OUR STORYETTE.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 6, Issue 264, 3 April 1917, Page 4

OUR STORYETTE.

4 1 (JOLL RIGHTS RESERVED.)

A BRIGHTON WIDOW.

Brighton is the old man's Paradise. It is also frequented by widows, Brighton, in the season, is the world in iminiature. At Beauville boarding establishment, there was the common, or garden, old maid, to be met with at most seaside resorts. There wm a foreign prince, of doubtful origin and undoubted inpecuniosity. They took him on reduced terms at Beauville, because his titta cast a kind of radiance ( over the establishment like an added jet of electric light. There was tho usual number of papas and mammas with children, slow girls, fast girls, old girls who tried to be young, and young girls who tried to be old. And 'there was also the widow. She made little bread pellets ami tired them at :the prince across the dinner-table, 'vhie.h the old maid rightly considered .extremely frivolous c-onduct in a woman who still wore weeds.

Mrs. Marquand possessed a companion in the shape of a neutral-tinted creature, who read "Jane Austen" sort of books. She was very quiet and harmJess (except when she strummed on the piano, regardless of time or tune) and nobody took much notice of her. The widow had been in Hrighton ;a fortnight when Charlie Travers, accompanied by a married sister, came idown to stay. Almost immediately Charlie fell in love with the widow, and she seemed to reciprocate his affection. Charlie's sister looked on aghast. She did not know what to do to prevent him making a fool of himself. But she did not intend him to throw himself away on a woman nobody knew anything about—a widow especially. Mrs. Durrant considered her course.

One day Charlie and Mrs. Marquand drove over to the Devil's Dyke, where they had tea, and returned in the delicious moonlight Charlie asked her to marry him. It was what she had meant him to jdo from the first. Only now that her desire had come to pass, she felt she loved him too much to say 'yes."

"What would your sister say? I know she does not like me, - ' faltered the widow.

"Darling, what is anybody else to us, or their opinions?" Charlie cried, passionately. his boyish face lit with lovefire. "We have our happiness to consider. Say you will be my wife, Stella" (she had told him her name). '"I am ;not asking you to'marry into poverty. I have told you all about myself." "And I——'' her head went lower. The subtle perfume of her dark hair seemed to ereep into his brain. "I .have not told you much about rayself."

"You could only tell me what is good, therefore, you are too modest, - ' iie cried, enraptured. For every man is a fool once in his life, and that is the first time lie loves. '"Say 'yes,' Stella,' - Charlie pleaded. And at last she said it, snatching at her chance of happiness. When they reached Beauvijle, in time for dinner, they found Mrs. Warrant's husband had arrived. Several times during the courses the widow caught him staring at her in a puzzled sort of way, as though he were trying to recollect something. Sho turned her face away, flushing all over. Mrs. Marquand always went t<> kiss lnr companion "good-night, -1 before »he wens to her own room.

That night Miss Browne know by iiio glad light in !:<•!• v<->r-e tli.it >OlllO- - nice had happ-rvd. She sat up in hod, lier thin plait of hair hanging down her Sack, and t: retched our her hand io Mrs. Maronand in the dark.

T am so glad, dear," she s:iid. softly. - You deserve it all.' 1 'Do IP That is nhat lam afraid

about. But, 0 Martha, I do love him. I didn't mean to, only 1 couldn't help myself. Ought I to go away and never see hiin again?'' •'No, no, no! Yuu deserve your happiness if anybody does. If those fiddle-faced people who sneer at you were only half as good, it wouldn't matter. Didn't you stand by me when all the world was against me:'' Nobody would have recognised the phlegmatic Miss Browne now.

Mrs. Marquand gave a little sob. ' I wonder if ] had always lived in the country and never hamt to dance, what sort of a girl 1 should have

I oil ' been r •Frightfully insipid,'' said Miss Browne, shortly. ' There, bo happy now you have the chance. ' "I will," said the widow, creeping »way.

But her happiness was short-lived. The next day Charlie had to go up to town on business with his brother-in-law.

"It is so liard to leave you. though only for a few hours, sweetheart," he said.

When he had gone the widow went and sat in the drawing-room with a jbook. There was nobody else there. Mrs. Durrant came in, carefully closing the door behind her. "I have been wanting to see you,"' j>he began, abruptly. "1 know who you ire — m v husband recognizee! you. You are not a widow at all, but iottie Dartmore, a third-rate music-hall dancer."

"la that all you have to tell me?" asked the soi-disant widow. She was white to the lips and trembling. "No; I want to tell you that you must not—you inu't not marry my .brother." There were actually tears in Mrs. Durrant's steely blue eyes. "He i.-, such a dear, nice boy ; and to marry ■a woman like vou would mean bis .social suicide." • A woman liko me?" repeated Totlie. "Well, even I can love. Perhaps I should make him quite as good a wife .as it he married into his own set." Mrs. Durrant gave a gesture of despair. "Charlie is not n>h. If it is jnoney you want '' "No, it isn't money," said the music;hall dancer. "I suppose you have a ,right to insult me because 1 am not a lady."

"For Charlie's sake. See, 1 even go vii my knees to you-—'' "\>v for Charlie's I will not marry him " Mrs. Dili rant would have kissed ihn jdancer's hands, only she them from her. "Vn will go aw»yP" >L« asked,

eagerly. "My brother most sot set jou again." "You are hard—all good wonts are hard," said Tottie. "You mean to make my sacrifice complete. It ahall be. Before Charlie returni I akall hare gone—hare passed out of hie life for erer."

"It will be made ap to ym,* said Mrs Durrani.

"Of course, thiafs ahrapa aW," said Tottie, wearily.

Then she west npsWn to Ml Miu Browne to pack. Miss Browse gare a pap. "I don't nsderstand——J* "No; I will tell yon by-aad-bye. Don't talk."

She wrote a little note to Charlie. Jus>t a few brief lines:

"Darling,—l am going away from you, because I love you. lam only Tottie Dartmoro, a music-ball dancer, not a lady such a 6 you ought to marry. I meant to tell you the troth, thes I dare not. But let my lore he ay excase, and try not to think too badly of me. Good-bye, my deare6tl" Then Tottie tore thfl note up and threw it in ihe fire. Instead, she scribbled :

"I am going away. Don't try to find me. You haven't enough 'oof/ yoa know. like me only care for mow>y."

She rent downstairs to give the note to Mrs. Durrani.

"You may read it if you like," she said.

She said "Good-bye" to the prince and the old maid.

"You are going in a hurry," observed his Serene Highness. "Yes; a telegram," answered Tottie, vaguely. "You look tired—not fit for a journey," .said the old maid, and her sharp voice was almost gentle. Tottie shook her head. Then she stooped suddenly and kissed the old maid's withered cheek.

"I am sorry if I have not alwaya been quite kind to you," she whispered. "Good-bye."

A hansom was at the door and the luggage was being piled up. Miss Browne followed Tottie out, with one of Jane Austen's books tucked under her arm. Mrs. Durrant stood in the hall as they passed through. "Charlie will thank von some day," she whispered.

"Yes." said Tottie. But did she want him to thank her? Charlie was wroth indeed at Tottie'i faithlessness.

His sister never told him the true facts of the case, thinking discretion the better part of valonr. In time he married a girl with brickdust colored checks and drab hair. He does not like women who are tall, and pale, and dark. He never i*w thi "Brighton widow" again. Perhaps her feet have danced off the st.ige of life, lightly, "gladlv, as they always danced on the music-hall stage in the glare of the for.Uights. (The End.)