The Storyteller.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume XLVII, Issue 7913, 31 August 1905, Page 4

The Storyteller.

Ate Imitation. "You'll ba sure to come, Dick ?" "My dear Cynthia, whan am I not 'sure to come' to you •" "You are such a comfort," sighed inv cousin thankfully, "Thank you, Cynthia." "You ww, you talk to old ladies." continued Cynthia, "and you do takt in iImH p«ople I can't send la to dinner with any one cls«." "I see—on the principle tn the sweet,' L ' I aurHttred resentfully "And house-parties, ere such a bore to arrange." continued Cynthia, ignoring my aggrieved tone, "ami Vernon can't bear tn* to bother hiw." "That is the warst af being a good ■wife and a popular hostess," I said, "for you are bound to make your husband happy, and yet Oiut the right people, er lose your reputation." "I have secured a lien for arret Saturday, Dick—at leant, X mean a lioness." "Really," X said. "Js she vory . alarming ?" Ik Cynthia a added tciuaspßaJilly. "Xo she'* delightful I met her at fjnty Allißghaar*^—you kHaif, that nice woman wh« knaw.s everybody who has dona aMj'Uuag. and where you never kman, whether yau are goiag to ait aaxt (• the future Prime Minister, the latest thing fa pianists. or Someboy'a Whole-fruit Jam." Ik

"And that it where yeu met your lionets ?"

Cynthia nodded agata. "Yen; it's Margaret Black—you know, the weraan -who wrote 'Life's know it was awfully clever, and Hany Paths,' or "ft* Divers Ways of Life,' or some nam* like that—l Frank said he would not have it it the house."'

"What it the lady llto-isshe on* of thoae dull ones to be given to me V

"Oh. no." said Cynthia. "On the contrary, Dick, she i« most amosinc and very clever—at least I have always heard she was—yon see, I've only met her once. Prank says she is fiendishly clever, but that's only his way of admiring her.' "And you have only seen her once, and yet you ask her< to stay here ?" "Why not 7" retorted Cynthia, « faint flush rising to her face. "I met her at Lady Alllngham's; besides, you know what it is—you happen to sit next to a woman who tells you she ia fond of motoring, and never gets a chance to motor, amt then—oh ! I don't know," broke ol Cynthia laughing. "I believe my motor car is responsible for a lot o> my invitations." "I see "

"Beside*, that's not the point She'* one of those wom«n you know awfully well in five minnte*. and 1 wanted to have a well-known writ*-, in my party this week-end—and, any how, she'* conn ay, and ahe'« a very celebrated aathoreaa, and yon must lake ber entirely under your charge Dick."

"Don't frigbteu me, Cynthia ; women author* frighten me horribly.' "Oh, but the Isn't a bit like some of them," said tny cousin, airily ; her hair is quit* tidy, and she has

• waist, and she'* thoroughly nice, and Jig* a very low voice ; and now | tell yon what I want you especially to do." "I wait your commands, my dcai Cynthia." "Well, f want you first to get al 1 her books for 'tne. I hare rear them, of course ; but I must loot ; over them again, as I am rathei nixed about the characters, and I want you to talk about tliem to threat of the people." "To sort of coach thew up, ii; » fact ?" "That'H it." said Oynthia, "am' 101 l old Mrs Burningham the nanu\of the book*: but don't let her read them, because they're rat hi? improper, and you know what she i* for lecturing people, am) s he woulr Certainly lecture Kiss Black if hh< got hold of 'Divers Ways.' " "And authoresses canuot bear to be lectured, I suppose ?" "Of course not," snapped Cynthia. '-'And neither can you." Miss Margaret Black arrived this morning. She is a very harmless little lioness, with soft dark hair ami •oft dark eyes, flAtj an exceedingly gentle way aI speaking. Personally, I should have thought her a humanteed ministering angel rather than an intellectual genius, and I can better

picture her lowering the blinds for a •nlTcring invalid or even romping on the nursery floor than talcing mental shorthand notes of haus*-parties 01 writing clever novels. However. Cynthia tells me Visa Black spends all ker thne taking clever shorthand Votes. X don't know in the least •hat clever shorthand notes can be. and they sound a little terse ami •nappy, and Hiss Margaret Black (Joes not look at all snappy : but Cynthia says she [s really very witty. though I dare say she would not Waste her wit on coversation with a peraon as unimportant as myself. .

. On the whole, I am prpnth relieved at the lamblike appearance ef the little lioness, and I promptly and frankly told her so.

■ But why should you b* frightened of poor little me." said the own-

ar of the soft brown eves. I didn't think it sounded at all like a successful novelest to call her.

■elf "poor little me." but, combined *ith the big dark eyes and the soft dark hair, I thought the expression very attractive.

Ii was four days later when I strolled into Cynthia's boudoir, and •eating myself. looked firinlv at her "My dear Cynthia, t don't know what you think about vour lionet i*y this tim*, but——"

"I've hardly wn her." *ai<l Cynthia. "Yon Mv. I'm br<ni w> hii.*.y, ttd there ar« so many of <h«-m to look aft*r"—sh<> paused— "but ynu Mem to bar* k*pt. h*r a!l to yourwlf, and as lo last 'night at the Vnrchison's danc*—•" I felt myself blush under Cpothts'a eye. "I don't know what ynu'r* d«m\"

X Interrupted severely, ignoring thr hint, *'bufc you'll excuse my saying

so, T believe Sou are making a bowling mtss of your little celebrity." "What do you mean. .Dick ?" _ i mean that she knows nothing whatever of her own books, and has apparently aever even heard of them !" "Pah ! mere modesty. You don't know how modest real talent is." "But I assure you " I began. "I 101 l you I've read them," said Cynthia, "and they're very, very clever indeed." j "llut she isn't, clever, not in the | least—for which thank heaven," I added devoutly under my breath. "She is," retorted Cynthia ; "she must be, or she wouldn't have written 'Direr* Ways.' " "1 don't believe she wrote it herself," I said stoutly. "What rubbish !—then who did ?" "Did she tell you she actually did write them ?'' I persisted. "So. or course not." said Cynthia. "but I know sht» did. and l'v* told everyoae about her books, and they've all been reading up her last novel and—but here she is—you can ask her yourself, as you seem to have taken her under your wing. ' t>aid Cynthia, laughing, left tinroom "I've two questions to ask jon Miss Black—if I may—and dare The soft dark eyes were raised to mine in some astonishment. "You look very serious." she said, smiling. "The* are very serious question;. ' I replied, gravely, "and one of them "Well •" "How many novels have jou written ?" j Hiss Black stared at me in utter j amazement. "How many novels ?—what, me?" she cried, with ungrammatical dir- i rectness "Why, none, of course : whatever made you think I had?" A sudden light broke in on her. "Do you mean to say you have been taking me for Margaret Black, my writing cousin f" She drew a little away from me. "I'm sorry for your disappointment," she added stiffly, "hot I'm not in the least clever—in fact, mother says 1 can't even write a decent letter." 1 Her voice was very cold indeed and something was elearlj. vexing her. She evidently thought my open admiration had been merely for her talent—l, who can't bear women with talents. I drew a little nearer, lessening the space that she had made, and felt it was time to put my other question. "Well." she said quite sharply for so soft a woman, "and what else did vou want in ask me?" She was half-laughing yet half-annoyed. "Do , you want to know if I paint, or it , I sine ? because I may as well tell you that I can't do either. I'm on- , ly the most ordinary, dull, Amnestic r female." She paused, Bnd added im- . patiently, "Well, what is it you wis] I to know ?" I drew a little closer still, an< ! bending, touched the soft dark bnir I "I want." I said, "to ask if you'P .1 marry me."