BEYOND THE CITY

Te Aroha News, Volume XI, Issue 1724, 23 March 1895, Page 4

BEYOND THE CITY

- ‘ lia jgg gif ggggßpr

sr . a-Co*m PoyU,

COPYniQHT, la»s, BY AUTWOKB* ALUANOK. am. 4UOWTS .1 RESERVED. a«v;x»J ••-«.■,. - - , " • But there was one woman at least to whom the meeting and all that was connected with it had brought anytliing but pleasure. Clara Walker watched with a heavy heart the friendship and close intimacy which had sprung up between ’ her father and the widow. From week to week it had increased until no day ever passed without their being together. The coming meeting had been the excuse for these continual interviews, but .now the meeting was over, and still the doctor would refer every point which rose to the judgment of his neighbor. He would talk, too,'to his two daughters of her strength of character, her decisive mind, and of the necessity of their cultivating her acquaintance and following her example, until, at last it' had become his most common topic of conversation. All this might have passed as merely "• ' the natural pleasure which an elderly man might take in the society of an intelligent and handsome woman, but there were other points which seemed to Clara to give it a deeper meaning. She could not forget that when Charles Westinacott had spoken to her one night he had alluded to the possibility of his aunt marrying again. He .must have .known or noticed something before he would speak upon such a subject. And then again Mrs. Westacott had herself said that she hoped to change her style of living shortly and take over completely new duties. What, could that mean except that she expected to marry? And whom? She seemed to see few friends „ outside their own little circle. She must have alluded to her father. It was a hateful thought, and yet it must be faced. One evening the doctor had been rather late at his neighbor’s. He used to go - into the admiral’s after dinner, but now he turned more frequently in the other direction. When he returned, Clara was sitting alone in the' drawing room reading a magazine. She sprang up as he entered, pushed forward his chair and ran to fetch his slippers, - f “You afb looking a little pale, dear,” he. remarked. “Oh, no, papa; l am very Well.” “All well with Harold?” “Yes. His partner, Mr. Pearson, is still away, and he is doing all the work.” “Well done. He is sure to succeed. . Where is Ida?’ 4 “In her room, I think.” 1 “She was with Charles Westmacott on. . r the lawn not very long ago. He seems * verv fond of her. He is not verv Bright, but ! think he will make her a good husband.” _ - . a ; “I am sure of it, papa. He is very - . manly and reliable.” r . “Yes, I should think that he is not the - sort of man who goes wrong. There is nothing hidden about him. As to his ' brightness, it really,does not matter, for v;. : ; his aunt,.Mrs. Westmacott, is very rich —much richer than you would think . from her style of living—and she has made him a handsome provision.” ] “I am glad of that.” •! “It is between ourselves. I am her > tanstee, anil so I know something of 'her arrangements. And when are you going to marry, Clara?’ . „ , “Oh, papa, not for some time yet. We haVe not thought of a date.” . ! j' “Well, really, I don’t know that there is any reason for delay. He has a competence, and it increases yearly. As long asyon are quit? certain that your mind ‘ is made up”-—• . I , ?‘Oh, papal” J “Well, then, I really do not know why there should be any delay.- And Ida, . . too, must be married within the next . few months. Now, what I want to know 1 is what l am to do when my two. little' companions run away from me.” He. ' < Bpoke lightly, but his eyes were grave as he looked questioningly at his daughter. “Dear papa, you shall not be alone. It will be years before Harold and I \ think of marrying, and when we do you must come and live with us.” j - “No, no, dear. I know that you mean what you say, but I have seen something ! " ‘ of the world, and I know that such arrangements never answer.. There cannot be two masters in a house, and yet - at my age my freedom is very necessary •to me.” ; ; VY-v “But you would be completely free.” 1 “No, dear, you cannot be that if you are a guest in another man’s house. Can . you-suggest no other.alternative?” 1 “That we remain with yon.” . “No, no. That is’out of the question. ] Mrs.. Westmacott' herself . says that a woman’s first; duty is to-marry. Mar- 1 riage, however,. should be an eqmjl part- • nership, as she points out. I should wish 1 you botjh to marry, but still I should like ! a suggestion from yon, Clara,.as to what i 1 .I“sbouJd do'.” - -

... ' “But there is no hurry, papa. Let ns j ' •< ■ wait. Ido not intend to marry yet.” . j •.•■•" : -'-.'-l3r.-'''rWalker/ looked disappointed. £ . ‘ 1

“■Well, Clara, it yon can suggest ing, I; suppose that I must take the ini \J : riative myself,” said Lie. . •-j . ;.“Thtnwbat do Vyqn. propose, papa?” j She braced herself as one who sees the j blow which is about to .fall, A- j 110 looked at her and hesitated. “How i like your poor dear mother you are. j Clara,” he cried. “As I looked at: you it was as if she bad come back from | "the grave.” Ho stooped toward her and i kissed her. .“There,,run awayto your ! - sister* my dear, and do not 'trouble your-. j a fielf about me, Nothin.; is set; led yet, ia. j •you will••fin.l that all-will come .right.;* * j “Clara wont up stairs sad at heart, f< I she wos sure now inat w a at she hr. . feared was ml' I .;' ant to co-no to pa and that her Lather was going . to a -. 'Ju* s. Westmneott to be las vile. In hpare and" earnest, mind her mothe? nunnery w:w eiishriued-as that of a sui-•fijid-tha. than::’ ■'; ..:.A ..ay - <-.ul li her place seemed a lemoiohieseeiutia—-

aven worse, however, did this marriage appear when looked at from the point of view of her father’s future.

The widow might fascinate him by her knowledge of the world, her dash, her strength, her unconventionality—all these qualities Clara was willing to allow her—-but she was convinced that she would be unendurable as a life companion. She had come to an age when habits are not lightly to be changed, nor was she a woman who was at all likely to attempt to: change them.. How would a sensitive man like her father stand the constant strain of such a wife, a woman who was all decision, with no softness and. nothing soothing in her nature?^

It passed as a mere eccentricity when they heard of her stout drinking, her cigarette smoking, her occasional whiffs at a long clay pipe, her horsewhipping of a drunken servant and her companionship with the snake Eliza, whom she was in the habit of bearing about in her pocket. All this would become unendurable to her father when his first infatuation was past. For his own sake, then, as well as for her mother’s memory, this match must be prevented. And yet how powerless she was to prevent itl What could she do? Could Harold aid her? Perhaps. Or Ida? At least she would tell her sister and see what she could suggest. Ida was in her boudoir, a tiny little tapestried room, as neat and dainty as herself, with low walls hung with Imari plaques and with pretty little Swiss brackets bearing blue Kaga ware or the pure white Coalport china. In a low chair .beneath .a red shaded standing lamp-sat Ida in a diaphanous evening dress of mousseline de soie, the ruddy light tinging her sweet childlike face and glowing on her golden curls. She sprang up as her sister entered and threw her arms around her,

“Dear old Clara! Come and sit -down here beside me.- I have not had a chat for days. But, oh, what a troubled face! What is it then?’ She put utj her forefinger and smoothed her sister’s brow with it. • • „ - Clara , pulled up a stool, and sitting down beside her sister passed her arm round her waist. “I am so .sorry to trouble you, dear Ida,” she said, “but I do not know what to do,” \ “There’s nothing the matter with Harold?’ \

“Oh, no, Ida.” “Nor with my Charles?’ “No, no.” Ida gave a sigh of relief. “You quite frightened me, dear,” said she. “You. can’t think how solemn you look. What is it, then?" “I believe that papa intends to ask Mrs. Westmacott to marry him.” Ida burst out laughing. “What can have put such a notion into j r our head, Clara?” - - - -

“It is only too true, Ida. I suspected it before, and he himself almost told me as much with his own lips tonight. I don’t think that it is a laughingmatter.” • “Really, I could not help it. If you had told me that those two dear old ladies opposite, the Misses Williams, were both engaged you would not have surprised me more. It is really too funny.” “Funny, Ida? Think of any one taking the place of dear mother.” But her sister was of a more practical and less sentimental nature. “I aih sure,” said she, “that dear mother would like papa to do whatever would make him most happy." We shall both be a.way; and why should papa not please himself?” “But think. how unhappy he will be. You know liow quiet he is in bis ways and how even a little thing will upset him. How could he live with a wife who would make his whole life a series of surprises? Fancy what a whirlwind she must be in a house. A man at his age cannot change his ways. I am sure he would be miserable.” Ida’s face grew graver, and she pondered over the matter for a few minutes, “i really think that you are right, as usual,” said she at'last. “I admire Charley’s aunt very much, you know, and I think that she is a very useful and good person, but I don’t think she would do as a wife for poor quiet papa.” “But he will certainly ask her; and I really think that she intends to accept him. Then it would be too late to interfere.. We have only a few days at

; the most. And what can we do? How can we hope to make him change tus mind?” Again Ida pondered. “He has never •tried what it is to live with a strong minded woman,” said she. “If we could only get him to realize it in time! Oh, Clara, I have it, I have it! Such a lovely plan!” She leaned bade in her chair and burst into a fit of laughter so natural find so hearty that Clara had to forget her troubles and join in it. “Oh, it is beautiful!” she gasped at last. “Poor papa! What a time he will lave! . But it’s all for his own good, as fie used-to say when we had to be punished when we were little. Oh, Clara, I do hope your heart won’t fail you.” “1 would do anything to save him, j dear.” - “That’s it. You must steel yourself by that thought.” -- “But.what is your plan?” “Oh, I am so proud of it. We will tiro him forever of the widow and of all emancipated women. Let me see, | are Mrs. Westmacott’s main idea;;?

CHAPTER IX A FAMILY PLOT.

Little did poor Dr. Walker imagine as he sat at his breakfast table next morn-

ing that the two sweet girls who sat on either side of him were deep in a conspiracy, and that he, munching innocently at his muffins, was the victim against whom their wiles were planned. Patiently they waited until at last their opening came. . “It is a beautiful day,” he remarked. “It will do for Mrs. Westmacott, She was thinking of having a spin upon her tricycle.” “Then we must call early. Wo both intended to see her after breakfast.” “Oh, indeed!” The doctor looked pleased. “You. know, pa,” said Ida. “it seems to us that we really have a very great advantage in having Mrs. Westmacott liv-

ing so near.” “Why so, dear?” “Well-because she. is so advanced, you know. If we only study her ways, we may advance ourselves also.” “I think I have heard you say, papa,” remarked Clara, “that she is the type of the woman of the future.” 1 “I am very pleased to hear vou speak so sensibly, my dears, I certainly think that she is a woman whom you- may very well take as your model. The more intimate you are with her the better pleased I shall be.” “Then that is settled,” said Clara demurely, and the talk drifted to other matters. All the morning the two girls sat extracting from Mrs. Westmacott her most | extreme views as to the duty of the one j sex and the tyranny of the other. Absolute equality, even in details, was her ideal Enough of the parrot cry of unwomanly and unmaidenly. It had been invented by man to -scare woman away when she poached top nearly upon his precious preserves. Every woman should be independent. Every woman should learn a trade. It was their duty to push in where they were least welcome. Then they were martyrs to the cause and pioneers to their weaker sisters. Why should the washtub, the needle and the housekeeper’s book be eternally theirs? Might they not reach higher—to the consulting room, to the bench and even to the pul- ■ sit? Mrs. Westamott sacrificed her meycto ride in her eagerness over her pet subject, and her two fair disciples "drank in every word and noted her every suggestion for future use. That afternoon they went shopping in London, and before evening strange packages began to be handed in at the doctor’s door. The plot was ripe for execution, and one of the conspirators was merry and jubilant, while the other was very nervous and troubled. When the doctor came .down to the ilining room next morning, he was surprised to find that his daughters had already been up some time. Ida was installed at one end of the table, with a spirit lamp, a curved glass flask and several bottles in front of her. The contents of the flask were boiling furiously, .while, a villainous smell filled the room. Clara lounged tn an armchair with her feet upon a second one, a blue covered. book in her hand and a huge map of the British islands spread across hoi" lap. “Hullol” cried the doctor, blinking and sniffing, “where’s the breakfast?’ “Oh,’ didn’t you order it?’ asked Ida. “I!. No; why should II” He rang the hell. “Why have you not laid the breakfast, Jane?” “If .you please, sir, Miss Ida was a-workin at the table.”

vOh, of course, Jane,” said the young lady calmly. “I am so sorry. I shall be ready to move in a few minutes.”

“But what on earth are you doing, Ida?” asked the doctor. “The smell is most offensive. And, good gracious, look at the mess which you have made upon the cloth! Why, you have burned a hole right through.” “Oh, that is the acid,” Ida answered contentedly. “Mrs. Westmacott said that it would bum holesf ’ “You might have taken her word for it without trying,” said her father dryly. “But look here, pa! See what the book says: ‘The scientific mind takes nothing upon trust. Prove all things!’ I have proved that.” “You certainly have. Well, until breakfast is ready I’ll glance over The Times. Have you seen it?” “The Times? Oh, dear me, this is it which I have under my spirit lamp. I am afraid there is some acid upon that, too, and itis rather damp and torn. Hore it is.”

The doctor took the bedraggled paper withja rueful face. “Everything seeuis to be wrong today,” he remarked. “What is this sudden enthusiasm about chemistry, Ida?” “Oh, I am trying to live up to Mrs. Westmacott’s teaching.” “Quite right, quite right!” said he, though perhaps with less heartiness than he had shown the day before., “Ah, here is breakfast at last!”

But nothing was comfortable that morning. There were eggs without eggspoons, toast which was leathery from being kept, dried up rashers and grounds in the coffee. Above all thore was- that dreadful smell which pervaded everything and gave a horrible twang to every mouthful.

“I don’t wish to put a damper upon your studies, Ida,” said the doctor as he pushed back his chair. “But Ido think it would be better if you did your chemical experiments a little later in the day.” “But Mrs. Westmacott says that women should rise early and do their work before breakfast.” / “Then they should choose some other [Continued in