THE STORY-TELLER. The Bone of Contention.

Evening Post, Volume LVI, Issue 128, 26 November 1898, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE STORY-TELLER. The Bone of Contention.

"Here he comes." There was a rattling of hastily-set-down teacups, the swish of suddenly-spread-out muslin and print skirts, a little movement of feet on the grass, a stifled laugh, and an attempt at airy unconsciousness on the part of girls in their teens, and a general brightening up of the faces in the select company gathered together on Mrs. Merrick's tennis lawn. The iron gate swang back, and tAvo men came towards the group. The stranger was the new doctor. In a community composed chigfly of women, with a sprinkling of married men ' — or old bachelors — mostly shockingly ineligible, need it be wondered that when the old doctor sold his practice, preparatory to sailing for England, there should be" much comment rife as to what manner of man his successor would be. When it was authentically stated that the newcomer was young and unmarried excite- i ment rose to fever height. Amongst the upper ten of the town- ! ship there had not been a marriage since Bella Traill, the parson's sister, eloped ! with the only bank clerk, an act so audacious that it raised the ire of many a j worthy dame, and several girls wore mourning for weeks. But that was years back, and those girls were now verging on old maidenhood, with a marked distaste for bank clerks. The present clerk was a sworn misogynist; and scowled fiercely when a timid maiden went to cash a cheque. When old Dr. Lee crossed Mrs. Merrick's lawn with Paul Desmond by his side he felt deservedly important. For the moment all eyes were turned in his direction. The responsibility of introducing Desmond to Preston society lay on his shoulders. Paul looked a little taken aback. He was slight, of middle height, with a pale clear complexion, clean shaven and thin lipped, and with large grey eyes of a depth not apparent to the casual observer. He confided afterwards in a letter to a man friend that you could have knocked him down with a feather at seeing so many women gathered together, with only an indication of masculine support in the background in the shape of the married -bank manager and the clergyman. In a moment the teacups were in request. The print frocks were flitting about the lawn ostentatiously looking for tennis balls, each girl eyeing her neigh bour with distrust, or walking her off affectionately in an opposite direction. The town belle, Ethel Eanbury, tossed her head disdainfully. It was a very pretty head, covered with little golden curls, and she had a complexion rarely seen away from Preston Hills. She picked up her tennis racquet, and displayed her white hands to advantage. Plain Polly Finnock, whose health had broken down at hospital nursing, and who was now visiting her mother, blushed up to the roots of her black hair as Paul addressed her. He was sure he had met her before, and she was wildly denying the accusation, as if it was something criminal, for already she felt the cold, surprised stare of her girl friends fixea upon her. Paul soon put her at her ease. It was only a chance resemblance after all. But it paved the way to pleasant conversation. There were five married ladies in black on his right, whose names he could not remember. There were four in different colours on his left, and half-a-dozen girls in white, pink, or blue in front. He began to get nervous, blushed, and wished himself at a smoke concert, or anywhere where women were "out of it." He had always liked women's society, it is true, but he reckoned this a little beyond a joke. The town belle swept past him proudly, swishing her skirts over his tennis shoes as she went, and his eyes were caught for a moment by her peach-like colouring. "Isn't she pretty V" whispered Polly Finnock. She was Ethel Hanbury's chosen friend and foil, and always felt obliged to praise her to new arrivals, for Ethel was frequently considered cold and proud by strangers. "By Jove ! Do you know, I don't care about pretty girls," said Paul, Hashing Polly a glance of understanding which crimsoned her thin little cheeks. The speech could hardly be said to be a happy one,- nor was it the first time Polly had heard it, but the look which accompanied it somehow pleased Polly, though Bhe felt horribly guilty towards Ethel. " Oh, don't you?" she said hurriedly. "I think they are so nice to look at, and Ethel is just as nice as she is pretty." Paul didn't seem interested in that, and presently the old doctor came for him. "The Miss Rickards are most anxious to be introduced." So, with a rueful smile in his eyes, Paul left Polly, whose poor little heart was beating quickly with a new sense of interest. Clara and Maud Rickards were finelooking. They biked and rowed, and had gained in figure and ease of movement what they had lost in complexion and daintiness. Their eyes were on a level with Paul's, and on account of their high shoulders looked taller. Clara had dark eyes and Maud light grey, otherwise you would hardly ha,ve known them apart. Then there was Dolly West, the parson's daughter, a quiet slip of a girl, with nervous, thin hands. She looked like one who had but a frail hold on life, and never seemed to care much for anything, but in five minutes Paul was making her laugh. In six months' time the new doctor led society by the nose in Preston. It was he who arranged the moonlight boating parties, when Maud Rickards rowed onf boat and Clara the other, and quarrelled as to who should take Paul to stee-. He called them by their Christian names now, and people said that brovm-eyed Clara would be Mrs. Desmond before the New Year. But the New Year came and went, and there were no orange blossoms for Clara. Gossip shook its head, and said that Parson West should look after his little girl. She was hopelessly in love with the doctor ; had not someone noticed how her hands trembled when he came into a room. By the end of January Ida Muir, " that fast baggage," who lived on the outskirts of aristocratic society in Preston, was said to be making the running. Half the girls in the place turned their backs on Polly Finnock, on account of the doctor's steady friendship for her. They said, for their part, they couldn't understand it, and were openly and undisguisedly jealous. Then for a time the married ladies took the field to themselves, and Paul assisted at tea meetings and treat 3 for children till husbands grew disturbed in their manner to him. Before April was

over he was apparently at Maud Rick , ards's feet, and gathering inspiration from her light grey eyes. In those days Clara went for long rows in her boat alone, and grew so thin that she had to alter all her dresses. Dolly West went away for a long visit to friends in the city, and came back engaged to her cousin. Paul was always at the rectory. One day it was announced that her engagement was broken off. Paul found her crying in the garden. It came only too naturally to him to put his arm round her, and to comfort her like a tired child. \\ at is the matter, little one?" he whispered, and the grey eyes grew dangerously soft and tender. What she answered I do not know, as she sobbed out her heart on his breast. That night he swore at himself for ten minutes without stopping in the solitude of his surgery, and wrote to a brother medico to exchange with him for a term. Then he went to a private drawer, and drew out a collection of photographs, perfumed notes, withered flowers, and the like. Placing them on the table, he sat down and began to talk to himself. " Paul, you're an idiot,*' he said. "They are turning your head amongst them. It is not for yourself, either — oh, no ! Why are'nt there half-a-dozen other fellows here to put your nose out of joint?" He took up a photo of Maud Rickards. " Why did you let me kiss you, you silly?" he said: "Don't you know a man only prizes what he can't get easily ': Then he looked long at a wretched tin type of Clara. "What a good mate you would have made for a fellow — if you had been a boy." A little untidy note of Dolly West's came next, and he stamped his foot as he tore it into a thousand pieces. "I am worse than a brute," he said, " but I can't, I can't." A bunch of dead roses that Ethel Hanbury had worn at- a ball fell unnoticed from the table, and was crushed under foot. But a pocketbook that Polly had given him on his birthday was put caretully aside with a laugh, half tender, half remorseful. After all Polly had been the most difficult conquest. In fact he did not think she was conquered even now. Her girl friends had quarrelled with her, that was all, and she moved in an atmosphere of silent scorn which her friendly little heart found hard to bear. Then Paul got up and lit a fire in the grate, and the smell of burning notepaper and nondescript rubbish arose. He turned Avearily towards the, window, and looked out. It was a quiet starry night, and the perfume of roses came in through the open window. He was tempted to stroll to the peaceful rectory garden where Dolly would be waiting in the scented dusk. He was next drawn towards the bright, cheery Rickards' household, where the girls would be playing and singing all the evening. He thought kindly of little Polly sewing by the one lamp in her widowed mother's cottage. . . . And then the temptation to listen to Ida'Muir's daring sallies came over him for the moment, and the memory of an appeal in Ethel Hanbury's beautiful eyes stirred his pulses. But behind it all was dust and ashes. Paul's heart had died long ago, and yet the cruel scar that love had dealt him throbbed painfully at times. He raised the lamp from the table to look at a photo which always hung over his surgery mantelpiece, wherever he went. It was that of a tall graceful woman with a strange proud face, framed in. a glory of hair. One looked without stopping to think if she was pretty or the reverse. She repelled while she attracted, and her strange narrow eyes seemed to follow one's every movement. It had been said of her before she married that hers was a face betokening a character capable of anything. " Murder even," she laughed, and Paul, who was little more .than a lad then, standing by her had marvelled at the cruelty of that laugh, while he hotly denied the imputation. But the lightlyspoken words had not been Without a fateful sequel. She had killed his heart pretty effectually, almost before he had reached man's estate. Ten days later Paul was making his adieu to Preston, followed on all sides by the lamentations of the matrons, and in fact society in general. The doctor who was coming in his place was 50, and had a large family of girls. "We shall miss you so much, shan't we, girls V" purred Mrs. Rickards. But Maud looked out of the window, white to the lips, and Clara laughed a hard laugh, refusing to meet the regretful glance of Paul's eyes. Ida Muir sobbed, looking seductively pathetic in a pink tea gown, and Paul felt as if he ought to have kissed her, but came away without doing so. Dolly West was waiting for him in the garden when he went to the rectory. She came running towards him with shining | eyes. " I am going away," he said, abruptly, stopping in the middle of the path, and facing ncr sternly. The nervous hands dropped at her sides, and a look of terror came into her eyes. " You are coming back ?" she said. " I don't think so," he answered, drawing patterns on the gravel with his walking stick. Womanly pride came to Dolly's rescue. She held out her hand. " Guod-bye," &ne whispered softly "Good-bye, dear" he said and it was his hand, not hers, that trembled. Polly Fenwick was day-dreaming in a rocking chair on her mother's verandah when he approached. He came straight up , the path without speaking, and she smiled. A sense of loneliness smote him as he looked down at the little hard, worn hands in her lap. " I meant to say good-bye," he said. " But — will you come with me^-Polly — will you marry me '!" Heaven opened its gates to Polly, but they closed again sharply. He was looking j>ast her with a dumb pain in his eyes that only she could understand. "Do you love me V" she said. He looked down at the little dowdy figure, the dark sleek hair, and the homely, pleasant little face. '" The truth," she added, in a whisper, for the grey eyes fell before her own. " Before God. No !" he answered, and then crimsoned to his eyes for very shame at the brutality of the admission, and broke into repudiation of his words, saying that he did — yes ! He did ! — care for her so much — what did love matter ? Was there such a thing ? " It matters to me," she answered, smiling painfully. "I am not very young, nor rich — nor — nor pretty, but I — value myself a little. Paul." Paul would gladly have given ten years of his life to be able to honestly say he loved her, but he could not lie to her, bo he went without a word. Polly's tears fell on her work that night, and her life's romance was over. It was not much consolation when Ethel Hanbury grew friendly again, and with her arm round Polly's waist disclosed that '• Nobody knew 'all' that had been between herself and the young doctor. Dolly West made up with her cousin, and Ida Muir finally captured the misogamist. Paul Desmond never came back to Preston, and in time they almost — if not quite forgoi> - the "bone of contention." — M. Burkinshaw. in Australasian.