HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wroxeter Planet, 1909-07-01, Page 2sse-o+ o+a
THE TEST
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The day's work at the Pagoda
Cafe was ended. Soon the lights
were extinguished, and the girls
sought their homes, One,of them,
however, a tall, pretty girl, with a
flower-like face, lingered nearthe
building: It was obvious that: she
was expecting somebody, and the
somebody re question presently ap-
proached,' lifting his hat and mur-
muring words of apology.
"Darling, I'm sorry to be late,"
he said, "but I was detained at the
Courts over a tiresome Chancery
action. Hope you haven't been
waiting long?"
"No, dear. The cafe has only
just closed. Where are we going?"
"Well, to have some dinner, first
of all, and then I have seats for the
Lyceum."
"You're awfully good to me,"
she murmured, as they walked west-
wards ; "but I do wish you wouldn't
spend so much money on theatre
seats."
"Oh, that's all right," laughe
the 'young barrister. s "I got a
couple of unexpected bits of devil-
ling to -day, and if I go on like this
I shall be quite painfully -rich be-
fore long. By the way, dear, do you
know what to -day is ?"
"As if 1 could forget!". she re-
plied. " It is the anniversary of the
day when you first came into the
cafe and--"
"And met the sweetest, prettiest
girl that, ever walked. By Jove,
darling, how the time has flown !
Isn't it enough to make any fellow
proud to think that such a girl as
you has consented to be his wife ?"
"Geoff, dear," she said, abrupt-
ly, "I've been thinking over my
promise a great deal lately, and
I've been wondering what your
mother will say when you tell her
that you are going to marry a girl
from a cafe."
"Don't worry about that, little
girl," he cried. "I'm going down
to Bournemouth to -morrow, and I'll
break the news to her without
further delay. I know, of course,
-that she has what she calls other
`views' for me, but I'm sure when
she hears, what an angel yot are
she'll change her mind. And if she
doesn't—well, much as I love her,
I can't forget that I love you too."
On the following day he journey -
down 0 -Bournemouth, and found
Lady Honoria, his mother, seated
in her own little den reading a let-
ter.
"Ah ! this is fortunate, Geoff,"
she said, as he stooped and kissed
her. " Here is'a letter from your
cousin Clara, saying that she will
come and spend Easter with us.
Now you are in Bourne-
mouth you must remain over the
holidays, and I hope you will take
the opportunity of speaking to your
cousin about you know what."
"My dear mother," he said, "I
have come all the way from London
to tell you that that affair is com-
pletely `off.' It was never 'on' as
far as I was concerned; but you
seemed to take it for granted that
I should marry my cousin simply
because youmarried yours."
"Well, there are plenty of other.
nice girls;'-' replied her ladyship,
calmly. "I am sure I don't want
to pin you down to Clara. I sup-
pose the fact is, my dear boy, you
have someone elsein your mind?"
"I have," he replied nervously.
"Anybody I know ?"
"I'm afraid not. You don't go to
the Pagoda Cafe, in Fleet Street,
often, do you, mother ? Well, I am
engaged to be married to one of the
girls employed there."
Lady Honoria did not faint, nor
did she do any of the melodramatic
things which ladies of her rank in-
- variably do in the pages of cheap
fiction. She merely sat motionless
and smiled.
"You cannot mean that, Geof-
frey," she said at' length.
"Why not? The girl is a lady, in
spite of her surroundings, and she
is the sweetest creature on earth."
"The sweetness we will take for
granted. Have you any idea what
her parents are ?"
"They are both dead, but I be -
live her father- was a clerk in the
City. Look ! Here is a portrait of
her. Isn't she beautiful ?"
His mother took the photograph
and examined it with keen gaze.
"Yes, you are right," she said, in
a gentle tone ; "it is a very beauti-
fulface." _
"And she is as good as she is
beautiful," cried Geoffrey; and'so
Impetuous was his tone that it al-
most seemed to the white-haired
woman that the years had rolled
back, and that he was a tiny boy
once more --thee boy whom she had
loved with such unutterable
I
strength, for whose future she had
formed so many rose -tinted hopes.
And now it seemed to her that,
unless her influence could draw him
back, he would be beguiled into a
marriage with this girl -this wait-
ress, who most surely was attract-
ed by his social position and his
chances of future wealth. For lady
Honoria, with the ignorance born
of prejudice, belies ed that when a
woman in a certain lowly station
of life desired to marry a man in
a far higher station, the motives
could only be base and sordid: Lady
Honoria decided that the -marriage
must be prevented at any cost. •
"My boy," she said at length,
"you have never refused me any-
thing in all your life. You have
never given me an hour's anxiety
or sorrow. Will you, now that the
great test has come, show that you
can make just one more sacrifice for
your poor old mother ? Will you
give up this girl and put her out of
your mind?
"I can't do it, mother," he said,
firmly. "I can't. It's not fair to
ask me. I know you've been a brick
to me, and all that, but even grati-
tude to one's mother cannot influ-
ence a man in a case of this kind."
For close on an hour Lady Horor-
ia pleaded with her son. But, for
the first time in his life, Geoffrey
showed himself obstinate and im-
movable.
At length he rose and looked at
the clock.
"There's a train back to town in
half an hour," he said, miserably.
"I—I think I'Il catch it. It's no use
prolonging this conversation,
mother, for no power on earth can
make me change my mind."
She nodded sadly.
"I nev- r could have believed
that you would have been so ob-
stinate, dear," she said, softly,
and so subdued was her voice—so
unlike her natural tone—that for
one moment a great wave of • pity
swept the young fellow's heart.
He stooped and kissed her.
"There, don't worry, mater," he
said, kindly.
She did not answer. He went
swiftly from the room, and the 3.30
train carried him back to London
and to the girl he loved.
On the following morning Lady
Honoria received a short note from
her son, 'saying that he was leaving
London for Edinburgh tor a week,
'important legal business having
summoned him to the North. He
made no reference to the interview
of the previous day, and his silence
seemed ominous.
"He will never give her up," re-
flected Lady Horonia, bitterly.
"Never. I—I wonder if the girl
herself could be influenced ?"
She sat pondering the question
for some time, and then rang the
bell and asked for a time -table.
Scanning its pages, she found that
there was a train to London at
11 30. She ordered the carriage,
and half an hour later was being
whirled towards London as fast as
steam and iron could convey her.
When she arrived at - Waterloo
she drove to the hotel in Bond
Street where she usually stayed
when in town, ate a hasty lunch,
and then took a hansom to Fleet
Street. She did not know the name
of the girl whom she had resolved
to interview, but she told herself
that she would be able to identify
her by means of the portrait which
Geoffrey had shown her.
The cafe was almost deserted
when she entered. She sat down
at a table near the door, and order-
ed some tea as an excuse for being
there, whilst she carefully examin-
ed the faces of the girls in order
that she might ascertain the desired
person. Of a sudden a tall, slim
girl came up the stairs that led
from the smoke -room, and she im-
mediately recognized the original
of the portrait. -
Women of Lady Honoria's stamp
were somewhat unusual visitors at
the cafe, and perhaps that is why
Maisie cast a swift glance in her
direction. Without an instant's
hesitation her ladyship beckoned to
the girl.
"Yes, madam?"
"You will forgive the abruptness
of the question," murmured Lady
Honoria, "but are you the young
Indy to whom my son, Mr. Clive,
is engaged?"
Maisie crimsoned. "You you are
his mother ?" she wispered.
"Yes. Am I right in believing
that you are the young lady ?"
'Yes."
"Then will you do me a great
favor ? Will you call and see me
this evening at Dixon's Hotel,
Bond Street? -I—I want to speak
to you about Geoffrey."
"Yes, I'll come," faltered
Maisie, scarcely knowing what she
said, so great were her astonish-
ment and confusioe.
"Any time this evening will do.
You will suit your own convenience,
ef course," went on her ladyship,
Tconsiderably impressed the
girl's refinement and beaut',s,
{Nothing more was said. A ccs '
tomer entered at that moment, and
Maisie hurried away to serve him,
glad that the awkwr.rd little inter-
view was ended. Throughout the
remainder of the day she went
through her duties mechanically,
whilst her brain worked with fever-
ish pain. For only too well did she
guess what Lady Honoria had to
say to her, acid she was asking
herself what she should say in
reply. ,
When the cafe closed, she climbed
on a bus going westward, and des-
cended at Bond Street: She was
shown straight into her ladyship's
seeang-room. The latter rose to
greet her, holding out her hand.
"Thanks very much for corning,
ny -less " 'she said, kindly. "I am
st; a wonderfully sweet
gij. 1, fact makes my'posi-
tion harder. First of all,
let me tall you that my son knows
nothing of my visit to you. He did
not even tell me your name, and I
had to identify you by your por-
trait. Unless you reveal to him the
will never know that we
have met.'
"tti epi V' murmured Maisie.
"I have asked you to come here
because---Iyslieve you to be a very
good and unselfish girl, and one who
could make a sacrifice if that sacri=
fice seemed right and necessary."
"You—you mean that I should
give him up ?" said Maisie, in a
low voice.
"Yes. ,You sem,, I am going
straight to the heart of things, for
I cannot beat about the bush. I
want you to give him up -to send
him away."
"I love him," said Maisie, brok-
enly.
"Yes, my ..dear child, and I love
him too. You have known him a
few months, but I—I have loved
him all his life; and I want him to
have a happy and successful life."
"Do you think I should make him
unhappy ?" asked the girl.
"No, no,of course not. But don't
you see that marriage is a very seri-
ous matter for a man in Geoffrey's
position? j He has his career to
build up, and, although it sounds
vulgar to ay so, it is necessary
that he shuld marry someone who,
could helps him from the worldly
point of 'view. Don't you under-
stand?" mac,
":Yes, ,sand."
"`Somts say;"' went on Lally
Honoria,? : e will be richer than ne
is now, ftr when I die I shall leave
him all I have. Whether he marry
against my wishes or not will make
no differencein that respect, but it
is my gre st hope that he will do
what I desirt. But my influence
just now means nothing. You, and
you alone, can influence him. Will
you do it?
There was a pause. Thvn Maisie
said, huskily
"You—you may be right. Often
and often I have told him he ought
to marry someone else, and not me.
But—but even if I were to do what
you ask, #grid give him up, do you
think he weuld let me go? I'm sure
he wouldn't. He'd guess at once
that you had managed to see me,
and that your voice, not mine, was
the real voice."
"Yes, yes, that's true; but if you
told him there was someone else—"
"Someone else ?" echoed Maisie,
in a stricken tone.
"Yes. It would be a falsehood,
Iof course, but sometimes even false-
hoods are justified. If you wrote
and told him that someone whom
you formerly cared for had come
back to you, and that you did not
wish to see Geoffrey again, I am
sure that he would be too proud
to force himself upon—"
Maisie bowed her head.
"Yes, he would 'be too proud,"
she murmured. •`I should never,
never see him again." •
Lady Honoria rose and put her
hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Can you bring yourself to do
it?" she asked, softly. "Can you—
are you noble enough to make this
great sacrifice ?"
Maisie did not answer for a mo-
ment. Then she raised her head
and said in a voice which sent a
thrill of pain through Lady
Honoria's heart :—
"Will you—will you answer me
one question ? Will you tell me if
you really believe that my marry-
ing Geoffrey would keep him back
in his career?"
For the space of a minute the
mother paused. Looking on the
girl's face, hearing her sweet voice,
she could scarcely bring herself to
say "Yes" to that pathetic ques-
tion.
And yet—and yet, she had
come to London expressly to say it,
and she told herself she must not
waver.
"I believe it would," she replied,
and hated herself for the answer.
Another pause followed. Maisie
sat rigid, looking straight before
her, her eyes travelling along the
dreary road of the future --the i
r
future unlighted. by the everlasting
_ ls-ps of love.
Well she would tread that rodd
henceforth:
"You have decided?" asked the
mother at length.
"Yes." The monosyllable had the
ring of a sob. "Yes, I have decid-
ed. I will give him up."
"My brave, goer girl !"
"Please, please, not that. I am
only doing what is right; at least, I
—I hope it is right. And now I—I'll.
go."
"You will write to him?" asked
Lady Honoria, as the girl rose
wearily and turned towards the
door.
"Yes. He shall believe that I
don't want him any more; that—
that there's somebody else."
She went slowly frgm the room,
• el as she went a question agitated
She mother's brain.
"Will she have the courage to de
it?" she asked herself; "or will
she fail when the time comes?"
* * * *
One week later, as Lady Honoria
was sitting alone in the little libr-
ary at Bournemouth after her soli-
tary dinner, her son entered the
room. He was white and haggard,
and one glance at his face revealed
to his mother what had occurred.
"I've come straight from the
North," he said, brokenly, "be-
cause here I've got the one friend
on earth who'll never fail me."
His grief was terrible, and it
touched Lady Honoria to the soul.
Controlling her voice with a su-
preme effort, she said
"My boy, you know that I am al-
ways your friend, and always shall
be, whatever happens. You have
had bad news?"
"You might call it good news,"
he cried. "And perhaps, if I
weren't a fool, I should think the
same; for perhaps it's just as well
that I know the truth in timer—that
I know how false, how fiendishly
false, the woman one loves can be."
With a passionate movement. he
tore from his pocket a letter, and
said, almost roughly :—
"Read that letter. Then you'll
see, mother, that you were right—
quite right. She never cared for
me, and she has been thinking about
some other man all the time."
With hands that trembled her
ladyship took the note and read it.
This is what it said :—
My Dear Geoffrey,—I am sorry to
tell you thit something Ness happen
ed which tt all part us, an4,S. it is bei,
that you should` know as bnee.
friend whom I used to be-%ery fond
of has returned from abroad and
has asked me to marry him. It was
wicked for me to become engaged
to you as I did, and I cannot ask
you to forgive me, but only to for-
get me as soon as you can, and
please do not try to see me again.
Good-bye.—Maisie.
A tear dropped from the eyes of
the woman who held that little piece
of paper, bearing on it the noble
falsehood which covered a supreme
sacrifice. For Lady Honoria was a
woman herself, and well did she
know the agonized heart -beats
which nad accompanied the writing
of those simple words.
What sort of woman was this,
she asked herself, that could not
only perform this noble deed of self-
abnegation, but could go through it
with such consistent courage?
Surely, no common type of woman;
surely, no ordinary hunter after
social position ? Of such stuff were
heroines made ; of such stuff the
worthy wives of men; of such stuff
the splendid mothers of the children
of those men !
Had she been wrong after all?
Had she, blinded by prejudice and
made ignorant by impetuous con-
clusions, taken a false step after
all?
Then she turned her eyes towards
her son, and she saw him sitting
with his head in his hands. This
was her work, she reflected. A
peek ago he had sat in that• room,
sappy and content; to -night he was
rowed and broken. Her work—her
pork !
In that instant the revulsion
lame. In tnat instant Lady Hon-
oria saw deeper into the truth
of things than she had ever seen
before in her fashion -hampered life.
In that instant she realized that
love, sacrifice, and nobility were
the only things which mattered after
all, and that these things lay en-
shrined in the soul of her who earn-
ed her bread .inthe London cafe.
She rose and put her hand on
Geoffrey's shoulder.
"My boy," she said, softly, "look
up. I have done you a very great
wrong, but thank Heaven there is
still time to make amends."
He looked up eagerly.
"Great wrong -=-amends ?" he
echoed. "Mother, what are you
saying?"
"The truth. Listen, Geoffrey.
You have me to thank for that let-
ter. The girl has never loved any
man but you. She wrote that let-
ter of my instigation."
"Mother 1" be murmured, "you !"
"Yes, it -was- I who brought this
all about, and I hate . myself for
That I have done. I thought the
girl was marrying you. for your
position—for the sake of the fame
which might one day be yours. But
rsow—now, all is changed..^ -know
now that her love is`a§ i e, as' my
awn—and better, yes, dear? tier.
For I—I could never have giveri1714
up, but she—well, you know. You
know, and I know, too, that she
has stood the .great test as only i,
aoble woman could have stood it,
end I honor her,s. and I love. her.
Go to her, my boy_; go to her and
=ay that I am waiting to receive my
laughter whenever she is ready to
:ome to me !"
And Geoffrey went.—London Tit -
Bits.
HERE AND THERE.
Little Bits of Knowledge About
'Host Everything.
Squirrels can bite deeper than
dogs. • -
German soldiers use mattresses
filled with paper.
Women are not permitted .0- be
photographers in China.; -
In the Philippines cigars 2% feet
long are made and smoked.
It is estimated that there are
20,000 tons of radium in the ocean.
The average depth of sand in the
deserts of Africa is from 30 to 40
feet.
369 lbs. of meat is the estimated
yield of the carcase of an average
horse.
It is computed that all the land
in England is owned by less than
8,000 people.
The bones and muscles of the hu-
man body are capable of over 1,200
different movements.
Paris has a club for young men
pledged to keep down their wives'
millinery bills.
By using the microphone the in-
audible tread of the fly sounds like
the tramp of a horse.
In Italy the knife of the assassin
closes the career of thirty persons
out of every 10,000.
The head of the ordinary match
is usually compound of phosphor-
ous, chlorate of potash, and glue.
A curious . perquisite of Danish
MT.'S is the right to a free Tur-
kish bath anywhere in the kingdom.
To obtain the best results from
a watch, it should be carried up-
right, and hung up4 at night.
Between 80 2nd 90 but of 100 per-
' sons are more or less susceptible
to the influence of hypnotism.
Arctic explorers seldom return to
their natural climate withc''t suf-
fering immediately from colds.
On an average, each resident ot
Berlin spends one -eleventh of his
income on intoxicating drink.
Bamboo trees do not blossom un-
til they attain their thirtieth year,
when they produce seed profusely,
and then die.
In Sweden the public -houses are
closed on Saturday — pay-day —
while the savings banks are kepi
open until midnight.
The Nile is noted for tne•varlet,
o; its fish. An expedition sent'by
the British Museum brought home
2.200 specimens.
It is estimated that not fewer
than 400,000;000 "shooting stars"
enter our atmosphere every twenty-
four hours. '
Water thrown upon ice in the
Arctic regions *ill crack it just
ss boiling water breaks glass. This
happens because the ice is so much
colder than the water.
A piece of white muslin tied round
the bell -handle of .a house in Hol-
land informs intending visitors that
a case of infectious disease is in the
dwelling.
Of the races of the world, 600,-
000,003- are white, 700,000,000 yel-
?cw, 215,000,000 black, 35,000,000
brown, or Malayan, and 15,000,000
red, or North and South American
Indians..
Japanese children are not allowed
,tp attend school until after six
years of lege; as- the Japanese be-
lieve that. school education before
six is, physically and mentally det-
rimental.
The_largestchurches in Europe
dill contai'n•the following numbers:
-St. Peter's, Rome, 54,000 ; Milan
Cathedral, 37,000; St. Paul's, Lon-
don, 25,000; St. -Sophia's,:, Con-
stantinople, 23,000; Notre Dame,
Paris, 2.1,000; Pisa Cathedral, 13,-
000; St. Mark's, enice, 7,000.
HE GOT HIS OWN BACK:
"You'll have to send for another
doctor," said the one who had been
called, after a glance at the pati-
ent.
"Am I so ill as that?" gassed
the sufferer.
"I don't know just how- ill ou
are," replied the man .ot 1ne'didjne,
.`:but I know you're the lawyer rho
cross-examined me when I appeired
as an expert witness. My corisci-
etSce won't let me kill you, and I'm
sure I don't want to cure you.
Good -day."
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