OCR Text |
Show litue white hand as yours can only cor respond to a pretty face. Take my arm, miss," Mrs. Men-ion took hia arm accordingly, according-ly, convulsed with inward mirth. He pressed it after a most friendly fashion. "Don't walk too fast," said he. "It me carry your bag." Mrs. Merrion gave it to him. They were nearing their own door when, to the surprise of the gentleman, who had perhaps expected to walk half a dozen blocks or so further, his fair companion paused on the threshold. "Youyou're not stopping here!" he exclaimed, nearly stumbling over the ferrule of his own umbrella. "Yes, I am," said the lady, ia a high treble voice, quite different from her usual accents. "I am going to see Mrs, Merrion and tell her of your un warrantable war-rantable conduct." " "Oh, don't do that," cried the husband in a flurry. "Just think a minute how foolish it would be, and bow very uncomfortable." un-comfortable." "But 1 shall!" squeaked the assumed falsetto. "A mau of yonr age" Mr, Merrion twisted himself uneasily about "ought to know enough to let the 'pretty girls' alonel You need a lesson, sir and you shall receive one." So saying she pulled the bell vigorously, "Is Mrs. Merrion at home?' "No, ma'am," said Norah, "she ain't got home from shopping yet." Mr. Merrion drew an audible sigh of relief. "No matter," said the relentless little Nemesis. 'Til come in and wait for her." She pushed past Mr. Merrion into the reception room, and seated herself deliberately de-liberately under the little chandelier that Norah had just lighted, while Mr. Merrion, Mer-rion, shifting from one foot to the other, had turned the color of tallow. "Now, my good girl, how very unreasonable unrea-sonable all this is!" he argued. "And why, Fanny, it's you!" For Mrs. Merrion had risen and thrown off the disguising folds of the waterproof water-proof and the mask like veil and stood there with eyes sparkling full of mischief. mis-chief. , -f "Yes, it's I," said she. "And now, my dear, what have you got to gay for yourself? Because, you know" with a comical imitation of his. own deep, sonorous so-norous tones "you never flirt! Oh, dear me, nol" If Peveril Merrion bad been a whipped dog, groveling on the floor, he could not have looked, or perhaps felt, meaner. "My dear," said he, "I didn't that is what I mean to say is we're all human, hu-man, you know, my dear!". "Exactly so," said Mrs. Merrion. "It's what I have remarked myself a score of times. Only it isn't fair to expect me to be a pattern of perfection set up on a pedestal above the rest of the world, when you are so very human is it, now?" "Fanny," said Mr. Merrion, "I acknowledge ac-knowledge myself in the wrong. Don't be merciless, my dear. I I am very sorry. I won't do it again." "And you pledge yourself to leave off finding fault with me for the future?" "I will pledge myself to anything, my dear." And then they went to dinner, for which Peveril Merrion had very little appetite. The next time Fanny danced with George Harland, Mr. Merrion made no objection. If he had Fanny was pre-' pre-' pared with the insinuating whisper: "Don't be in such a hurry ma'am. Allow Al-low me to see you home." And it would have acted like a charm, Boston Globe. WIFE VS. HUSBAND. "I tell you, Mrs. Merrion, I am not going go-ing to stand it!" Mr. Peveril Merrion was short and stout, with small hazel eyes, a ruddy complexion and a mustache the color of hay. Dignity, or even its assumption, suits some men; it didn't suit Mr. Peveril Pev-eril Merrion. "Dear me, Peveril, I'm sure you're making a great fuss about nothing," said Mrs. Merrion, with an impatient toss of her head. She was as unlike her husband as possible pos-sible a phenomenon you often come across in married couples, where, instead in-stead of "like loving like," the strongest strong-est practicable contrasts develop themselves. them-selves. Fanny Merrion was slight and rather tall, with mischievous blue eyes, a complexion like freshly opened apple blossoms and hair of the shining dark brown that is almost black. "You danced with George Harland five times, Mrs. Merrion," said the indignant in-dignant husband. "Only three times, Peveril. Only three times and a promenade," pleaded Mrs. Merrion. "Arid what is a poor woman to do when a gentleman asks her to dance?- Am I to" make a courtesy and say, 'No, I thank you, my husband isn't willinsr.'" "Nonsense,' Mr. Merrion." "Just what I think myself the ab-surdest ab-surdest nonsense in the world," demurely demure-ly assented Mrs. Merrion, arranging a sprig of geranium in her belt. "And your old lover, too. Don't think I am ignorant of your past life, Mrs, Merrion," growled ber husband. . . "Well, my dear, how ia the poor man to help that!" "But a married woman, Fanny. Have you no respect for public opinion?!' "Dear mo," cried out the tormented little woman, "one would think I had broken one of the laws of the landl What have I done, after all? Waltzed three times with Mr. Harland in a publio ball room, and let him take me down to supper I" "You haveflirted with him. You, a married woman, Mrs. Merrion, with your husband standing by scarcely able to believe the evidence of his own eyes!" "But it isn't half to bad as it would have been if my husband hadn't been standing by, is it?'" "Fanny, will you be serious?" "I am as serious aa I can be, Peveril, unless I burst into tearsl If you want me to cry, I'll do my best in that line, I suppose you never flirt?" "I, Mrs. Merrion?" Fanny went out of the room and closed the door behind her with a degree of emphasis that almost amounted to a bang. "It's too bad!" said she to herself, as, safe behind the shelter of the damask curtains, she watched her husband strut down the street, his hat shining like satin, his silk umbrella buttoned up trimly, and his very boot heels redolent of 6nug, middle aged respectability. "He's getting to be a perfect Othello! And I won't endure it!" So to relieve her overcharged feelings and quiet the electric current of nervous agitation Fanny put on her hat and went down town shopping. As it chanced she was detained longer than she had anticipated, and the weather was settling down into a rainy dusk just as she came opposite the house of an old schoolmate, now married and settled like herself, "Good!" quoted Mrs. Fanny to herself. "I'll go in and borrow a hood and waterproof water-proof cloak from Rosie Gilles, and then it's only a couple of blocks to the cars, and I shall be home in a quarter of an hour." Rosie lent the hood and waterproof cloak with ready good humor, and herself her-self assisted in the tying of an antiquated blue veil over Mrs. Merrion'a blooming face. "I declare, Fanny," cried she, laughing, laugh-ing, "you're transformed into a pretty incognita. I don't think your own husband hus-band would know you in this guise." "Perhaps not," said Fanny. "But I must hurry home. Only see how dark it is growing." "Shall I send a servant with you?" "Nonsense! As if I was afraid!" And Fauny Merrion ran laughing down the steps. As she entered the car, closely veiled and wrapped in the dark folda of the waterproof cloak, a short, stout gentleman gentle-man rose to give her his seat, and with an inward smile Mrs. Merrion recognized recog-nized her lord and master. She accepted the civility with a nmto nod thero was something in the comicality com-icality of the situation that impelled her to keep up the disguise. "We're acting a little bit of romance in real life." said she to herself. How near and yet how far! Husband and wife yet for the time being perfect strangers to each other. I "I'll get out the block this side of home, and then, if 1 run aU the way, I I I ean perhaps get there before Peveril does, and thereby escape a lecture a yard long about the 'propriety of married ladies bciii out after dark.' To hear 1 the blessed man talk one would suppose that nothing in the world was improper i&r unmarried ladies." She beckOuedtothe conductor the car stopped. She sprung out, but to her surprise, not to say dismay, Pevoril Merrion stepped nimbly out after her. " "Don't be in such a hurry, ma'am," said he, in a ' low, insinuating voice, j "Allow me to see you saie home. Pretty girls shouldn't be out alone after dark, i i Aha! you think ;T'm a wizard, but such a ' |