A GIRL WITH FOUR SWEETHEARTS.

King Country Chronicle, Volume V, Issue 347, 25 March 1911, Page 7

A GIRL WITH FOUR SWEETHEARTS.

/r.'irc srnt for nip, and I responded at or.cr. ' 'What's the matter ?" She ilarted a look of pathetic, entroa'y. ye: something comical lurked behind th; look that forced a ■ laugh from me before I could properly assume the grave countenance she invariably expected on these occasions. " You may just as well begin by laughing," she said, really pathetically this time, "because once I teh you you'll simply be unbearable." " Docs it concern me ?" I demanded in some trepidation. "I wish it did, she answered, and 1 we fill into a silence which lasted for at three seconds. ".ts a most awful thing anyhow," she exclaimed at last, "and the worst of it is you'll only lau:;h." I promised a becoming gravity. "Well," she said suddenly, with a rush, "I have had four proposals i this week." i ' That seems a good record. I ! don't sea anything to complain of. I suppose you want my advice as to ; which to accept ?" '•No, it isn't that. I—l accepted | them all !" ; "What. All four ?" "In a sort of a way. I led each ■ one to think it would be all right, ' you know." ' There's safety in numbers at any ■ rate." '"I knew you'd make fun !" "I'm not making fun in the least. I don't think it's funny—only " ! "Don't you understand what a dear Jack Fordo is ?" she interrupt- ! cd. "We were brought up together, you know." A tell-tale flush spread over her face. (She cares for him really, I "Well, when one's with Jack, one does like him dreadfully—he is so young and highspirited and devoted, I think." "Next, please." Then there's Walter Fielding."' "Don't know him."

"No !" she gave a little sigh. " Well, he paints the most lovely pictures in the world, and I am so happy when lam in his studio. I think I should love to marry a painter. They are not conventional, you know, and he thinks I have got pretty feet —it's only the shoe, really, but I do care for him. He's—" 'Proceed, Miss Aninee," I urged. "J, too, have remarked the feet." "Ah, that's nice of you. Well —Sir Julian Clifford !" "He's 50 !" "1 know, but he loves me so ! He loves me more than all the others put together. And he seems to consider it such an honour that I should care for him, and I can't tell you how wonderful that is to a woman. He has such beautiful grey eyes, too, and he never takes one for granted. I think I love him rather desperately." "Go on."

A dreamy look crept into her eyes. She hesitated, th?n gave a little, short, quick laugh. "This is the one, after all," thought I. "It's Reginald Mason." •That prig !" "Oh, ho.v you're down upon him because he's much cleverer than most of you ! There's something; in him that fascinates me oddly. He's different to any one else in the world, and so witty ! Then at the most unexpected moments one catches a note of pathos in his tone, something of a latent sadness which mikes one feel one would do anything in the world just to make him happier." "I congratulate you, Miss Aninee," I said, rising. "Only, which is it to be ? —because I haven't in the least guessed—as you say they are all so charming." "That's the difficulty. I like them HI in so totally different a way. You see there are three kinds of men with re rard to matrimony—-the man one knows at once one would marry and love for ever, the man one thin's one might love, and the man one simply couldn't anyhow. Now, unfortunately, my four fiances all come under the first ?" f lie looked at me for several moments, considering. Then she laughed. "Why, yes ; only they never like me." "That's a great difficulty, of course, thorgh I should have thought " Here some afternoon callers sailed into the room, and for some moments we were separated. She came hack to me, however, on the appearance of her sister, and murmured : "Do—do suggest something !" ' Give me a week," I said. " So long." "A week '." I repeated, and we said good-bye. I met Sir Julian Clifford on the stairs. He was certainly good looking. The week duly elapsed, and 1 heard riL'iin from AninC'" 1 . "Things much worse," she wrote. "Four letters every morning of entreaties for a de:n ie an-wer. f'our bouquets every evening. i caii'i bear it :iny longer. Tei! me, lor pity's sak*\ what to do. 'liny a', e all awfully kind." "Pear Miss Aninee," I answered, ' ! am extremely busy, but meet me tuniiirrow at the corner of M Street at 1- o'clock. 1 have thought of a good plan, only you must have couraire, otherwise I cannot, help yin." She was there ten minutes late. "How absurd of you to make me come here !" she said. "And howpale you look, and so smart !" "Miss Aninee," said T—my voice was slightly trembling— "yon see that, house ?" "Yes," she said ; but what " ' Tint's the registrar's ofiice." "Oh, dear ! Is any of them about,? 'Cause I really can't. It's awfully good of you—but I really can't—not even Walter Fielding. And I do "are—."

"'None of them is about," I said. ! '" Well ?" "You imp !" I paused a moment. She looked up, a little frightened. ; Will you marry me ? : "Dison !" "Will you marry me now ?" ' But Dison !" "Now ?" ' But Dison ! " 'I think you are very unkind. I : like a proper wedding with bridesI maids." : "You shall have that after." We j were at the door. She turned sudJ denly white and walked in, with her i little head very erect. When we came out (I don't think I have ever seen anything quite so lovely as she looked), she said, "Dison, you came under the first heading." I put her in a cab, and she drove home alone. Three weeks later we were married at St. George's-. Hanover Square. I They were all there.—"Weekly Telegraph."