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THE MAGNET OF FATE.

H. T. G. "Allow me 1" He picked up the dainty ■ilk handkerchief and returned it to the owner, but did not pass on. i Her " Thank you " quite satisfied the demands of politeness, but the acoompanying smile implied a great deal more, and tlhe involuntary movement by which ehe mad<» Toom on the settee for the stalwart soiemn-faced man showed that 0010- ' nial etiquette does not necessarily entail Hie orthodox invitation before fellow- ' quests may indulge in th* pleasantries of "small talk." "You are not dancing?" he said. "Is that not very evident?" "The music is tempting!" "But the dancers are not!" she replied. "I find I am right," said- the man eoftiy. "I did not expect ' actual cynicism, but I guessed, or rartfber made* sure, ifchat you were different from the general : run of social butterflies 1" j 'Then you "have been inspecting me! , iAre you a detective }" j "Of worth — yes!" "Then you have mistaken your self- j imposed vocation." "Thdis case proves that I have not." "Let me see ; we have never met before — you don't know my name, and I ; don't know youTS, and — and there's • mother watching." ! "Do. you wish me to go?" j "No, I'm lonely." "Lonely ! At a Government House ball? In this crowd?" , "Yes. People are horrid." ' "Er — I'd better " and he moved as if to rise. "No I don't mean you. You -look different." "Oh ! Then you've 'beer inspecting me,' and 'you don't know my name and I don't know y r ours' — that is, I d<on't know your other name, but you are 'Miss Edith,' for I heard a chap in colonial officer's rig referring to you as such." The lady flushed. "How dare he! Who was it?" | He smiled. "I am a stranger in tins land of the Maori and the fern." j The band struck up a fresh cadence in the waltz, and most of the wallflowers staved their chattering to listen to the mv=Jc. ! "Our sil-enee is more sensible than oar conversation," saad the girl after an " awkward pause. j "I don't follow you?" * ! "You do not appear to be the £ort of roan rrho would folJow anybody," ehe replied literally. I "That depends upon who leads. I followed you." i "You did not. You 'inspected' me first, aiikTthen you pick-ed up my hand- I kerchief a.s an exeuee — thai i? — oh, what am I saying? I humibly apologise." The man laughed. "For what? For taking pity on my lonelir..eies?" ; "What! l Lon3ly a.t a Governinue.nt j Houes ball? In this crowd?' " and at .her repetition of his ow/i 'words her ' bripht eyes mim>r.?d delight at has con- j fusion. j "It aeemed as if you ordered, and I ' came," he said, somewhat limply. j "No; lam not a leader I fear we ' are a weak family." j "Had your hvpnotiem been any' 'stronsier' I should have fallen a>t your feet. There ar-3 others of you, then?" I "It is customary to have a mother and a father." "Don't tease. Any of the others here to-au^ht;-" • ' ./'.No, dad is away travelling. Oh, yep, of course, mother is here. That's mother over *bere in tihe cream lace mantle, talking to Captain Armstrong. [ have a married sister and one brother. He's still in India." "India? In the Service?" "Yes. He was recently promoted to • captaincy. He, too, used to be weak." "I object to that 'too.' It is unnecessary. But was he really weak?" What can you expect from an anaemic boy. spoilt from babyhood by a doting, ' . indulgent mother? Poor old Bob, how lie used to «hiv«r irhen I put spidica-s doira his jieck." "And 1 expect those same spiders, plus a little iudicions SM>terl<v bossing," reformed Master Bob, »h?" "No : he is a good deal older than I am. He was Knt out to India* when only a ste-inlinp subaltern, and I haven't seen him since." ' "I'm Interested in Bob. How dc you Know he is no longer 'weak' ?" This catechising gave the questioner every change of gazine upon the delicate foeautv of "Miss Edith" and of catching the eloquent and exquisite shades of exmressioD from her violet-blue eyes. The - dancing went on, and but little aibt&n. tion, save by an ever watchful mother, liad been attracted to the rapid develop- ___„ snent of so unconventional a friendship. ~ True, one or two of her would-be ad:mireT6, eonc of "distinguished local citi[«enß," had accepted the "House" invite.Jfcion merely as an excuse to pursue somewhat dasulfcory attentions. But Edith jurats not a popular girl, though" so dashingly haaddome. She made no secret of £Bi«r classification of most people she met, ij&nd her cold epithet "Horrid boy!" had ifrosen many an otherwise amorous heart. tihe quieit-Looking sun-tanned man in I «mdress uniform had awakened an im©ulse- 'she bad never felt" before. Early •in the evening ehe had noted hie reserve, .and bfcid mentally remarked upon the unjmistakable personality and individuality an the self-possession, the comprehensive glance, and Uhe natural dignity of the stranEer soldier an leave. "No longer weak?" ?he Raid, musingly repealting his words. "Why, Bob writes

to me every mail. I have piles of his ' letters, and £hey read like a dia*y. . He is unlike most brother's, for he tells hie sister everything. Be even chronicles his champagne suppers!" "Amd does he say, 'Dear Edith,— My j character has changed; "the 'weak and in- , consequent Bob is now a strong-minded , and fire-eating Roflbei-t":" "Don't be frivolous — the characteristic doesn't suit you. Early in Bob's career he made a friand in the regiment — a brainy, masterful friend who used to snub , him out of has follies and kugh him out of his troubles." "What a -cad to snub a raw boy and to laugh at a man in trouble!" j ".What would you do? Feed him on strawberries and cream, and. say, 'Pore, pore boy'?" "It would' depend. But I think Bob's » friend must have been a bully. What was his name?" "Please don't talk like that. His ( name, or rather his nickname, is 'Bluebeard,' amd I love Blue/beard. Why did you start like that?" j "Nothing," and he stout his lips tightly. X 1 — I didn^t know you were in k>ve," i he feebly added. ! "Don't talk about love so lightly ; lthat's only fit for fops and addle-pates j like those boys buzzing round, mother i OYier there, and for s" : "BltM?beards." ; "Bhiebeard singular, please," not plural. My Bluebeard has saived brother Bob. i He made a man of him, and I love him j for his integrity, for he writes about Bluebeard and sant me his photo." The girl rattled on with a delightful disregard of pronouns. "He tells me of his firm- j ness in temptation, his stk>icism in dan- ! g>er, bis bravery in tlie hill flghtirag, his I guidance through trials, his moral •force " I "Then he's an arrant humbug, a hypo- j crite," hurriedly ii^arrupted her listener. 1 "How! What — what do you mean? j Are you also one. of those horrid' people ■ to whom nothing appears to be true or ' noble? I think I'd rather continue my J solitude which you broke into just now, I please." "And is there nobody who may break it?" said he, slowlj rising. "Only my idol — Bluebeard Barrington, my brother's major, — and he's in India," • said the girl, unfolding her fan. j The man trembled visibly, and sat ' down again. "I'm eg ashamed," he said j in answer tc her glance of surprise, "but j my naime is Barringiton. They call me ; 'Bluebeard' out East. Bob Marchamt, \ your brctiher, is m<y best friend. But 1 you've baid so much rubbish — I mean — I ■ v beg your pardon. Ton my word, I feel , like a silly schoolboy." j The lady's eyes searched his face, and [ dancied with delight at recognition from \ the treasured photograph ; and then the j tears gathered, but she conquei'ed them, ; for p-aople were looking. They were tears of penit-up feelings, mingled, per- ' haps, with shame, perhaps with. "And," he continued more firmly, as if tc hide he<r comfusian, but in reality i adding to it, "Bob has told me of his stunning sister. He has shown me her letters ; don't winoe, they're each a merry treaitke on the logic of living. • And I'm afraid I also have a photograph ; ! but it isn't half so lovely — I mean, that ' i 6 Look here, I've been in love with ! Edith Merchant for years . ." The music paused, but at* a sign from the master of ceremonies the players began an encore waltz. The tune was "Just one girl." Barrington glanced' searchingly at his ! companion, who seemed to understand j the thoughts that both the moasic and i the major's fentiments had inspired, for | she accepted his arm, and as the pair j joined the groups of merry dancers Mrs j Ma re ha nt wa<- heard to murmur to herself. "So EdOth has found the right one at last." : And she had. j I

Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19090908.2.440.1

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 88

Word count
Tapeke kupu
1,501

THE MAGNET OF FATE. Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 88

THE MAGNET OF FATE. Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 88

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