LOVE=AND AUNT JANETTA.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2562, 24 July 1909, Page 2 (Supplement)

LOVE=AND AUNT JANETTA.

(By Tom Gallon, Author of ‘•'Tatterley,” “The Second Dandy Chater,” etc.)

It all began with the coming of Mr Raymond Weare to that .little out-of-t-ho-vvay sleepy town of Banbury Market. Why ho could not have remained away, and left Bunbury- Market to sleep in peace, it is impossible to say; suffice it that he came, and that he stirred one section of’ it at least to its prosaic depths.

Miss Janetta Harwood had lived in that old-fashioned square stone house outside the little country town for more years than she sometimes cared to count. They had been good years in a sense, although she sometimes told herself that she had but vegetated, and had let the time slip by with nothing to mark its progress. But then Miss Janetta Harwood had had a duty to perform, and in performing it had perhaps lost sight of more serious issues. That duty had been the mothering of her niece Blanche. An inconsiderate sister had died when Janetta was quite young, and had left the motherless girl to Janetta’s care; an equally inconsiderate brother-in-law had died beforo that. So that Miss Janetta Harwood, having been herself left alone in the world with a 'small fortune while yet in her teens, had solemnly settled down, while still a young woman, to look after someone left in the same plight. So the placid years had gone on, and Blanche had grown up, without anyone noticing exactly how it was done; and Janetta had settled down to forget the years that were flying, and to resign herself to being called “Aunt Janetta,” while yet her hair was brown and her face had no lines on it.

Let it be confessed that it was with some fluttering.of the heart that 'Aunt Janetta heard that Raymond Weare was actually coming to Bunbury Market. But that such foolishness was long since past, Aunt Janotta could have pulled out from a scciet hiding place certain scrawling boyish letters signed with that name, and breathing of love and devotion even at the age of eighteen; but that was a chapter in Janetta’s life that was hidden away. Raymond Weare had gone out into the great world, and had apparently forgotten all about Janetta of the brown hair and the brown eyes—as why should he not?

But now he was coming hack again. Ho had landed in England, and, after business matters bad been attended to, had turned his thoughts straight to t-hat place where, ever so many years before, he had left behind him a tall, slim girl, in frocks that- did not reach quite to.her ankles. Small wonder that Aunt Janetta dreamed dreams, and saw visions, and wondered exactly what Raymond Weare would be like, and what he would say; wondered still more, perhaps, if he would find her gieatly changed. And Raymond Weare had come, and had walked into the old room, where once as a hoy he had nervously sat on the edges of chairs, and trembled and blushed when the girl Janetta spoke to him; and he found hc-r changed indeed. For himself he proved to be a big, bronzed fellow, clean shaven, and not looking his years, and with a firmer, more square-set jaw than she could have believed he would develop. And, as I say, he sat in the old room (feeling somehow that it had shrunk with the years) and- looked at the old Janetta, and wondered at her thinness and her pallor; yet heard again the old voice that had been sounding in bis ears through all his wanderings. And ■for an hour -or two Aunt Janetta dreamed the old dreams.

But it was inevitable that when Raymond Weare came back to the old house, in the friendliest wav, and on more than the old footing, that he should bo attracted to Blanche Kilby. Blanche was nineteen, and decidedly pretty; Raymond was interesting. He had come in, as it wore from the great bioad-world outside; and he could talk or men and cities-as she had never heard them talked of before. -Small wonder that Aunt Janetta, sitting sewing by the light of the lamp, heaved a gentle sigh as she saw the big bronzed man and the girl in a window-seat, talking earnestly and in low tones. If Aunt Janetta fought any battle with herself she fought it silently, and her own natural goodness won the day. She laughed without any bitterness' at any dreams she might have had, and told herself that that sort of. thing had gone past for her, and that she must stand aside for a younger woman. Indeed, so earnestly did she tell herself that, that she set to work, almost with zeal, to bring the thing about. Raymond Weave was rich, and Aunt Janetta owed a duty to the girl who had been placed in her charge; she was scarcely the one to shirk that duty. More than once she had thought to herself that it might happen, in the quiet country place, that Blanche should grow up, seeing no one, and missing the chances of life, just as Janetta bad missed the'm; but that should not be. This was the man, and this was the hour. Blanche should be proi ided for.

So, in a curious, persistent, almost obstinate fashion, Aunt Janetta set herself to accomplish what shpuld not, after all, prove to tie a very^';,’difficult task. Did Mr Raymond Weave make his appearance in the morning, and. politely recpiest Aunt Janettas company: for a drive, Aunt Janetta was busy, and Blanche was available. Moreover, Blanche was lively, and could make herself interesting to- Raymond Weare; she could’ tramp through woods and .fields with him, as Aunt Janetta, who was more frail, could not have

done. So in time the man ceased to ask if Aunt Janetta would accompany him, and took it for granted that

.hkholio would do so. Aunt Janetta remembered (another quite impossible love story that had cropped up in Blanche’s short life, and had been dismissed and probably forgotten. Only a boy and girl affair, Aunt Janetta had decided; and as the boy’s people d.d not approve, it was just as well, perhaps, that it should be forgotten. Blanche would be safer with a man of the world, and an old man, too, like Raymond Weare; poor Bobby Osborne could console himself elsewhere.

• “Is it true, Aunt Janetta,” asked Blanche ono morning, “tliit Mr Weare was ever in love with you?” “Nonsense!” exclaimed Janetta, blushing uncomfortably... “Ho was eighteen, and I was two years younger; we’ve forgotten all about it ages. ago. As for being in love with him”—Aunt Janetta drew himself up, and shook hexhead very decidedly—“the very idea is absurd.”

“He’s always. talking about you,” said Blanche. “Asks me how I get on with you, and makes me tell him over and over again what you’ve done fo' me,, and' how you’ve brought mo up, and been an angel of an aunt —like a mother to me.”

“You might find something better to talk about, I think,” said Aunt Janetta stiffly. There was a pause, and then the girl remarked casually, without looking at the elder woman —“Bobby Osborne is down here again.” Aunt Janetta looked up sharply. “I’m sorry to hear it,” she.said. “I thought he’d got over all that nonsense. I hope you’re not encouraging him, my dear?” she added. “I hope I should never encourage anybody,” answered Blanche mischievously. “Besides—l think I’m just the least little bit in love with somebody else.”

Janetta’s heart gave a jump, but she spoke with calm seriousness. “I’m very glad to hear it—very glad, indeed,” she said. “I shall feel that I have really done something for you, my dear, if 1 can get you happily settled and married. And Raymond is a good fellow.” “I’m sure of it, Aunt Janetta,” answered Blanche calmly.

Nevertheless, as the days went on Aunt Janetta fel.t that matters were not progressing so satisfactorily or so quickly as she could have wished. That troublesome boy Bobby Osborne hovered always in the background of things, and was not easily to be shaken off. Once or twice, indeed, to the great annoyance of the scheming Aunt Janetta, he actually put in an appearance, early in the morning, and went off with Raymond Weare and the girl on some excursion or other. In fact, to crown his misdeeds, he actually contrived one morning to carry off the girl altogotner; so that when Raymond arrived Aunt Janetta had to confess ruefully that her plans were upset, and that for ono daj at least he would have to do without his young companion. Raymond Weare took the matter philosophically, and settled down in a comfortable chair, and proceeded to talk. He talked about many things—but always came round to one: Blanche, and what her future was 'obe. “"You ve been awfully good to her,” he said, xiodding his head at Aunt Janetta. “It isn’t many women would sacrifice themselves and give up their youth a s you have done. And one of these days, you know, you’ll lose her.” “I’m quite prepared for that,” said Janetta. “In fact, I’m hoping for it. I want her to make a good match and do well for herself. I should like,” added Aunt Janetta cunningly—“l should greatly like her to marry a man older than herself, who would look after her.”

“Suppose she should he snapped up by a young one,” suggested Raymond “This young Osborne, fo r instance.” “There’s nothing serious about that,” said Aunt Janetta hurriedly. “It’s only a boy and girl affair, and he’ll get over it;.l’m sure that Blanche got over it long ago. Besides—his people wouldn’t approve.” “Sometimes young iieople take those matters into their own hands,” suggested the man, looking at her keenly. “That has happened, you know. They might set you at defiance, Janetta.” “I hope not, I’m sure,” said Janetta. “I have set my heart on Blanche marrying somebody who. knows how to look after her —someone older, in fact', than any Bobby-Osborne.” “And when you’ve accomplished that, you obstinate vToman—what will you do?” asked Raymond. Aunt Janetta reddened a little. “There won’t be anything left to do,’ she answered, without looking at him. “1 shall just- go on living here; I shall be quite happy : —quite content.” “Have you never dreamed any dreams for yourself, Janetta?” he asked, almost harshly. “Why, I remember you, as a slip of a girl—and you were prettier than Blanche. 'Didn’t you dream dreams then?”

“All girls dream dreams at the silly age,” answered Aunt Janetta, her hands trembling a little over her work. “I daresay I was as back, as any of them. That’s all the more reason why I should he careful that this girl doesn’t spoil her life by dreaming the wrong sortvof dreams.” “Did you dream the--wrong sort, Janetta?” he . .persisted;;’ “Is that the reason why all the good things of life have' passed you by?” • • " ’ “I don’t think they have passed me by,” she said. “I tell you again, that I am perfectly contented.” Mr Raymond Weare was sitting alone in his room in-the small hotel in which he had taken up his quarters that night when a knock sounded on the door : and the door was abruptly open-

ed, and Bobby Osborne carno in. Raymond rather' liked the boy, from the little lie had seen of him; he motioned him to a chair, and pushed forward a of cigars. But Bobby shook. his uead and remained standing.

“I won’t smoke, thank you,” lie said. “I wanted to talk to you, and so I came over in this unceremonious fashion. It’s most important.” “Of course it is,” answered Raymond, smiling. “When anyone’s your ago everything is important.” “Don’t laugh at me,” pleaded the boy. “The fact of the matter is,” ho blurted out—“l’m desperately in love —and I’m most unhappy.” r “Those two things should scarcely go together,” said Raymond. “Perhaps you’d like to confide in mo; I'm quite safe, I assure you.” r “I’m not so sure about that,” answered the boy uncompromisingly. ”Of course, I don’t want to bo rude,” ho added hastily—“but the real difficulty lies with you. You stand in the way.”

“I don’t understand,” answered Raymond.

“Before you came here,” said Bobby, speaking with deep earnestness, “I stood a very good chanco. I could have got over my people’s opposition in time—and Blanche was awfully fond cf me. But you’ve made all the difference . You’re a man of the world, and you’ve interested her; you’ve pushed me into the background. She does-: n’t think- half as much of me as she used to do.”

“Shall I let you into a secret?” asked Raymond Weare, after what seemed a long pause. “I’m in love with somebody else—and I shouldn’t presume to attempt to push you into the background, as you express it. You can tell Miss Kilby, it you like, that I’m in love with somebody else —and if you take my- advice you’ll play the game boldly, and make up her mind for her.” “How can I do that?'” asked Bobby. “Every girl of nineteen has got a heart four times as big as she has when she’s a few years older, answered Raymond—“and that heart is simply chock full of romance. Take advantage of that fact, my boy; set all the ordinary rules at defiance; run away with her. I’ll make it all right with everybody.” “I say—you are a brick!” exclaimed Bobby. “But the truth of the matter is that my people keep me frightfully short of money, and I’ve nothing even to start on. Of course I know they’ll come round, when it’s all over and done with; but I must make a beginning—and even running away costs money.” “If you’ll let me bo, your banker for a time I shall feel greatly honored, said Raymond. , “I’m interested in love affairs, and I’m very anxious about this one. Only one suggestion I- would make, and that is that you should let matters stand apparently as they are between Blanche and myself until all your arrangements are complete. Let us go about together just as we have been doing; in that way we shall avert suspicion. You know you can trust me.”

“Rather!” responded Bobby heartily. “And you’ve taken a load off my mind.”

It is more than probable, that Mr Raymond Weare, in the course of one or two long and very interesting talks with Blanche, was able to convince her of the wisdom of what he had suggested even more clearly than Bobby could do. At all events they got very friendly over it; so friendly, indeed, that Aunt Janetta, watching from the window one evening, saw Raymond W 7 eare and the girl strolling homewards, arm in arm, talking earnestly, and with Blanche smiling up into his face. Despite a certain pang at her heart, Aunt Janetta felt that her work had been well done.

Then' fell the thunderbolt. Blanche did not return one evening, and it had grown quite dark, andi Aunt Janetta was anxious. The possibility occurred to her that the girl might come into the house without her knowledge, and have slipped up to -her room; Aunt Janetta went up there.to investigate. She found the room in confusion, with all the evidence of a hasty flight. Moreover, -she found a little note on the dressing-table, addressed to herself; she tore, it open with trembling fingers, /and read whatl it contained. Blanche had fled with Bobby Osborne, whom she had loved from the beginning. The little tearful letter hoped that Aunt J-anetta would forgive them; they would soon come back, to ask for her forgiveness together. And with love and all sorts of fond expressions—that was all.

Poor Aunt Janetta sat in the midst of her shattered world, and wondered what sho should do. All her scheming had come to nought; everything had failed. She pictured the wrath and dismay of Raymond Weare; she dreaded her meeting with him. But oven here duty had to he done, and she made up her mind that the first thing to do was to persuade Raymond to go after the runaway couple, and bring Blanche hack. He was strong, and he would understand what was best to be done in sueli a crisis as this. Poor Aunt Janetta almost ran to the hotel where Raymond Weare was to bo found; she stumbled into his presence breathless. Knowing well what had happened, lie put her into a chair, and calmed her as well as possible, and gradually got her story from her.* “They’ve run away!” exclaimed Aunt Janetta, with-a-sob. . . - ‘ : And ‘the best' thing they could- dpi’” said Raymond. , “I knew.. all about, it, my-dear. Janetta; I arranged the whole matter for them.” - ' ; . ..

“You did?” she gasped. “Why?” '

“Because was iio other way,” lie answered, standing big and square before her, and looking down into her eves. “Do you know, Janetta, that for more than a month you’ve been

ramming that girl down my throat day after day. If she wasn’t the nicest girl in the world I should have loathed the sight of her. I had Blanch© for breakfast—Blanche for lunch—Blanche for tea and dinner—and Blanche to dream about, if I wanted to. Do you think I came down here for that?” he demanded.

‘‘l didn’t faltered Aunt Janetta. “What did you come for?” Before Aunt Janetta could prevent him the big man had dropped to his knees beside the chair, and had taken her thin hands in his own. “You gocse—l cam© down to see you,” ho whispered. “Ever since I was a boy I’ve thought about you; in. my wanderings I made up my mind that I’d come back some day to the old place, and find the child I’d been in love with. Well, I came back, and I found her—” “Changed,” she faltered, struggling to free her hands.

“Changed for the hotter,” he cried. “Such women as you are don’t change in any other way,” lie went on. “Your eyes are as brown as when you were a girl—and your hair as soft and pretty. You wouldn’t ask mo to try to tear out of my heart the image that has been there through all these years —to replace it with the picture of someone of whom I know nothing—would you ? Besides, he added mischievously—“now that you’ve made such a muddle of things, and have got rid of that niece of yours, and so have left yourself alone, you’ve got to have someone to look after you. Look me in the eyes, Janetta,” he said masterfully, “and tell me that you don’t lovo me.” Aunt Janetta looked, and faltered for a moment, and then whispered the answer with her face hidden.

“I have loved you all, my life,” she said.