THREE MEN AND A MAID.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9022, 8 January 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID.

CHAPTER ll.—Continued. ■ "Well, the men make up for it, you see," put in Hannah, seizing the opening. "Oh, the men? Yes, they are over plentiful and gushing; but one can't live on hoi ey. Bread is good, too, don't you know? I could afford to barter ten male hearts for one sister's, and am refused." "Still, it is well to be you," said Hannah, "it must be a glory to be run after and flattered, even if it's a bit dangerous at times. People even say that the Squire is pretty gone on you." "Mr Coarthope?" "So they say." "I am glad he likes me. I like him, too." "I hear he swears to marry you. "Oh, he shouldn't swear—that's naughty." "You mean to say that supposing —I only say supposing—the Squire was to ask you, you'd say 'no,' Marjorie?" i "I should tell you lots and lots of jpy secrets," answered Marjorie, with a wistful smile, "if you and I were real chums, as we ought to be. But as you choose the other way, I shall subject you to. infernos of unsatisfied curiosity. Better bring your nightdress and sleep, while I extend the, olive branch." . , "Oh, 1 am ,not a child or a servant. " cried Hannah, waxing wrath at Marjorie's self-possession. "You think a fair amount of yourself, don't you?" "It is the awful red Squire who makes hie .vain. You would be vain, too, if the awful Squiro sworej to marry you." "Oh, don't imagine that I am left quite out in the cold!" came the angry protest. "The Squire isn't the only man in the world. There are those who prefer a tall, dark girl to wax dolls, let me tell you." "I agree with them," said Marjorie, "I too, prefer a tall, dark girl to a wax doll, like poor me; but the tall, dark girl must be a lady." "An inn-keeper's daughter can't be a real lady,"so it is useless her trying. She only makes people laugh at her when she sticks it on, you see." "I don't believe that in the least," answered Marjorie. "I believe that no one laughs if they see her endeavouring to be gentle, and gracious, and refined. And if they did laugh, it would not matter. You just have a try, Hannah, and who knows \vhether the red Squire may not leave me desolate in, order .to fly to your tall, dark arms. At present, you know, he wouldn't dream of such a thing. lf "Oh, you do fancy yourself, don t you?" hisjed Hannah, grinning rancidly,"my goodness, you do, you do! Not that I am out of the running either! |Not a bit of it! There are others as good as the Squire, every bit, and, as far as prospects go, far better than that idle Philip Warren tf "I should leave poor Mr Warren's name alone if I were you. He is a gentleman of rather high distinction," said Marjorie quietly. Then she added: "]Let me see, who about Hudston is 'as good as the Squire, . every bit?' There is Mr James Courthope " "Well, and what of Mr James?' came the tart response. "Ah, I thought there was something in that quarter. A girl should know how to - control her blushes, Hannah, and not be a mere *ose. I can quite well'see you in the glass, you know. Assuming lam not mistaken, is James Courth'ope quite the right sort?" "What do you mean?" Hannah was bitterly aggressive now, and ready to create a scene. "Nothing specially; don't fly into a rage. I don't think I like the man, that is, all. On the whole I much prefer my raging, roaring Squire it

"No doubt—as the fox said that the grapes were sour! Mr James is a hundred times handsomer than the • Squire, as for that; anyway, he isn't drinking himself to deaths " "No, but he is less sincere, less honest and loyal. The Squire is a gentleman " "Whac are you talking about? What can you possibly know against Mr James Courthope?" "Nothing much, but I don't want you to have any foolish fancies about the man, for that can only lead to trouble for you. -He isn't fond of you—at least, he isn't quite honest; he isn't—true to you, if he has told you anything." "You had better mind what you are saying!" cried Hannah, quite white with anger. "How dare you! How do you know whether he is fond of me or not, and whether he is true, or not? Who is he fond of, then? You? They are all fond of you, is that it? Look here, my girl, you had better have a care how you go! I can stand a lot, but 1 can't stand that." . "Go to bed, Hannah, said Marjorit, "and let me recommend you not to u,nit your prayers." •. "Not i.-at a few prayers would hurt you, either!" retorted Hannah, "\for you need them setting your cab at all the men in the place. So it ia vVju that Mr James is fond of, not ma?\Oh no! He must have had some Encouragement, I should think-! But u girl Should be a bit modest, anci should k\nuw how to keep herself to .herself, £,do think, and not make herself the tiilkf'oj: the countryside, trying to dravy every man that she sees after her. \And as for Mr James, I shouldn't trouble my little head, if I were you, for\you don't know what he thinks of yota. They all look upon you as a dressed up doll, trying to be a lady, Mr just like the rest, but we ca\n't see ourselves as •others see us. SoU shouldn't trouble my head about Mr Courthope,

By EGBERT ERASER. [Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Eights Reserved.]

if 1 were you, and I shouldn't trouble it about Mr Warren either, for Mr Isambard would just turn Mr Warren neck and crop out of the Vicarage if he heard a whisper of such a thing, and the poor young man hasn't as many pence in his pocket as father has ,pounds, with all his pride. Besides, the Squire has fixed his eye on you, as he might on a two-year-old that he took a fancy to for a time. And it's no good your putting on any of your ah.i with him. He's coming here tomorrow certain, and you'll have to give up your own private little fancies, you see, and buckle under to what you are told to do, for " "That's done!" said Marjorie, brightly, giving a final pat to her hair. "Now, Hannah, go." She pointed towards the door. "Very pleased, I'm sure," though Hannah looked rather cowed than pleased. Truhing at the door, she added: "If you don't want to meet the Squire, the only way will be to slip out and hide somewhere. The Vicarage shrubbery is the nearest place. I shouldn't betray you, for all I've said." And she was gone. Marjorie wondered a little at this parting advice, but made up her mind to act upon it, knowing that there was trouble ahead with the Squire, to say "no" to whom, might prove no light matter. What she in noway suspected was that Hannah had thus advised her because of James Courthope's prompting, for it was Courthope's policy to keep Marjorie and the Squire well apart at that crisis in affairs. And so it came about that when the Squire presented himself at the Greyhound the next afterrpon, Marjorie was in the thickest part of the Vicarage shrubbery, which adjoined the boundary fence of the Greyhound paddock, and of the good folk in the hotel only Hannah, who was as quiet as a mouse, knew where Marjorie was. Robert Courthope meanwhile paced and waited, a sight to see, the red of his face mottled with white, his mood.one minute all fret and impatience, and the next half glad of the delay, that he might think how to put his case in the best words. For so young, and masterful a man, his agitation was strangely patent. He could not be still a moment. When he put up his finger to pass it down his strip of side whisker, it danced like the finger of one who marbles paint. He had the name of "a lady's man," this red squire; but in truth he was only a woman's man, and he now paid Marjorie the compliment of I being nervous. Moreover, here he stood at the j parting of the ways, at a juncture serious to him as life • and death, meaning the decision of all his future. Rightly or wrongly, he had taken it into his head that Marjorie would prove a match for "the drink," and had she known the secret of all the good that was then groping and hoping upward in his soul, compassion might have kept her from flying from him.. When the thought struck him that the innkeeper was long, and he asked why the old fool did not come back, he kicked a chair, or dashed a book to the floor, but if he fancied that he heard a footstep, he Nervously cleared his throat, casting a glance into the mirror at his buttonhole orchid, and well-groomed get-up. And the dusk deepened in the drawing-room. Marjorie's father, meantime, was as reluctant to show his nose to the Squire as to face a lion. In a state of utmost, if comical, dismay, he was every minute casting up his arms and eyes together, flinging off into a score of starts to run to tell the Squire that Marjorie was out, but halting in the hope that she would yet be found, since several waiters, stablemen, and maids were out seeking her. "Where can she be?" he asked many times. "Her place is at home, not wandering about. This comes of being too much of the fine lady——" "Don't talk nonsense, Jonas," was the reproof of Aunt Margaret, sitting primly in her oaken chair. "You always hit the wrong nail oil the head. If the girl wasn't a fine lady, would the Squire wish to see her at all? / Did ye ever know nitn come hankering after Hannah in this fashion? Fine ladies are made so; it's their nature to be fine, and they can't avoid it; and some lasses will follow the mother's side and some will follow the father's side." (To be continued.)