A SHOCKING AFFAIR.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 64, 10 April 1909, Page 3

A SHOCKING AFFAIR.

A CHARMING STORY OF A WILFUL (iIUL. She was really a dreadful girl, a thorn in h r mother's sensitive side, and quite compromising to her sisters. Of course, it has always been dillieult in sueli cases I to frame any convincing indictment; | Miranda Cardrose's faults were vague and intiingible, but this made her the more dillieult to control. She ollered no excuse to her mother for having declined the oiler of marriage made Ity Sir William Caul, a most eligible young mail with a wealth of money and red hair.

"1 was thinking of Babs and Katie, mammy darling," she said reproachfully, "i thought it would be most dog-in-the-mangerish to aeenpl him when they were simply dying to."

"1 don't know where it will end," sighed .Mrs. Cardrose, for want of something more pointed to say. She was amazed that Cant had proposed to her youngest child, as she had practically set Katie aside for him; 'but that Miranda should have refused him was more amazing still, and'most distressing. Marriage was, perhaps, the only thing that would reform Miranda., who was not likely to receive -many such proposals, lor men of their set did not like—well, peculiar girls. It seemed horribly probable that Miranda would finally "have to fall back on a second or even third rate husband, even if her peculiarities did not carry her to the verge of gracclessnvss, such as eloping with some utterly impossible person.

To Mrs. Cardrose this latter contingency seemed a very real tiling, and it disturbed her sleep many a night, for Miranda evinced a most reprehensible penchant for making promiscuous acquaintances. She was not a bit like Katie and Babs in any particular. They seemed to know instinctively how to treat the lower orders; they knew to a nicety, indeed, how to treat a rector as distinct from a vicar, or a bishop as distinct from a suffragan bishop, or a volunteer officer from an officer in the regular army. But Miranda, on the other hand, was totally lacking in a proper appreciation of such subtle distinctions; the only difference she seemed to recognise was that between people she liked and those she did not like, and she had the most outrageous prejudices. She had been known to nod over her shoulder at the Dowager Duchess of London while continuing an animated conversation about bull-pups with Colonel Hepphnvell's second groom. Awfully distressing to a fond mother who could trace her ancestry back to Robert Bruce!

There was, indeed, even now a chance that if Miranda played her cards well she might make a match with Roper Beneden, second son oi the Bcneden, who expected to benefit considerably by the deatli of his uncle, General' "Tige?" Beneden, though, of course, if it came to anything, it would he a love-match really, and most romantic, because it was impossible to rely on the General, who altered his will every time he had the gout.

It really seemed as if she eould not aiiproviata the gravity of being a Cardrose. On one -occasion, indeed, slie lmd so over walked herself that she could not get home, and had actually invited the son of a neighboring farmer, who chanced to puss her on the road, to "give her a lift," as she inelegantly expressed it, and she volunteered to say she enjoyed the ride immensely. All'this, too, when an eminent specialist had warned' Mrs. Cardrose that her heart was weak! Naturally the consequences of that ride were that when the young man met Miranda at the hunt (it in shocking the people you meet in the "field" nowadays) he presumed to salute her, and she not only bowed, but smiled and spoke to him; and subsequently two or three persons noticed that when the hounds were "at fault" the young man took the extreme liberty of entering into conversation with her. It was this matter which induced Mrs. Cardrose tu bring some pressure to bear to persuade Miranda to make the, most 01 her chances with Hoper Benedcn, and she was not at first discouraged because her daughter laughed at the suggestion, for 'Miranda laughed at most serious things.

"My dearest mammy," said the girl at length, "I'd marry hiui to-morrow, even if lie hadn't a sixpence—if I lowd him," she added after a pause. "Hut I could no more lover Roper than I would marry him. One of these days, perhaps, 1 shall marry a man, hut lie 'won't lit: "

"The Bencdcns are a very old iami.lv, and "'

"I don't intend marrying any w.iulVy old families, but one man, and I mean 'liim to be the right mail." 1 am sorry for ltoper's defect, but I shouldn't marry him if he were a Demosthenes. As I told Lady Shoretown when she rubbed it into me that I ought to get married, I'd rather marry a laboring man than a young god who was too lazy to roll his own cigarettes." "My child!" protested Mrs. Cardrose, painfully shocked. "And that's ivliat it'll be, I exppct," said- Miranda, mercilessly, laughing softly. "There's Tom, now." "Tom?" exclaimed her mother. "Who's Tom?" "Tom White." "The under-gardener? Miranda I" "What'ii the matter? He's honest, which Captain Wheatton wasn't, or lie wouldn't have got into th'at card scandal. He's hard-working, which George—" "Miranda, cease your flippancy, please!" .said Mrs. Cardro.se, rising with great dignity. "That n child of mine could joke about such a tiling is horriblv to me." "But I'm not joking—quite; I admire Tom immensely, and I'd sooner marry him than Roper—oh, a, thousand times!" "On seventeen shilling-) a week?" sneered her mother. "On fourpence a quarter, Perhaps you'd let me have your washing to do?" "I'd see you starve first, Miranda!" said Mri. Cardrose, a cruel look in her steel-grey eyes. "That's motherly!'' Miranda rapped out, but, despite her cheerful smile and air, it was evident that the words had hurt. "Well, I shan't marry him, mother —not because J'm airaid to starve or to oll'enit those who would let me starve, but simply because I shan't." As Mrs. Cardrose turned away, Miranda slipped out throngh the long window into the garden, followed by the bandy-legged bulldog, Peloponnesus. When Mrs. Cardrose turned round and saw she was alone, she moved across the room and rang the bell. Jlalf-an-'liour later Tom White had been paid his wages and dismissed. Hearing of this in the course of tin', afternoon, Jliranda turned to her mother and protested against the injustice of it, declared it was ridiculous, farcical, tactless, and a score of other things, which were ail more or less correct. lint Mrs. Cardrose was adamant. fitipulsivelv Miranda had a horse put into a trap, and drove to the cottage of White's mother. I oiu was in the potato-patch, hoeing di'.jgedly. lie looked up at her as lie heard 'her pull up, and he scowled, for wii-. she not a daughter of tile woman who had dismissed him at a moment's notice without a cause? needn't frown at me. Tom,''she exclaimed instantly, "though it is my fault. Come here!" "\oiir fault?" he cried, advancing to the gate in the hedge. "I'd like to know, miss. wlml. I've ever done—"You've done nothing, Tom, that ! know 01." she said sharply. "It's all a mistake, really, I think, but since it's done it's done, and that's the end of it. Hut look here; I've got a five-pound note for you to keep you going till you | iiud another place. But I shan't give it | to you now, because I'm going over to ( Lady Sh'oretown's to sec if she will take , you on. Tf she will, you'll be all right. | Tf she won't, you shall have the five ; pound.-. Good-bye!"

Not o;ilv did her ladyship uncage Tom. but slic a !so wrote to Mrs. Cardrofio the folloniniv day to iwommend a respectalile lmnl-wnrking vonnj* mail from n iicit'lilinriiii; ipnfi.sli, w ho urns seeking crapToynient. to fill Tom's vacant place, ,r.id Mrs. C'ardrose consented to give the young man a trial. For some weeks Miranda had a comparatively fret' time, and, oddly enough, slip devoted i! portion of it to the new unilT-gardencr. .Tolui Mnson. NW, tii;i 1 t]ii> may not seem so evtraordinary or renreiicnsihlc. lvt it lie explained. Miranda had liked Tom Wt«. for lie vni a civil, rndnslrimii. sober vonns giant; Mrs. Curdrose would

have liked him just as much if she had noticed him, but she always saw inferiors through a thick mist, which obscured their attributes. Miranda- was r ather annoyed that Tom should have been dismissed in conserve,lee oi her teasing her mother, '.therefore she was interested, if only i" a prejudicial sort ot way, in the new gardener, because lie had obtained th'- 1 situation Tom White had lost. That was nut unnatural. .Nor was it unnatural that Iter interest in Mason was excited by discovering liini in the act of planting artichokes where she knew he ought to have been planting arum lilies. \\ lien she pointed out his mistake, lie straightened his broad back and regarded her wouderingly. She saw that ii« was good to look upon. -She fell sorry for him, guessing that such ignorance as his would surely be detected and lose him his situation. "I'm afraid you've not had much experience," she said, smiling. "Xo, miss; I'm afraid 1 haven't," he admitted shamefacedly. "\\ hat have, you done?" "Well, miss, I was in the Army till recently," he said, with hesitation. "And you don't learn to distinguish between artichokes and lilies in the Army, of course?" "No, miss. I'm sorry about it. 1 asked the head gardener to put me on to rough ' work till 1. knew the shape of things, : but " "You're not work-shy, then?" "Oh, no, miss; and I'm most anxious , to keep my place," he answered, earn- ( estly. . ] "Well, if I can help you, I will. Come, i and I'll show you where the bulbs are." ' From that moment she took him ; under her wing, so to speak, and in a . dozen ways she was able to save hiiu i from discovery and dismissal by the • head gardener. ,

But, of course, such a condition of things eould not continue for long without Mrs. Cardrose hearing something of it; indeed, it was strange that she was not made aware of Miranda's frequent visits to that part of the gardens where Mason was employed for nearly a fortnight. Then her anger, if not her horror, was discounted by recollecting the affair of Tom White.

Iu view of that matter, she was afraid to interfere, and doubtful whether it were necessary she should. After all, .Miranda's interest in White had been harnili'rss. if vulgar and incomprehensible, and it was quite likely that Miranda's Interest in Mason was only feigned to demonstrate her democratic determination to amuse herself with .plebeian persons. So Mrs. Cardrose afleetal to know nothing of Miranda's familiarity with Mason, though slie grieved about it. It was so painful to think that the descendant of Scoteh kings could attach any interest to common people. Tt was Katie who threw the bomb into -Mrs. Cardrose'9 lap. "Mother!" she panted, sweeping into the drawing-room, her handsome dark face drawn by a look of unspeakable horror.

''Oh, Katie!" cried Mrs. Cardrose pathetically. "What lias she done now?" Katie sank weakly into a chair before she could command her voire sufficiently to speak audibly and without screaming. "I saw her in the vinery just now—kissing Mason." "Wh-at!" cried the mother, aghast and haggard. "He had his arm round lier waist, and she was in tlie very act of kissing him." "Impossible! Miranda, a child of mine, kissing a What did you do? Didn't you faint?" "No, but I nearly screamed, mother." Mrs. Cardrose struggled to he r feet, tottered out of the room into the garden, and swayed across the lawn in the direction of the vinehou9e. As she approached the garp in the high holly hedge which separated the kitchen gardens from the flower gardens slie came face to face with Miranda, whose hair was rumpled, whose cheeks were flaming, whose eyes were marvellously bright. Without a word, Mrs. Cardrose swept past her and hurried to the vinehouse, at the door of which "Mason was standing. evidently watching after Miranda, lie half turned as 1m perceived his mistress, and glanced about for something with, which he might pretend to be occupied. "Mason!" panted Mrs. Cardrose as she d/rew near. "Mad'am?" said he thickly. "You are <lismis.se<l!" "Yes, m'lll. Thank you, m'lii," he muttered, touching his cap respectfully. on will leave at once!" she snapped, Hushing angrily, "(.let your coat on, and "Yes, iii'ni." "See Mr. Hilton, and tell him you're dismissed without a character, with wages ill lieu of notice." "Thank you, m'lll'." She turned round to leave, then swung back, bubbling with indignation. "I am amazed!" she stammered. "I am shocked horrified!" "Yes m'm'," he said quietly, pulling 011 his jacket. "I shall write to lady Shoretowu" Mrs. Cardrose ejaculated finally, as she swept away. "Where is Miranda?" she demanded as she rejoined Katie in the drawingroom. '■]. think 1 saw her enter by the library window," replied Katie, still sul[eriug from her shock. But Miranda was elusive. The house was searched for her, and she could not he found, finally it was assumed from the absence of one of her hats and that of Peloponnesus thai, she hud gone .for a walk—to hide her shame, as Katie suggested. All the rest of tho afternoon Mrs. Cardrose simmered impotently, and all tire evening, too, for Miranda's return to the. honse was not discovered till ten o'clock, when ehe had to betray it in order to ring for something to eat.

Liko a. storm-cloud Mrs. Cardrose swept to Miranda's room and demanded admission, which Miranda refused on tire ground that she felt too tired to be llaycd alive that night. Foiled, Mrs. Cardrose retired, and gave oixlera that no refreshment whatever war- to be served to Miss Miranda in her room.

Early, tiro following morning Mrs. Cardrose, who had scarcely dropped off to sleep sifter a night of the most agonising suffering from a sense of shame anil nausea, wag aroused by her maid, who announced that Miss .Miranda had left the house about six o'clock, leaving a letter on her dressing-table.

She snatched the lvtter from the maid's hand and tore it open.

"Dearest Manuny," —it ran '"Vou know I can't stand ruetions, so Jack «m;l I have decided to elope. Don't be horrid, dear;-*!. I am going to marry 'him tomorrow, and be the Imppiest girl hi "Ihc world, lie is the only man I could ever care for. I will let you have my address tile, moment I can, so you can write ami tell me you forgive me. I shall want that, though I don't expect ever to be asked home. I am .so fiorry to worry you like tliw, but you :iever could understand, could you, <lcar?— Lovingly, _ MIKANDA." "Louise," cried Mrs. Cardrose, "toll everybody—if ;i letter comes ior me in Miss Miranda's writing it is to be destroyed instantly—instantly, d'you hrjar? 1 have r ao such daughter. (Jive me mv salt*!"

But s'lie sulise([uenlly changed her instructions, probably suspecting that the servants would open and read Miranda's letter before destroying it. So she decided to destroy it herself, and when two days later it was brought to her she felt constrained to read it before destroying it.

"Dearest Aljinimy,"—it began—"lt's all right; don't worry any more. It's all so funny ami romantic nail delightful, though I .should love him quite as exquisitely if lie wasn't. But it's all Lady ShorctownV doing. I told liov about the silly affair of Tom White, anil she was so nice ami sweet. Without telling me anything about it—she's so full of mischief, you know—she planned a plan to suit everybody, and recommended Jack to you, as he had fallen in love with nil' at her party the week before. And T hadn't even noticed liim! lie is her nephew, you know, dearest mammy, and only resigned his commission in the Hussars si month ago, because he came into his uncle'*, Lord MentonhankV, property, and the authorities considered he was too rich to remain in the Service. You know their views. Of course, T didn't know about it till an hour ago, and I don't know liow to hold my pen, T am 'so excited, amazed, amused, and nil oi it. Do wire me at Lady Shoretown's that we're forciven. I'm anxious, and we shall he do'wn there to-morrow to thank lier,

"Dearest mammy, be nice!— Your most wildly happy MIKAXUA." .Mrs. Cardrose drove to Lady Shoretown's witlihi an hour, wearing her most indulgent smile.—By Kandolph Lichfield, in Pearson's Weekly.