The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1879-09-22
The Last of the Season.

].
There could be no doubt as to the fact
She drove by me in the Park, and bowed
an actual, bona fide bow. For several months
had endeavored to catch her eye, and now
she had graciously inclined her head and
smiled upon me sweetly as | leaned arily on
a Park railing l glanced around to see
whether any one was envying me, and felt
disappointed because my good fortune had
been witnessed only by diminutive street
boy and an unsympathetic life guardsman.
But no matter, she had bowed, and l was
triumphant.
She was neither young, beautiful nor
syph-lke. As far as I know she was Meth
er wealthy nor witty. Her fascination lay
in her encourage; in word, she was sin So
ciety."
My step was light and my pulses bounded
with honest pride as l strutted to the Club
to calm my bubbling spirits with a cigar
Entering the vestibule, was handed let
ter or rather a sheet of note paper, so fash
toned as to serve as letter and envelope in
one. Its ends were opened, and it carried a
halfpenny stamp. The address was correct
-"F. Killjey, Esq, Geranium Club, st.
James-street." HIM! who could my parsi-
monious correspondent be?
l tore open the missive and glanced at the
writing.
Holy Bluer' cried, and sank into the
hall porter's seat. ''This is too sudden"
The note-paper fell from my fingers to the
tiled floor. and host of fond anticipations
crowded into my brain. There it lay, my
admission into society, until | picked it up,
once more to gaze upon its enchanting,
but scratchy characters.
Mr.. KILLJOY:
DowAGER VIsCoUNTEss DAwLIsH
at home
4 to Z.
To meet the Patagonian Ambassador.
POO Park street, Julyss20.
Meet the Patagonian Ambassador to-mor-
row, drink tea and eat strawberries from 4
O'Clock until I! Not particularly invigor-
ating way of spending an afternoon, perhaps
but then, had never seen Patagonian.
The arrival of these Antipodean curiosi-
ties had given mild flip to the languishlng
season. The end of all things fashionable
was at hand. The Elton and Harrow match
had been played, Patti had sung for her ben
eft at Covent Garden, right honorable men,
bers were yawning on ministerial benches,
and all of us were painting for sea breezes or
mountain air. Indeed the best people were
leaving town when the Patagonians took up
their abode at the Alexandra Hotel, and be-
came the heroes of the fortnight. But up
on the first appearance of these stolid saw
ages, even the faded frightened up for one
last flicker, and half a dozen afternoons and
three garden parties were given in order
that certain ladies might keep up their repu-
tations as successful stalkers OF lions.
Not the least successful among these hum
tresses was the lady who had bowed to me
in the Park.
Selma, Viscountess Dawlish, was an eX-
emplary woman, who, having achieved po-
sition. after years of persistent fighting, was
not likely to lose it through lack OF energy or
tact, A quarter of century ago she had
been married to an impecunious peer, who
started a stud with her money, and galloped
into the Bankruptcy Court in due course.
The daughter of a cotton spinner, and the
wife OLA Viscount, Selma was mot likely to
forget what was due to her new-fanSled dig
nifty. She was quietly ignored at first by
the great ladies of society, and in her turn
she fiercely snubbed those unfortunates who
courted her smiles. But she was young, had
intelligence, resource, and, what was worth
both put together, good taste. She carried
herself modestly and demurely before the
women into whose houses she coveted ad-
mission, and never flirted but in her own
boudoir In course of time she was looked
upon as an amiable and harmless little per-
son. who would oblige a friend, keep Sc
cret. and never encourage husband or son
by idle or premeditated coquetry. To the
men she was always a sympathetic frlend,a AN
artful and successful fiatterer, who was ever
ready with advice, the result of good mem
ant little dinners of eight at round table,
and took care that the dizziness of ''high
life'' was always enlivened by the presence
of wittier inhabitants of a lower sphere. An
Acknowledgement, if sufficiently engaging,
might be met at Park street; the last popular
novelist. and even the adapter OF naughty
comedy from the French, would occasionally
be hidden and be glad to come. These din
ners became successes. The great ladies
knew if they dined with Selma they would
be amused and fattered by the Bohe-
mians without running the slightest risk of
encountering the female of that kinda
wholesome and very natural horror of whom
exists in the patrican lady's bosom. So
Selma, Viscountess Dawlish, became tolera-
BILE, presently popular, and was finally ac-
cepted as a partner or shareholder In the
profits and the joys which an established po-
sition in the ssbeautiful world'' affords.
We of the Geranium knew all about Lady
Dawlish: how she had been left a widow
without even the melancholy satisfaction of
being mother to peer; how her three daugh-
tiers were still unmarried, though, as their
intimate friends asserted, they were old
enough, and willing. We remembered the
story about the Honorable Sybil and the
Young Marquis of Teddington; for although
scarcely member of the Geranium was in
society. there wasn't one of them who didn't
affect to know the private doings of every
one who was.
1t was just at the commencement OF the
season, some time in April, l think, that
was introduced to Lady Dawlish. Young
Temple, of the Grenadiers, presented me,
almost by accident, must confess. 1t was
in the vestibule at Covent Garden, on the
night of Atlantis first appearance this year,
and there was a terrible crush inside, for it
was raining without. was making my way
through the crowd, when Lady Dawlish's
carriage stops the way,' was shouted from
the door. The poor lady and two of her
daughters were jammed in by the crowd I'M
able to reach their brougham, and certain
that in few seconds the vehicle would be
ordered on by the police, not to return for at
least three-quarters of an hour.
81 say, Killjoy," and man knew slight
ly tapped me on the shoulder. "do me IA
vor."
was willing of course.
'Give your arm to Miss Dawlish and push
through the crowd. Aunt, let me introduce
Mr.. Killjoy-Lady Dawlish."
She bowed, so did the daughters. Charlie
Temple marched away with a lady on each
arm, and followed, escorting a third. The
carriage was reached just as the coachman
was ordered 10 drive Oh ny Tile OllCldi, anu
was rewarded by three slight bows. There
was nothing very impressive or winning
about these bows, bnt they were distinctly
symptoms of grateful recognition, on the
part of these aristocrats of my prompt and
chivalrous courtesy.
"Much oblged,,' said Temple curly
"Have weed"'
"Thanks,'' answered. 81 didn't know
YOU were related to the Dawlishes."
s'Oh, lor, yes. Ta-ta." and he jumped in
to hanson and vanished.
1 must confess that, although / have had
occasion to admire and be grateful to Lieu
tenant and Captain Charles Walsingham
Temple, his behaviour on that occasion did
no inspire me with many symptoms OF vio-
lent regard had been treated just like
play bill,-I was wanted l was used, was
thrown aside. Two nights afterward tried
to catch Lady Dawlish's eye, but she didn't
or wouldn't see me. L met her at a flower
show in Regents Park, but never a glance
did get; at Lords | passed her carriage
three times-once / am certain she looked at
me-she took me for somebody else, very
possibly; but she recollected in time, and