Mary's Great Mistake.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 3027, 26 October 1908, Page 2

Mary's Great Mistake.

By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS.

Author of Selina's Love Story "An Inherited Feud," " Brave Barbara,"

"A Splendid Heart," etc., etc,

CHAPTER Vl.—Continued,

If she had only dared, she would lave liked to speak out her sympathy and her grief ; but she felt that his sorrow was too sacred to be approached, and she might only do more harm if she spoke. Isobel's presence at this time was a source of comfort to Laurie. She was too much occupied with her anxious thoughts to have given that amount of her usual keen attention to this new girl-friend. Had things been different, it is possible that, with all her cleverness, Isobel might have found it difficult to work her way so successfully with Laurie Hungerford a 3 she had managed to do; but, under the circumstances, everything tended to help her, and her little smiling, gilded imposture of an individuality passed with Laurie for the pure golden beauty of a spotlwss, girlish nature and true woman's heart. Isobel's interest in Paul expressed in the most gentie and simple of fashions, led Laurie into a pathway of conjecture and thought that surprised her when she realised it. "If he would only like Isobel a little! Of course, I do not expect him to forget all at once, or to fall in love with her. But if he could really like her, it would be such a good thing for him; and she is so sweet, she would soon grow to be a comfort to him, 1 am sure." Lady Emily was openly enthusiastic about her uister-in-law's young guest, and it was universally agreed that at last Lady Hungerford had found a girl who was fully entitled to the eulogy and admiration showered upon her by that important individual. Laurie had a more delicate way of bringing Isobel's charms to Paul's comprehension. It was done by suggestion, and not clumsily done either; but, despite all these efforts, Isobel herself was the one person to know that she was as far away from winning Paul's approval or liking as the moon is from the earth. He talked with her; he walked with her; he rode with her, and it was in this later exercise Isobel had placed more hope and certainty of pleasing him; but in this as in everything else, Paul Hungerford bore himself in a weary, apathetic way, and Isobel's really neat horsemanship and charmingly displayed figure, went for nothing. She got very, very furious at her persistent failure. "He is stupid. 1 hate him," she said to herself sometimes; but she knew she did not hate him. She never disguised the truth from herself. She knew that she loved him with all the power of her most selfish heart, and that it was he himself she now desired to win, rather than his future title, wealth and position. Laurie rode over to the big house one morning. "I have something to propose," she said as she reined up at the big door, and Isobel ran out to greet her, a pretty picture in a white serge gown, with silver girdle and chatelaine dangling at her side. "Are you fond of«dancir.g, Isobel?" Miss Marston's gray-blue eyes sparkled. "Is there a {lance? Oh, Laurie!" A "What a baby you are!" Laurie „J|aughed. She swung herself out of the saddle, and went into the hall beside Isobel, who always had a jealous feeling when she saw Laurie in her riding-habit. There was something splendid and distinctly attractive about Miss Hungerford's well-developed physique, and her complexion was unique in its way. Laurie unfolded her scheme: "There is to be a ball at the Massinghams, in -—-shire, on Thursday night; it is a chirity affair. Mother is one of the patronesses; it is a most deserving charity, a convalescei.t sort of hospital for sick children, at Whiterock. There is generally a ball or a theatrical performance or something going on for this charity. We always go if we can. The Massingams have put their ballroom at the disposal of the committee. I thought you might like to go. Of course, as it is a charity ball, one cannot expect it to be absolutely select, but there are sure to be all the best county people there, and " "Oh, yes; let us go, Laurie! It will be delightful—delightful!" "Paul told me to engage you for the first waltz," Laurie said lightly; "he assisted me on my mare, and when I told him my errand, that was the message he sent." Laurie did not add that she had suggested the idea to Paul. "Shall I tell Isobel to keep yoc the first waltz?" she had asked and Paul had nodded his head with that strange imitation of a smile that was all he seemed to know now. "Certainly, if you like," he had answered, and then Laurie had ridden away. But Isobel was to know nothing of this half-hearted gallantry. She was surprised and excited at this message. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. "I will bring things to a climax at this ba11,." she said to herself. "I am tired of this tedious waiting and waiting. 1 wiil change my plans. I will make him change, too. I can do most things when I set my mind to it. Paul Hungerford shall ask me to be his wife, if he is free to ask that question of any woman, before many more days are gone. If he is not free " Her colour raled, and the brightness faded from her eyes at this •thought; but she shook off the doubt; it should, at least, have no chance of living till she had tested Paul thoroughly. Somehow she had a sudden presentiment that success would come to her when least she expected it; at any rate, she would make one tterr.endous bid for it, and

if success was to be achieved, she told herself she would have it.

CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE RETROSPECTION. "I told you it would do you no good," George Cartwright said. He was standing with his back to the fire in a cosy little room, that had already received from it new mistress' hands a dozen little artistic touches that beautified it and gave it an air of home and of refinement. Beyond,, shining under the winter sun, stretched the open sea. "You look another person already,' he added. "I feel it," Mary answered. She was sitting at a writing-table, pen in hand. Her gown was the same old shabby black one that she had worn in the days before the last of her many humiliations and trials had come upon her; it had seen good sevice, and was a poor thing, but to the mau's keen eyes it seemed as though it were some queenly argument, for the proud grace of the wearer gave it a value far above its r«al worth. It was a knack she had, he told himself, as the stood there looking at her with curious intensity. She beautified all that came hi contact with her, all that surrounded her. This room, for instance, he had chosen it for her himself, had set it apart, and given orders that some comfortable furniture should be brought in; but it had not worn the air it now did. He could not have told exactly where the difference came in, but the difference was there distinct and charming. "You like the place?" he asked her abruptly. Mary's face flushed. "So much—so much! lam almost happy again," she put down her pen, rose, and came toward him' involuntarily. "I shall never be able to thank you enough for all you have done, never —never." "Why try?" he said, in that curt, j fashion of his which she knew now I Was the cloak to as soft and tender a heart and nature as ever, a man possessed. "I was growing so selfish, so hard, so bitter," Mary said, speaking'on, as if urged to do so by some irresistible force. "I was so wrapped up in my own trouble, so lost in my own disappointment, I had begun to imagine that no one in this wide world could be more miserable than I—could " She paused, and walked to the window with her marvellous grace; his eyes followed her. he saw she could hardly speak for emotion. "Well," he said, breaking the pause, and then, as she was still silent, he went on gently, "it was this that I wanted. This that was necessary to you almost more than the warm sea air, and genial sun. The sigrit of those suffering little creatures I knew would do you good, would take you out of yourself. Sorrow is apt to make us selfish, to warp the best natures. I felt you were too good to be let drift to such a reckless, bitter future as you were 'sketching out unconsciously for yourself. The help you needed was something more than mere material aid. I think you will find that life is not ended for you yet by a good many years." (To be continued.)