THE WHITE ROOK.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 3, 15 April 1893, Page 14

THE WHITE ROOK.

(Prom Harper’s Weekly.) Chapter 1. You have heard of a Black Swan, but not, perhaps, of a White Rook. Of this however, we will speak hy-and-by. We must talk, to begin Avith, of a young man and a young woman. She was comely, of course —all heroines are. A typical Hew York girl—tall, slender, dark, Avith a ravishing figure, white teeth, flashing eyes, and captivating smile. The smile Avas there much of the time, but not all the time; and when it Avas not, the lady was less enchanting. Por the expression that replaced it AA r as sometimes mutinous, and generally discontented. It is not well alAvays to be fed on the "dainties of life. Such diet brings 'ihorai dyspepsia, which is nice neither to feel nor to encounter. . The young man, although not very wise, had an uneasy consciousness of this as he spoke. “You see, Imogene,” he said, “we should knoAv Avhere Ave stand. You have been liAdng Avith your aunt and cousin in a comfortable house.” “ Oh, it’s well enough,” she assented curtly. “ But you don’t knoAv how long it may be your home, or when you may have to seek another.”

“ Anyhow,” she said, “ I suppose I shall be rich.”

“ Let us hope so. But you are not sure. Here yon have dwelt with your uncle, Mr Jason Willoughby, for ten years, in a house near the fashionable quarter, if not exactly in it. He seems to have had a good income—perhaps twenty-five thousand a year” —with an accent of inquiry. “Hot less,” commented Imogene, with appreciation. “ And you have had silks, and diamonds, and a carriage, and summer outing's, and trips to Europe, and the opera without stint.” “And mean to have them still,” said the girl, with a kind of greedy firmness.

“ Oh, I know how fond you are of all that sort of thing - ,” he went on, critically; “ and it helps to justify iny prudence, doesn’t it ? ” “ Prudence !” she repeated, with a touch of scorn. “ And as to being fond of things, 3 r ou are too, Jack, aren’t yon ? Your club, your cigar, your card parties, your - races. Everybody likes something’ or another better than other things. Let people enjoy what they like, I say. But everybody, except uncle and even he sometimes —has always wanted to cut off my pleasure, to thwart my every wish.”

The look now was not alone mutinous and discontented, but almost menacing, and the young man, if not wise, felt a certain thrill of forsbodixxg apprehension. Jack Harding was a Hew York young man of a not unusual sort. He habitualkr wore a flower, and was gexxerally smoking a cigarette. He was of good height, with regular features, an aquiline nose, of affable ways, was always too carefully dressed, and seldom if ever said anything - you did not expect him to. say. Be it made known at once that he thought Imogene axx heiress. He sought her for that x’eason, although he was chaiy to acknowledge it even to himself. She, fo.i her part, thought he was in love with her person. Attention from men was very sweet to her. Her love of amusement wes truly a ravening passion; but of the vax-ious modes’ of it, that of attracting men’s admiration was most delightful to her : all pleasure was joy, bxxt this was heaven. To keep Harding’s admiration on edge, she pretended to be fond of him. She also spoke disparagingly to him of other men, a device she had often found salutary in furthering her plaxxs. Further, she thought him better off than he was. Each, in a word, in some sense deluded the other. She was the cleverer of the two, but the deception was mutual. He prevaricated on occasion, while she boldly lied. To be believed, said a wise cynic, one needs to be not truthful, but credible. This charming youxxg woman was neither ; but then, her admirer was not vex-y Aviso. “ The upshot is,” said Jack, plucking up spirit, Hew Yoxkis the worst place on earth to live in without money. Yon remember Ixoav Mr Willoughby used to quote John Randolph, or somebody, avlxo said of England that it was paradise for the rich, pui'gatory for the middle classes, and hell for the poor.” “ And we Avaxxt to stay always among the rich.” “ Exactly ; but avg can’t, mind you, Avithout money.” “ Well,” Avent on Imogene, with some impatience, —the talk had too long wandered from the discussion of herself—“ I agree to that. And Avhat then ?” “ Your uncle directed that yon should live here for a year from his death—that is, until St. Valentine’s day, 1886. Your aunt, Mrs Willoughby, and your cousin Bessie were to come from Brooklyn and live here too. After nine months Mr Willoughby's executors 'were to x - ead a paper to you ; and after twelve the disposition of his property was to be made knoAvxx to all concerned.” “Yes,” said the young lady ; “ and the xxine months expire to-day.” “ But what seems strange,” pursued Harding—“ what has always seemed

strange—is that yon don’t appear to know, in short, what he has done with the money.” “ How can I,” she exclaimed with petulance, “ without seeing the will ? .But I have lived with him ten years as 3'ou say. No one is nearer to him m blood. I was always his favourite, the others never came near him—or, at least, very seldom.” “ All true,” said the young man, more confidently. “ Who should have it but you P But it’s odd ho never gave you even an inkling. Now —” “ See here,” cried Imogene, imperiously—see here, Jack; you think too much of the money, and too little of me. Do you mean to say —” “Do you think I care more for money than you do P ” he retorted. Why, I never saw a girl so wrapped up— ” “ That’ll do,” she cried, with anger. “ There are others who 'would put me first, and the money after : but —” “ It’s fox 1 both our sakes, isn’t it ?” lie made answer. “We both want ■what we’ve been used to, don’t we P Of course you have other lovers. Any fool knoAvs that. But—” “ Silence !” she fumed, and flashingfire. “ Not another word ! And yon may go ; the sooner the better.” Perhaps it was Avell that just here another visitor was announced in Mr Diehard Barton. (To be continued.)