OUR STORYETTE.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 5, Issue 220, 24 October 1916, Page 4

OUR STORYETTE.

(All Rights Reserved.^

—♦ — THE NYMPH AND THE VULTURE. Dear Mary,—This is a deadly place, and terribly slow. The only occupants of the hotel are jabbering, jibbering foreigners. I don't take to them, and they don't, happily, take to me—which is something to be thankful for. The only English people here are a man and his wife on their honeymoon, whe fight all day (cheerful, isn't it?), and three of the most kittenish old maids you ever saw. They are too "gazellish" for words, and make the most appalling eyes at me as I walk into dinner. There was a quiet summer-house here I rather affected, overlooking the lake; but since the eldest kitten found this out I have had to give it up. Do write soon and tell me all the family news. I am getting on slowly but surely, but still have to go on with the cure. If only someone interesting would come, what a Godsend it would be.—Your loving brother, Charles. Dear Mary,—Thanks for yours. It was most amusing! Fancy Philips having been caught at last in the net of the butterfly I Poor Old Phil. Well, we all come to it in time, I suppose, and, probably like the Devil, it is not as bad as it is painted—let us hope not, anyway.

There is someone just arriving. I am so hard up for amusement, I must go and see who it is. My dear girl, I be* Here the Godsend has really arrived 1 Such is faith that can remove mountains and also bring people unto them. Some English people have just come. An elderly lady—tall and aristocratic looking—two girls, and a tall man, at d a woman I take to be his wife One of the girls is the prettiest little wench I have ever seen, and such a high stepper. Looks like a thoroughbred with the bearing-rain on. They are having tea now at a table quite close to me, and she is chaffing the other* no end; gets home every time, too. Decidedly brainy, I should say, my dear girl, I simply must get to know her. lam more than satisfied with what fate has sent along.—Yours, Charles.

' Dear Sis.—lt if all very well for you to w rite and say I am not to mako a fool of myself with this girl. The question that arises rery forcibly in my mind is, shall I get the chance P The Nymph surveys mankind from a distance through a pair of lorgnettes, that make her look so superior; but on the whole she seems quite satisfied with the family circle, and does not seem at all anxious to extend it. I told you about the Baron de Belleville who is staying here—a very decent chap. He is struck all of a heap, too, and is almost beside himself because he cannot get to know her. She returns the coldest bows to fcis morning salutations. Evidently she hasn't much use for French Barons. But Madame la Baronne has still less use for her. She is removing herself and Gustave to-morrow, because English girls who wear white frilly frocks and little Russian-leather shoes, and sit in rocking-chairs and show their ehoes discreetly when they swing to and fro, and look alluring and disdainful, are not good for penniless and susceptible' sons. She says she may he nobody—that you never know these English misses; they all look alike, and, worse still, she may have no dower I She confided all this to Gustave before dinner, and he is beside himself with anger and disgust, but he cannot help himself. Like all young Frenchmen, he is too much under the thumb of Madame ma Mere, and must do as 6ho tolls him. Poor Gustave!

There is the gong, I must go and watch my deity descend the stairs like an angel coming down to earth—apparently she hates lifts. I thought I might possibly make her acquaintance there; but no luck, she never uses it. —Charles.

I am sending you a snapshot of the Nymph. I took it when she wasn't looking; it's mean, I know, but I couldn't resist the temptation. When I know her better I shall confess and apologise. You will guess from this that the ice has been broken at last. It was that poor devil. Gustave's, idea, though he didn't live to profit by it—not here, any way, and that is all that really matters. He had the brilliant idea to leave the restaurant early and secure all the most comfortable chairs, put them in the best place, out of the draughts, and offer them to madame as she came out from dinner. She couldn't do less than accept them, and then he could talk to mademoiselle. Well, all went well. He got the chairs, and madame and her eldest son and his wife accepted them with pleasure; but mademoiselle, for whom he had done it all, simply walked straight through the lounge into the library and wrote letters the whole evening.

When they departed to bed, the eldest son went and called the Nymph and asked her whether she had finished. They caine through the hall together, arm-in-arm, and when he said "Goodnight." She looked at me and bowed slightly, also to Gustave, and that's all he will ever get. Now I must end. though I am so excited I shall nol sleep.—Charles. Dear Old Sis, —Then even you think she is pretty, and it is a beastly snapshot, and doesn't do her justice in the least. I tell you, she's a clinker! We are getting on swimmingly; she even chaffs me about these three awful spin*. She calls them "The Vultures." says how the two eldest will look as bridesmaids, and sketches costumes for them in which they would look worse than ever, if possible. She hopes our honeymoon will be more peaceable than that of the couple I told you about here. She says that if a man wishes 1o throw a plate at his wife's head in public, he ought to wear motoring costume and a mask io hide the face, and openly bewails the fate of the poor vulture when I look glum.

You needn't worry about who she is —she is related to the Treshanis, so you'll be happy—but what could anything matter with a girl like that?— Yours, Cbarle«. I am absolutely heartbroken —they leave on Monday. Somehow . . . lik« a fool I thought these halcyon days would go on for ever. I never thought of them —tliev have only been here tbieo weeks and I have only four wlmle day* h'll Win di<l f ever meet her—only to pal l like this'' Chril le*. [t it ; 111 verv •.*•«»! I. but I daren't. I know she would sav no \on weren t

her front the Treshams. I am nearly oft my head, and I.believe she notices it, and thinks I am ui?.d I »hall be soon if this goes on. Wait till I go to the Tresham's for the shooting. Not much—you don't meet a girl like that every day—some other lucky dog will snap her up—confound him! This is her last night—l will do it or die!

Accepted. Congratulate me. Writing.—Charles.

Did you get my wire? Molly, I'm so happy. I did it yesterday. My word, I was in a funk! I never got a chance till after dinner, and just as I was screwing myself up to the part she got up and said she must go and pack. Then I got desperate. I said, "Your maid fan see to that all right."

"Oh, no," she said, not looking at me, "I always superintend her packing." "Not this once," I said, pleadingly; "come and look at the lake with me—it looks lovely in the moonlight, and it's your last night —it's a crying shame to spend it indoors." She hesitated, but she saw an old maid she particularly objected to looking shocked, and that decided her. 1 shall always love evil-minded old maids after that.

We went out together into the soft warm night. I don't believe I should have dared to do it then, but she tripped over a stone and nearly fell. 1 got her in my arms and held her tight over my'heart. I thought its beating might speak for me. She lay quite still in my arms, and then she turned her face and our cheeks rested against one another.

"I thought you didn't care,'' shi murmured, with a dear little break in her voice; "you seemed so awfully bored to-night." I explained to her it was sheer funk that had made me so silent and uninteresting. She said she couldn't understand any man being frightened of her. I could! You should have seen the look the Vultures gave us when we got in.— Charles.

(The End.)