The Saint Paul globe., February 05, 1899, Novels for Leisure Hours, Page 2, Image 24

About The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
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man-ied. the family at the Vicarage put on
mourning for her. and Lord Houlden went
abroad — a broken-hearted man.
End of Prologue.
CHAPTER I.
Cinderella.
"It's too bad!" pounted Kitty. I am quite
a Cinderella!"
Good-natured Mrs. Powell-Martin laughed
amusedly.
"My dear child!" she said. "Not quite so
bad as that, I think. Do you really want to
go very much, Kitty?"
"Of course I do," was the reply. "It will
be a splendid dance. E\'eryone will be there.
Jessie and Laura Madison are going, and
Laura is only my age. I am turned seven
teen, you know."
"Mrs. Madison hasn't older daughters to
take," said Mrs. Powell-Martin; "but "
Probably the amiable lady, who could not '
tear to disappoint her pretty young daugh
ter, would have given way had not Kitty's
riusicmaster been announced at that moment.
The young lady retired in a very bad grace,
and— her fate was sealed!
"Mamma," Geraldine began, as soon as the
door was closed; "you surely won't dream of
taking Kitty to the dance?"
"Perfectly abthurd!" put in Sophie, who
lisped a little.
"It seems rather hard," the mother said,
wavering a little. "She certainly has a dull
time of it."
"If she goes one of us will have to stay at
hcme," Geraldine said, sharply. "You can't
take three daughters. It's out of the ques
tion."
"And Kittie is young enough yet," Saphie
put in.
Mrs. Powell-Martin sighed.
"Well, my dears, have yo^r own way. It
would certainly be better if you were both
comfortably settled before I bring Kitty out;
but — I don't know how it is," she added, with
motherly frankness — "you are always con
sidered like me, and yet I had half a dozen
offers before I was your age. Why, I mar
ried your father before I was nineteen; and
when I was a widow, I refused four men be
fore I took Mr. Powell-Martin."
Geraldine tossed her head and looked an
gTy. She had generally been considered a
beauty, but she was now over thirty, and
her beauty was a thing of the past.
Both girls were like, and yet unlike, their
beautiful mother.
They were tall and dark like her; but where
her complexion had the lovely clearness of
the brunette, theirs were sallow; and where
her face was a perfect oval, theirs were too
long and thin. Sophie in particular was very
thin and angular; and they were, in short,
decidedly passee. Now Kitty, their stepsis
ter, the child of their mother's second mar
riage, was lovely, with a complexion of lilies
and roses, hair like spun gold, and eyes of
melting dark blue. So it was no wonder that
the Misses Deerwater objected to the company
of Miss Powell-Martin i when they went to
dances and such festivities.
"You know, mamma," Geraldine said, after
a pause; "Jack Barry will very likely be at
the dance, and— l know the Discombes want
him to marry."
"And you fancy you will be Lady Discombe
some day?" Sophie said, sneeringly.
Geraldine flushed angrily.
"I don't know why not," she said, sharply.
"We always played with Jack and his sisters
as children. Lord and Lady Discombe would
not object, I know; and Jack and I "
"Why, you're half a dozen years older
than Jack!" cried Sophie, spitefully. "And
he was always better friends with me than
you. You boxed his ears once, I remember."
"Don't quarrel, girls," said the mother,
turning the talk into a more agreeable chan
nel. "What about your frocks for Thurs
day?"
A discussion on ways and means at once
followed, for the Misses Deerwater had only
a hunderd a year each, and Mrs. Powell-
Martin was the wife of a poor man.
Mrs. Powell-Martin had made, from a
■worldly point of view, two very poor mar
riages. Richard Deerwater, at the time when
she became his wife, was heir to a title and
a large rent-roll, and it was thought a great
match for her, because, though a renowned
beauty, and one of the best blood in England,
ehe was penniless; but Richard Deerwater
died suddenly, the title and estates passed
over to a distant cousin, and the wife w-as
left with two little girls and only a tiny in
come.
Mr. Powell-Martin, a very handsome man,
was her second husband, and he too had great
expectations when she married him, and he
too was disappointed, for the uncle whose
heir he should have been, chose to marry
again at the ripe age of eighty, and Mr.
Powell-Martin at his death was left as poor
as ever.
It was with something very like rebellion
in her heart that Kitty stood in the hall on
the eventful Thursday, watching her sisters
depart.
"What will you do with yourself, child?"
Her mother said, with a little compunction, as
she kissed her. "You will be lonely."
For the only son of the house was at Ox
ford, and Mr. Powell-Martin had gone to a
'men's dinner" some miles away.
"Oh, I'm Cinderella! " returned Kitty, petu
lantly. "The fairly godmother will come soon,
and I shall astonish you all by appearing at
the ball.
Her mother laughed and followed her
f'.aughters out, and Kitty returned to the li
brary, where she seized a book and curled
herself up in a chair to read.
The room was very warm and very still
and Kitty was nearly asleep when the door
opened, and a servant announced—
"Mr. Barry."
Kitty jumped up in some confusion at the
;is?ht of a tall, dark, good-looking young man
vho stood regarding her with a somewhat
:aken-aback look on his face.
"I beg your pardon," he said, a little stiffly
•eking at the tall, lovely girl, whose cheek
..as all flushed from its contact with the
cushioned chair, and whose golden hair fell
prettily In its riffled waves round her white
forehead. "The servant has made some mis-
KITTY'S MISTAKE:
take. I'm afraid. I thought I should see little
Kitty. I "
But a g-lad light had come into Kitty's
eyes, and she dropped her book and ran for- :
ward.
"Why, it's Jack!" she cried. "I hardly knew
you for a moment. "Didn't you know me?"
"It — it oan't be Kitty!" the ynuns man said,
in surprise, as the girl seized his hand. "I
thought you were some stratip;pr. Little Kitty
grown up! I can scarcely believe it."
"Why, you silly fellow." she cried; "did
you expect me to stand still for four years?!
It's four years since we saw one another.
I was at school last time you were here, you
know. Sit down, Jack, and tell me all the
news. I didn't know your people were here."
"They're not," Jack returned, seating him
self beside her. "I only came tonight, and \
| thought I'd come over here at once: but
: Phillips said everyone was out but Miss Kitty,
so I thought I'd see Miss Kitty, expecting,
| you understand, to see the little tomboy I
j left last time, and not such an altogether
splendid young lady as "
"Don't be stupid," Kitty said, tapping him
on the head with the paper knife she held.
"Ah!" Jack said, rubbing the place with
affected ruefulness; "that's more natural. I
j begin to realize that you really are Kitty."
i "Well, come now. Tell me the news. What
[are you doing- down here all alone?" Kitty
asked, not at all affected by his plaintive
tone.
"Fact is I'm in disgrace," said Jack, throw-
I ing himself back on the couch, and regarding
I his companion seriously.
"What have you been doing?" inquired
I Kitty, with interest. "Getting into debt, like
I Norman?"
"No, oh, no. Nothing so commonplace. I
can tell you my crime in a few words. My
jdad wants me to get married, and I'm still
j single, so he's cut short the supplies till I j
obey. I'm the only son, you see, and he '■
wants me to settle down."
' "How funny!" remarked Kitty, naively. \
■ "And who is it he wants you to marry, Jack?"
"Oh, he leaves that to me."
i "Entirely?"
"Yes, with the one stipulation that she must
; be a lady — of good birth, I mean."
"Well, Where's the difficulty?" Kitty said,
j rr.uch amused.
"Why," Jack returned, with a lift of his
eyebrows; "I'm not in love with anyone, and
: you know girls expect to be made love to.
I hate all that sort of thing."
"Yes, it's awfully silly," agreed Kitty.
I "Still, you know, I'm in an awkward fix.
I 1 hate to vex the good old dad, and of course
I'm twenty-five and ought to be thinking of
I settling."
| "Would you mind a young wife?" Kitty
asked.
"I'd prefer a young one to an elderly one,"
returned Jack, laughing. "But I really must
have someone — and quickly."
"Look here, Jack," Kitty said, slowly.
"Would I do. We were always friends, you
iknow, and, if you don't like the idea, I
shan't mind a Dit if you say 'no," but if
you're willing— l am."
"Kitty!" the young man cried, in amaze
ment. "Why — why -"
"You don't like me?" she inquired, calmly.
"Of course I like you— immensely!" he cried.
"But you are too young."
"I'm seventeen. Of course, I haven't any
money "
"That doesn't matter. I've heaps— at least
my dad has."
"And I think my birth is good enough,"
said Kitty, with a tilt of her aristocratic lit
tle chin.
"I should thing so! We are only mushroom
folk, you know. My father will be delighted
—if you really mean it, Kitty."
"Of course I do. I'm sick of life here. They
call me grown up, and they won't let me
climb trees or do anything I like, and yet
I'm not allowed to go to a dance or go out
at all."
Jasck looked sympathetic in reply to her
indignant tone, but in his heart he was far
from sorry that this innocent little beauty
had not been allowed to mix freely in so
ciety.
"You see," Kitty went on; "the arrange
ment would suit us both. We neither of us
want any love-making, and you want a wife
while I—. Of course," she broke off, in an ex
planatory tone, "I shouldn't think of saying
'yes' to any ordinary man, but with you it's
quite different. We are such good friends,
you know, and you're not In love with me, so
it's a good idea, isn't it?"
"A splendid idea," Jack agreed, warmly. I
"Then we are formally engaged, are we I
Kitty?"
"I suppose so," she answered, smiling.
"I'll run up to town and get you a ring to
morrow," he said; "and tell the dad my news
|at the same time. Won't he be pleased! But
I what will your folks say, Kitty?"
Kitty broke out into peals of laughter.
"Oh, what fun it is!" she cried. "What will
the girls say? Oh, Jack, it will be worth
something to see their faces when they hear
this news!"— and her merry laugh rang out
again.
"I say, Kitty!"
"Well?"
"Shall you expect me to give up my club j
and stay at home every evening?"
"Good gracious, no! Just go on' exactly as
you always do. Enjoy yourself as much as
ever you please. So that you take me out
now and then, and let me do as I like I i
shan't grumble. '
"Does doing as you like include climbing
trees? enquired Jack.
Kitty stopped in her waltz round the room
to treat him to a second rap with the paper
"Show me proper respect, sir!" she cried
"I'm going to be a sedate British matron
and comport myself as becomes a peer's
daughter-in-law. I shall look after my house !
—which must, be a pretty one, Mr. Barry
entertain, shop a good deal, and— ha, ha, ha!
—chaperon the girls! Ha, ha, ha!"
Jack subsided into a grin at the idea," and
began to wonder, as he watched the graceful.
slender figure flitting about the room, if- he
were quite such a martyr as he han fancied
ja few hours ago.
Marriage with a charming girl, who left
'■ him entirely free, could not be called a hard
ship!
Suddenly the door opened, and in walked
Mr. Powell-Martin.
"Why, Jack, you here!" he said, in sur
prise.
"I've come on a serious errand," Jack said, '
after greeting his host.
•'And what is that?" enquired Mr. Powell- i
Martin, throwing himself back in his chair ■
and looking at the young- fellow kindly.
"My father wishes me to marry, and I want
you to give me Kitty."
"Kitty!" echoed that young lady's father,
in astonishment. "Why, she is only a child!"
"I'm seventeen," Kitty said, eagerly. "Oh,
don't say no, father!"— with a little quiver in
her voice. "It would be so delightful to be
married, and go about — with Jack"— with a
sly look at that young man, which the father
did not see.
"Well, I must think about it," Mr. Powell-
Martin said, slowly. "You love Kitty, then,
Jack?"
"Passionately! I adore her!" Jack said,
theatrically.
Kitty gig-gled, and was only able to save
herself by turning it off into a sob. .
"You musn't cry, my pet," her father said,
quickly. "I'm not going to forbid it, only
you are far too young yet. In a year or
two "
"Oh, but that won't do, sir!" broke in Jack,
in dismay. "My father insists on my mar
rying at once."
"Marry at once if you please, but not my
Kitty!" retirted Mr. Powell-Martin, sharply.
"Oh, father!" cried Kitty; "don't — don't say
no! It is so dull at home, and — and Jack \
will take me to Paris — won't you, Jack? —
and— and all sorts of places, and I shall be .
presented, and— and oh! you must say yes, |
daddy!"
"Well, well, I'll see," replied the father,
with a sigh.
Before he left, Jack had gained the good :
gentleman's promise to speak to his wife I
about the affair, and that, as Jack very well |
knew, practically clinched the matter, for !
Mrs. Powell-Martin would never refuse so
advantageous a match for her daughter.
Oh! if the Miss Deerwaters could only have
krown what was happening at home!
Jack embraced his betrothed under her
father's gaze before he went. He himself was j
not. averse to kissing the soft pink cheek of
his fair young fiancee, but Kitty, with a wry
face, twisted her face away and presented
the crown of her heiad, so Jack pressed his
moustache on the little blue bow among the
golden curls— much to his regret.
CHAPTER 11.
"Till Death Us Do Part."
"Well, Kitty, what did you do with yourself
last night?" asked Mrs. Powell-Martin, the
next day at lunch.
Kitty's mischievous ejes sparkled as she
looked round the table.
Geraldine and Sophie had only just made
their appearance, and looked washed out and
sleepy. The mother was bright and cheery
as usual, but it was quite evident that she
had not yet heard the news of Jack Barry's
pretensions; and Kitty's bright eyes had just
spied the young man's tall figure coming up
the avenue.
Mr. Powell-Martin looked a little uncom
fortable at his wife's question. He had put
off telling her the news — it was a way of his
to defer the evil day; and he did not know
what Kitty might do or say. No one ever did
know what Kitty might do.
At present she only replied, with great de
mureness —
"Oh, I read a little, and then Jack Barry
came."
"Jack Barry!" cried Sophie, sharply.
"Did you tell him where we were?" asked
Geraldine, with acerbity.
"I don't think he asked," Kitty returned,
innocently.
"He didn't stay, I suppose?" snapped
Sophie.
"Oh, yes! He stayed till 10 o'clock."
"Till ten! Whatever for?"
"Well"— with most dove-like innocence — '
"he proposed to me. We are engaged, and so, '
of course, we were talking over our pros- '
pects."
"You silly child!" Geraldine said, with an i
attempt at a laugh. "You are joking."
"Oh, dear, no," Kitty paid, calmly. "I I
think Jack is just at the door. He'll tell you !
all about it."
And the next instant the servant announced
"Mr. Barry."
"You'll pardon my taking the liberty of i
coming right in, Mrs. Powell-Martin," he I
said, shaking hands with his hostess. "Jen- i
kins told me you were at lunch, but, as I had
come to beg for some, I wouldn't allow him
to put me in the library, as he intended.
How d'ye do, Geraldine? How are you, So
phie?" And then with a word to Mr. Powell-
Martin, he subsided into a chair by Kitty's '
side, saying, in a lowered tone, and with a
tender glance, "How are you, Kitty?"
"What do you mean by being here?" Kitty
enquired, coquettishly.
"Why, where should I be?" he asked, re- '
proachfully.
"Didn't you say you would go to town to- !
day and get me a ring?" demanded Kitty.
"I couldn't tear myself away — so soon," he
returned, softly.
"Jack," said Mrs. Powell-Martin, from the j
head of the table; "will you please explain? !
You and Kitty seem to understand one an-
Other, but I am quite bewildered."
"Oh. haven't they told you?" Jack said, !
looking around in surprise. "Why, Kitty has
promised to be my wife — with your permis- !
sion."
"Kitty! Why, she ,s only a child!" cried
her mother. "Preposterous!"
"Absurd!" cried the two sisters, in chorus.
"Mamma," Kitty said, plaintively; "I think ,
you ought to allow me to please myself. '
Geraldine and Sophie chose not to marry .
young, and they have pleased themselves.
I think it's the best way, and why shouldn't
I do as I like?"
Gerladine and Sophie colored angrily at this
innocent speech, and Mr. Powell-Martin's lips
twitched with his desire to laugh.
Nedless to aay that Mrs. Powell-Martin was
fully alive to the many advantages for her
daughter in the contemplated match, and it
difl not take long to win her consent.
She had married young herself, and saw no i
objection to her daughter becoming a bride
at her present immature age.
Geraldine and Sophie were furious with,
jealousy and rage.
"If only we had let her jro to that dance."
said Sophie angrily; "it would never have
happened!"
And probably it would not.
The family remained behind to talk over
the affair after the "lovers" had left the
room.
-you did that splendidly, Jack!" Kitty said,
laughing-, when they were strolling about the
garden together. "You played the devoted
lover to perfection. It was fun'".
Jack looked a little hurt.
"I didn't need to 'play' it, Kitty," he said,
adding, a little timidly for dashing Jack.
"You don't mind if I love you a little, do
you?"
"Well," Kitty answered, thoug-htfull; "it's
perhaps as well that you should like me a
little, you know. It won't be so unpleasant
for you when we are married, will it, and I
want you to take me out?"
"Unpleasant!" echoed Jack, laughing.
"Rather not! And — Kitty"— coming a little
nearer — "you'll — er--let me kiss you and — er—
that- sort of thing, won't you — darling?" —
slipping- his arm round her waist.
"Oh, Jack!" Kitty said, reproachfully. "You
promised you wouldn't. You said you hated
ah that sort of thing— you know you did!
And I think it is so silly l We are friends in
private — nothing more. If you are going to
be silly I shall cry 'off.' In public, n{ course,
you may pretend as much as you please.
That's necessary; but don't keep it up when
wo are alone."
"Very well," Jack replied, quietly, inwardly
resolving that during the time of their en
gagement he and Kitty would conduct their
love affairs as much in public as possible.
"Very well. Of course, love-making is aw
fully stupid, as you say."
"And you're not in love with me, you
know."
"In love with you— with tomboy Kitty! —
that would be a joke!" retorted Jack; for
which rude speech his bride-elect chased him
round the garden.
Lord Discombe was very glad that his son
had obeyed him by engaging himself to a girl
of so old a family as the Powell-Martins. Of
course he would have preferred an heires3
for his son — "Much would have more," and
he would have liked his money to mate with
money; but on the whole, he was very well
satisfied, and he made his son a very hand
some allowance indeed for the future, besides
settling ten thousand pounds on Kitty, and
furnishing for the young people a pretty little
house in Mayfair, and giving them also a
charming little country place of his own.
So, in due time, the wedding took place.
The youthful bride looked radiantly lovely
in her bridal robes of white, and all went as
merrily as possible.
Geraldine and Sophie declined to be brides
maids, so some youthful cousins took their
places, and looked, as Jack irreverently re
marked, '*a jolly sight better than the two
old girls would have done."
Jack bore himself proudly and happily, and
did not seem at all inclined to grumble at hi 3
fate.
So the two were married— lined together till
death should part them, and when the cere
mony was over they went off to Italy tor
the honeymoon.
"Well, 1 hope they will be happy, I'm sure,"
Geraldine said. "But I expect Jack will tind
out his mistake."
"What mistake?" Sophie snapped. "The
mistake of not marrying you, do you mean,
Geraldine — dear?"
"Or you. She's only a baby."
"And a very stupid baby, too!" Sophie said,
tartly.
CHAPTER 111.
A Terrible Marriage.
Caroline Denver sat alone in a pretty little
sitting-room, which was known as her room.
The room was tastefully, even luxuriously
furnished, the view from it was lovely in the
extreme, and the gin herself decidedly hand
some, being tall, dark and with a fine figure;
but she sat there, with a desolate look on her
face, and her hands lying listlessly in her
lap, gazing out wistfully across the beautiful
country with a sad look in her fine eyes.
In the room above, her godmother, the lady
who had brought her up from a child, lay
dying, but it was not of her that Caroline was
thinking.
Not many months ago she had been the
happiest girl in the world, as she had ex
ultantly thought, for she was in love, and
her lover loved ner. She knew it, though he
had not spoken, and she let the summer days
drift idly by, enjoying the beautiful time
that could never come again, and letting him
see in her flushing cheek and brightening eye
that his presence was dear, and that her love
was ris; and now — n u \v — he loved another!
She looked out, her eyes almost blinded by
the tears that filled them, to see if, per
chance, they were walking together, he and
the girl who had tired him away.
She felt she could hardly blame him. Ethel
Wynne was so very lovely, so superbly fas
cinating. Since they day she had first ap
peared in the little town, she had turned the
heads of all the young fellows in the place;
and Caroline Denver was not the only girl
who had to lament a lover"s inconstancy.
"If it were only I who must suffer," Caro
line murmured, at last rising from her seat
and walking about. "If only I could know
that he was happy I think I could bear it;
but I am sure she does not love him. She
only draws him on to piease her own vanity,
and she will throw him over soon. She has
spoilt our happiness— for we should have
been happy, I know, if only Bertie had never
seen her; and all tr<r nothing. Oh, how can
I bear it?"
At this moment a servant opened the door
with a message that Lady Polter hoped Miss
Denver would not stay in all the morning.
It was necessary that she should get the
fesh air.
"How is Lady Poiter this morning, Feld?"
asked the girl, anxiously.
"Just about the same, ma'am. No worse,
I think."
Caroline slowly left the room and went to