AN AWKWARD SITUATION.

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

AN AWKWARD SITUATION.

1 By Cuve R. Fenn.

He had a title and no means — with, the exception of sixty pounds a year and the occasional sums he was paid for certain i learned papers in the scientific journals. I Yet Sir John Vance was popular in the I ordinary world, an unusual thing for an I individual in his monetary position, whilst he had also a special world of his own — a woild of dreams. He lifted his hat every time he passed the house where ! his mother died. Before he settled down into the drift^ ing condition of the man wh< has more or less accepted his position of second or third fiddle, h« had thought of the ■ army. Perhaps he was too much of a j philosopher for the army ; anyway, he ' did not join. j When he did j*o into .society hit, man- , ners and his conversation charmed all I those with whom he wa& brought into j contact. He came, as it were, fresh to every subject after long absences from 1 drawing rooms. Though lie hid his life, | everybody knew him to be poor ; there could be no continuity in his meeting with his equals; at night in a salon matters were levelled, but lie could necessarily have nothing in common with the dongs on the following day of the friends he encountered. Bnt Violet Mountford, the heiress, did not know all his affairs. She had met him several times, had shown him marked attention plainly, knowingly, so that he might see what she meant, and all the world as well, and yet he did not' propose. On the day after a fashionable reception an elderly lady relative called on her, and Sir John was mentioned. "He is a most scholarly man," said the elderly lady. "It is only a pity that j his uncle whom he succeeded in the I baronetcy left everything in so dep'.oiable a state financially, you know. The poor feMow has absolutely nothing yui a pit-

ta-noe and what he makes by writing, ] which nowadays is not much." j Violet Was exceedingly astctiiSied. I "If you married him you toquW spoil j him," said the other. I "I marry him! Absurd! And will he always be poor?" asked Violet. j The other raised her shoulder* slightly, and then smiled at the simplicity of the question. . ' "It would seem like it," she said, ( "unless he marries well. There is no money left in the estate. But then he < would never marry well unle«6 he was ' made to — he is too pro^d." "Then what ought to be done?" "Done! I don't see how anything can be done." "But he will then always be poor." "Evidently. Perhaps it's just as well. If he were rich he would only be Idle." "Nonsense! He ought to be given a fortune. Th-e Government should do tomething." "It isn't the fault of the Government." The elderly lady — Aunt Matilda. — formed her own opinions. She set herself womanfully to the task of bringing . the two young people together, and a j month latei they were engaged. Sir j John was much congratulated. Before > the man-age Aunt Matilda gave Violet , much excellent advice. j "Be very firm. It's the only way. 1 Don't settle a penny on him, my dear," she said. "If you do, you will ruin him." "Oh, I am not going to!" said the girl. "His lawyers asked me to, but I had made up my mind." Aunt Matilda smiled at such firmness, and patted the girl's hand. •<• j "It will be much better for both of j you,*' she said. "Vance cared nothing about the matter at first. He had married a charming girl ; it wa6 quite enough. But after they returned from Scotland he began to feel the pinch, even in the handsome house in Mayfair. His own income was sc pitifully small. "You see," he said, "I haven't any pecket-money . " "But you have everything you want. "Oh, I know!" and he kissed her. "And then there are the papers you write." "I haven't written anything Jately." "That's my fault," she said, "for keeping you so* much about me. Now you > must have your mornings free — I won't disturb you." "But I'm afraid that I haven't any more ideas," he began. "Oh', you are so clever!" she said. "You will be sure to find some." m j He shook his ''head, and Lady Vance ' laughed. 'iivei'ybody know® you are awfully clever," she said, "and now will you ' excuse me, as I am expecting someone from P,aquin's." ' Later he returned' to the subject. He t could not get her to see tihe situation ' differently — thai ie, from his point of view. I "No, no," -she said : "you have quite _ | enough .money. Of course, if there is j anything thait you want very specially j I will consider the matter, but I am not I ! going to have you extravagant. You will |be wanting a club next. But there I j 1 won't be too hard. Come to me every ! Saturday, and I will give you a pound | to do whatever you like with." 'A pound !" he said with a gasp. "Yes, and you must be careful with it." j To that lie had not a word to say. ! She gave the most recherche dinner , :' parties. Money was spent in profusion i at the house in Eaton square, but Vance found more and more that he was a slave , to that house. He had no club ; it was ' hardly safe for him to go off alone ; he ' was stranded at once. Occasionally he was dov n as low a« a shilling. Still on that point she was adamantine ; he could : get no relief. ! His two pounds a week (he had his own i>ixty a year) were soon gone, and he was often in dire straits : cabs became ! unheard-of luxuries when he was alone, j She treated it all as a joke, but it was no joke to him to have to depend on a few half-crowns doled out as advances on next week's allowance. It was not a subject to be canvassed abroad. " But you don't really require more money," she ea>id with a smile. "You would only waste it." Yet a caib now and then " '■ "Well, we've got a motor " "Oh*, I know !" 'Now you want to <ro off alone. No, I shan't increase your allowance. I shan't really. You can come to me for anything ursfent." "But I want a club." "Absurd !" she Paid. "I haven't got a club, so why should you have one?" And she smiled at him sweetly. ! He could walk in the Park, but the ■ club was the one recognis-ed rtfuge in ! days of domestic trouble. The butler — [ who probably never kne.w what it was | to be short of a shilling — seemed to look jat him pityingly To be denied the luxury I of walking out of the house in a t huff , j and dining at the club! He could only go out of the boudoir into his library. Here she followed him and laughod. "You are absurd!" i he said. "But you don't want me always about tho house." "Why not?" she said. "There's plenty of room." "Oh, it would be lidiculoucs ' It can't go on." "Nonsense, Jack. I suppose before you married me you didn't go about much." j "No." He hesitated a moment. "1 couldn't. You know I couldn't." I "Then why should you do co now — ' except with me? We will go to ths ! theatre to-night." j "But the .servants talk. It is al-ways i you who pay." j ''Well. I can't help that. Don't be un- ' reasonable. As for th<! rervan't^. v.'bat d-o^ it matter'" i "It doe« matter. Imn lc-ilng catte." She actually lau_-hed

''You must see it, too, y he .said. The blue eyes' looked at him In sfetonishment. "If I am pleased," she said, -with the air of a queen, "everything should be well in your eyes." "0h ; it isn't that !" he said desperately. "You don't mean to say that you are tired of me 5" "How could Ibe that?" he said. "You know it isn't that." "Well, it looks like it. You never talk to me of anything else but- money." "Well, you see, I'm mi rather a dilemma." "But, John, why should you be? Isn't the house kept nicely?" "Oh, admirably, of course !" "The cooking is all right." "Yes," he said. "Nothing lacking, is -bhere?" "No, no ; but, my darling girl, you don't understand."' She Jooked at him mockingly "I think I do. You want money to waste." "Not to waste, but to enable me to a definite part." "There, you are tired of me!" she cried. "You told me before we married that all you cared about was to be my husband. "' "So it was," he said weakly. He felt that he was acting like a brute. i "And now you no longer care." _ "I do," he said. "You Know I care." She shook her head. "I begin to doubt it" ; and ehe shed a tear "You want to go and leave me." "But other men go on alone — sometimes." "Where' to? To the club. I don't want you to go to the club. "Yee, and they travel." "I daresay," she said; "but I am not going to have it. I'll draw a cheque if you want to take me anywhere., but I can't have you touring round the world alone on my money. I want you here." He sighed heavily. "You won't understand," he said. "I only want independence." She turned away her head to hide a smile. "Independence ! Oh ! let's be independent together." "You are generally busy," he said. "Oh! I have my little odds and ends, of course. But then you have your writing." "I've lost the knack," he said. v "Would you find it at .a club?" she said mischievously. To that sally he made no reply. He returned to the charge a few days later. "Money again," she said, with a sigh. "How can you bother me?" "But, you see, I must keep up my position." "Must!" she said. "But your position is all right, isn't it?" j "Nothing like what it should be," he said rather sulkily, "as your husband." She smiled enigmatically. He had grown quite accustomed to that smile. "If I am satisfied." she said, "what does the rest matter?" "Still, if we have thirty thousand a year " "We!" she said, with a comical look. "I mean if you haye — would it not be as well to cut more of a figure?" "I know what you mean, Jack. You j would have racehorses, and we should j»o out to bridge parties every night. No, I shouldn't care about it. 1 much prefer a quiet evening, and for you to read me a book." He groaned. It was when Aunt Matilda came to dine and plot that he felt his position mc6t keenly, for it seemed to him as if the stout ard elderly relative came to coach Violet in her policy He was left ! alone in the dining room with* the port, but even so he felt that his position was not the strongest. Violet, in the draw- ! ing room, was receiving instructions and i encouragement. On these occasions he 1 would have dined out, but apart from the fact that his wife would have been displeased, it was not very practicable to do co. since he had lost the liking forthe cheapness of Soho. He began to find time hang heavily on his hands. Violet had much to do. She was in- . terested in social work in the East End, ■ and had drawing-room meetings at her house. One of her hobbies was ro^e-eul-ture. She had many activities, whereas ne was desceuvre ; old historical questions had lost their grip ;he had centred all in Violet. Now, there came that hated, humiliating sense 'of nothingness ; his was a half-started career with nothine achieved and only , bare scaffolding work to look at. I "There i<= nothing for me to do," he said one day, "but to go back to work." ! She looked at him in frank amazement. • "Work! You! What do you mean, J;nk'r" "Why, that it can't go on." "Can't go on?" she repeated. ''Oh! don't say that. Why. we aie going to see 'Henry of Navarre' to-ni^ht. Now, don't look so glum. You mi^ht be as famon<- a.s anybody pise. Dall-us of the Courier, •« ho was here the other night, told me how much you could do." "Oh. imt*!" l's said rcoinfully. "What's. ti;c u«e?" He tuMifd nnUerr ov»r in the rl-ead of niijit. As h>e had her. things ! could not po on. They rcallv ould not. He might <;et a clerkship. But it would look rat he l aKnird to leave for an offk-3 at half-past 8 every morning, and be ' waited upon by a butler whoae po.-l was worth nioro than the hypothetical one he might fill. But there was hi-> writing. Wlmi it harl been really iii'-'-ent in th" ol<l dcv- there had been nothing but rebuff*-. Jfo went out in £ood time the following inorniiiir, ani wiote en article, f.u'd on ;i chair jn tbo Kn.l'ankmcnt (,'iuknf. ;<fter-.vf»id'- ' ikincr it J .o an oTice whrie he knew a lather lnfuifrifial man. The

article was accepted at once. Success is always easy to the non-urgent. He went back home to lunch quite pleased. So was Violet. "I am £lad!" she crged. "You know, you are a wonderful .man." "You are pleased because- I shall get three guineas for that artiofe?" he said. ''Oh, ft isn't that!" she responded."But before you weren't giving yourself a chance." They were dining out that night, and he looked at her exquisite gown. "I suppose that cost a hundredguineas," h© said. "More," she said placidly.- - "Yet you won't let me have a few hundreds a year." ''I am very <sorry," she said, "but, really, I can't let you have anything •of the kind." She was too pretty to be angry with. But -what had be doiie? If the -world knew his pitiful situation, how th« world would laugh! But he could not make a scene. " The article in the Embankment Gardens was one of many. The old skill returned. "^ She actually cut clown his .allowance to ten shillings. For a fortnight he neverwent out except when he accompanied her for a drive or to a dinner and theatre party. "I- am glad to see that you are working" ahe said wh«n she looked in at the library one morning. "Good boy! Here's an extra five shillings to spend. You can buy a box of cigars." He could not help laughing. "What, with five shillings!". "Of course. Why rot?" "Oh, nothing much!" he said; "only you couldn't, and if you did, nobody would smoke them." But lie -was. g-laxl thai lie hacl gone back to his 1 work. He had not neglected if 1 long enough to make this impossible. Several editors welcomed .his articles, and Violet was . delighted and asked them to dinner. Success was^ftdded to success. Money poured in. He started a banking account, and his wife seemed delighted. "It is capital !" she said. "I am so glad. I was afraid that you had lost it all — all the old interest." - A new light dawned then. "Can you forgive roe, Jack?" she said. "I can — anything. What a wonderful girl you are!" She put her arms round his neck. "You see," she said, "if you had only . ju^t — just gone off to this club you wanted to -have there wouW have been ' nothing done. • Oh, I sun ' glad ! People are talking about you now." — M.A.P.