LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2428, 17 January 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

ROSE GERANIUM. ‘I hate the odor !’ Harry Penryth dropped the tiny spray of rose geranium which he held, and a shudder crept over him. It was on the wide, cool verandah of a large hotel at one of the fashionable watering places, and his com panion was Mrs Warbnrton, a young and lovely widow. She looked np Into his bandsome face with a peculiar glance from under her long black eye lashes. ‘ Why, Mr Penryth, ’ she exclaimed gaily, ‘ what an Idea I To hate a flower !' He tried to smile, bat it ended in a failure. ‘I will tell you, Mrs Warbnrton,’ he answered, ‘and then perhaps yon will understand me bettor. In the first place, ever since I can remember —even when a child—the odor of rose geranium caused a curious sickening sensation to creep over me. I cannot understand it; it la a sort of antagonism or repulsion, for which I fall to account. The later— ’ He paused, and a far away look stole into his dark eyes, as though recalling the past; a leaf turned down on some page of his life history. * I had a dear friend once, ’ he went on, after a pause, 'a dear friend—l never had

another. Gerald Brookes and I were like I hi others; modern editions of Damon and [ Pythias, they used to call ua in the college i where we were educated. I had no hopes or aspirations apart from Gerald i and his interests were as dear to mo os my own. Nothing could hurt him which did not hurt, me. I regretted exceedingly - regretted with a strange pang of jealousy—when at last, in the course of events, Gerald fell In love. Ihe lady was one whom he had mot while travelling for the firm which employed him. I never met Mies Delorme, but I learned she was the perfection of grace and beanty, an elegant and accomplished woman, and withal an arrant coquette. She was heartless and unprincipled, and sot about breaking my friend’s heart coolly, deliberately, and systematically. Mrs Warburton that woman was as certainly the murderer of Gerald Brookes as though she had slain him with her own band, for she blighted his hopes and ruined his peace and lured him on with her false deceitful smiles and her glorious beauty until he confessed his love and cost his heart, his great, noble, manly heart, at her feet, only to be laughed at and told scornfully that she was on the eve of marriage with a decrepit old millionaire. ‘Now Miss Delorme’s favoriteperfume —so Gerald had told me- was rose geranium. She wore the flower frequently ; its scarlet spikes glowing in vivid relief In the braids of her jet-black hair. Somehow I came to associate the two —the woman and the flower—which I so unaccountably disliked, oud a feeling sprang np in my heart for Miss Delorme which grew and flourished like the blossom Itself—-a feeling of strong aversion. ‘ And so time passed, and poor Gerald was daily fed with false hopes and illusions nntil at last the blow fell. Had I been in his place when the knowledge of her baseness came to me I should have spurned her as I would a noxious reptile from my path ; but Gerald was not made of as stern stuff as 1 am, and so he conld not recover from the shock. Oh 1 Mrs Warburton, it was an awful blow to me whan they told me the dreadful truth '.hat Gerald Brookes had taken his own life ! • It all occurred in the far South, where he was travelling. I sent at once for his body—poor, murdered boy. It cams. He looked like a marble statue lying there, white, cold and dead, his bands folded over his heart that had beat with true and faithful love for the woman who was the oanse of all this, and clasped in his dead hand I found a spray; 1 could not seo his body desecrated by anything she had touched or cared for. From that hour I have hated the odour and sight of the blossom with greater intensity than ever. It may bo childish and weak in me ; if so, I confess my weakness, but I cannot reshi it.’ He paused and rested his handsome head on one white, shapely hand. Harry Penryth was young and wealthy, and many a woman had endeavored to awaken a responsive ohord in his heart. Bat, although he moved In gay society and was courteous to all, and attentive to some, no woman bad ever really touched his heart until he had met with sweet Lily Moreton, Bat Ethel VVarburton, the rich young widow, loved him with a most wild, absorbing passion, which carried everything before it. The crafty Mrs Warburton soon discovered that there was no engagement existing between Miss Moreton and Mr Penryth, and racked her brain for some method of disenchanting the young man, and turning his love lor Lily into aversion and dislike. While Harry Penryth related the story of his friend and his tragic death, Mrs IVarburton's face had grown very white ; a wild, haunted look stole iuto her eyes, and the little hand which held a sprig of the obnoxious rose geranium was icy oold and trembled. She threw the flower away. 1 I’m sorry I offended you with my geranium,” she said, humbly, *it is no favorite of mine!’ It was a deliberate falsehood, but no matter, * The end justifies the means, ’ —at least she thought so. As soon as she was alone in her own chamber, she paced the room like a oaged tigress. •My God 1’ she panted, breathlessly, ‘what would he say—how he would scorn me, if he knew that I am Ethel Delorme, the woman who jilted Gerald Brookes ! But he never shall know. I love him 1 I love him I And I shall win him if I die for it I’ She fell into a profound reverie. All at once her dark beautiful face lighte i up strangely, 'I have it!’ she exclaimed, ‘ I believe I can see my way.’ That night Mrs Warburton stood before the mirror in her room, arrayed for the hop which was to take place below stairs. She was regal in cream satin and lace, with white roses in her magnificent black hair. She moved slowly toward a window where a pot of rose geranium was sitting, and stooping over it, broke off a mass of scarlet bloom. Then humming softly to herself, aha left the room, crossed the wide corridor, and tapped at a door. ‘ Come in !’ cried a sweet voice, and Mrs Warburton turned the knob and entered Lily Moreton’a room, 1 How lovely you are !’ she cried rapturously, a jealous pang at her heart, meanwhile, as her eye fell on the slender figure in white lace and pearls. ‘But oh, Lily, my love!’ she added, with a gush of apparent sincerity, • why do you wear pearls ? See ! I have brought you some of my favorite flowers. I raised them myself, , I cannot wear them with this costume ; red and yellow would be too gorgeous for me, and I do think this dash of scarlet with your lovely white lace would bo too pretty for anything, i Will you wear them, ma chere ?’ ", The young girl looked pleased. She was a sweet, tender-hearted little thing, incapable of deceit, and, therefore, unsuspecting: • You are very kind, Mrs Warburton,’ she replied ; ‘indeed I will wear them.’ So the wily widow fastened the red blossoms In Lily’s golden hair and at her throat and waist as conspicuously as possible ; then, her work accomplished, she flitted away. When Lily descended to the grand salon below she was joined at once by Barry Penryth, who offered her his arm for a promenade. A pair of flashing eyas followed the two as they moved slowly through the rooms, and a pair of rosy lips curled up with a strange smile as they saw Henry Penryth gaza fixedly at hia companion, and turn pale to the very lips. The subtle instinct which so strangely affected the'ynung man was slowly but aurely entering his heart. After a time Mrs Warburton observed Mr Penrythjmakiog hia Way through the crowd to her side. He looked pale and troubled. ‘Coma out and walk, Mrs Warburton, Will you not!’ he said, offering his arm. With a triumphant look in her eyes she arose, and they stole out into the moonlight, • Where is Mias Moreton ?’ queried the widow, archly. ‘ I do not know,’ he replied, a trifle coldly. • Let us sit here,’ he added, pointing to a rustio seat. It was a lovely night; hia companion was beautiful and fascinating. Heaven only knows of what foolishness Harry might have been guilty, but just then a voice fell on their ears from the shrubbery near. ‘ Ah, Dupont!’ cried a man’s voice, and a whiff of cigar floated by ; ‘ why didn’t you tell me the Delorme was here ?’ ‘ Delorme ?’ returned his companion, ‘ I don’t know of whom you are speaking. The first speaker laughed lightly. ‘ You remember the woman that jilted Brookes, don’t you? Poor Gerald I be was a noble fellow ! Well, she afterward married old Warburton, the millionaire, and worried him Into the grave within a year. She’s a fascinating widow, and the young men (who do not know her) flock round her like moths in a candle 1 I hear Penryth is the last victim!’ • Indeed ?’ laughed the other ; and the two passed on, Harry Penryth turned on his companion a face of marble whiteness. * What does this mean ?’ he gasped. ‘ Answer me ; are yon Ethel Delorme ?’ She laughed recklessly. ‘ Is It fair to place me forever under s ban?' she asked, ‘just because a man whom 1 never could love was foolish enough to care for me ? Mr Penryth, I was not to blame, listen !’ • Hush I’ he said, sternly. * Don’t attempt, any palliation. Shall I take yon back to the honse. Mrs Warburton ?’ And Ethel Warburton knew that it was all over, that the game was played, the die' thrown arid lost. * * * * Alone on the moonlit verandah, Lily, Moreton sat, pale and sad. Harry Penryth came to her side and bent tenderly over her ‘ Lily,' he whisoered, ‘where did you get t 1 a;e rose geraniums ?’ She started slightly and blushed.

* Mrs Warbarton gave them to me,’ ahe replied, ‘wasn't she kind ?’ ‘Very,’ he answered, drily. He sat down then beside Lily and told her the story of his friend and his tragic fate. Before it was concluded she had torn the blossoms from their resting places and tossed them over the verandah railing. They fell on the grass plot below, right at the feet of Ethel Warburton. And recognising them she knew the truth, knew that her wicked wiles had not succeeded, and all was lost. And she was right, for before the season was ended the newspapers announced the wedding of Lily Moreton and Harry Penryth.