The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 18, 1904, Page 10

FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. WINTURE.S.S, \BY E-PHILLIPS- OPPENIEIM. 5 I will teach little suffi- Y little, I know that SECOND o1 You came to te this® ADVEN- 1 me for you!" ‘he s T TALILMENT NA THE * . PHILY . declared i through the crowd- aned for- suddenly ) nd her T Y SRS o MAGAZINE ON ing my w MBIR 11 AND WILL cod A 1SHED COMPLETE . b NSTALLMENTS S ING TO READERS CALY 3 IN lcne in the v ve yourself ( € ack h me to- re there, if on myself y chair and nearly sent . NDAY 1 MGHTEST B . MMER FOR M OF 20 f it al hand and ‘pushed e street, Cab- grum- Courtlaw aid noth- Let me ng would Induce man at pres- as yet I to earn rmined to fight my the world. There for me somewhere, to find it. Afterward it If I were to marry uid feel a dependent be- she said, Not r any 2 and how Il my life—a sort of parasitical ure without blood or muscle. I should every scrap of independ- ce—even my self-respect. However « 6d you were to me and however s happy I was in other ways I should find this intolerabie.” < All these things,” he muttered bit- ‘this desperate resolve to take life your own hands, your unnatural craving for, independence, ild never trouble you for a moment you really cared.” n perhay she answered, with ldness - tone, “perhaps not care. No, don’t inter- think that I am a little in you. You appear to se strong enough in all matters, but who seem to e natural and proper to e and play the weakling The wife of a Do you think that jesman, or a Duchess? And iness to force oneself What avagant bellef that > ve such a v thing in the world 1 to sacrifice for it spect, one's whole nnot do it, David. T do not really : He did not he exclaimed. eral minutes. you,” he said his deep-set speak from my g ou answer from your MYShel 4. Wk me that 1 have answered He : ‘ . she said, in a gentler tone, a chair r you too, as well as mysel i you must go back, take k ar” think all vou will see t you shall take yo: tion and we will be good com- as he handed her d to come in " T will see tague street a few 1 left. Mrs. White ke begged che s his. 3 ' he said earnestly. “‘Please ay me. You are right. Quite . s ne drive you home. I was able to go strajght to her i u, and 1 must 1eturn without delay, and She &t ones 1 the door with a little sigh of re- “In two days.” she reflected. “Mrs. - bes - She found herself struggling with White will present her bill, I have one Brendon’s guests,” she 5 storm of teams. sbilling and: sevenpence halfpenny left. think it would be b wak strangled in her throat. I have two days in which to earn nearly ¥ r alone with ggled fiercely not to give way. thirty shillings—that {s with no din- - . am - lonely,” she moaned. “I ners,’and ‘get a situation. I faney that Coprtiaw turned abruptly to Bren- ly. ILT could but —" this is_a little more than playing at. ” e g e & o: K Bohemianism." . Sust for the drive To escape from her thoughts she be- o 'So far,” she continted, eying hunj a few hours in £an to undress, humming a light tune Stily the last morsel of roll which lay Miss Pellissier is an old (0 _herself, though her eyes were hot upon her plate, “my only chapce of : T i e el AN e OAG enbared mh ofMIERE o By all means,” ndon ans rising in her throat. - As she drew off P! 0 engage 0 3 ! e iendon answered. Ter skirt she felt Something i Ah§ IDRBIEEd me ‘in_half an_hour.. What t on to the pavement, POcket, and remembered the letter Deasts men are! I cannot typewrite, which te com ton had given envelope and read it “My Dear Girl “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. The fact is I'was so0 glad to see you again that it never occurred to me that a little discretion might be advisable. I'm afraid I'm a terribly clumsy fellow, “I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London for the sakg of old times. Could you come to teh at my rooms one afternoon, or wounld you dine with me somewhere, and do a sionaire at the Carl- She tore open the nissionaire called a han- ed closely at Anna footway, and as he n the wheel he press- td her hand. Her fin- on it instinctively. It was «slipped it calmly into her mmissionaire smiled. It ily earned. e off. Suddely Anna 1 seized and imprisoned in urning fingers. She his e. It was enough for & month, Anna,” You will not even an- i the I hav be exclalmed swer my letters. I could not keep away any longer.” theater? We could have a private Do you think that it was wise of room, of course, if you da not wish to you, or kind to come?” ghe asked qui- be seen about London, and a box at etly the theater. I often think of those de- Wise! Kind! What mockery words lightful evenings in Paris. May we not are! I came because I had to. I can- repeat them once, at any rate, in Lon- not ve with t you, Anna. Come back don? Ever. yours, m come back. We can be “NIGEL ENNISON: n d to-morrow in Paris. There! “P. 8. Ney address is 9¢ Pall Mall.” Y u are trylng to take your Land Anna read, and her chieeks grew away A # slowly scarlet. She crushed the letter "You disappoint me,” she sald wear- in her hand fly. “You are talking like a boy. What “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, i I do not wish to mar- the use of it? y you. I do mot wish s. You are doin, break our friendship.” “if this is the beginning.” to return to your best to CHAPTER XIIL “It is you,” he eried, “you, who are The Tragedy of y y an Appetite. talking folly, when you speak of Anna, notwithstanding her quiet friendship between you and me. It i8 clothes, a figure marvellously out of not the woman who speaks there. It is the vaporing schoolgirl. I tell you that I Jove you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. You are necessary to me. 1 shall give you my life, every moment and thought of my life, You must come back. See what you have made of me. I cannot work. I cannot teach. You have grown into my life and I cannot tear you out.” Anna was silent. She was trembling 2 little. The man's passion was in- fectious, She had to school herself to speak the words which she kpew would cut him Jike a knife, “You are mistaken, David. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. But accord with her surroundings, sat be- fore a small marble-topped table at a crowded ABC, and munched a roll and butter with hearty appetite. “If only I could afford another!” ghe thought regretfully. *“I wonder why I am always hungry nowadays. ¥t is so ridiculous.” She lingered over her tea, and glanc- ing around, a sudden reflection on the change in her surroundings from the scene of her last night's supper brought & faint, humorous smile to her Jips. Her eyes brightened. She had to stifie a laugh, A harmless young city clerk, who had been watching her for the last half an hour in rapt admiration, accepted it for encouragement, and 1 do not love you—T do not love any ventured upon a preliminary cough. A one.” moment later he passed through the “I don't believe It,” he answered swinging doors with scarlet cheeks. hoarsely. “We have come top close to- Anna, whom use had hardened to such gcther for me to belleve it. You care episodes, remained unmoved. HOW FORIYNATE 1AM NISS PELLLSSIER ! my three stories are still wanlering round, two milliners. have r d me as a lay figure because business was so bad. I am no use for a clerk because I do not understand shorthand. @After all, I fancy that I shall have 40 apply as a nursery governess WwHho% under- stands French.” Faugh!” ' @' She took up the last morsel:of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marhle ta- ble was gone. She rofe, paid her bill, and turned westward. She walkead with long, swinging steps, scorning the thought of omnibuses or the tube. If ever ghe felt fatigue in these long tramps, which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. Asking her way onee or twice, she passed along Fleet street into Piccadilly. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the no- tices in the shop windows. Once she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive un- moved. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself un- consciously an inch or so higher» It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. He was walking listlessly along, well dressed, debonnair, good looking. Di- rectly he saw Anna he accosted her. His manner was deferential, even eager. Anna, who was disposed te be sharply critical, could find. no fault with it. “How fortunate I am, Miss Pellis- sier! All day I have beern hoping that I might run across you, You got my note?" “I certainly recelved a note,” Anna admitted. “You were golng to answer it?” “Certainly nol she said deliber- ately. He looked at her witlv an expres- sion of comical despair. “Wheat bave I done, Miss Pellis- sler?” he pleaded. “We were good friends In Paris, weren't we? You made all sorts of promises, we plan- ned no end of nice things, and then— without a word to any one you dis- appeared. - Now we meet again and you will scarcely, look at me, You seem altogether altered, too. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren't you?" “I cértainly am,” she admitted. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. “'Of course!” he said, “¥You have changed somewhat—and you are cer- tainly less amiable.” She laughed. After all, his was a pleasant 1ace, and a pleasant+ voice, and very likely Anrabel Mad behaved badly. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the Londén climate. It depresses one, you know.” He nodded. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. “But forgive me, you are tired. Won't you come and have some tea with me? There is a new place In Bond street,” he hastened to say, “where everything. is very well done, and they give us music, if that is any attraction to you.” She hesitated and looked for a mo- ment straight into his eyes. He cer- tainly bore inspection. He was tall and straight and his expression was good. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all.” “I promise,” he answered, heartily. “Allow me,"” He took h:s place by her side and they talked lightly of London, the shops and penge. They found a cozy little table in ethe tea-rooms and everything wasedelicious. Anna, with her marvelous capacity for enjoyment, ate cakes and laughed, and forgot that she had had tea an hour or so ago at an ABC, or that she had a care in the world. “By the by,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Fer- ringhall the other day, wasn't she? I saw the notice in the papers.” Anna never flinched.. But after the first shock came a warm glow of re- lief. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. “My sister and 1" she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. I fancy that Sir John does nat approve of me." nnison shrugged his shoulders, “Sort of man who can see no fur- ‘ther than his nose,” he remarked con- temptuously. “Fearful old fogey! I can't © imagine ‘any sister of yours - putting -up _with him for a moment. I thought perhaps you wq{e staying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious to rec- ognize your old friends.” Anna shook _her head. “No, I am alol she answered. “Then we must try and make Lon- don endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. “What will you dine an. go to the theater with me?— and how ahout Hiirlingham on Satur- day 2" X ' Anna shook her head, “Thank you,” -she said coolly. “Those things are not for me just at present.’! N He was obviously puzzled. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had, simp! veveled. in her. indiscre- tions. “‘Come,” he'said, “you can’t be mean- ing to bury yourself. There must be something we can d: ‘What do you say to Brighton s Anna ‘looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. “May .I ask whether you are stay- ing with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. * Perhaps your engage- ments are made for you.” “I am staying,”” she answered coolly, “at a small bearding-house near Rus- sell square.” He dropped his eyeglass clatter, “At'a boarding-house?” he gasped. She nodded, “Yes. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and 1 am engaged in'an attempt to earn my own living. Yon don't happen to know of any one; I suppose, who wants a nur- sery governess, or a clerk—without or a tryer-om, or a copy- with a “For heaven's sake stop, Miss Pel- lisier,” he interrupted. “What a hid- eous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money why on earth don't you accept afl engagement here?"” “An engagement?” she queried. “On the stage? Yes. You would not have the slightest difficulty.” She laughed softly to herself. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?"” He looked at her as though doubt- ing even now whether she could pos- sibly be in earnest. “I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other oe¢cupation could ever have ocgurred to you.. You do not need me to remind you of your success at Paris. The papers are continually wondering what has become of ‘Al- cfde’ Your name alone would fill any music hall in London.” Again that curious smile which puzeled him so much parted her lips for o moment. “Dear me,” she saill, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. I can’t imagine Lo gloneu—ylrtlculnly interested in my He shrugged his shoulders. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him. There were 50 many things about her which he could not erstand. . She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. “1 am very much obllged for the- s she said. “This is. a charming place and I have enjoyed the rest.” “It was a delightful plece of good fortune that I should have met you,” he ‘answered. “I hope that whatever your plans may be, you will give me the opportunity of seeing something of you now and then.” “I am afraid,” she said, preceding him down the narrow stairs, “that I am too busy to have much time for adding about. However, I daresay hat we shall come across one another before long.” “That. is provokingly indefinite,” he answered, a little ruefully. “Won't you give me vour address?” 8She shook her head. “It is such a very respectable board- ing-house,” she saij. “I feel quite sure that Mrs. White would not approve of eallers.” “I have a clew, at any rate,” he re- marked, smiling. “I must try the di- ish vou egood luck,” she an- vered., “There are a good many tes in London.” “May I put you in a hansom?” he asked, lifting his stick. “For heaven's sake, no,” she an- swered quickly. “Do you want to ruln me? I shall walk back.” “I may come a little way, he begged. “If you think it worth while,™ answered doubtfully. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. Restraining with an ef- fort his intense curiosity, he talked of general subjects only, trying his best to entertain her. He sSucceeded so well that they were almost in Montague street before Anna stopped short. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. “I have brought you Vvery nearly to my door. Go back at once, please. He held out his hand obediently. “Tll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out.” For a moment she was grave. “Well,” she said, “I may be leaving where. I am in a few days, so very likely you will be no better off.” He looked at her intently. “Miss Pellissier,” said, “I don’t un- derstand this change in you. Every word vou utter puzzles me. I have an then?” she idea that you are in some sort of trouble. Wen’'t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviouslv in earnest. His tone was kind and sympathetic. “You are very good,” she sald. “In- deed 1 shall not forget your offer. But just now there is nothing which you or anybody can do. Good-by." He was dismissed, and he understood it. Anna crossed the street, and letting herself in at No. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit near to-morrow’s bill CHAPTER The Puzzlement Nige! nnison walked club the most puzzled man There could not, be two she h: vet—h where Hamilton with us.” his friends “La belle Pellissier w girl, too.” “Do you h know whether she is suppose here?” “Very likely ind 1 Meddoes answere: e “I heard that she ha her show at the French in for a reform all married to that t nnison took an “What a little brick “She must have charac half reform either. W about her Meddo ~ Not much,” he answered about all there {s to be know There were twe sisters, you know. Old N Jersey and Hampshire fam , the Pel- lissiers, and a capital stoc I be- ve. Any one could see that the girls were ladies,” Enn murmu “No doubt about t “The fa got a half-p quit know. and B Care for a muttered But for the ed Cheveney reney The same night he met M. aris on a week's leave Meddoes remarke marked. It reall mond ans red. “You know fearful old prig Ferringhall gces about as though the w was watching him? We tried t him around is, but he wo have any of it. Talked about his his position and his constituents, a always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to be- gin. Well, one night some of us saw him, or thought we saw him, at a cafe dining with ‘Alcide’—as a matter of t, it seems that it was her sister. He came Into the club the next day, and, of course, we went for him thick. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. Stood on his dignity and shut us up in great style. It seems that he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was the artist sister whom he was with. The joke of it is that he's married to her now and cuts me dead.” “I suppose,” Ennison said, “the likeness between the sisters must be rather exceptional?” “I never saw the goody-goody one close to, so I can't say,” Drummond answered. “Certainly I was a little way off at the cafe, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide.” ™ “Is ‘Alcide’ still in Paris?” Ennison asked. “Don’t think so,” Drummond an- swered. “I heard t other day that she’d been some cad of a fellow who was cut a great in Paris per Meysey the great ra man. A she's disappeared for some r or other. Perhaps Ferringhall has pen- sioned her off. He's the sort of Johnny who wouldn't care about having a sis- ter-in-law on the loose.” snnison here thought hé saw her in London,” Meddoes remarked Drummond nodde. “yery lkely. The two sisters very fond ne another, I bel Perhaps Sir John is going to take other one under bis wing. Who's a rubber of whist?"” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in evening. He walked acr the park and called upon his sister, “Is Lady Lascelles in? butler. for he asked the “Her Ladyship dined at home.” the man answered. “I have just ordered a carriage for her. I believe ihat her Ladyship is going to Carey Hou and on to the Marquis of Wat i's ball,” he added, hastily eomsu a diary on the hall table. A tall, elegantly dressed woman, fol- lowed by a came down the broad staircase. “Is that you. Nigel?" she asked. T hope you are going to Carey House.” He shook his he: and th the door of a g dim-lit gp on tha grourd flear “Come in here a momenti, -wiil you, Blanche,” he said. “I want to speak to you. She assented, smiling, only brother. Ha was her and she was h?s (:\ orite sister. He closed the door. “1 want to ask yvou a guestion.” he saild. “A serious questiop ™ She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. Well You and all the rast of them are al. ways lamenting that I do not marry.,