WHAT SOMEBODY SAID.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2444, 10 March 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

WHAT SOMEBODY SAID.

I was twenty-one when I asked Ada to marry me, and it was the happiest moment in my life when she said "Yes."

It was not a thoughtless thing for me to do, for I really loved Ada, and was in a position to keep her in comfort.

I would never have asked my dear girl to marry me unless I had been able to give her a comfortable home, for I don't believe in a man who marries a woman when he has hardly enough to keep himself.

This is my way of looking at it, although a great many young people will not agree with me in this. What will keep one will not keep two ; you may rely upon that.

When Ada said " Yes " I was not long in asking her to name the day : for my holiday was near at hand, and Ada and I would be able to go clown to .Devonshire for a fortnight to spend our honeymoon People who have to get (heir living have to do things in a more matter-of-fact way ; but they are just as romantic, for all that.

The first thing I did when I obtained her consent was to go and tell Jim Townsend all about it. Jim was my friend, and I said :—

" When I am married you shall have a seat by my fireside."

" Wives don't always like their ■iusbaii'l's friends," said Jim, sagely; ; ' but I'll come if I am wanted."

"My Ada will always be glad to see my friends," I cried, proudly. You shall como and see her to-mor-row night."

" Very well," said Jim, and then we said good-night, and my friend went in to supper.

A man in love is a strange creature, and I felt restless, and not at all inclined to sleep; so I walked up and down the moonlit street, my heart full of Ada.

Passing along a quiet square, I caught sight of a man and a woman walking under a lamp-post.

If the woman had not looked round I shouldn't have seen her face ; but in saying good-bye to her companion, I saw it clearly enough. It was Ada Richards ; I could not be mistaken in the face I loved so dearly.

Wondering why she was out so late, and who the man was she was speaking to, I was about to cross the road, when I was stopped by a cab, which would have run over me had I not drawn back.

Quickly as the cab went by, when it had gone, neither the man nor the woman was to be seen.

Hurriedly I crossed the road and turned the corner of the street. My eager eyes caught sight of a retreating figure; running after it, I touched her on the shoulder, say-

ing ;— " I thought you were in bed and asleep."

The woman turned indignantly. It was not Ada ! In the darkness of the narrow street my sweetheart had disappeared, and I had spoken to a strange lady.

She paid not the slightest attention to my apologies; but walked on, evidently thinking that I was intoxicated.

I felt strangely agitated at seeing Ada, for that it was she I. had no doubt. Why had she come out at this late hour, when she had told me she was going to stay indoors?

I would ask her on the morrow. With this reflection I went to my lodging, and tried to sleep ; but that night sleep was a stranger to my weary eyes, and I could not help thinking of the dark shadow that had passed over Jim's face when I had mentioned the name of Ada Richards.

Did he know anything against her 1 I would ask him in the morning ; but when daylight appeared, all my gloomy thoughts vanished with the darkness.

When I met Jim in the evening I ■was as cheerful as usual, and we walked arm in arm together, talking and laughing.

It was only three miles to iny fairy's house, and Jim and I decided to walk it.

When we arrived outside the house in which Ada resided, I saw her standing at the window, and she blushed and smiled as our eyes met,

"Is that she?" Jim asked, as we mounted the steps.

" Yes—is she not pretty ?"

'•If she is as good as she is beautiful, you'll have nothing to complain of," said Jim, as I knocked at the door with a trembling hand, for somehow I always felt nervous on going to see Ada.

The door was opened, and we walked into the drawing-room.

" Allow me to introduce to you, Mr James Winter," I said. "He is the truest and best friend I have."

Hearing that Jim was my best friend, Ada smiled and extended her hand, and after that we three sat down and chatted gaily.

I could not help noticing that Ada looked paler than usual, and I told her so, as Jim went to the window to admire the flowers on the window-sill.

"I have a slight headache," she admitted.

"You shouldn't stop up so late at night," I replied, looking straight at her. "It doesn't do for a delicate girl to stand talking in the streets on a cold winter's night,"

" Why, Jack," slio said, looking puzzled, " it was yuu that kept me

out. It was half-past eleven when you left me." I was about to make some angry rejoinder to this, and tell her that I had seen her talking with a man at twelve at night, when I was called by her father. " Come, Jack," he cried, " I want

to show you a horse I have bought. I am afraid I have been taken in ; I know you are a good judge of horseflesh."

I felt cross with Ada for the first time in my life, and was only too pleased to follow Mr Richards, leaving Jim to talk to her. This is the conversation that passed between them, 1 was told, afterwards. " Jack is a very good fellow," said Jim, in his blunt way, " and I hope you will make him happy. I have known him so long, that he seems like a brother to me." " I am very fond of Jack," replied Ada, quickly, "or I should not have consented to marry him." A minute's pause, and then Jim spoke again. "It doesn't do," he said, " for a girl to be soen walking about with another fellow when she is engaged

to be married."

Ada looked and felt astonished

What on earth could her future husband's best friend be driving at? She thought his remark a very strange one.

" Does your sweetheart do that ?" asked Ada, thinking that he was desirous of enlisting her sympathy.

"I haven't got one." said Jim, shaking his head, and looking as if inclined to add : " And a good job too."

When we were walking home together that night, I fancied Jim looked very grave and pre-occu-pied.

'■ What on earth is the matter 1" I asked.

" Nothing," he answered; shortly, and shaking hands at the corner of the street, Jim left me without another word.

I did not see much of him for the next two or three days, and during that time I became conscious of a change in Ada. She seemed to have lost her high spirits, and once, coming into her presence unexpectedly, 1 found her in tears.

When I asked her why she was weeping, she gave some evasive answer, and this, in conjunction with Jim's odd behaviour, made me extremely uncomfortable.

I was walking clown the street, turning over the mystery in my mind, when who should I run against but my friend.

" Holloa !" I said, brightening up a bit, "I was thinking of you. Where on earth did you drop from V

"To toll you the truth," said Jim, " I was looking for you. I can't stand it any longer. It isn't a pleasant thing to say, old fellow ; but I have found out that the girl you have sot your hearc upon is not worthy of you. Somebody has seen her ever so many times talking to a man. Last night lie kissed her."

" It is false !" I cried, fiercely, and for a moment it was a toss-up whether I sprang at Jim's throat, or not; but I thought of our long friendship and cooled down a little.

" Look here," I said, as calmly as I could, for I was trembling with anger, "if you can't prove your words, I'll give you the biggest thrashing you ever had in your life, though you are my friend."

"Go to Miss Richards, and ask her who it was she met last night," returned Jim. "If she can answer that question to your satisfaction, I'll take the thrashing like a man, and feel that I deserved it." And he walked off, leaving me in a state of mind impossible to describe. Without stopping to think of what I was to do, I went over to Ada, and the instant I found myself in her presence, asked, abruptly :—

" Who was it you met last night f I waited anxiously for a reply to my question, but none came.

Instead of answering me. Ada buried her face in her hands, and began to cry bitterly.

" Who was it you met last night?" I asked, impatiently. ".Hush!" said Ada, rising to close the door. " Don't let ray father hear." " Oh! you are ashamed of the truth being known to your father 1" I asked, sneeringly, " but I'll take care he hears the whole story."

Ada dried her eyes and looked at me defiantly.

"You are a brute," she cried, " and I hate you ! Tell him, if you like—l don't care. " He'll turn me out of the house for my disobedience ; but, what does it matter to you 1" " What will the neighbours say if they find out your goings on?" 1 asked, roughly. "Stealing out of the house every night."

"That's false," said Ada. "I met her inside the house, and once only, for the last time." " Her 1" J repeated blankly.

" Yes," returned Ada, beginning to sob again. " Father swore I should never see Katie again, when she ran off and married Will Palmer, without his consent; and, out of kindness, she never came near me. But she is going to America, and has been living near the old home for a fortnight, keeping indoors all day, so that she should not meet n:y father. And, last night, our servant lot her in after father was in bod, to bid me good-by—for years, perhaps, forever it may be.

Her husband did kiss her when she joined him, I dare say, not knowing that there was anybody mean enough to spy upon them. He was waiting for her outside, and she was crying bitterly when we parted. Oh ! Jack, to think you should have believed such things of me. I'll never forgive you—never !"

"You are as like as two peas," 1 said. "Oh ! Ada, forgive me !" " Never !" said Ada again, and she looked as if she meant to keep her word. Did she 1 Well there she sits yonder, darning the socks of our eldest. We call him Jim just to show the other Jim that we bear no malice ; and his advice, and our advice, to young lovers is : Never believe ill of each other without first finding out whether the rumours have any foundation in fact, for it may often happen that inatterscan be explained as easily as the case of mistaken identity I have just been telling you about.