Lady Marjorie's Love

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXV, Issue 10713, 15 March 1913, Page 2

Lady Marjorie's Love

(OUR SERIAL

By Carl Swerdna Author of "To the Dttermost Farthing," "A More Ceremony," "A Fight for Honour," Etc.

CHAPTER XV (Coni.iuuccl.) After a pau-e Marjorie continued. "And ay for these ridiculous people, i don't, care who they were or they did. They are all dead, and rnJt of thorn were wretches when they were alive." Another pause and a -icious -tweak at Jack's ear, whereat ho .squeaked reinonstratively. "And •is for tlwG absurd old mountains, J don't want to go climbing up thorn!' A th.i'd pans;?. and. a little- foot patted irritably upon the flags. "Since you a:? so excessively observant, perhaps y. ii can point out a few more tilings 'upon which I am ignorant." "Possibly. I'll try. I sit to be corrected, but am I right in limiting my seiiou.s suspicion that your knowledge of trigonometry and the higher mathematics ma-v he'slightly hazy? "I don't know nr... :hing about either of them."— flatly. "Exactly ; s 1 thought. May I sm* what are your views upon the-atomic theory?"

for the futui-3?" he said tentatively. "For the present. I—l (bin t suppose it will be for very long. As she sta-'.njnered she colored again, and he perfectly "well ku-: \v >viiy. I must leave- here when tlio.cauntess leave-s, and will go straight to her. I will, write presently and tall her all about it. iShe is at* Wiesbaden—or she wa-s when I heard from her last. She isn't very much in England —she likes a foreign life b:<vfc, and so do the girls.

"The girls?" ".Mv cousin* —Alice and Laura. Didn't I slkw you tlioir portraits, too? I think I did." Harrington, -exerting his recollection again, recalled the pictures of two severe-fa-e.-d young ladies whom all the artful flatteries of photographic art had failed to render lovely. Truth, too, for the camera, had ruthlessly insisted that the Misses Paget were of the lanky, lean, and raw-l>onecl type. He hid a smile and a twinkle. * "I beg .vour pardon. I remember that you did -so. May 1 ask if you are fond cri vour ■cousins Lady Marjorie:'"

"Whatever is that?" "Or —to leave the beginning oi things and come down to the ethics of the nineteenth century what do you consider to he the principal points of divergence between the respective philosophies of Huxley and Herbei t Spencer?" "Oh, don't be ridiculous.'

yes, of course I am!" Doubt was mixed with her a-ssent; .she made a grimace. "Yc<?. I'm fond of them, but 1 never got on with them so very well. They are both a. good deal olcter than I am, perhaps that's the reason. And then they go in for a lot of studio? that I don't care'for—the atomic theory and things like that" —with a .saucy upward fla.sh of her eyes. "No. I'm fondest of Aunt Eleanor, and perhaps th?y don't like her being so ford of me. .She wanted me to go with them when they went libronrl this time, and T dare sav I should have gone, but my father seemed. s-o ill at the time, and 1 knew he would b? so dull without me. 01u I am g'nd new that T didn't go!" "You must bp. I am sure!" He spoke gentlv. "Doubt Us-- you have plenty of livelv letter/- from vour cousin-? Wiesbaden will not .seem strange to you."

The remonstrance was as vigorous in tnne aiul gesture as in woi cls. Maijorie, having made it, stared out of the window- over .lack's head. If .she had let licr eyes meet her companion's «lie knew she must laugh, aiul she did not choos® t<y laugh. He was lent because lie preferred to wait until she spoke. "I call it perfectly absurd ! ' she grumbled:. with her chin on Jack's head. "Of eouiv-e I don't know about the atomic theory, or whatever it is, and all the other stupid things, and I'm sure J don't want tn know. What irood would .it do me if 1 diitl ? Tf T had children what good woidd it do them. Xot the least' hit in iho world, and yon know it wouldn't. Girls don't want to he taught all that. They ought to he taught useful things—things they will want to understand afterward — things that they want to do every day in their live/?. That's what I . think!" '•You do?" Barrington lauglud. "You are more hopelessly and totally unfitted for your proposed task than T had. imagined," he said dryly- "Tjseful things, everyday things, things they will want to know afterward! Do .you want to overthrow the whole established and accepted system of English education. Lady Marjorie?'' "T don't want to do anything!" She flounced and pouted. "I suppose that what you really think, Mr Barrington, is that I'm too stupid to attempt to he a governess and that it is of no use me trying?" "I don't think you stupid, which you don't need telling. But at the same time if I am to speak frankly I "T told ypu before that you were!" "Well, with duo apologies, and speaking strictly from a scholastic point of view*, I'm hound in honor to confess that a more appalling ignorant young person I never met with in the whole course of my life!"

"From the. trMs? Xo. tlify very seldom write. I'm. ratfiT rrlarl t-lic-y don't, for 1 knmv T should find it a dreadful 'bore io have to answer them." Her face clouded, her I>rows knit. "And Aunt Eleanor lias not written lately. She has not answered either' of my latwo letters, and there has been more -than time. I do hone she isn't ill. Sho isn't very sir nr. si." "■Slip will onv.vor t-hs one von are going to send mor? promptly,sail' Harrington cheerfully. "Oh. yes. of course! T'll jro and write it now." She rose and stood hesitatinglv. "Tf —if T bring. it down and give it tn yon, Mr ißarrington, will yon nosfc it? T—T know you are goimr to Upton Wafers this evening." "With pleasure, Lady Marjori?." "1 don't want the countess to see it. you know." she went on confidentially. "T shan't tell her a'bout it — at any rate, not. yet.- She and Aunt Eleanor never liked each other, and there would sure to he a, fuss."

"T think there can he no possible doubt as to the sort of answer you will got, Lady Marjoric." (To be Continued.)

"Oh!" —amazedly. "Under commands and with all possible apologies!"—meekly. A pause, Marjorie straightened herself resolutely. "I shall write to my aunt," she said. "Your aunt?" He had been looking at her —the poise of her head, the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes, a spectacle which naturally obliterated all other things mundane. Marjorie's eyes flashed impatience. He had no (business to be- even momentarily oblivious of her aunt. "Mrs Paget," she said. "I'm sure J. told you about her. Why, I showed you her portrait only the other day! Don't you recollect?" Barrington, recalling, not too clearly, the photograph of a large 'handsome lady in a large, handsome dress at the moment described os "AuntEleanor," also recalled a time when it had pleased Lady Marjorie to lie both communicative and gracious. Remembering the graciousness very clearly indeed; he replied-: "To .be sure, I recollect. Mrs Paget is your mother's sister, I think! " "Yes, her elder sister." She leaned. back in her corner again. "I ought to have thought of her at once instead of talking about the govern ness, for I'm afraid I knew it was rather a silly idea, Mr Barrington. But I was in a temper, for one tiling, and"—she colored slightly—"Aunt Eleanor is not rich, for another. But I know she will be glad to have me, for I am very fond of her and she is very fond of me. She wrote asking • me to go to her a<3 soon as she 'heard of my father's death, but I said 'No' because she was abroad—as she is still indeed. Of course 1 did not know then how things were." Her Hp quivered, and she looked away. Barrington hid a change of face that meant many things before she looked at him again.

"You wiH! make your home with lier