The Ladies’ Magazine.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2419, 6 February 1909, Page 12 (Supplement)

The Ladies’ Magazine.

HIS COUSIN’S KISS.

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jo pojy • piles' <y\ pi'Ofp: su.u hum? oqq. A'q- .ioqpo poiclnooo a.io.w spies oif] presentitive baggage; Jack had ■disposed of wraps, umbrella and tdie bundlesomO fruit of a day’s shopping in the city; in every wav possible he had endeavored to secure the comfort and amusement of his companion, and then, having failed to elicit the slightest response,’ had gone into permanent retirement .behind the evening paper. But 'Miss Florence Aronson failed to find anything of interest dn the new magazines and was now leaning disconsolately back in tier seat, wrapped in penitent contemplation of tin lialf-ineb of Jack’s forehead and smoothly parted hair visible above the edge of the paper. A< box ol bonbons on the window and a big bunch of violets in her lap seemed equally (Unregarded. '

“I suppose,” she thought, drawing together her pretty brows, “if newspapers -were made of glass 1 could see Jack’s eyes, but it is a good thing they are not, for I should certainly feel inclined to break it into a thousand pieces.”

The train was going at a fair speed now and murmurs of contented conversation reached her ear. •‘Jack.” she said, suddenly, .sitting bolt upright, “here we are almost at Englewood. Arc you really going as far as South Chicago with me?” “I mil afraid I must,” and Jack laid down his paper with grave court esy and looked for a moment straight into her eyes. “Mother is down there -with Eaura, you. know, and I telephoned them I wotild come out for dinner this evening. 1 never like to disappoint my mother.”

But Florence had dropped her eyes when Jack looked at her, and tin smile and the “I am so glad!” with which she had intended to begin her overtures of peace had died on her lips, and she stared with binning cheeks out into the darkness, while Jack, with a hardly repressed sigh, again took refuge in his paper. But lie read line after line without catching a word of flic sense.

“I suppose I was an ass to think she cured for me,” lie was thinking. “It is plain enough now that she does not and never did,” and Jack spread out bis paper and refolded it with a vicious punch. The truth was that Florence Aronson was a bundle of startling contradictions. That she had a tender heart, or that she was thoughtful and earnest, no one who looked, for a moment into her big. serious blue eyes could doubt. Yet often, if not indeed generally, -she acted without a moment’s reflection. Her little Italian singing master was fond of calling her his “beautiful chord of h. ninth,” and said that, everything depended upon her proper resolution. It had begun to rain. A. few drops zig-zagged their downward career

across the pane with most fascinating unexpected movements, but- Florence •did not even sec them. She was thinking desperately of that look in Jack’s eyes. Of course lie loved her •Slio knew that. Did not she love him just as much? But here her conscience awoke wit-li -a start and informed her that if she did love him she had taken every precaution to conceal the 'fact from -herself and Jack and every one else. “And do you not,” conscience went on, “do you not treat almost every other fellow better than you' ev'er treat Jack? And did you not, this very afternoon, refuse even to "talk to him about marrying him?” The train was Hying now and Florence found herself listening frtanti«ally to the measured double slamslam of the wheels that brought nearer every instant the time /when Jack would leave the train. “I know he -will never look at me. or speak to me again. I do not blame him. 1 can not ask him to forgive -me, -because I should most certainly cry, and—oh!” Her heart almost choked her -with its beating, for the train llad begun to slow up and Jack was putting on his rain coat. Suddenly -a voice pitched in a girlish soprano fell on her ear. “Good-by, dear,” it said, “and please . write to us right -away, will you not ? Y'ou know m-unnna always worries so much about you. Goodby”—a kiss—“good-by!” That was all, .but it was enough; not a moment for reflection, but Florence needed none.

Jack ivas 'beside her, (hat in hand, hub Florence was already on her feet. “I will,” she t said to herself, with a swift iglance* around the cur, while the pink in her cheeks changed to red and flamed clear up to her hair. /•J. will!” The man 'across the aisle was looking out of the window." “No one will ever know the difference,'*' she went on, “and I can not hear to have him, go.” ‘•'l telegraphed your father to meet the 10.20 tiuin/,” Jack was saying. “I really must hurry.” -

“Good-by, Jack/' said Florence, her voice positively ringing with

cousinly affection. ! ‘I am awfully sorry I can not stop off with you and see Cousin ha lir a : and be suio and give my love to Aunt Rachel, and tiptoeing a little, she pulled his lace down to hers and kissed him straight on the mouth.

For ix moment the universe seemed to reel about .Jack’s head. Then lie sank into the seat and pulled Florence down beside him. ' “You will be carried by—oh, Jack!” and Florence was sobbing in an agony of blushes. “I think I will change my mind and go on down to South ißend, ’ remarked Jack cheerfully, taking in at u glance the too interested observe! across the aisle. ‘‘Your. father or. Unde George, might not meet you, vou know, and besides,” crushing ooth .her hands against him as he bent over her in a blissful moment when the man across the aisle was looking the other way— “besides, you huve not told me when you will marry me.”