The Ladies' Magazine.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2139, 14 March 1908, Page 2 (Supplement)

The Ladies' Magazine.

THE SIX GREAT MOMENTS IN A WOMANS’ LIFE, (By Emily Calviu-Blnke, author of “What flic Traci;or said to Troyo,” in the ‘‘Ladies Home Journal.’’ THE SECOND.-THOSE DAYS WHEN WE LIVE IN A FABRIC OF DREAMS. It iv a a in mother’s rose garden that lie told me lie loved me. it seemed f had waited all my life to hear lum gay tliat*ho eared in this way. His voire went pulsing through me. I could not look at him. . “Shall 1 see your father to-night ?•

lie asked, after a long pause. Tl"m hi very fear 1 looked at him. “Oh.' not vet, 5 ' 1 begged. “To-morrow, perhaps, but to-night 1 want to keep xt ail to myself.” He smiled down at me. “You shall always have your wav, IV-dli.*’ he momisotl earnestly. When lie iuul left me 1 crept up the broad stairs to my little white room. 1 loaned out of the window and listened till hi.; hist root fall had died uwny. One refrain rang joyously in my in. iff: He loves me; tie Joves me. Some days later father called mo to him and put his arms about me. lie' did not speak. , “Are vou sorry, father.-' 1 asked. “It’s hard to part with my one little girl.” lie murmured; “but you will be happy, Beth, lie is a good man.” And mother kissed me lingeringly. I .felt in her kiss the tender warmth of her tended love and the: sorrow of her renunciation. We were to be engaged for six months before our marriage. This was my parents’ wish, and 1 was very willing to consent to it. “Six months, Beth,” mother said ; “in which time you must learn a great deal about cooking and sewing.” “Oh, mother,” 1 remonstrated; “f couldn’t thin'k of cooking at this beautiful time.”

“But Lloyd will have to cat in order to live.” _ “1 suppose that this is true, I answered; “but those things arc so unimportant”—l caught mother’s laughing glance, and hastily concluded—“that is, as compared to other great things.” Mother wisely remained silent, and I pursued my halcyon course, living a- roundelay of golden dreams. f idealized Floyd, yet watched him critically.

“I am glad that you are just as you arc,” I confided to him cue evening. “I like even the way in which you move your hands.” Floyd stirred in embarrassment. “I’m really very ordinary, little girl,” lie said; “ordinary in everything but my love for vou. You mustn’t make an ideal of me.” .1 smiled at him and shook my head. I knew so much better than he, for ho failed to realize that ho was different from all other men in the world.

And so those days vanished one by one. and two months before our marriage Floyd’s mother gave a dinner for me. I was excitedly happy at the prospect, and on tho night of the aff.iir I waited all aglow for Floyd. My that mother ■**™*h‘?ftTmacle for me had three deep flounces, scalloped in palest blue, and a surplice of filmy lace. (It had trimmed mother’s wedding gown.) _ When wc entered tho carriage—which was a luxury for us, indulged in for this occasion—Floyd turned to me. “Alary told mo that your mother ■ —-rind father had gone bv the car line,” he said. “Whyi-'” “Mother thought that wo might enjoy tho ride bettor alone,” I said shyly.

lie drew nearer to mo. . “Beth,” he began softly. “Y'cs,” 1 answered encouragingly, for he seemed t-o hesitate. “I wish, dear, that you could bo a little more interested in this dinner,” ho said. “Mother has spent so much time and loving thought on it.” With eyes widening with sudden hurt 1 gazed back at him . In a moment Ids arms were about me. “What a beast I ami” lio cried.. “Never mind me, Beth. How could I spent so to you ?” “But toll me what you moan, Floyd,” I insisted. “I am interested in this a flair. Have I not seemed so? Please be frank with me.’ Ho took my hands gently in his. “Well, lieth,” he said, “since our engagement you have not seemed so close to me as before. Y r ou don’t seem substantial.” “Not- substantial, dear?” I repeated, my voice trembling, and tho tears suddenly rushing in hot flood to iny eyes. He was seized with deep remorse and attempted to sooth me. “Never mind, lfetli,” lie whispered tenderly. “Prchaps I’ve grown accustomed to mv sister. She’s not ethereal in tho least. But I wouldn’t liave you changed for tho world.” Wo had reached his homo by now - and nothing more could bo said. Floyd’s pride in me, liis mother’s love and the Lights and the flowers all tended to raise my drooping

On tl l .o return home, however, I referred to the early conversation. “Will you tell me, Floyd,” I asked, “just how you would like me to be? I want to please you.” ••'Dear little girl,” lie answered gravely." “Do forget my words. You will please me most by remaining as you are.” And I was satisfied, and continued to live* in my dream world where no practical every-day person might enter. Yet 1 essayed to be of use. One day 1 went with mother into the kitchen. “Let me learn to make the dainties, .mother,” 1 suggested. “J. don’t want to think of steak and such things.” “Steak is not eaten where you are dwelling at present, Beth?” mother ventured. 1 smiled. “Where I am dwelling theft' is uotning but sunshine, Lowers, and perfume. And listen,” I leaned near till my hair brushed mother’s face; “I’m always going to live there. I’m going to take Floyd there with me, too.” * “It’s too rarefied an atmosphere for most men, daughter,” mother replied. “But let’s hope that Floyd will not find if so.” I paused in my labor of whipping cream. “Why do you say those things, mother’?” I asked reproachfully. “Because I am so happy and in a wo!Id of my own creating, why do you discourage me?” < “I don't try to discourage' you, Beth,” mother replied gently. “Blit my experience extends over many years. 1. realized that practical things of life must be met when your father called mo from the clouds to sew on a missing button. The air which you breathe now, dear, would smother one of practical tendencies. Wh w . Beth, even you will be cloyed with too much sweetness after a while.” “Never, mother,” 1 affirmed ; “you cannot impress me with your sentiments. And Floyd will follow mo .into any region where I may wing.” it was at this time that I was jn- * vited to visit an aunt and cousin. I shook my head as I read the letter, and then repeated its contents to mother. “[■don’t care to go,” I said. “I’d rather star at home.” “I wish that you would go, dear,” mother answered. “You may not have another chance for some time. 1 know your aunt will be disappointed if von do not accept her invitation.” So, to please mother, but greatly against my own inclinations, 1 went. The. parting with Floyd was a pathetic one, although ho smiled at mo tenderly and whispered many promises. •

My cousin was also engaged. Her fiance lived cut of town and she received letters from him twice a week, while I received a letter daily from Floyd. I looked rather in pity at Florence. . “Doesn’t Mr Fenton write every day?’! I asked, a conscious little feeling of pride making itself manifest in my tones. , . .

Florence laughed breezily. “No,” she answered; “tliero would bo nothing to write about every day.” “Hut lu> could reiterate things, I suggested softly. . “But I don’t require reiteration, she responded; “1 know all that ho feels,” she added tenderly. But 1 was not convinced. My cousin’s exhilarating ways amused me, however, and far from my expectations l greatly enjoyed the visit. One morning at breakfast Florence rend a letter while a little frown settled on her brow. She looked across the table at her mother. “llenrv thinks he ought to go to Denver in regard to some business matters,” she said. “I trust his judgment, but 1 think lie ,is working too hard.” ' , smiled back reassuringly. “You with fears, Florence T she mocked gaily. “Henry is young ami strong. The frown disappeared. “Of course he is,” Florence agreed in her usual crisp voice. “How foolish l am.” A few moments later I went up to mv own room. I drew from tho desk all the letters Floyd had written to me. They were filled with expressions of endearment and projects for my entertainment when 1 should return. Eagerly 1 read them all. But in none did 1 find that for which i had sought. There was nothing that could cause a worried little frown to appear on my brow. He did not trust me—this was my impetuous conclusion. . , T Suddenly I made up my mind. I would go home, where I could live an the glamour that had surrounded mo since my engagement. Here Florence’s practical views had thrown down the ideal barricade which I had erected about myself. To decide usually meant to act, and despite my aunt’s remonstrances I loft next morning. I did not telegraph to mother that I was coming, for 1 wanted to surprise her. How slowly tho train travelled! I was longing to he in the rose-filicci garden where everything would sneak of my love and whore sentiment, would reign supreme. I did eventually arrive at my destination. I loft iny luggage at the station, and took an express suburban train for home.

I ran first to the garden and spoke lovingly to mother’s roses. Then I went into tho house through the little side door that father had built for mother when she first came as a bride. (She almost lived amongst the roses.). To the left from the library came the sound of mother’s voice and father’s in answer. Then came the low tones of one whom I loved best on earth. I felt my ’heart leap. Why was Floyd here now, at five o’clock? I went forward quickly, but as I put my hand out to open the door his words stilled me into inaction. “I think the marriage ought to be postponed,” ke said. A sudden dizziness obscured my vision. lily limbs refused to obey tho dictate of my will—that I must leave; that I hid no right to be eavesdropping. The next words in my father’s calm voice aroused me. “Confide in Beth, Floyd. She’ll stand by you,” he said. “I know that, sir.” At Floyd’s words I lifted my head, a feeling of joy surging through me. “But you see,” the even tones went on, “Beth would not understand. I couldn’t marry her now that my income is so reduced.” “But you’ll pull it up again very soon, my lad,” my father replied confidently. “But iii the meantime,” Floyd said—“in the mean time, sir! Beth lives in an ideal world. Could I expect her to understand, to share this trouble with me? 1 could not ask it of her. Y'et, my sister—” He paused and mother finished the sentence. “Your sister advised you to tell Beth, I am sure,” she said. “Yes,” Floyd admitted. “But she judges Both from her own standpoint. Bet'll is a flower and I want to cherish her. She mustn’t suffer lor me.” Silence again fell, while I learned this hard .lesson outside. So! I was entirely useless.

“Well, Flovd”—l could hear my father rise—“l am very sorry that this partner of vours left you in such a tight place. But you must have courage, iny boy. Alotlier will tell Beth as gently as she can.” “Perhaps, sir,” Floyd’s voice was low—-“perhaps we’d better not tell Beth. That's what 1 half decided; simply delay the wedding for a time. She would think nothing of that if you wouljl ask her. And then I could work doubly hard until I felt that I could offer her what she deserves.” Unable to bear any more I threw open the door. The startled little group in the library gazed on me in alarm. Alotlier went forward, but Floyd was the first to reach me. With a tremendous effort lie forced a smile to liis face and kissed mo lovingly. “Well, little girl,” he began in pacific tones, “you did surprise me.” The force of my emotion nearly choked me. “Oh, don’t, don’t.” I cried, pushing him front me. “Oli, am Iso useless? Alotlier don’t you sec that I am a woman now, not a plaything, not a toy!” “Y r ou heard all?” mother asked, her voice low. “Y’cs I heard all.” Quickly I went to the man I loved. “Am i not to be trusted?” I asked him gravely, yet with a sobbing catch' in my breath that I could not control. “Am I not to be trusted? I am yours for all time. I am substantial, dear, and I want you to marry me while you have nothing. Will you Floyd?” Oli, J waited, waited for his answer that would prove me worthy or wanting in essentials! With every passion of love he caught me to him. “Beth,” he cried—“ Beth! don’t say any more.” Then with a gesture of humility, he turned to my father. “I am not worthy of her, sir,” he said, “but may I have her very soon?” Father nodded silently, ids eyes filled with tears.

I raised iny head and looked over Floyd’s shoulder. “Shall I try to boil a stea'k to-night mother?” 1 asked

ROMANTIC STORIES OF FAMOUS FAMILIES.

WHY THE EARL OF BESSES LION MARRIED ‘BEAU’ I’Om.isßS daughter.

V COUNTESS AVI.IO WROTE EYSIUON NOTES FOE X'SOO A YEAR.

THE .MOST GAI.LANI ItSBAND THAT' lIAITY WOMAN EMtK POSSESSED.”

“No good to anyone!” ~ Such was the verdict “lleau lower, tho Tipperary squire, passed upon his youngest daughter, Marguerite. . . “Beau” Power was one ol the handsomest men in the country. He was also one of the most- reckless, improvident, and desperately hard up. Marguerite was a bitter disappointment to him. She was the youngest of three sisters, and “Beau lower hid set his mind on those three girls marrviug rich men. Rich sons-m-law might prove useful unless the fortunes of the Power family took a lavorable turn.

The two elder sisters were very beautiful. One married an English viscount and the otluM* became tno Com t esse do St. Marsault. ‘ beau Power had “got them oft well, but who would come ami relieve hun o that thin, pade, weakly, neglected other daughter —poor little Margueiite? Ho came to the conclusion that Ala" would he a millstone round Ins neck to the day of his death. No one would want to marry her. AN UGLY DUCKLING. Marguerite Power was only ten years of ago when “Beau” Power took it into his head to leave tho countryside and seek one of the largo towns to try and make liis fortune. “You will lose what money you have got,” a friend warned him. “There is one tiling, though, that will be for the best—you may iiucl a husband in time for Mag !” “It- would be a harder job finding a husband for her than finding a fortune,” declared the “Beau. At the end of live years, when Marguerite Power was fifteen, he was to have two surprises. He lost atl liis money as that friend had predicted, and Marguerite had, lie was astounded to learn, two lovers! “Beau Power had been prejudiced against- the girl, and perhaps it had been that which had blinded him to the remarkable change taking place in her. Month by month it seemed, to those who surveyed the girl with kindly eyes, Alarguerito Power was growing moro and more beautiful. “Beau ’ Dower's ugly duckling was growing into a swan ! Tlio only person wlio cliil not recognise it was “Beau” Power A DRUNKEN, DISSOLUTE SUITOR But “Beau” Power had eyes for none of those tilings. He was awakened, however, to the fact that Alarguerite was worthy of his thought when one day a Captain Farmer, an officer in tho British Army, came to him and asked him. to give her to him in marriage! The captain was rich and belonged to a good family. Ho was a mail of bad habits —drunken, dissolute, of violent temper—but Power declared straight away that Alarguerito should marry him. The girl would bo a fool to throw away such a chance! ACCEPTED A PENNILESS CAPTAIN.

He informed Marguerite of tho “honor” that had been done her by Farmer, and that the marriage must take place as soon as possible, and then discovered from the agitated tear-shedding girl why tho Captain had sought him first rather than herself. She hated Farmer and she loved another —Captain .Murray. AYliilo Farmer had been with her father Alurray and called on her, had pro- | posed to her, and she had accepted liim ! “Farmer has a fortune and Mur. iy has not got a penny to bless himself with!” exclaimed the “Beau.” STARVED BY A BRUTAL HUSBAND. Ho proceeded to utter the most terrible threats against Alurray. If Alarguerito did not marry Farmer she should never marry at uill! Ftom arguments with the stubborn, weeping girl her father proceeded to violence. Ho swore she should marry the fortune. A few months later the gallant Captain Farmer led to ihc altar a timid, shrinking, weeping brido! He had married her against her will—when her heart he kuow was given to another—and perhaps the recognition that he could not gain Ser affections from tho rival lie had supplanted filled her husband with fierce rage. For three months tho beautiful young wife had to bear the cruelty of her brutal husband. At times tho neighbors heard her voice ra'sed in entreaty to him, and then the tlmd of dull blows and hoarse-shouted words. When the Captain went out lie locked liis wife in a secure room. Sho had hardly enough food allowed her to keep her in health ! SAVED FROAI AN EARLY GRAVE. The beautiful, delicate girl was, it seemed, doomed to an early grave when a fortunate accident saved her. Her husband, in a fit of passion, drew his sword upon a brother officer and tried to kill him, and for Unit offence ho was condemned by courtmartial to be sent to serve in a ; ostilcnt station abroad. Alarguerito plucked up courage to absolutely refuse to go with him. Captain Farmer left her behind, and the deserted, pretty wife found a home in the house of her brother in London. “One of the most wonderfully beautiful girls that London has ever seen,” wrote one who met her and one who was reputed a* good judge- of female beautv. “And she is :as clever and as witty as she is beautiful. If nor lire liad not been blighted by her union to such a brute of a husband she anight look for a big matrimonial fortune.” A QUEEN OF SOCIETY. , There was no doubt about it. Onarles Gardiner, the young, handsome, and enormously rich Earl of Blessiugton, was, it was plain to all who knew him. devotedly in dove with hu. Did the young girl-wife—a wife or.ry in name —ever dream what might have been? But she was bound for life. Captain Farmer liad returned from abroad. He lnd plunged into all manner of dissipation, had ruined himself by gambling at the card-table,

and was now lying in a prison cell. Between Marguerite and happiness liy that brutal. ' wrecked, drunken gambler, disgraced, penniless, in. prl« sou for dotf,: , . . . One dav she received a hurried message from the prison. Her husband had, in a fit of frenzy hurled house If from a window, and had been killed bv the fall. The young Lari hastened to the widow « side, Ins face full of a strange light that expressed anythins? but sorrow at the untimely fate of the wretched" man. A lew weeks later he proposed to her. hour months later “Beau” Power’s despised daughter—“the untortunate one of the family”—had become marguerite Countess of Blcssmgton. “Never has society, had a more distinguished queen,” wrote one of ; the fashionable chroniclers of the J<U • “The splendour of the Blessingtons is incredible. Their house m St. James’s Square is superb. TILE FASCINATING COLM D’OBSAY. “Beau” Power’s despised daughter made a graceful hostess who charmed everyone. A party at the Blessington residence blocked all the sticeU in the neighborhood with carnages. And amidst it all the young Irish irjj'i •miicared a bright, joyous-soxiled creature, iu spite of the terrible trials and misfortunes that had filled her early" life. , , Among all the throng that crowded the rooms of the Blessington residence there was none more handsome than the polished young French olhcciy Count- lYOrsav. He was clever, wit tv, careless— just the man to win the hearts of many of the beautiful voung ladies he met there. D Orsay

was yen’ quickly discovered to be m love with the eldest •daughter ol the Ear! by a former marriage. He made her his wife, and the Earl presented him with £IO,OOO on Ins wedding TALKS OF EXTRAVAGANCE. Could such profusion last? people asked themselves. Huge as was llio Earl’s fortune, would ho not soon come to an end ol it? But no <lr<>au of such an event seemed to ever cross the minds of the Earl and ins beautiful Countess. • . . „ •, Ho had a palatial residence in Paris. This is how the Countess described her own private apartments “ l “Tli7whole fitting-up is in exqui--site taste, and, as usual when mv most- gallant of all gallant husbands that it ever fell to the happy lot of women to possess mterleros, no expense has been spared. Ihe uu., which is silvered instead of gilt, ic-m on the hacks of two silver swans, so oxquisitolv sculptured that every leather is in alto-refievo, and looks as fleecy as those of the living bird. Iho recess in which it is placed is lined with white tinted silk, bordered with blue embossed lace, and from tlio columns that -support .the iriezo 01 tlio recess, palc-biue silk curtains, lined with white, are hung, wliie.i, when drawn, conceal the recess altoFASHION WRITER FOR THE * " ‘DAILY NEWS.’ For years Alarguerito Power lived in »reat- splendour. Then one day the “world was startled to hear that the Earl had died suddenly, lb was startled still .move to learn that, win o leavin'' great sums of money to others—Tic had left even £IOO,OOO Jo D’Orsav, the hsuband of lus daughter, but who had since separated from his wife—the magnificent Earl ol Blessington had only leit his wiio a yearly allowance of £2,000! V hat would £2,000 do towards keeping up such splendid extravagance as she had become accustomed to? Alarguerito Countess Blessington returned to London, and with her came D’Orsav. Once more the Countess set ini a magnificent establishment at Gore House, Kensington, and D Orsay vave her freely of his £IOO,OOO. Iho Countess determined to become an authoress and make a few thousands a year in books. She became fashion writer, at a salary of £BOO a year, to the '‘Daily News.” RUIN AND THE BAILIFFS. -At last came the crash. Strangelooking men were ■ in possession or Gore House. They were bailiffs, put iu for money owing for silks and laces that the Countess “could not-do without.” D’Orsay’s hundred thousand pounds liad melted away. Ho fled to France to avoid arrest tor debt! The “society queen” saw the luxury aiul magnificence with wiiicli she had been surrounded vanish away as if it had been all a dream. “GREY-HAIRED AND HAGGARDFACED.” ( The sale of the treasures of Gore House took nine days. All fashionable London attended it, intent oil securin'' bargains among tho wreckage of that splendour. One day, lust before the sale commenced, there drove away from the house a carriage into which was assisted a suddenly aged, grey-haired, haggard-faced woman. As the carriage drove away she turned eyes that were blinded with tears to the last home of her splendour. Iho woman "was Alarguerito Countess or Blessington. ~ She was going- to Paris to live ill humble lodgings. Five weeks later London was astounded to hear that Alarguerito Countess of Blessington was dead ! She had died ,tho doctors declared, of apoplexy. Her friends knew that she had died of a broken heart.