The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 24 August 1911, Page 1611

The Storyteller

THE PHILANDERER

It was a happy girl was Molly that year, though there had been just the same scramble to make ends meet as there had always been; yet the sky had been bluer and the song of the birds sweeter than ever before. And all because Julian Benet had come home.

How well Molly remembered old Catharine coming in and saying : ‘ D’ye mind, Miss Molly, Mr. Benet’s brother’s come home?’

Molly had known John Benet since she was’ a mite and he a shy, good-natured lad of sixteen; but his brother Julian had been taken away by an uncle, and educated as a Benet ought to be; for, like Molly’s own people, they were gentlefolk,-, though it took them all their time to keep their heads above water. ‘ His uncle’s died, an’ left all the money to the wife’s family,’ went on Catharine, 'it's,a fine disappointment for Mr. Julian Ye’ll be seeing him at Mass on Sunday.’ ' Which prediction, however, was not fulfilled. His fame had preceded him. He was a poet. One of his effusions had been printed in an obscure magazine, copies whereof he sent to his friends. The Squire had sniffed disdainfully at it, and Molly had failed to understand it, but the fact of its existence invested the writer with a. certain interest.

So he came, saw Molly, and constituted himself her cavalier.

She was a pretty, winsome little thing, with thick, soft brown hair, and big lustrous brown eyes, in ’which she had not the very slightest idea how easy it was for Julian Benet to read bounded admiration of his talented self. He found this employment eminently agreeable. *ltis so refreshing—l may call you Molly, mayn’t I, when we are alone, as we’ve known each other all our lives ?—to find some one to whom I can impart my inmost thoughts,’ he said, flattered to see Molly’s eyelids droop in sweet confusion under his gaze. ‘ You are a good deal with the Squire’s little girl, Julian,’ remarked his brother one day, Molly being secretly enshrined in the speaker’s heart as the best and fairest of womankind.

‘ She is a congenial little thing,’, observed the Poet condescendingly. John Benet looked at him gravely. 'You’re hardly in a position to marry, Ju, and unless you mean marriage, you ought not risk making the little girl fond of you.’ The question of marriage’—Julian’s tone held limitless offence in it— * is my own affair. Genius is not to be weighed and measured like sheep and turnips.’ ‘ Possibly,’ returned his brother, unmoved by the sarcasm, ‘ but Molly Creagh is too good a girl to be trifled with.’

‘ That idea,’ returned the Poet loftily, * arises from your limited outlook,’ And he went off to call on Molly, who was sitting puzzling over housekeeping matters. ‘ Come into the garden,’, he said, ‘ I want a talk.' ‘Just for a minute,’ answered Molly, in a delightful flutter, ‘ I have heaps to do. Olivia Waite is coming to live with us.’

‘And who may Olivia Waite be?’ ‘ Our distant cousin. She has always lived in America. Now her people are dead, anddon’t tell anybody, father hates the idea, but Olivia insists—is coming as paying guest.’ ‘ Is she rich ?’

‘ Oh, no. She says producing a letter—“l would rather be with you than with strangers, if you will take me for what I can afford to pay.” ’ ‘ And then,’ objected Julian, a tender inflection in his voice, ‘ I shall see less of you than ever.’ But—we do see each other very often, and there is father to consider;’ and Molly glancing up, the look in her eyes almost overcame Julian’s prudence,

Had riot what he called common sense checked the words ,about to be spoken. " q Like a fresh breeze blowing through pine woods, came Olivia Waite into the old house she elected to make her home. The Squire, Molly, and even old Catharine fell under the spell of the new-comer's personality. Her gay good-humor captivated everybody but Julian. ‘ What you people see in that girl, is a mystery to me,’ he groaned, : sitting with Molly in a corner of the hall one Sunday, ‘ she is downright, ugly !' Which was true so far as regularity of feature or' beauty of complexion went; but Molly, glancing at her chatting merrily : over the tea-table with the Squire and John Benet, wondered how anyone could consider that bright animated face ugly. ‘lt’s like coming into a new world/ said Olivia. * Now, I have been here a month, and-where do you go to church, Mr. Julian?’ The question came with an abruptness displeasing to that gentleman. ——do not go to church, Miss Waite.' Dear me That's interesting. You’re the first atheist I’ve met.’

‘My dear!’ from the Squire, much perturbed. ‘Well, a person who doesn’t go to church must naturally be an unbeliever/ observed the young lady, unabashed. ‘ Your brother is a Catholic like ourselves, you say, Mr. John? In my country Catholics go to Holy Mass; don’t they do so here?’ began Julian, intensely annoyed, but Olivia smilingly interrupted him. ‘Of course you do. That’s what I said. An atheist is a person who doesn’t believe in God, but follows his own opinions. You see, uncle dear, I was right. Some more tea, Molly? Oh, I quite understand.’ ; ; A troubled look came into Molly’s eyes, a look still there when Julian, inwardly raging, took his departure. Nothing tries a girl more, or is more unfair on the part of a man, than what is known as an ‘ understanding.’ No word of love is spoken, though 'much is looked; no promise is made, none exacted; yet the man appropriates the girl’s society, makes tender confidences to her, always seems on the verge of saying ‘ I love you,’ and; keeps her on the tenterhooks of expectation, ‘ When he asks me to marry him/ said Molly to herself, crimsoning at her own boldness, ‘ I shall have a right to speak to him about sacred things. Till then I can only pray for him.’ Which -she did with a fervor he by no means deserved. - Her eyes were full of a wistful hope when, a few days after, Julian appeared with a new poem. ‘ You will appreciate this,’ he said, his tone making Molly’s heart tremulous with anticipation; it’s the best thing I’ve done. By the way, I’ve read it to Vallett. Your new tenant is quite a literary man,’ A dilapidated old mansion belonging to the Squire, for want of repair fast becoming a ruin, had been taken by a Mr. Vallett, who, in a most unbusiness-like way, was willing to undertake repairs at his own cost, and also to rent the long-neglected land lying round it. A stroke of luck which seemed to have taken years off the Squire’s age. Vallett and I have struck up quite a friendship/ went on Julian; ‘ he pronounced this poem remarkable.’ It was. Molly listened to its reading with a pucker between her eyebrows, caused by the intensity of her unavailing attempts to understand it. ' ‘What is the title?’ she asked, hoping thus to gain light on the subject. The Philosophy of the Non-Existent.”’ And at that instant in came Olivia. * Dear me !’ she exclaimed merrily, * in the name of all that is reasonable, what can the Philosophy of Nothing mean?’ ‘ The idea is a recondite one, Miss Waite ’ began Julian stiffly, rolling up his manuscript.

So I should think. Good gracious, Molly! Don’t look so bewildered. Even Mr. Benet can’t expect you to understand the philosophy of what there isn't ! ’ r . - Julian held Molly’s hand lingeringly as he took his leave. , . You at least know how to appreciate the outpourings of a poetic soul,’ he murmured. Amd poor Molly, who had expected outpourings of quite a different kind, felt sick at heart with disappointment. ‘A detestable young woman, that Miss Waite,* remarked Julian to his new acquaintance, Mr. Vallett, a week or two later and the conversation that followed, with as its topic, would have interested that young lady considerably. Banaghree chapel was a mile away among the hills, Ihe Squire and his household entering it as usual one Sunday morning, Molly caught her breath with a thrill of joy, for there besides his brother knelt Julian. Theie was no opportunity to exchange a word with him on their homeward way, however, for—contrary to all precedent—Julian paired off with Olivia, and Molly walking with John Benet, left a keen pang of disappointment, longing to know what the two in front were talking about. , , What you said of my neglect of religion convinced me of my error,’ Julian was saying, in his most impressive manner; ‘your words made me think.’ Olivia was unusually grave. She made no answer. I hope you will honor me now with your friendship, he said, deferentially. Any friend of my cousin should be my friend/ replied Olivia, after a pause. ” ’ . Julian looked at Molly, then at the slim figure eside him, and -for the first time— comparisons not in Molly’s favor. I should like to ask your opinion— ’ he began. ‘Not on poetry, I hope/ returned Olivia, with a smile; ‘we’re not sympathetic on that point, you know.’ J

‘ No, but ’

‘Nor yet on theology; there’s Father Casey to settle your doubts, if you have any.’ t You are laughing at me,’ in a tone of injury. c Well, perhaps I am/ returned Olivia frankly. What do you want my opinion about? Your choice of a profession? Wouldn’t your brother or Molly be better advisers?’ J

.‘Oh, John is utterly unsympathetic; and Miss Creagh—oh, poor, poor Molly! lacks that insight— That I possess, laughed Olivia. ‘ Thank you, Mr. Benet. Oh, yes, certainly. You may call upon my insight and other good qualities whenever you please.* From that Sunday Molly dated the period of the keenest unhappiness she had ever known. Without any warning she found herself suddenly relegated to the Arctic environments of the unwanted third person, and for the first time felt the attacks of the fiend of jealousy; and her struggles against them made life a misery. . .From her window she daily saw Olivia with Julian setting off for long walks, or chatting confidentially in the garden, and wept over her unwomanly folly in giving her love to a man who had felt nothing but friendship for her, b Now and then she met John Benet, and his companionship helped her, for he had the rare and exquisite gift of a delicate comprehension of the troubles of others, though his anger was hot against his brother. Seems to said the Squire one day, * that young Benet is paying court to Olivia.’ Molly made an inarticulate reply. .‘ What’s he going to marry on?’ continued the Squire, ‘he’s nothing, and Olivia has little enough. He’s not the man I should choose for a daughter of mine. 6

‘ He’s very clever, father. . ‘Clever!’ echoed the Squire, ‘any lunatic could string together a pack of senseless words, and his brother working hard all day on the farm! Making it pay too at last, is John!’ " . *

Molly looked out .with eyes full of pain into the garden, where Julian and Olivia stood by the old sundial.

‘ It isn’t Olivia’s fault,' she sighed, thinking of her idol’s many perfections. ‘ I might have known that I wasn’t half clever enough for a man like Julian.’ N And she went miserably away to darn— and cry —the household linen.

Julian was nervous. It is easy to look love into soft eyes that look love again, but a bit difficult when tender glances strike upon an unresponsive brilliancy, keen as polished steel. - Out by the old sun-dial Molly, had she but known it, was being amply avenged. ‘ You are good enough to tell me that you love me,’ said Olivia, in her clear, rather high voice. ‘ I thought your conduct amply =■' justified the opinion—that you were attached to my 'cousin?’ ‘ Jealous !’ remarked Julian to himself exultantly. , ‘We are excellent friends, nothing more,’ he replied. ‘ How could anyone think of her when V ‘ The first day I saw you.’ Olivia turned. Her eyes were very merciless as she faced him.

' ‘You are mistaken in the date, I fancy/ she said quietly, ‘it was from the day, wasn’t it, when you and Mr. Vallett had that little conversation together that your so-called attachment began?’ ‘l— Yallett!’ stammered Julian.

That was the day when you discovered from my old friend that Olivia Waite, living on a minute income, was really Olivia Waite, a wealthy heiress, masquerading for her own pleasure. You lost no time, Mr. Benet, in changing your opinion of me.’

And you have the effrontery to ask me to marry you; you, a man who, to gain favor in the eyes of a rich woman, have not scrupled to call hypocrisy to your aid, and add sham religious convictions to your other shams.' -

Julian, livid with rage, made no reply. ‘ I have been fooling you and leading you on for this/ went on the girl, her tones ringing with indignation. ‘ I could have forgiven your rubbishy; poems and your overweening conceit, but your pretence of religion was the last straw.’ Julian recovered himself with an effort.

‘ What Mr. Vallett may have told you ’ h ‘ Mr. Yallett and I are to be married next spring/ she said. ‘You can make your complaints ,to him personally, if you wish.’ ‘ And may I ask with what object you have, as you express it, led me on and fooled me?’ asked Julian, hoarse with wrath.

‘ Because I saw that though you sought her society and sympathy, you were as selfish and insincere in you attentions to my cousin as you appear to be in everything else and I did not wish her to mistake the paste you offered for diamonds/ answered Olivia coolly. Julian sneered \

‘ Miss Creagh may not have appreciated your kind efforts on her behalf.’

‘ She will appreciate them, no doubt, whenas I have every intention of doingl repeat this conversation to her,' replied Olivia, looking steadily at him with immeasurable scorn. And leaving him, she went in to Molly, sitting white and tearful over the tablecloths, knelt down beside her, and told her the whole story. ‘ So,’ said the Squire, a day. or two after, coming in with beaming face from an extremely satisfactory interview with his tenant, ‘ you’ve been taking us all in, Miss Olivia, and are not only possessed of boundless wealth, as the novel-writers say, but are engaged to be married to that good fellow, Yallett?’ ‘ You don’t object, do you, uncle ?’ asked Olivia saucily, pausing in her work of helping Molly to arrange a huge basket of roses just left by John Benet.

‘I heartily approve/ returned the Squire,' pinching her ear playfully; ‘ but what about the poet, eh, young lady?’ ‘Oh, as for him,’.replied Olivia, with light sporp, he is nothing better than a Philanderer!’

And then, for some inexplicable reason known only to womankind, the two girls kissed each other heartily. -Exchange.

Ah, just so. I have a wretched memory for names. She musn ’t allow Percy to hang about the place. Oh, yes, I’ll see the woman. And let Adela rouse herself. The engagement should be announced before your three months' tenancy of Wood Hill expires,’ Mrs. Butler said. Next day Mrs. Butler journeyed to the farm where the Department of Agriculture was exhibiting new methods of farming and training young women to make butter and cheese, to wash and cook, and to rear fowls and calves. She was . a bit nonplussed when Miss Darragh received her as one lady might another and escorted her to dairy, and kitchen, and laundry room. Mrs. Butler said everything appropriate as she passed along, but refused to visit the poultry and calves. ;

‘ Another day, thank you,’ she said, and asked for a cup of tea. Miss Darragh, with her well-cut features, refined voice, and well-bred manner, became more difficult to tackle; but over the tea Mrs. Butler attempted her task. She did little more than attempt it. ■. ■

‘Really, aren’t you rather-absurd?’ Miss Darragh said, and Mrs. Butler thought there was a gleam of amusement in the gray 'eyes. ‘ I have no power to forbid Mr. Butler nor any other person from coming here at proper —nor do I intend to do so.’ Then Mrs. Butler lost her temper and said a few foolish things. She felt they were foolish later. Miss Darragh listened, smiled, and escorted Mrs. Butler to the door and the lady returned to Glen-Butler feeling that she had not scored in the interview. Then she bethought her of Sir Maurice, and wired to his rooms in Dublin.

The student left his old folios and manuscripts very reluctantly and listened, in evident perplexity, to Mrs. Butler’s troubles.

‘But what can I do?’ he demanded helplessly when Mrs.. Butler paused. ‘Percy is of age. If this adventuress- ’

‘ She isn’t an adventuress,’ Mrs. Butler interrupted impatiently. ‘You must see her, and tell her you won’t allow him to marry her.’ Oh, well,’ Sir Maurice admitted, ‘I might do that, but still Percy is his own master.’ ‘ Tell her you won’t give him any help, that you’ll disinherit him,’ Mrs. Butler tried to laugh. Maurice was very dense. She had to say a good deal before Sir Maurice consented to go. Well,’ Mrs. Butler asked on his return, ‘did you see her ? What did she say Sir Maurice crimsoned. ‘ Why, I forgot my errand. It is all so interesting —the dairy, and all. But,’ he added, ‘ I can go to the farm to-morrow.’

Sir Maurice did so, and on many succeeding tomorrows ; and Mrs. Butler was satisfied* Percy danced attendance on Adela, and very soon the desired engagement was anounced.

‘ You have managed the boy beautifully,’ Mrs. Butler said to Maurice. ‘ I was at one time in deadly fear that he would marry Miss Darragh.’ ‘ There was never the remotest chance of that,’ Sir Maurice said.

‘You think not? Perhaps you are right. But it would have been ruinous for Percy.’ ‘Miss Danton is better suited to him.’ Why, of course.’ ‘ ‘ Yes. By-the-by, I knew Miss Darragh long ago.’ : i ‘Knew her!’

Yes. —I had been attentive to Shiela; but I was called to the Continent on business. While I was away her father died, and her mother and she were left very poor. Mrs. Darragh went out to a brother in the States and-Shiela accompanied her. I heard she was married. She wasn’t. She came back to Ireland on her mother’s death, and—. Oh, well, all misunderstandings were explained at last.’ ‘You mean— ?’ Mrs. Butler gasped. Exactly,’ Maurice looked' a half-dozen years younger as he spoke. ‘ Shiela and I are to be quietly married next week.’— Benzigpr’§ -Magazine,