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Show LoVe in a. Snobvtorm. Translated from the French by Susan H. Taber. (Copyrighted.) One morning in December, Miss Lucy Norton boarded the train for Edinburg, to visit some friends in the country. The castle of Lysan, where she was to spread the Christmas holidays, was situated in the northern part of Scotland; the weather was severe, and the snow, already falling heavily, seemed to threaten a storm. The train was just beginning to move, when Miss Norton came hurrying up, she saw a compartment com-partment open before her, and sprang hastily into it. For some minutes she was busy arranging her belongings, but when she was finally settled with a warm rug over her knees, she turned to examine her surroundings. A horrified gasp escaped es-caped her, there in the opposite corner of the compartment, sat a young man, the last man on earth with whom she would have desired a long tete-a-tete! Some time before, he had asked her to marry him and she had refused. Mrs. George Willon was a finely built young man, clever, and very intelligent, his education was perfect, and his friends spoke highly of the nobility and generosity of his nature. But, and it was a but with capital B Mr. Wilson also owned a large pickle manufactory. He had been so imprudent im-prudent as to fall violently in love with Miss Norton, the prettiest and also the haughtiest of English maidens, and he had laid at her proud teef, his hand, his heart, his fortune and his pickles. The latter were too much, their undesirably out-weighed all the rest. Lucy had made short work of pointing out to this presumptuous young man, his folly, and he had gone away, keenly wounded, but still master mas-ter of himself, self control being one of his essential es-sential qualities. Miss Norton flattered herself with the hope of never seeing him again, a hope cruelly deceived de-ceived by this unfortunate meeting. Perhaps, she thought reassuringly, he did not recognize her. And out of the corner of her eye she glanced at him. An imperceptible smile hovered over George's usually impassible countenance, a smile that with him, always preceded some daring action. ac-tion. After a moment, he drew out a cigar case, slowly chose a fragrant Havana, examined it ostentatiously, os-tentatiously, then lit it. What! Smoke before a lady! And without nsking her permission! Lucy could scarcely believe be-lieve her eyes and thoroughly indignant, she snapped out: "Sir, I cannot endure tobacco smoke." Mr. Willon started, turned and looked at Lucy, as though she were a total stranger. "You cannot Imagine how much I approve of your sentiment," he said graciously. "I confess that I never enjoy seeing a lady smoke." "You are mistaken, sir, it is your cigar to which I object," said Lucy, now thoroughly aroused. "What a pity! it is an excellent Havana," replied re-plied Willon serenely. "I detest every form of tobacco," she rejoined sharply. "It was rather strange then, madame, that you should choose the smoking compartment for your travels," he replied. Alas! In her haste, Lucy had indeed entered the smoking compartment. "Will you throw away your cigar, sir," she cried furiously, "it makes me sick." The young man of the pickles obeyed. Satis- , fled, Miss Norton settled back in her corner, murmuring mur-muring triumphantly. "We have shown him where he belongs, Fido dear." i A joyous bow-bow sounded from under the traveling rug and in a moment, out jumped Fido, an adorable little dog, evidently the darling of his mistress's heart. , Just then the train stopped at a station. J As Lucy started forward to change compart- ments, Willon opened the door and caller the por- ( ter. I "Please take away this dog," he said, pointing i to the unfortunate Fido. "It makes me sick to have dogs around." Could Lucy have heard aright? Her Fido put in the baggage car. ( "But my dog is absolutely quiet," she cried, "he does not disturb any one, I will hold him in my lap." J "I object formally to this dog," replied Wilbur I coldly. "This is a smoking compartment, not a dog kennel." The train started on, the porter disappearing with Fido under his arm, and Lucy threw herself back in haughty sullenness. Pickles certainly had J the advantage this time. j During this passage at arms, the wind had risen, and the raging snow flakes caused Miss Norton a strange feeling of isolation and weariness. weari-ness. I Hunger added to her other sufferings and aft- 1 er much hesitation Lucy decided to remove her j veil, and thus expose to the odious George the tj face that he loved so tenderly. "i The odious George, for his part, was spreading spread-ing a copious and delicious luncheon upon a shining shin-ing white napkin; dainty sandwiches, a pate, even : a small bottle of champagne and a flask of brandy. Miss Norton took out her own supply of tasteless taste-less bread and butter. "Poor girl," thought George, "she must be horribly hor-ribly thirsty after all those dry sandwiches! Upon my word, I believe I'll risk it" He filled a cup and held It out to Lucy. "Miss Norton," No reply. "Miss Norton, will you accept a cup of champagne?" cham-pagne?" Still silence. "Miss Norton?" "Since when, sir," replied Lucy icily, "have I given you the right to recognize me?" "As you please," replied George, calmly. "Truly, your situation will be a difficult one at fl Lysan." j "I also am on my way to visit Corrlo, who h asked me to spend the Christmas vacation with him." Corrie! His imprudence in thus designating the count was beyond all bounds! I "Why did Lord Corrie invite you?" she asked imperiously. "Because he prefers to all others, the choice black preserves marked Willon," said George gravely, 'chuckling to himself. What Lucy would have replied to this fresh bit of impertinence will never be known. At that moment, the train stopped with a sudden, sharp jar, and the patrician Miss Norton fell directly into the arms of the young gentleman of the . pickle manufactory! ' For a few seconds, George held her thus, then I restored her to her equilibrium as far as the lurch I of the wagon would permit, and endeavored to open the door. A train-hand he hailed, told them that the train had been stopped by a huge bank of snow and that it would be impossible to go I ahead until help should reach them. At this Lucy could not, repress a gesture of fright. "Don't be alarmed," said her companion hastily, has-tily, "I will go and find out what must be done." Left alone, Lucy gave way to her fears. She had heard of trains blocked by the snow for days at a time, and she felt no desire for such an adventure, ad-venture, especially under the present circumstances. circum-stances. What was going to happen? She felt worried and almost stiff with cold. "Oh!" she cried suddenly, as a white apparition appari-tion appeared at the door. "Don't be afraid, it is I," replied George, and deposited a white frisky bundle upon her knees, no other than Fido. ) "I thought you would be glad to have him," he said, "especially as it was not very warm in ! the baggage car." Lucy silently caressed her pet. !"Miss Norton," he continued, "I will not hide ' from you the actual situation. We are sixteen miles from the castle of Lysan and cannot possibly pos-sibly reach there. You must choose, therefore, between perishing of cold here, and walking with i me to a little village about three miles away." dl "What are, ..the other travelers doing?" was )' Miss Norton's sole reply. i "They are starting for the village." "Very well, let us go," she replied, "since the others are to accompany us." "It is the best way, I think," he answered, and ' held out his hand to help her to the ground. 1 "I can do very well alone," began Lucy when 1 her foot slipped and she would have fallen, had I he not caught and held her firmly. Joining the J other passengers, they started, George ahead with j Fido, and Lucy following. It is impossible to maintain a majestic attitude when one's nose is red, one's cheeks purple and when one falters at every step. George feared lest he should lose his companion in the darkness, and said authoritatively: "Take my arm, please, for we must not get separated." "Is It necessary?" she asked. "Absolutely." He took her hand and slipped it under his arm. Little by little, an overwhelming overwhelm-ing sleepiness seized the young girl. How strong this man's arm was! How she would have liked to lean on it forever without a further thought of pickles. But pickles! she tried feebly to withdraw with-draw her hand, and in spite of her efforts, her head fell heavily upon her breast, someone seemed to shake her, a little cry escaped her and then she felt a delicious sense of repose, and she did not try to move: Mr. Willon had her in his arms and was carrying her. (To be Continued.) |
