The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1884-01-26

happened to be fiery Tory, while I
have the personal misfortune to be an
equally rabid Radical; but on this occa-
sion | successfully dissenbled, acquies-
cling with vague generality in his de-
nunciation of my dearest private con
victions; and by the end of dinner we
had struck up quite an acquaintance
with one another
"Ruby," said the aunt to the pretty
girl, as soon as dinner was over, ''shail
we take stroll out in the gardens?"
Ruby! what charming name really.
| wonder, now, what is her surname?
And what beautiful, graceful figure,
as she rises from the table and throws
her little pale blue Indian silk scarf
around her pretty shoulders! Clearly,
Ruby is person whose acquaintance |
ought to cultivate.
"Uncle won't come, of course" said
Ruby, with pleasant smile (what
teethD ''The evening air would be
too much for him. You know" She
added, looking across to me, 'almost
everybody at Cannes is in the invalid
line and mustn't stir out after sunset
Aunt and are questionable enough
to be quite strong and to 60 in for a
stroll by moonlight"
81 happen to be equally out of the
Cannes fashion, 1 said, directing my
observation with great strategic skill,
rather to the aunt than to Miss Ruby in
person; land if you will allow me
should be very glad to accompany
you"
So we turned out on the terraeApf
the Paradis and walked among thedatt-
palms and prickly pears that I'LL the
pretty tropical garden. 1t was a lovely
moonlight evening in October; and Oc-
tober is still almost a summer month on
on the Riviera. The feathery branches
of the palms stood out in clear-cut out
line against the pale moonlit sky; the
white houses of Cannes cleaned with
that popularity soft greenish Nediter-
ranean tint in the middle distance; and
the sea reflected the tremulouss simmer
in the background, between TIE jagged
sierra of the craggy Esterel and the
long low outline of the lie Ste. Mar
guerite. Altogether, it was an ideal
poets evening, the very evening to
stroll for the first time with beauti-
full girl through the charmed alleys of
q Provencal garden!
Ruby Estcourt-she gave me her
name before long-was quite as pleas
! ant to talk to as she was beautiful and
graceful to behold Fortunately, her
aunt was not one of the race of talka-
tive old ladies, and she left the mass of
the conversation entirely to Ruby and
myself. In the course of half an hour
or so spent in pacingup and down that
lovely terrace, had picked out, bit by
bit, all that | most wanted to know
about Ruby Estcourt. She was an
| orphan, without brothers or sisters, and
evidently without any large share of
this worlds goods; and she lived with
her aunt and uncle, who were childless
people, and who usually spent the sum-
mer in Switzerland, retiring to the Ri
veira every winter for the benefit of
Mr. Shackleford's remaining lung
Quite simple and unaffected, Ruby
seemed, though she had passed most of
her lifetime in the too knowing atmos-
| phere of Continental hotels, among that
| Cosmopolitan public which is so very
sharp-sighted that it fancies it can see
entirely through such arrant humbug
as honor in men and maidenly reserve
in women. Still, from that world Ruby
Estcourt had somehow managed to
keep herself quite unspotted; and
simpler, prettier, more natural little
fairy you wouldn't find anywhere in the
English villages of half dozen coun-
ties.
1t was all so fresh and delightful to
me-the palms, the Mediterranean, the
balmy evening air, the cleaning white
town, and pretty Ruby Estcourt-t
| walked up and down the terrace as
long as they would let me; and | was
really sorry when good Mrs Shackle-
ford at last suggested that it was sure
ly getting time for uncle's game of crib
bage. As they turned to 90, Ruby said
good evening, and then, hesitating for
moment as to my name, said quite
simply and naturally, ''Why, you
haven't yet told us who you are, have
you?"
colored a little--happily invisible
by moonlight-as | answered. THAT
was an omission on my part, certainly
When you told me you were Miss Est
court, | ought to have mentioned in re-
turn that my own name was Akin
Payne, Theodore Aikin-Payne, if you
please: l give you card?"
'"Aching Painr' Ruby said, with a
smile. odd l hear you right? Aching
Pain, is it? o, what very funny
namen'
| drew myself up as stiffiy as l was
able. "Not Aching Pain" | said, with
a doleful misgiving in my heart it was
clear everybody would put that odd
misinterpretation upon it for the rest of
my days. "Not Aching Pain, but Akin
Payne, Miss Estcourt. Akin. Akin,
the Atkins of Staffordshire; Payne,
Payne, the Paynes of Surrey. My orig
inal surname was Payne, surname
chat | venture to say I'm little proud
of; but my uncle, Mr.. Akin, from whom
| inherit property, thought that was
rather a good way of putting it,
wished me to adopt his family name
in addition to my own-in fact, made it
a condition, sine qua non, of my receiv-
ing the property"
''Payne-Aikin," Ruby said, turning
the names over to herself slowly. "Ah,
yes, see. Excuse my misapprehension.
Mr.. Aikin-Payne. 1t was very foolish
of me; but really, you know, it does
sound so very ludicrous, doesn't it