A Test for Two: How it Answered.

Free Lance, Volume I, Issue 45, 11 May 1901, Page 19

A Test for Two : How it Answered.

OF course, I knew what Captain Derrick wanted , he had made that perfectly plain to myself and all beholders. There was nothing of finesse in his methods, he simply sat down before the fortress, which was me, and bombarded it with compliments and flatteries in the full glare of the electric light. So that when he sent a request for a private interview at four o'clock in the afternoon, I divined his purpose precisely. In short, he w antme and poor Adolphus's money — especially AdoJphus's money. However, I said that he might come, and he came , certainly a pleasant object to look upon. It seems a pity that men should be so mercenary. A moderate experience has led me to the opinion that few shine on these occasions, but, no doubt, Basil made a better figure than the common or garden young man. He was far from betraying any symptoms of bashfulness, and he did not attempt to gain time by a criticism of the weather. He took my hand with a suggestion of ownership that in itself was not particularly objectionable, and he darted a glance around my small draw mg-room as he sat down. "You seem to have rather snug quarters here," he remarked, and I confessed that they might be worse. "Only," he continued, "you cannot help finding them a little lonely now and then It isn't well for a woman to live alone, you know." "Still," I returned, "it's better to bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of." "Oh, well," he exclaimed, "you know me, anyhow." "Yes," I said, "I think I do." And it is^ true that I thought I did. "You have made it pretty hard for me to go on living alone," he persisted. "How is that?" I demanded, and Basil looked rather pleasantly into my eyes. "They're blue, after all," he said, leaning forward. "I believe," I reminded him, "that you wanted to see me " "That's true," he answered. "I'm always wanting to see you. lam beginning to feel that I never want to see anybody else." "Well, you have found frequent opportunities lately," I said, "and I suppose it wasn't to decide about the colour of my eyes that you came. Though, as a matter of prosaic fact, they are grey." "Are they?" he asked, rising from his chair. But I told him to sit down again. "It's the colour of your mind I am anxious about" he added, with a sinilc. "The truth is that I love you," he murmured. But I didn't beiieve it. "Aie you sure of that?" I asked. "If ever a man loved a woman, I love you," he insisted. "I want you to promise to be my wife. Don't hesitate!" he cried, rising again and coming towards my chair. "Every hope I have in life is fixed upon you." I wished he had not protested quite so much, and he appeared so deceptively in earnest that he made me remorseless. "Well, I should be sorry to disappoint your last hope'" I said, but ho seemed deaf to what was intended to be the underlying sarcasm of my answer. "Gladys!" he exclaimed. "But I fear that is what it may come to yet," I suggested. "For goodness sake, don't say that," he urged. "What I want is so precious that the smallest fraction will be better than nothing." "What are you talking about in that piecemeal way ?" "Why, your heart," he answered. "But, you see, it is impossible you can have a fraction, because it happens to be whole," I said, "and if it is only my heart you want " "What else?" "Then," I continued, "perhaps your case is not utterly hopeless." Of course, I knew that I 'was distinctly misleading, but it seemed that he deserved it. He came very close to me, possessing himself of my hand. As this appeared to please him, and his contact, after all, was not actually objectionable, I allowed him to hold it. "Gladys," he whispered, "give me your promise to make me the happiest man on earth." "I want you to listen " "To your promise first l " he urged, and I was growing desperate. "Well," I answered, "I don't know that I lu\c any objection to promise- " "My darling l " cried Basil, and somehow I couldn't go on for a few moments. "I don't mind promising — conditionally." "Make a thousand conditions if you like " he said . "I don't care what they are." "Still, it is just as well you should hoar," I insisted. "I make it a condi- < tion thatr— that — " "Well?" he exclaimed, impatiently. <

"That you don't change your mind n "Never I" "Within a quarter of an hour." "Not as long as my life lasts," he protested; but I could not help laughing, though I did not feel extremely mirthful either. 'Now, please sit down," I said . "and leally there is no necessity to move your chair. Of course, you have heard that my husband left me all his money." "Ton my word, I've never troubled my head about your money!" (0, Basil! Basil! I thought). "At all events, he did," I explained, "and he left it entirely at my own disposal." "That was rather jolly for you," said Basil. "But," I continued, "I always made up my mind that in the extremely unlikely event of my marrying again — " "Oh, I say, Gladys!" he cried. ' Nothing seems more improbable," I insisted. ' Anyhow, you have promised now,' he answered, with a short, happy kind of laugh , and, perceiving what a disappointment was in store, I couldn't help feeling rather sorry for him. "Conditionally," I said, with all the significance I could throw into my voice. "The condition doesn't count." "That remains to be proved," I continued , but really I felt no doubt in the world. "I always made up my mind that if ever I should be idiotic enough to marry again, I would not be indebted to Mr. Wentworth." "Well, I don't see exactly how you will be," Basil muttered. ''I mean that I determined to make a deed of gift " "That's what you have just done to me, you know," said Basil. "You arc always thinking of yourself" I retorted. "Of you," he whispered. ' At all events, I was thinking of my husband's nephew — Norman Wentworth. If his uncle had not married me, Norman would have had all his money." ' Oh, well," said BasJ, sententiously, "one person's gain is bound to be another's loss." ''And," 1 cried, "my loss will be Norman's gain, now." "Now I begin to see what you're driving at," was the answer, and I confess that his calm, unruffled manner startled me. "You want to make over the money to Norman Wentworth before our marriage !" "Before my marriage , that is my intention," I said, firmly. "So that if ever I marry I shall have exactly the sum I possessed before, and that will be precisely nothing." "Well," answered Basil, "I advise you to go to my solicitor." "Why should I go to your solicitor?" "He is the very swiftest chap in London," said Basil. "Oh," I cried, with an attempt to disguise my new apprehensiveness, "but there is no need for haste at all." "But you said you wanted to make the deed of gift before our marriage!" "Yes, of course " ' Then the sooner it is done the bettor," he insisted, and I am afraid that I began to look rather foolish, for asburedly I had not expected things to take such a turn. "You see, Gladys," Basil continued, ' there's no earthly reason why we should wait." "Then," I faltered, "you still " Naturally," he insisted. "Indeed," I said, "I don't think it is in the least natural, Captain Derrick." "That is because you can't see youiself, Mrs. Wentworth," he answered, with a smile. "So," he continued, "you fancied I should be wishing to back out?" "If I hadn't fancied that," I exclaimed, "I should never have dreamed of giving you my promise." "Still, you did give it, Gladys, and you can't very decently draw out of it." "Don't you think I—lI — I can?" I asked. "Why, what is your own opinion p " he demanded, as he had taken my hand again. "I suppose not," I admitted. "Come," he urged, "be honest, dear, you don't want to draw back ?" "Well," I answered, "I am not quite sure You see, you havo taken me a littlo by surprise " "After all," he said, with a gloomy expression, "it isn't exactly a. compliment to me, is it '•>" "Of course, one can't be blind to the lessons oi experience," I returned, "and I — well, perhaps I wasn't quite sure." "I shall tell the solicitor to come to- j morrow '" he said. 'Oh but please give me a little time to think!" I pleaded. "What about?" asked Basil. "Why, about making over the money, of course." * "So that there is no question about our wedding," he insisted.

"I thought that was all settled," I answered, but really I had not anticipated that it would turn out in this way. Still, all's well that ends well, and it has ended very well indeed, except for poor Norman. — Thomas Cobb.

Auroia Australia ' that wonderful sight, That dazzles the eyes with its bmlliance and light, Occuis in those xegions where ice and the snow, E\tend everlasting- above and below. Such a climate would kill us so used to the heat, New Zealand's bright sunshine is so hard to beat. It is here we escape coughs and colds to be sure, By taking th»t Woods' Great Peppermint Ctirk