AN AWKWARD SITUATION.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 204, 2 October 1909, Page 3

AN AWKWARD SITUATION.

He had a title and no means—with the exception of sixty pounds a year and the occasional sums he was p-r.d for certain learned papers in the scientific journals. Yet Sir John Vance was popular in the ordinary world, an unusual thing for an individual in li'<s monetary position, whilst he had also a special world of his . own, a world of dreams. He lifted his hat every time he passed the house where his mother died.

Before Tie settled down into the drifting condition of the man who has mort; or less accepted his position of seen,id or third fiddle, he hail thought of the army. Perhaps he was too much of a philisophe r for the army; anyway, lie did not join. When lie did go into society his manners and his conversation charmed all those with whom he was brought into contact. He .came, as it were, fresh to every subject after long absences froiv drawing-rooms. Though he hid his life, everybody knew him to be poor; theie could be no continuity in his meeting' with his equals: at night in a salon matters were levelled, but he could necessarily have nothing in common with the doings on the following day of the friends he encountered. But Violet llountford, the heiress, did not know all his affairs. She had met him several times, had shown him marked attention plainly, knowingly, fi that he might see what she meant, and all the world as well, and yet he did not propose.

On the day after a fashionable reception an elderly lady relative called on her, nnd Sir John was mentioned. "Ho is a most scholarly man/' sa'm the elderly lad}-. "It is only a pitv that his uncle wliom ho succeeded in tho baronetcy loft everything in so deplorable a state financially, you know. The ! poor follow has absolutely nothing hut a pittance and what he makes by writing, which nowadays is not much." Violet was exceedingly astonished. "If you married him you would spoil him." said the other.

"I marry him! Absurd! And will he always be poor?" asked Violet.

The other raised her shoulders slightly, and then smiled at the simplicity of the question. "It would seem liktj it," she said, "unless he marries well. There is no money left iu tho estate. "But then he would never marry well unless he was made to—he is too proud." "Then what ought to be done?" "Done! I don't sec how anything can be done." "But he will then always be poor." "Evidently. Perhaps it's just aft wc!T. If he were rich he would only be idle." "Nonsense! He onght to be given a fortune. The Government should do something."

"It isn't the fault of the Government." Tho elderly ladv Aunt Matilda formed her own opinions. She set herself womanfullv to the task of bringing the two young people together, and a month later they were engaged. Sir Jolin was much congratulated. Before the marriage Aunt Matilda gave Violet much excellent advice. "Be very firm. It's the only way. Don't settle a penny on him, my dear," i she said. "If you do you will ruin him." "Oh. T am not going to!" said the girl. "ITis lawyers asked me to, hut I had made ut> my mind."

Aunt Matilda smiled at such firmness, and patted the girl's hand.

"It will be much better for both of j you." she said, I

Vance cared nothing about the matter at first. He had married a charming girl; it wa« quite enough. But after they returned to town from Scotland] he begau to feel the pinch, evoii in the

nandsoine house in Mayfair. His own income was so pitifully small. "You see," he said, "I haven't any pocket-money." "But you have everything you want." "Oh, 1 know!" apd he kissed her. "And then there are the papers yo.t write." "I haven't written anything lately.'' "That's uiy fault," she said, "for keeping you so much about- me. Now you I must have your mornings free—l won't disturb you." "But I'm afraid that I haven't any mon> ideas," he began. "Oh, you are so clever!" she said. "You will be sure to liud some." He shook his head, and Lady Vance laughed. "Everybody knows you are awfully clever," she said, "arid now will yo.i excuse me, as I am expecting someone from Paquin's." Later he returned to the subject. lie could not get her to see the situation differently—that is, from his point view. "No, no," she said; "you have quite enough money. Of course, if there is anything that you want very specially I will consider the matter, but 1 am not going to have you extravagant. Yon will lie wanting a club next. But there, 1 won't be 100 hard. Come to me every Saturday, and 1 will give you a pou.nl to do whatever you like with." "A pound!" he said, with a gasp. "Yes, and you must he careful with it." To that he had not a word to say. She gave the most recherche dinnerparties. Money was spent iu profusion at the house in Eaton Square, but Vance found more and more that he was a slave to that house, lie had uo club; it was hardly safe for him to go oil alone; he was stranded at once. Occasionally he was down as low as a shilling. Still on that point she was adamantine; he could get no relief. His two pounds a week (he haii his ! own sixty a year) were soon gone, and he was often in dire straits; cabs became unhcard-of luxuries when he was alone. She treated it all as a joke, but it was no joke to hiin to have "to depend on a few half-crowns doled out as . idvances on next week's allowance. It was not a subject to be canvassed ibroad. ' "But you don't really require move'' money," she said, with a smile. "You • ivottld only waste it." < "Yet a cab now and then " "Well, we've got a motor." 1 "Oh, I know!" i "Now you want to go off alone. No, 1 [ shan't increase your allowance. ! shan't really. Y T ou can come to me for I inything urgent." i "But I want a club." ■ "Absurd!" she said. "I hnven't got a ilub, so why should you have one?" 1 And she smiled at him sweetlv. He could walk in t'fle Park, but the I club was the one recognised refuge in lays of domestic trouble. The butler—ivho probably never knew what it was to be short of a shilling— seemed to look at him pityingly. To be denied the luxury of walking out of the house in a. huff and dining at tile dun! He could

To that he had not a word to say. She gave the most recherche dinnerparties. Money was spent iu profusion at the house in Eaton Square, but Vance found more and more that he was a slave to that house, lie had uo club; it was hardly safe for him to go oil alone; he was stranded at once. Occasionally he was down as low as a shilling. Still on that point she was adamantine; he could get no relief. His two pounds a week (he had his own sixty a year) were soon gone, and he was often in dire straits; cabs became unheard-of luxuries when he was alone. She treated it all as a joke, but it was no joke to hiin to have "to depend on a few half-crowns doled out as advances on next week's allowance. It was not a subject to be canvassed abroad. j "But you don't really require move 1 money," she said, with a smile. "You would only waste it." "Yet a cab now and then " "Well, we've got a motor." "Oh, I know!" "Now you want to go off alone. No, I shan't increase your allowance. ! shan't really. Y T ou can come to me for anything urgent." "But I want a club." ' "Absurd!" she said. "I hnven't got a club, so why should you have one?" And she smiled at him sweetlv. He could walk in t'fle Park, but the | club was the one recognised refuge in days of domestic trouble. The butler—who probably never knew what it was to be short of a shilling— seemed to look at him pityingly. To be denied the luxury of walking out of the house in a huff and dining at tile cluu! He could only go out of the boudoir into his library. Hero she followed him and laughed. "You arc absurd!" she said. "But you don't want me always ab)-:t tile house." "Why not?" she said. "There's plenty of room." "Oh. it would be ridiculous! It can t go on." "Nonsense, Jack, l suppose befort you married me you didn't go about much." "No." lie hesitated a moment, ' i couldn't. You know I couldn't." "Then why should you do so now—except with me? We will go to tile theatre to-night." - "But the servants talk. It is alwavs you who pay." "Well, i can't help that.' Don't bs unreasonable. As for the servants, wh-" t docs it matter?" "It does matter. 1 am losing caste.' ' She, actually laughed. ] "You must sec it, too," he said. The blue eves looked at him in astonishment. "If I am pleased," she said, with the air of a queen, "everything should b» well in your eyes." "Oh, it isn't that!" he said desperately. "You don't mean to say that you are tired of mc?" "How could I he that?" he said. "You know it isn't that." "Well, it looks like it. You never talk to mc of anvthing else but moncv." "Well, you see. I'm in rather a dilemma." "But, John, why should you be? Isn't the house kept nicely?" "Oh, admirably, of course!" "The cooking is all right." "Yes," he said. "Nothing lacking, is there?" "No, no; but, my darling girl, you don't understand." She looked at him mockingly. "I think I do. You want money t-> waste." "Not to waste, but to enable me to act a definite part." "There, you are tired of me!" sic fried. "You told me before we married that all you eared about was to be my husband." "So it was," he said weakly, lie feit that he was acting like a brute. "And now you no longer care." "I do," he said. "You know I care." She shook h,- r head, "1 begin to doubt it"; and she shed a tear. "Yo.i want to go and leave me." . - "But other men go off alone —sometimes." "Where to? To the club. I don't want you to go to the club." "Yes, and they travel." "I daresay," she said; "but I am not going to have it. I'll draw a cheque if you want I , take mc anywhere, but I can't have you touring round the world alone on my money. I want you here." lie sighed heavily. "You don't understand," lie said. 'I onlv want independence. She turned awav her head to hide a smile. "Independence! Ob, let's be independent together." "You are generally busy," he said. "Oh, I have my little odds and ends, of course. But then you have your writing." "I've lost the knack," he said. "Would yon find it at a club?" slle said mischievously. To that sally lie made no reply.

He returned to the charge a few davs later.

".Money again." she said, with a si'{tl, 'llow can you bother me?"

ilut. you see, I must keep tip my position."

"-Must!' she said. "But your position is all right, isn't it?" "Nothing like what it should be." he said, rather sulkily, "as your husband."' She smiled enigmatically. He had grown quite accustomed to 'that smile. "If T am satisfied," she said, "what does the rest matter?"

'"Still, if we have thirty thousand a year ?5 "We!" she said, with a comical look. "I mean if you haw—would it not be as well to cut more of a figure." "I know what you mean, Jack. You would 'have racehorses, and we should po out to bridge parte every night. Xn, \ shouldn't care about it. 1 much prefer a quirt evening, and for you to read me a book." He groaned. It was when Aunt Matilda came to dine and plot that he felt his position most keenly, for it seemed to him as lif tin; stout and elderly relative came to coach Violet in her policy. JTo was left alone in the dining-room with the port, but even so he felt that his position was not the strongest. Violet, in the drawing-room, was receiving instructions and encouragement. On these occasions he would have dined out. but apart from the fact tluit hi* wife would have been displeased, it was not very practicable to do so. since he had lost the liking for the cheapness of So'io. He began to find time hang heavily mi his hands. Violet had much to do. She i was interested in social work in the' East End, and had drawing-room meetings at her house. One of her hobbies was rose-culture. She had many activities. whereas he was desoeuvre; old historical questions had lost their grip-, \w had centred all in Violet. Xow there came that hated/humiliating sense of nothingness; his was a half-started career -with nothing achieved and o:i!y bare scaffolding work to loolt at. "There is nothing for me to do," he said, one day, "but to go back to work/' She looked at him in frank ment.

"Work! You! What do you mean, Jack?"

"Why, that it can't go on." "Can't go on!" .she repeated. "Oil, don't say that! Why, we are going to sec Henry of Navarro' to-night. Now. don't look so glum. You might be a* famous as anybody else. Dallas of the 'Courier,' who was" here the other night, told me how much vou could do." "Oh, write!" he said scornfully. "What's the use V

lie turned matters over in tlie (lead of night. Aa lie lad said to her, filing could not go on, They really could not.

Ie might got a elerkehip. But it would look rather absurd to leave for an otti'.o it half-past eight every mowing, mid do waited upon by a butler whose pojt was worth more than the hypothetical I :>m- he might fill. But there was his writing! When it had been really urgent in the old davg there had been iothing but rebuffs. lie went out in good time the follow* ng morning, and wrote an article, seated on a e'iair in the Embankment CUrJens, after-wards taking it to an ollico uhuro he kiu'W a latlu'V inllucntiul mail. I'he article was accepted at once. Success is always easy to tlio nn:i-urgent [le went 'back home to hu.. !i quite leased. So was Yiulel. ''l am glad!" she cried. "You know, foil are a wonderful man." "Sou are pleased b.cause 1 shall g;t ;hrec guineas for that article*" lie sail ''Oh, it isn't lliat!" -he responded. 'But before you weren't jjlvina yourself i chance.'' 'i'liey were dining out thai night, an 1 ie looked at her cxijuisite gown. "1 suppose that cost a hundred guineas," lie said. ".More," she said placidly. '■Vet you won't let m " have a few lundreds a year." "I am very -sorry,' she said, -tin:. cally. I can't let you have anything ui ,be kind." She was too pretty to lie angry with. 3ut what had he done? If the world ;new his pitiful situation, how the vorld would laugh! But lie could not nake a scene. The article in the Emmnknient Gardens was one of many. Che old skill returned. She actually cut down his allowan-.e o ten shillings. For a fortnight he lever went out except when lie aceommnied her for a drive or to a dinner nd theatre party. "I am glad to see that you are workng," she said, when she looked in at he library one morning. "Good boy! fere's an extra five shillings to spend, foil can buy a box of cigars." He could not help laughing. "What, with five shillings!" "Of couree. Why not?" "Oh, nothing much!" he said; "on.y - ou couldn't, and if you did, nobody rould smoke them." But he was glad that he had gone iack to work. He had not neglected ic ' ong enough to make this impossi'ob. leveral editors welcomed lis articles, : lid Violet was delighted and asked hem to dinner. .Success was added to uceess. Money poured in. He started . banking account, and his wife seemed leliglitcd. "It is capital!" she said. "I am to ;lad. I was afraid that you had lost it Jl—all tlii> old interest." A new light dawned then. "Can you forgive me, Jack?" she aid. "I ean—anything. What a wonderful [irl you arc!" She put her arms round his neck. "Yon sec," 6bc said, "if you had only ust—just. gone off to this club you wanted to have there would have been lothing done. Oh, I am glad! People ire talking about you now."—By Glive {. Fenn, in 11.A.P.