The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 11, 1900, Page 4

L day, v we ®. That's the nd to a e without pounds being a grave for all of the woman ve come ted fi would ¢ hav lub SO su scheme inquired the curiosity _and at beauty onie s enty years older per- 1 begin to perceive that her features r, and 1 nothing so won lower-bloom her early The six older girls , and Sybil was in a shabby lor hat, which looked out of e crisp ber weather: but as she the studio, tt rl of her corm- r, seemed to drain f the color and yth from the other faces. wn and have some tea, and we'll tell you g pr sed Maud S t -. i was presently sipping tea and g sandwich. “Don’t keep me in sus ered Maud. “This club, as you among ourselves, the Engagement supposed to be a charitable organi- own as the ‘Golden Rule Society'—an mewhat ding) name, since we together to do to each other what to ourselves. We all went to the ~ven, and since childhood have been ce we began to tuck up our hair, rocks, we realized and discussed to 1 undoubted- ng girls as we 2 disadvantages mis fer certain small town, and singularly t Ox ave money—most of them rh to class us as heiresses. There isn’t ordin good-looking, influence, great connections, prizes in the matrimonial her romantic or ambitious: and we meant to have it; ve banded together, vowing to help cess in the marriage market. It was i met my cousin Jack Warren, bought the Firs and settled in the adn’t persuaded him. Then when entioned, after a dinner at our house, that nice girl,” T did everything [ a match. In return Edith persuaded Vance down to the Firs, after that vhen he and T first met. I admit, s memory had not been jogged in that ut ake u fe ;. e would probably have forgotten all about me. A , you know we have been engaged for six onths, and though I have the money, my grandfather kept a public house, while his was an earl.” you love him. Maud,” broke in Sybi! You know S OIT N i oo TR R AR AN i course I do. n confining myself to busi- this conve will presently see why. fi in combina ith together a noble, con- scientious, ble young woman , just the helpr a Hi Church curate. He had not looked at her unt y took the matter in hand. So it has been with us all ach owes, and admits that she owes, her happ s cly to one or more members of the club, which has now in existence for four years. Within of us have married, three more are to men they might never have seen, had tt club not existed. At I Sybil, it is your turn ‘But I t co B Sybil. “You girls only took me CAUSE s a little beast a stened to your plar » 1 be tiated, and take the oaths yund bec you were , other- t I might let out the secre yu were only sixteen it did not seem likely that 1d either need or give help for a long time to come; but the vears have passed on, and a crisis has arrived when the club can be useful to you. You are invited to spend a month at a charming house in Niee, full of smart people; one of the richest men in England will be there with his yacht. and as he is a great friend of Lady awe's, yvou would be bound to see a good deal of hir To be sure, hé¢ was only a grocer, and is now only a knight: but he is a millionaire, and better You would cer- Fanshawe's; you still, ¢ has somehow got into so tainly be the prettiest girl 1 at L only need to be seen to conque t least. if you can be seen in suitable fro: u write stories and-— sometimes—you get them accepted. ' Everybody will suppose that vou dress and tra 1 on your earnings.” “But I don’t - ¥.c t.” interpolated Sybil. “That's where we come in;” Maud grandly swept away the interruption. “How much money would you need to engage a maid (you couldn’t travel alone, and your respected Aunt isn't ed), pay railway fares, and fit yourseli out for a month’s campaign? : “I might do it all, with strict economy, on eighty or ninety pounds,” Sybil calculated slowly. “That is, if I would do such a thing—" “What thing, except to see Nice, and buy.some pretty frocks, and go yachting?” quickly broke in Maud. “The rest's a gamble—for us, as well as you. Here’s 2 hundred pounds, take it. with the club’s bless- ing, and write Lady Fanshawe that you accept her i vitation. PART IL.-THE RACE. “To see Nice, to buy some pretty frocks. and = go yachting?” The temptation was hardly to be resisted by a girl who had seen nothing, had né:pretty frock and had never been on a yacht. At all events, it was not to be resisted by Sybil Hampton. Maud had clev- WHAT AGREFMENT AM erly kept the man’s figure in the background of the picture, in painting its allurement; and so Sybil easily torgot him, until she had bought the dre and was on the way to do the other things that she desired. T'hen she remembered that she had accepted her friends’ money for a specific purpose, and if she failed to carry out her 1¢ would be a hundred pounds in debt— a load which appeared crushing to a girl who gou through a year on forty i She thought about this a great deal during the jot finding it difficult to look the irreproachably ex- ceilent new maid in the face; and was altogether ex tremely un 1f she could have undone the agree- men nd been back again in the home grudgingly made hers by a dyspeptic aunt, she would have undone it. But into the midst of her repentance broke a sleam of Riviera sunshine, a golden light on a sapphire e saw white-winged yachts in harbor: and red. rocky shores; and creamy houses set among palms; and cactuses, and scarlet salvia; and plenty of happy, care- less-looking people who apparently had nothing on earth to do save to enjoy themselves in this bright, warm world ‘of enchantment; then straightway the win- ter of ¢ ntent vanished from her memory. The fact that she was a little adventuress who had borrowed a hundred pounds on the chance that her pretty face and new frocks might entrap a parvenu millionaire, lately admitted into society, slipped down into some dim corner of her brain; and she also became one of the happy carel cs—here to enjoy herself, like the others Her t pang of recollection came when she saw Thomas Lawrence. Somechow his name had ded eiderly apd stuffy. He lhad scemed fair game, dances, and dinners, and drives, and teas at Escoffier’s and Rumpelmayer’s, the other girls had come to the conclusion that their game was up. As they were good natured girls in the main, and there were other ex- cellent fish in the sea, though this very big one was hooked by a rival, they resigned themselves to spend the remainder of their visit in watching the play from the sialls. They all thought that beautiful as she was. little Sybil Hampton was an extraordinarily lucky young woman, and that she ought to be: wild with joy™" in the assurance that “Sir Tom” was head over ears in love with h If they could have seen through the:charm- ing bodices of the. charming irocks (beught with a goodly portion of the hundred pounds) into. Sybil's !man. they would have been shocked and. surprised: for in truth the girl was far from joyous. . The more certain she became that “Sir Tom' loved her and that she loved him in return, the deeper she waded into depths of misery. This was because. unfortunately. she had a conscience—an unruly, restless conscien that reiused to lie down and be quiet when she told it to ‘While the millionaire had been an unknoewn quan tity, a mere money-bag to be annexed.by beauty, the girl who had never loved had been able to endure the Position in which the clyb had placed her. But now that he was a living, breathing man, handsome and gal- lant and trusting—all that her girlish dreams would have tured a lover to be—she was weighted down by a sense of shame and unworthiness almost greater than she could bear. She hated herself, and the thing she had done. If “Sir Tor did not propose. she wouid ched, because her heart cried out for his love i propose, she would be equally desperate, cause that troublesome conscience of hers declared that she could not accept him without confessing the whole truth; and rather than so lower herself in his esteem. she felt that she must sacrifice all chance of future hao- piness. and refuse him. As for the debt with which she would thus be saddled, by contrast with the greater burden of loss the remembrance of it dwindled into in- significance. She had quite decided on what her course must be, when he did propose; and then things were fot so easy. She had imagined herself saying “no,” and going qui- etly away to be forever miserable. But she had “reck- oned without her host,” and that is to say without Sir Thomas. “My dariin; ,-can’t you love me a little?” he said. O AR e . R v ulot e— T TO 9IGN. TIRLS ? if he chose to buy a penniless beauty of good family, with his fortune made in trade. Sybil had fancied the possibility of marrymg for money, if this chance th: club had given should bring an offer. She had never béen in love, and she contemplated such a bargain with comparative callousness. The club—if not the country —expected it of her; and should the fat, middle-aged grocer propose to the “prettiest girl at Lady Fan- shawe's” shé was bound not to disappoint the club. In her heart she had half hoped that he would not pro- pose, for the written agreement (of which she kept a copy as a reminder) stipulated that in such a case she was to be held free of indebtedness. If Sir Thomas was not to be caught, the club had played and lost. But if, on the contrary, he laid his millions at Sybil's feet. and she.-through romantic foolishness. refused them, then she must come home owing the club a hun- dred pounds, to pay as best she could. Therefore Sybil had thought it would prove a mat- ter not altogether for regret, ii the elderly and stuffy personage failed to propose. But. when she had been at Lady Fanshawe's for a day and a half, Sir Thoma Lawrence was announced; and behold, he was neither stuffy nor elderl »r was there a “trade mark” visible upon him. He was thirty-eight or forty perhaps, and looked a knight by nature as well as by royal favor. It was almost impossihle to believe that the tall, handsome man, with clean shaven, clear-cut features, keen, hu- morous brown e; and dark hair just powdered with silver, had when a boy served behind a counter. He had a fine, soldierly bearing, the pleasant accent of an English gentleman; and there was no subject on which he did not appear singularly well informed. It was easy to see how his graces of manner and person, as well as his millions, had won him a place in society; and Sybil Hampton "experienced odd little jealous pangs when she saw- how the other girls in Lady Fan- shawe’s house-party appreciated him. Not that she was stabbed by fear of losing her chance at the millions, beneficently provided by the club: but because, from the first moment of their meeting, the millions receded behind the man. + Never had Sybil seen any one in whom she had been so interested, whom she would so much like to inter- est in herself. - She could scarcely credit her own good luck when, ajter a few days. it began to. be apparent that “Sir Fom"” (as Lady Fanshawe called him) had eyes for no one else. He was a man quick to make up his.mind that -he wanted a thing, equally quick to re- solve that, if the thing could be got. he would get it. This had been one of the secrets of his extraordinary success in life; and when his yacht “Lorelei” had been in harbor for a week, and there had been various " when he had looked straight into her and see. something that contradicied the words. And Sybii tried to reply that it was impossible, but only managed a little sob instead. Then Sir Tom took her in his arms (fortunately it was in a very retirgd corner of, Lady in a perfect thicket oi palms. when = indaors for fear-of the.mistral) and “naturally the s resolution ed Wke the morning sea mists ler the noonday sun. He was so big and strong and masteriul, that before he had let her go, he had nearly wrung a “yes” from her—though not quite. She did love him a little—yes, a great deal—but there was something in the way; she couldn’t—no, it was impossible that she could tell what. Well, at least she must think—he must wait. She must have to-night for reflection She would certainly not have got it had not her maid appeared, with a smug countenance and a wrap whi Lady Fanshawe was said to have sent out to her. Sir Thomas Lawrence's feclings toward the estimable Mur- ray were far from friendiy. as he stood watching her neat figure tripping away behind her mistress, who had insisted on going once into the house. But they would have been less amiable, could he have played eavesdropper during the conversation which almost im- mediately after took place in Sybil's bedroom. “It wasn ady Fanshawe as sent you the wrap, migs,” ‘announced the invaluable person who had tra eled to Nicé as Sybil's chaperon as well as servant. 1 saw you from the window, a-going into the garden with Sir Thomas, and I thought it was getting about time for you to come in.” Sybil stared. The woman’s usual tone of respect was changed. Voice and eyes alike were brimful of impertinence. “What do you mean, Murray?” she haughtily said. “The fact is, miss, I made sure of what was happen- ing out there; it’s been common talk in the servants’ ‘all that you'd caught the millionaire, and he was only waitin’ for his chance to propose. And I didn't want matters to go toq far one way or the other, miss, before you and me had had a little talk.” “You must be mad!” exclaimed Sybil. really alarmed for ‘her ‘maid’'s sanity—though Murray had not the face of one whose reasoning powers were readily un- balanced. “Oh. not at all. miss. I do assure you. But ‘ere’s a copy of something I found among your things (I think it's better to keep the original in a safe place) and T thought my ’aving it might make some difference with you and the gentleman.” She held out a slip of paper. defaced with her own :‘!'gde writing; Sybil 'read,” hardly knowing what she Fanshawe's garden every one clse had g ent she had . signed for It was a copy of the agreer e ¢ for the satisfaction of .the Engagement Club; and it was so rded that her purpose in coming to Zvice v un mistakable: cven the name of the intended victim had not besn omitted. & Sybil had not dared to leave the pa;:‘er at hom her aunt’s prying nd it, therefore sh with her, and had sewn 1t (€O oi blue ribbon) into a pair of day she was wearing others, and had been too p! wpied to remember tl nts, even if sk brought it away a home-made Tc 1y s cont y's treache as but tl fornded to speal:; P of her own sces the original e yre any 1 pays me fifty pounds down, and giv when you are a marr i every year he mess you'd at a written ag 1 gets the san cumstances, mi the gentleman was prematc I think I'm very reasonable “You're a blackmailer—that is what you pil. re! *It won't be for your advantage to ‘ard names, s It 't matter so much what I am as w I've “And what you mean to get, you wicked, wicked wo- man'" Sybil panted. “But you shall not get it. You shall get nothing. Even if I wo en't it to Zive aven't fifty pounds in the “You could easy get There's plenty in the house you And to be have, they She was too : of Murray; yet she dimly stop to nk, she ald by-ar she, should be, and lest, ove rors, she might be tempted to pl Murray must instantly be s would be time enough to f uies from now “Yes, miss, I shall go—to Sir Thomas. make it worth my while to stop.” “Thank Leaven,” ejaculated Sy house. You can't find him to t Before he comes here again you I if I have te call in the police not 1 vour hatef 5il, “he’s have On a ck in a ce Ia cloak reatly folded. She put them bot to Sybil. who w < evil ation. t “L don’t know as it will be as you secm to think, I I wonder if he'd be willi pay something to kee this story out of t For his own sake, mi not for yours. 'Ta likely he’d do much for that s soon you as r 'em. Good miss, to wait when he knows. (all the police, like, do; but you can’t expect me “afternoon.” PART IIL.—THE FINISH Murray shpped away, leaving her late mistress stunned. Sybil felt sick, with a cold weight as of tons of ice on her heart: and it seemed that she had sud denly grown old. What a different girl she was from the one who had laughed (half ashamed even then), with the members of the Engagement Club. at the rich grocer, who was a fair target for Cupid’s darts! How different the whole world was now: and how beautiful it might have been ii—but there had ays been an “if”” in Sybil's life. She had told herself when she broke aw from her lover that she must write him she could never be wife, and t must not ask’ why. It would be easier to write things that he would not let her and he v be too chivalrous, after the appeal she meant to r to open the question again But now she could not even write. She hoped yet that Murray's scheme wou at she might Sir Thomas Lawrence, or that he might refuse to her. But she dared not cou She never look the man she loved in the face again with uncertainty her mind, th have heard the disgrace story had gone, Sybil could not feel safe i too must go—at once. Most of the hundred even Murray St on who pounds had been. spent, lovely irocks and other pretty things, which girls aim to be “smart” and in the n” must There had been her railway tickets and Murray’ also, and Murray’s wages, on which by a pitiful stor she had been led only this merning to make an vance. But there was enough left to take her hom Hastily, without waiting for reflection, driven blindly on by the passionate desire to escape, since she was al- most certain to be found ¢ she scrawled an incoher- sent little note to Lady Fanshawe, ! of regrets and ‘gratitude. This she placed conspicuously on her man- tel, knowing that by the evening at latest, it would surely be discovered. Then, with a small bag hidden under her long traveling cloak, she stole from the house, luckily meeting no one She did not know at what time she a train to Marseilles, but it would be som get out of Nice, in any direction, be fL.awrence's accusing eyes had looked into hers. i There was not, she discovered at the big railway Istation, another through express until night: but she could go as far as Canne: she chose, and wait there. She did choose; and an hour and a hali later a for! figure was wandering along the Promenade de la Cro sette in the blue, moonlit darkness, and shivering in the wintry chill of the Riviera might She did not know that she was cold and hungry; she only knew that she was utteriy miserable, and that for her the world had suddenly come to an end. She |w|shed that she might come to an end, too, as she stood Istill to gaze wistfully at the path of moon \light on the black water loo and cruel as a Isword of steel. No one here in Cannes knew her; no one cared what happened to her. “What is to become of me?” she murmured hal “You're going to be voice, and there was Sir The She started as if he had st no time to fly. “I tried the railway stat coolly. though he had caw as if in a vise. “So it was what train you had taken. 1 never could stand waiting for see. I thought I'd caught sight of you, five minut ago, but it's so dark, I couldn’t be sure till this instant. My darling child, your hands are like ice.” So is my heart, cried choking “You know— ight hope for ething even to bre Sir “Tom™ said a well-known ence. but he gave her Nice,” he said quite ., and held ther gh to find c in a special. I nything I anted, you n at her har easy enc followec everything. “1 wish I did!” he exclaimed. ,“But I'm not so wise as you think. I suppose you mean—I've seen that wo- man. Well, T have—the little beast! She met me in { she had a message irom you; and I hurried back to the street, and sa when I'd sent her about her business, Lady Fanshawe's—you were gone. Nobody knows but Lady Fanshawe and myself. and nobody will know for it's only seven o'clock now and my i take us both back in time for half-past eight “I can never go back,” said Sybil in a frozen voice, “Oh, why did you follow me?” “To tell you, first of all, what a huge laugh I've —over that woman's story heard.” “But it's true—true! refuse yvour love, becar without confessing. a : had It is the best joke I ever That's the reason I meant to I couldn't be vour wife 1 I—I would have died sooner than v should knov “Then you are a very se Tittl i remarked Sir Tom, “and a very foolish one, too. Jove! I shouted with laughters when I saw that paper the wo- man had. 1 believe she thought T was mad. Soit's true, is it, you poor little irightened child? Then I shall laugh again. if you'll excuse me, at all you funny school girls. And wouldn’t you have come to Nice. if it hadn’t been for the—ha, ha! the Engagement Club>” “No—I—Oh, don't take it so!” no other way to take it, my child. You do But I'm not worthy At the age of nineteen—(isn't it?) you've repented your si T'm your first, last Wild Oat. Yon must stop and see me come up, now you've sown me. As for the Engagement Club—you owe it a hundred pounds—I owe it my happiness (for T mean to have it) and I think the payment ought to be diamonds. All the unmarried members shall be your bridesmaids— and a bridegroom is expected to make presents. [4- night, at dinner, don’t look too seli-conscious. childie, when 1 drink the health of the ‘Engagement Club."”