THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LI, Issue 60, 29 February 1908, Page 4

THE STORYTELLER.

A QUESTION OK ANCESTORS Q (By Ueorge B. Howard.l It ua> one «f tin* Biuhelor'tTbu debutante- were nut ill full force, taking the *He*-tue=s v { rt ueu wlii<-|j, up to thi- \car, had been withheld from (hemi.

Tin- ballroom ablaze with light-, set in the petal- uf imitatiou rose* and lilies. Well-groomed men and swvet joiwg girU were everywhere. The

place breathed d*tinctively of breeding. One took no chance* at tlie Bachelor Dnn<v>. To Iw eligible tor them meant that (here were at least three genera-tion-i Mind one. Which, of course, \va> a very importaut matter.

Carrolton was answering a question. It was his by right to answer, beoau* ■ it v\a- through him that the man t>i whom they were speaking got into the Dau-ing Club. "Family.*' Carrolton was savins. "Oh, ye,! He's got lots of it. *De ■K-emled Irom the Scottish kings, or aomet liing of the sort got a most interesting InHjk he -Jioued me ouce tracing his people back to the time of Macbeth and Duncan—oh'—Carrolton smiled a little—- makes our colonial pedigree* look *tuall uy comparison ,1 "ttichard! 'lhe tone was >oiiiev\hat reproving. -You seem to forget tint tlierc is something more than Colonial Itedfgm'n—don't you know that our auditors were the younger -ons of some of the greatest families in England?" Don t I know it?"* There, was mo-k appeal in Carrolton'* tone. "Well, rather. I ought to, it I don't—there, Bow, Aunt Phoebe, don't be cross—aad 1 must be off." I

" The reason i have asked you about sfr. Bannerman, Ilk-hard, you know, don't you?" " He's paying a good deal of atteution to Mary, isn't he!* 1

The dowager nodded. "Lucky thing for Mary if *he gets him Bannerman s*>em s "to like her! If she gets him she gets good look- T brain*, and a pretty fair income. Good luck to her! Well, I'm off, Aunt Phoebe." And this time he went. Aunt PhoeU*. who acted a* chaperon to some of her young relatives, settled Uuk comfortably in her chair near a palm-tree, and surveyed the tall form of .Tame* Ba.i-

ncriuan, towering over the others; <>n his arm bung a trail little girl in white. "■Poor little Mary!" .aid Aunt Phoebe. I*t it not be imagined that the pin lavished upon Hiss Mary tbassert-.n was due to any physical defect, illne*-, or mental ailment. ilaq; wa* quit,, •ound, both in body and iu mind, 'i'lie "poor" reierred tu the fait ilut Marv had been the victim of a smpcgraie lather, who had spent the Lhassertou money, and his wite'a into the bargain. -At hi, death, Mary and Phil were left entirely to the eharity of relatives. •Aunt Phoebe Chasserton liead—.Mrs. John Pemberton Read, according to the Elite Directory—had taken the two children over in spite of the fact that the Pemberton Bead finances were not parUcularfy flourishing. Philip was at college. This was Mary's tirst sea«on "out."

it is not particularly easy in Melbourne to marry a girl who has not a penny for a dowry; for most Melbourne men in her class have very little money of their own, barely enough to keep themselves well-dressed and members of a tow n and country club, besides putting in an appearance at the dances —therefore - poor little Marv!" for her epances of marrying did not look particularly flourishing for any of her relalive*.

had been a great beaut v. ;<r a great wit, or something unusual "altogether, the fact that she was without » dot might have been overlooked. But Mary was none of these things. She *as just a nice, pretty, average girl with the average girl's'lack of opinion on any subject outside her own narrowlittle circle.

The all-importance of being well-bred ■nd having a family pedigree had been instilled into her from childhood. Even at school the was taught not to become friendly with the children of the newivrieb.

Mary considered this perfectly correct and proper. And, mind vou, Marv wa-* a sweet girl. and had the "milk of hum m to a great exteut. But the law* of caste which had been laid dowu for her placed a bar which she accept**.! Jneeklv.

Mie was in the conservatory now with Jame* Bannerman. She wonder -,1 in her gentle way that Kannerma-i should bother about her. She was quit,' modest, and she knew that Bannerman

waa different from the average voiith; she wag aware, too. of the fact that lie

might have had a pretty comprehensive selection from among the debutantes of that v«ar.

Bannerman had tome into prominence in Melbourne when lie arrived as the architect of Mrs. lispenard Hutt's new town house. He had been recommended to Mrs. Hint's good graces by certa'.n Parisian friend* of hers as a rising architect. He came armed with letters >f introduction: and pot the commission from Mrs. Hutt. Later. he got more orders of the same sort, and settled down to live in Melbourne. Richard Carrolton. who had met him liefore.

was the lever by which Bannerman entered Society.

And, of course, the first question th u had to be answered was: "Who are hk people!" It made no difference that Bannermsn was quite refined, exceedingly handsome and well-groomed, and a professional nun of some reputation. All that wis Terr well; hot a man might be in Society and possess none of the things that Bannerman had, provided he had the firat essential—family. "family!" smiled Bannerman wh.n the question came up. "Oh. I see. you want to lenow who my people are—oh. yes! "So, I'm not offended. Dirlc. I know the views of the people here. Oh. it's qnite commendable. T haven't a doubt. Well"—and he smiled again, crossed the room, and took a small, brown, fat volume from his bookcase—"there's the family-tree of tl|e Kinner-man-—from all I can see, the nobility of half Scotland appears to run in mv

vein*—read it over, it'- most intere-t----ing. old man. "I was brought up in Adelaide, educated in Taindoii and Pari*, and now I'm lie re. My father vvs- a Sicot-man. as yon might imagine: mv mother wanlso Kcotfi-h. she w.i- a Ilonalil, Fauijlyi " Bannerman bnr-t into a laugh. "TV> you know, it'- rather fun'iv to bring that subject lip. Dick. It -Pfu- «« absurd re-tin" noon tin- laurel- of a lot of dead people.'' Xow. Dirk farrollon knew Bann ■

man well enough to evnlain to him ju-t what the filing In Mellwirniie «a« alioiit

44 T0 * e».-mopolite. it i- ab-nrd." -iid Ciirrolfon. "Hut the people hen* have verv little el-e hut family -<> vmi can't lib tun tliem if they place a valur on tha* commodity. <*an ThU fmnilv treo H ;in«l he touched it lightly -*me*ni. more to them than what yui jire. *mi what von i»:lve cTajip."? So tiie wfwd went fflrth fthout thS«*ntti*li kin-r*. and Rannerman wa- an established entity. Tlu> important <|U tioTi h#«l settled; and now th 'V were at W>erty to appreciate hi- good

point*. People win realised that the -talwaii vonng new«-oiner made nio<*t of their own men -omewhat weak-kneed hy con>-pari-oil. lie seemed to lie aide to hi everything l>eautifully. He daneed well: he r<»dc well: he wa* an expert V Under: hi- irolf wa*» something at whic'i to marvel.

There were nuite a mimlMT of nioiherwho wiiilrl hare liked their t»« mnrry Baimermaii. He wa- mu;di in demand. He mtsrht hau* hid his rhoh-e of il do/en of tlie favourites »f the xM-on. all coii-iderahly more j>o|mi* lar than Mary ( ha->erton. and all mi of more than her share ..f jr»M»i| Inuki and L'rev matter. F.ut. for Miine reaM>n whirh d'd not ued-r ft and. Itiirinermau nreferre«l Marv: ait I maile it ipiite evident by lii- marked prefereiM*** for lu f r that hi- attentionwere -erioiis.

M*rv J|»iM-h-d So It.l <lie Ta-* one of tho-e women v<le» alwav»"ein t*» n*H i d prole-dion- one of tlie

kind tint look- u» to a man and -ur-Ven-lers intirelv into hi- hands. Wie wa- gentle and kind: and oir t '' "ithout the s»hi|»tv to understand the !•»'/ thinifs. \ow. naniiTmnn did P r ' f wjinf .1 wife witli i' r,, ns: hj" had ou 1 '" for two: and he «'t« well awi»e of the faet. Ue ' «'if" wh" rvrtuM t what h > . -id fnu---tion l-now fh-.c -h» v.-" 1 -' do <*vaetlr lw> ♦ n !»"-• •* T r hel;>impelled h'm t<' ■ hc-r.

Bui this was mental kclplussm-srs. "f ttmrse. Mary was thoroughly domes'i-i-atecl, and knew every detail of what a ni'Mres* of a hou-ehoM should know. -\iint l'lioelx' hail htu to thai. Ibnnermaii lu.l decided thai Ik' wanted Mary. an<l uanted li«r kidly. lie \va, i|iiitf >iin- that >hi- wdiiM make him happy; and lie had a tender fe.'lin;i for her. It rniw lie admitted, lio.v----j ever. tli.it thN feeling was not lovi'. I H.inneriniin was intent on gettin;: on | ill tin' world, and as iimifortahh' a- possible during the process. .Mary : would l»- altli* lo give liiin the home lOiiiforts he lacked: and her social posi- I lion wa- .-lull that sl:e to arrange hi- alfairs. invite the right people, an I have them there without ally Imtlier to liini.

No; outride the feeling of tenderness which niie might have lor a puclty child. Bauncruiait did uot allow sentiment to enter into the matter particularly. There were a iitimlier of other girls who might have qualilied almost as well -but Mary came thu nearest to the mark. Therefore hp was to take .Mary. lie was a queer -ort. this Bannennaii: and, iiad the people with whom he* a*--xK-iatel realised the very low estimate

that he had of their mental capabiliti-'-. he would not have been particularly jH»pular. At heart. Bannerman frankly despiif.l theni; but he wanted to go t'J ihe top the ladder, and realised that

I the only way to do so was to know what is termed the "upjN'r ten.*' Through his standing in Society. hi« I profession as architect flourished. Not I only di'l Society people who had money come to him for the building of their town and ocuntry houses, hut he got commissions from tho«*.» wealthy folks not in Society who were attracted to him a-s the fashionable architect of the lay. Then, too. there were churches? and office-buildings to design, and these also came to him through his social friends. * v t

It was to Banncrman's advantage io identify himself with the upper tea: and to this end he needed a wife to take his social responsibilities ofl' his hand'. He turned to Mary with somewhat <»f the grandeur of a monarch conferring a favour on a subject. The proposal happened on this night of the dance. Now. it is not considered particularly correct for a man to accompany a girl home after one of these functions; but Aunt Phoebe had h"r eyes open for advantageous results; and when Alary came up to her, all a-ttutter, aim a>ked that »he might walk home with Mr. Bannerman, Aunt Phoebe* while coiw-hiu.s of the incorrectness of it. assented.

They talked about mere trivialities 'luring the walk; but somehow Mary understood that lianncrman had a particular reanm for wanting her to lie alone with him that night.

They reached the house liefore the others. liannennan hesitated on (he step-, a* Mary let herself in with the key she had got from her aunt. She -t<Hxl half-hesitatingly, framed in the dOorwav.

" I'm coming in,*' said Banncrnian. Mary felt a delightful thrill. "\es, of course,"' she murmured, an 1 they passed into the dimlv-lighted hall. Mary opened the door of the drawingroom. Bannerman entered and drew tin the blinds.

" It's not necessary to light up," lie said, as he helped her off with her things. Carelessly he flung his fur ovcrcoil anil muffler on the great stag-horns :n the hall. When he came into the draw-ing-room again Mary was standing in the centre of the room, twisting thrings on her lingers.

"Tome, sit down by the window here--Mary," he said. He had never used her Christian name l>elore. She uttered a little protest. Vou know, I'm not sure—that au-it would like

He drew her down beside him ou the sofa. Then he caught both her hands in his, and held them tightly. She ma le a slight, ineffectual attempt to draw ihem awav.

" Mary, you know I care a lot for vou, don't you?" he asked suddenly. She did not answer. She did not know what to say. Without further preliminaries he caught her in his arms and kissed her.

M I want you to marry me. -Marv. I want you for my wife, little girl. Do you care enough for me for that?" Mary suddenly liegan to civ. anl clutched him tightly. He soothed ami calmed her.

"There dow—little girl—don't do that. I haven't made you unhappy, have I?" sJie .-shook her head violently. "Vou do care for rae, then?" *he nodded this time with vehemence, and her soft little hand caressed his.

They sat there for a time, saying very little. Had it not been for Bannerinan's desire to !>e honest with the girl, the affair would have ended there with prjv peets for happiness for both of them (juite rosy ami bright. "We can Ik* <juite happy, dear/' said lktnmrman. " I'm doing pretty well—over -i thousand a year now—and we'll ?>et about looking for a house right away—and furniture antl all—l haven't got any ancestral furniture—or " He suddenly remembered.

"I want you to know one thing, Mary, You care for me, and I for you, an■ 1 tliere's no need for us to liegin our engagement with deceit on either -ide. I've only one thing to c»nfe«s to you. It s a matter trivial enough, lmt I'd rather you knew about it "

She looked at him woniU'rliigly. " I've deceived you a little along with the rest of the people here. They think I'm a man with a long ancestry descended from the Scottish kings. I'm nothing of the sort. I bought tluu pedigree-book from an old liookseller. 1 took the Bannerman crest from it, and made lielieve it was uiy own. I have no crest, no pedigree, no family." She started suddenly, as though -lie had not heard aright. "My people came irom nothing. My father »a- a shoemaker. My mother worked in a shop. They were boih good, honest people. 'l'hey had no education ; they had no breeding, a- run imagine it. I -uppo-e I was a little finer clay. 1 left home when I was young, worked my way about, got an education, -cut myself to I'aris, and learnt to !»• an architect.''

lie pau-ed and gazed out of the win dow.

" I soon found that the man who w.i- Iran's and told ill,' truth about his family didn't go in Society circles. I found that they had a Mief that three generation- were lieeiicl to luake a gentleman. Now. it wa- lien—ary for me in my work to be one of these Soiiciv ]wojile. I didn't care what they thought of me per-onally: but I hail to lnvc their goodwill, or my work would -utter. Tliey demanded family: -o 1 pro\ided myself with a lieautiful pedi"ftv." Jle laughed. "My father and mother would be -omeuhai -urpri-ed if

iV'.v knew. I»h. »-. they're -till li\ing. 1 l."'K *it*i

!!•• broke "IF -ud truly. for he nor iced ill Marv had withdrawn her haill-i ..in hi- and w.i- -lauding. "You MUM 11 it':" -lie ;ja-pcd. wll»Jl 1 •• J urned hi- eye- U|mjii her. " You mean our father wa- a—hoemaker! Your •otiier a -hop-girl! You mean ihat'r He pau-ed lor a moment and regarded er. Hannerinan was a -omewhat egoiman. and hi- egoti-m supplied the k meaning to Mary'- wouderiug ry. Hn -up|m-ed her to be -urpri»ed hit a inait -hould he what ho war. lo \\\" adiieved what he had achievedrnidhapped a- he ua- by birth llia. •hi» -houbl tliiuk thi- -omewhat plea-'d

"Mean it?" he replied. "Why. of i e'jiir-e I mean it. Didn't I -ay -o? ou | d"i!"t -nppo-" thai I'd invent anything like that for my own gh.rilieation. It e.u- improbable, of course: but 't ; v.,i- a hard tight and I won." •* \Vhv—didn't you-tell me - before'' It wasn't right -it wasn't -fair " • Xow. now. he soothed, "don't worry. I didn't tell thi- to the (K'opbhere. hecau-e tii««.V dqu't tak" ;;«maii «ti lii- merit-. They demand that he |(l ive anee-tors to lH)l-ter him lip. So I I M.m- them what they demanded. It'1< >-\ enouirh to «et am-estor-. 1 >nt 1 to deceive the frirl I'm in- to marry.''

" So." -lie said suddenly. She had ri-en. and was facing lkinnovman. A silence /<dl. Then she sank The »ofa and her faef was covered wi?h her hand-: her (piieklv -r>b. were -up-barged with cmcjtion. Hannerman wondered vaguely what ti!-> trouhle eould In*, i "What i- the trouhle. little girl?" he |a-ked.

Sh rt recoiled from the ionch of his bind, and -tretched out both arms he* fore h«r protectingly. TFor face was trar-stained a> he saw it in tlie faint of the lamp from th»? street.

"Don't—don't, '* she pleaded. " What's the matter? Let mo lio'.ji you, can't 1?"

His arm went about Imm*. She pulled, and and freed herself.

"Don't touch me." She choked on! the words lx'tween sobs. "Don't 11 was clear to Bannerman flmi >Ih i was the victim of hysteria. Sooner ».r later he would have to check this sort of thing.

"You've told mc you cared for me you've promised to marry me.'' He paused. ".And I'm not to touch yon."

"No. you are not to toueh me.' 1 said mechanically. "And I can't marry you—l can't marry you " For the moment Bannerman did not quite realise what she had said.

He <tared at her. "Don't make it any harder." She was making a brave ell'ort not to indulge in further crying. " Please--go, .Mr. Bannerman. lie bursj out al thi ' 110, and leave you in thU state! I Think you must In* mad. Ten miiiut > you said you would many inc. Now you say you can't marry me. ami me to go. I want to know what it all

" Vou do know," -he said tirmly. "Know? I don't know anything ol the -ort l'nlc-s you're playing with me'/ Are you 7lf you're merely *;idulgiug in a game al my expeuse. tell me so. and I'll go quick enough. Have you been playing a part?" iShe was keeping control of hersc'f with gre«t dilliculty. "You know I wasn't playing-any part." Ib'r sobs got the better of her calm for a moment, but she gnljwd ba k something and went bravely on, "Bui you deceived me—and all of lis. It's all very different. Can't you realise " Bannerman eyed her in silence. " I can't—you must realise that—how could yon have deceived me as you did? \ou know I couldn't marry anyone with no family—nothing behind' them--t couldn't." j In that seenml Bannerman saw what should have been quite obvious to hiM. As he reasoned it all out, lie became possessed of a blind, furious rage. This girl was throwing him over localise lie had told her the truth—because he had proved to her in so many words that he was a man and a fighter, one who Ind risen in the world by his own brainsbecause he was an ancestor himself, the lounder-to-be of a. great family. The fact that his father and mother had been of the people had changed him entirely in the girl's eyes, and made him an impossibility.

lie lia<l not the power tu put into words all that his angry brain evolved in the lew minutes that passed after the girl's declaration—or perhaps his wiser inner-self told him that it was better not to speak until he was master of himself again. Presently lie coole-l a little, and turned his eves again In the girl.

She was facing him, one hand grippi'i*.; the buck of the sufa fur support. 1 lei" eyes were somewhat terrified.

"See here," said he abruptly. "You've been very foolish. \on haven't meant what you said. I tare too mueh for >Oll to quarrel. We'll say no move about this unfortunate occurrence " He saw her shrink back as lie advanced towards her: and again the fire burnt red-hot in his brain. The girl had now liecome something to lie attained—an apple that must be climbed tor, rather than a berry to be plucked from a bush. He would'have her—have her for his own.

" \ou told me vou loved me- -and vou lie.l I'-

lie rapped out the words as though they were so many curses.

"les, you lied! Vou played with me —and lied!"

Iler free hand sought her face again: end dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. " I didn't lie—l " "Then you do love meV'

She diil not answer. He waited for awhile—then turned his back on her anil paced the room like a beast confined in a cage. M'lie u he faced her he was calmer than before,

" We'll argue this out quietly now,'' he said. " \ou love me, anil you won't marry me because I have no family—because I've made myself what 1 am. and haven't had someone to do it for uie." She was erect again. " This is absurd, and 1 won't accept it." " Y;ou—can't understand." lljer words were clear. "1 could never trust Jon. I should never know when you would do something wrong. 1 should never know when you would disgrace me. 1 should distrust you —always. And then—if people knew—how could I face tliem? Jf jieople knew—your father a shoemaker, your mother a shop-girl " ilamierman had thought himself sullic'cntly of another caste not to resent what he himself had said. Again the blind rage shook him. He did not hear the carriage wheels outside, and the voice of a woman telling the coaclunau ta bring the vehicle a little nearer the pavement. Xor did he hear the laughing chorus ot girls as they gathered their finery about them and cliiidwd out uf the carriage. There were three of them and they were followed by Aunt Phoebe —Mary's cousins from the Valley, who had come over for the dance.

But Bannerman did nut hear them lie was mastering his tongue again, finding words. •

"The shoemaker—the shop-girl! And that's why you won't marry me—because you're afraid of what people would say! And you call that sort of thing love! l)o you know, 1 thank God >mi won't marry me! I've escaped worse than 1 had ever imagined: the narrow-mindedness of a class that knows nothing except what its grandfathers did. It may be discourteous to call a woman wluit 1 call you—but you are a fool—a poor little fool "

"Mr. Ilannermau!'' It it were possiole to pack into one word the composite forces of astonishment and chagrin allied to well-bred -liock. that one word as uttered by Au it I'hoelie held them all. She snapped 'in the electric light as she spoke; and the three wondering girls behind her saw Mary, tear-stained, and liauncruian -landing over her, glowering as though a bout to strike.

"What does thi- mean?' 1 asked Au>i I'hoobe. in a lower tone. Before he au--wered -lie turned to her other nieces. "Von had better go up-lair-."' she said. liannerman turned anil faced Aint I'hoebe. with all the puli-li of a wellbred man.

"I'll give vou question for question. Mr-. Head. Suppose a man asked a girl l i marry him, and she consented—and then he tried to lie honc-t with her liy telling her that his parents were of the lower order-—a shoemaker and a shopgirl- and that girl unconditionally threw him over for the reason that his parents were not to her liking-would vou call her a little fool or not

livmejy wvW hrousjhl up and eon-cinii-!»i In* duty t«> Society," >aid Aunt Phoebe "tiffly. -She Would he perle-l-

!v riiiht. I>nt thai doe- not e\ " " Well, vow >e<>. Ml'-. Uead. there i-n't ' any explanation,' said Bannenuan. with an attempt at airiness. "Only thai I consider foolishness -omewhat to !»e palliated—for you taught it to her. \\U< Chas-erton has done me the honour of refusing to marry me. I can only say that I'm a lucky man. Ladies, I wish . you a good - - a very good night," I lie eanght up his coat and hat. and

-wnng out into the street. He closed Ihe door behind him. At the sound of il. Mary Clnw-ortou fell into a heap on 1 he -ofu. and her >obs were those of one for whom life hold* no further promise.

" I love him. I love him. f lnve liim.' -he nabbed. "Call him back. Auni I'hoebe. Tell him i love him. I loviliim.' 3

Ami in the da\\ that followed Aunt I'liocbe failed liim back, but >he would never ullow h'- real anee-try to lie ji - veiled to tli" '* upper ten."