LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2500, 12 April 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A SLIGHT MISTAKE. [“ London World.”] We are dining In the Cafe Anglais In Paris preparatory to going to the play. Phii Chester, Dolly Chester his wife and I, Rogei Temple. Three la not a good number, as a role, nor does a husband nsnally make a good third; but this case is exceptional altogether. Poor old Phil Is as deaf as a post, and • ot the least restraint on conversation; in fact, his presence lends a certain p qnsnoy to tho fact that one is making love to hla wife. Now I protest, reader, against your too hesfcy condemnation of me as an unprincipled, not to say a mean, brute. I nave flirted with Dolly for years ; she was my greatest friend in India, and there is no harm in It, on the honor of a gentleman. Dolly was born a flirt; she will flirt If she lives to be ninety, and she is as good a little woman as ever stepped. Phil does not mind —not much at least. There are one or two fellows he outs up rough about ; but he likes me. “ I shouldn’t mind so much if I could hoar,’ he said to me one day, and I bellowed In reply fit takes a peal to make him hear) “ Thank Providence 1 my dear old chap, that you can’t! Where Ignorance is bliss ’tie folly to be otherwise.” I am on my way home from India • not perhaps, by the direotost route, but then there la no partlouiar inducement for me to hurry. No anxious parents are awaiting me no fond sisters long to welcome me, partly with an eye ttxtha Eastern treasures in my trnnk. I am an orphan, with one brother, who was at Eton when I left England. During my absence our mother died, and left him three thousand a year, and me one; so though I don’t nourish any reientmen 1 " against the lad, still I am not possessed by any particularly burning desire to fold him to my heart. To return to our mut'ou (cutlets a la jardiniere, and exquisitely savoury). We have had a delightful day in the delicious gardens of Versailles. Phil is an epicurean; he does everything In the moat charming and comfortable way. _ It was such a day I a September day, with a glorious sun, and a south-west wind, and we had a carriage and drove down. Old Phil sat on the box ; he got a better view, he said, and it was a bore seeing people laugh and talk and not knowing what the joke was; so he turned his

broad back to us, and we were very cosy imlde, Dolly and I. Every now and then he wood do showman and point na out objects of interest, aod we would rod our heads violently in acknowledgment of his atten tion, and in testimony of our interest. Dolly is capital company, and we ne rly died < f laugh-ng. The landscape was rather lost upon us, I’m afraid ; and if it hadn’t been for Phil, wa should never have known that wo were passing tha factory at hevros that has bestowed so many treasures on the world, and tho pretty gardens and lovely autumn tints might have escaped us. By Jove, I’ve wandered from the mutton again ! * What a nig you are, Eoger!’ says Dolly. This is not in ailuah n to any gluttony on my part; it is a term of mild abnse which she employs when she is displeased with mo. ‘ Yon have not spoken a word to me tor ten minutes ; and yon have done nothing but stare at that girl. I don’t know what you see in her; she is just like a great wax doll. ’

‘ What is she saying ?’ says Phil, who sits close to my left hand. ‘ What’s the row F’

‘ She did not like the last dish,’ I respond in a mild roar, being unable in public to give a verbatim report of her remark. ‘ Humph !’ says Phil ; * women don’t know what is good in the way of eating and drinking. I never ate a batter dish in my life.’

It is quite true that I have been looking (not staring, i hope) at tho young lady ot yonder table. It is not so mnoh that she is beautiful, though I sincerely think her so, ns that there is something In her face which seems familiar to me. 'JL'wo or three times her eyes have met mine, and on each occasion an almost imperceptible smile has curved her lovely red lips. She sits facing me ; opposite to her is a portly lady, whose back la toward me, and on her right an oldish man. Papa and mamma probably. No; on further inspection, not papa, I decide. His manner towards her la too empresse fcr that, and her smiles and blandishments, thongh not even suggestive of a mild flirtation, are not snob as young ladles bestow on a parent. ‘Hang me it I was ever so puzzled I’ I say, half to trolly, half to myself. ‘What about?' asks Dolly a tiifla snappishly. ‘ About that girl. I know her face, and I believe she knows mine.’

*At all events, ’ retorts Dolly, ‘ you will know each other the next time you meet. She is a forward minx.’

At this moment the trio rise. They had a good start of us at dinner. ‘ By Jove 1’ and with one hound I am out of my chair and shaking the portly lady, whose face I now see for the first time, by the hand. It is Annt Janet; and —God bless my soul —can this beautiful young creature be my cousin Oorisande, whom I ielt in short petticoats cuddling a doll ? ‘ Why, Eoger,’ cries my aunt, beaming with smiles. • who would have thought of seeing you ?.’ ‘ toy dear Aunt Janet’—and I gave her another shake of the hand— * how awfully glad I am to see you I’ There Is no doubt blood is thicker than water. I never dreamt I coaid feel so affectionately toward any one. ‘And—and —is this Oorisande ?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ replies the most delicious voioe I ever heard, whilst smiles dimple the bewitohiog face ; ‘ this is Oorisande, I knew you from tha first. Master Eoger. I have been hugely amused at your perplexity and you obiffonnee little friend’s displeasure.’ ‘ Oorry darling!’ warns mamma. Corry darling, indeed! lam not often taken abaok, but this superb young woman, with femme dn monde air, gives me a new sensation It is evident she reads my thoughts, for she gives mo tho most mischievous glance in the world. ‘Four years make a difference, ’ she says, archly. ■They do,’ I rejoin; and I dare asy my admiration is written in my face, for she gives a little contented laugh. ‘ What are yon doing here ?’ interposes Aunt Janet. ‘ Have you finished your dinner ? Can yon come with us now ?’ , ‘O no 1 Miss Corsande answers for mo. ‘Eoger has a previous engagement.’ I feel a little bit provoked. I cannot tell her here that there is nothing between me and Dolly, but I can’t hear her to go away with a wrong impression. 1 Toencome and see us at our hotel tomorrow morning,’ says Aunt Janet. ‘I shall be too delighted,’ I answer impressively. * Come and spend a long day,’ murmurs Corieande. ‘ That is, if Madame permits.’ ‘ Nothing will prevent my coming if I am alive,' I say; and then 1 feci as if I had made rather a fool of myself by my fervent protest.

1 Well, then, good-bye,’ pays Aunt Janet heartily. ‘ Goovbye until to-morrow.’ ‘ A domain,’ uttera Corisande, who speaks French with the most adorable accent. 'Madame attord Monsieur and she gives a roguish look In the direction of Dolly.’ * Well!’ remarks that lady, with a very grumpy air, as .1 resume my seat. * Well,’ I respond, trying to control the jubilance of my voice, 1 that is my cousin ” 1 But a cousin’s a different thing,’ quotes Dolly, giving an extra turn heavenward to her little nose, •Yes,’ I assent, smiling involuntary to myself ' a cousin’s a different thing.’ * iteally,’ cries Dolly, with exasperation ; ' men are enough to make one sick. The moment they see a fresh face, off they are. They forget all about their old friends. ‘My dear Dolly’ I say in a pacificatory tone ' relations have some claim upon a fellow.’

‘ Oh, yes, much you thought about your relations' claims before you saw that this girl was good looking! .Pot’—and Dolly hastens to correct herself—‘that I think her good looking ; that she is too tall : and bow awfully she must pinch her waist. Well ’ (as like a prudent man, I preserve a golden silence) ' and when are you to res her again? I wonder yon did not go off with her now. I am sure you may if yon like ; I don’t want you,’ with growing ire. Meantime Phil is regarding us curiously. Poor chap ! he knows it’s no use making inquiries here, as the rest of the diners would have to bo taken into confidence at the same time. {To bo continued.')