; no, he had fought fierce battles with fate—battles in which he had well-nigh lost life and hope. But his indomitable will conquered at last, and he had come forth victor. Mrs Merton respected and honored him with her whole warm heart —first, because her husband, in his life, bad loved this true friend so well; and then because she knew how noble he was —knew the tender reverence he had for her and for all good women ; not because one woman had proved false to him —had tried so hard to wreck his life—did he hate all women for her false sake.

His question to Mrs Merton was no idle one.

‘ What troubles you J’ he asked j and in some way he meant to help her. ‘ My waitress has just gone off in a pet, and the cook Is half sick,’ answered Mrs Merton, In real perplexity. ‘ And here is a telegram from Miss Marshall, saying she will arrive from Newport to-day, instead of next Tuesday, as she had arranged. If I were only in the city I could procure another servant in an hour, and the dinners could be sent in from a restaurant; but here in this wilderness, ten miles from a lemon, and from everthing else, I do not really know what to do. If it were any one coming but Miss Marshall 1 should not so mnch care. But a petted heiress, used to everything so fine, who will be wretched if things are not just right! It’s too bad! ’ ‘ Is that Miss Marshall’s true disposition?’ asked Mr Ballantyne, looking up at his hostess with a quizzical smile. ‘ For shame! and you've been telling me so much of her perfections ! ’ ‘ Well, I really know nothing about her,’ said Mrs Merton, frankly. * I’ve never seen her, although my husband was her guardian; bub I suppose she is particular and exacting. Most heiresses are. You know she has always lived abroad with her aunt (who is married again now, and making the tour of this country). Miss Marshall doesn’t wish te travel, so has left them at Newport, and is coming to me for the summer—coming today. Now what shall I do?’ ‘l’ve a plan,’ said John Ballantyne, who had been thinking deep’y for a few moments. ‘ Let me be your waiter ! I have my tableau costume here, and can rig up capitally. And it will be such a good chance to study the heiress from behind the scenes. You mnst consent! ’

‘ You my servant ?’ exclaimed Mrs, Merton, aghast, ‘ Never ! Why— 1 But John Ballantyne carried his point, as in his quiet way he generally did, and spent the morning Inspecting silver and china pantries, and in being initiated into the mysteries of his office.

He was an apt pupil, and Mrs Merton, who had entered into the spirit of the frolic, prepared for the reception of her guest with a light heart, sure that all would go well under his supervision. The sun was sinking behind the western hills when Miss Marshall arrived; having driven over from Westdale (the nearest railway station, four miles away), bringing with her an ample supply of luggage—and a maid.

John Ballantyne, looking from his window, saw a girl with erect graceful form, descend from the carriage. She was dressed in some clinging material of gray, and closely veiled ; but every movement betokened grace and ease ; and even in that brief glimpse he saw how neatly she was ‘booted and gloved’—sure sign of a lady always. Following her came a taller figure, somewhat stout and awkward, who fussily examined each article as it was unloaded from the carriage, and bade the driver hasten his movements.

' The maid, I suppose,’said Mr Ballantyne to himself. ‘She looks shrewish.’ But he found his mistake when, on his announcing dinner (in irreproachable style), Mrs Merton ushered this tali lady into the dining-room, and addressed her as ‘ Miss Marshall ’

‘So she is the heiress, after all,’ thought John, deferentially handing the soup, and giving a searching glaace at the lady in question. She was not ill-looking, now that he saw her more closely, bhe was stylishly and handsomely dressed in brown silk, with rich lace and coral completing her costume. Her eyes were soft, clear, honest gray ones, and her face looked strong and true, but she was almost painfully quiet, and not all Mrs Merton’s kindly advances could succeed in penetrating her reserve. ' Utterly commonplace and uninteresting,’ was John Ballantyne’s silent verdict, while Mrs Merton was astonished bsyond measure.

Surely this could not be the girl who had written such sparkling, brilliant letters to her guardian, and whom report pronounced everything that was charming and lovely. And yet there was the aunt’s letter to Mrs Merton, introducing her niece. It must be all right; but she was awfully disappointed. Deep down in her heart had larked the hope that Edith Marshall might waken her favorite’s heart again to love. But that could not be now ; such a woman could not woo him to forget the past. Mrs Merton was glad when dinner was over, and, leaving the heiress in the parlour with a book of engravings, she could return to the dining-room. • Now you shall have your dinner, you poor martyr of friendship!’she exclaimed, laughingly. ‘ Cook shall bring it in fresh and hot, and I will wait on you myself. You did it splendidly. If you had been “to the manor born ” yon could not have waited better. ‘Thanks!’ said John, bowing low. ‘I would like my dinner alone ; but there is the maid ! She must come here, for she cannot eat with the cook. I shall carry out my character, for to night at least, so send her along. ’ Perhaps his desire to know something more of that graceful, gray-robed girl gave him greater persistency, till at last Mrs Merton was obliged reluctantly to consent to his demand, and, sending the maid to the dining-room, she went back to the thankless task of entertaining the heiress. As the girl who had so aroused his curiosity entered the room, John Ballantyne fairly started, so radiant was the face of the girl. Byes like starry violets, beneath a forehead broad and white; lips so tender, so bewitching, arched like Cupid’s bow j a rounded, dimpled chin, and cheeks just tinged with faintest blushes.

Ah, she was charming ! and John Ballantyne’a heart so long unmoved by fairest woman’s presence, throbbed fiercely now. The girl, still In her dress of quiet gray, advanced slowly, looking at him with eyes full of wonder.

I doubt if he remembered hie odd dress—the knee-breeches and long stockings, the white vest and many-buttoned coat, but to this girl he looked like boto prince in disguise, and hie strong, splendid face moved her strangely. Suddenly remembering bis assumed character, John bowed gravely, saying, ‘I am John, the waiter, miss. Will you dine now with me V

For one moment the girl perceptibly hesitated ; then a rongish light came into her starry eyes, and, oourtesying gracefully, she said :

‘I am Alice, the maid; and, yes, I will dine now, if you please.’ Her voice was like the chime of silvery bells, so sweet and clear, and the rosy, parted lips disclosed two rows of pearly teeth that added one more charm to the perfect face.

They sat down together at the table, and the constraint each felt made them very silent at first, till some chance remark from John provoked a merry laugh from his fair companion.

There is no surer passport Into favor than a good hearty laugh together, and soon they were talking like old friends ; for each had travelled extensively, and had many Old World memories in common.

The meal was unusually prolonged, yet John was sorry when his companion at last arose from the table. His face brightened, when she asked, shyly—(To be continued.')