Sacramento daily record-union., 1890-07-19
TIE WHITE Cat.


my chambers in the Temple. 1t was tht
week before long vacation, and was look
ing forward to well-earned rest. Con
slant attendance at the Courts had made
havoc of my nerves, and needed to re
plenish my overtaxed resources.
I was walking rapidly, my hands in my
poke my head bent toward the ground
when suddenly became conscious OF
shouts, to which / had hitherto paid nc
heed. At the same moment hand
touched my arm, and passer-by told me
that it was my attention which the shouts
were intended to attract, and, turning,
saw a coachman even now gesticulating
from his box. With feeling of annoy.
ance crossed the road.
"Did you call me?" asked impatiently
~ did, sir. Her ladyship wishes to
speak to YOU"
Then l was aware that fat forefnger
was beckoning to me from the interior OF
the brougham.
'Oh, my dear Mr.. Oswald Jones p said
her ladyship "You are Oswald Jones.
aren't you? am delighted to see you
/ am indeed. You are not looking we'll.
Come inside for moment; l wish to
speak to you."
/ obediently entered
"Ah, Mr.. Oswald Jonesw she continued;
''see what penalty you pay for success ?''
began modestly to assure her ladyship
that the prize was worth the pain.
'No doubt, no doubt-to an ambitious
man. But you should not overdo it. You
are never without headache, l am sure ;
you have no appetite; in short, you're a
miserable creature"
was beginning to protest, but her lady
ship cut me off,
"Not a word now. | have not lived
sixty years for nothing, and | say that you,
successful barrister, with large practice,
are, nevertheless. a miserable creature.
Your mother was dear friend of mine.
and reproach myself with having neg
lected my friends. Now / feel myself
bound to look after you. When do your
holidays commencew
Tomorrow is the last day of term"
"Then, next Monday morning you must
take yourself and baggage to Waterloo,
and come by the 1915 train to Barking
ton. Some one shall meet you, and you
shall spend your vacation with me-"
My dear Lady Pownoeby," / exclaimed
appalled, at the thought OF spending two
months with this cid lady, II could
not think of troubling you. l was
thinking of going to Branscombe with
friend"
''You are not to go 70 Branscombe; it's
too fashionable; you would not rest there
will take no refusal. You must come.
We will make you comfortable We are
quite, you know; but not dull; my niece is
with me, and there are several good people
in the neighborhood ! shall expect you
on Monday morning; don't disappoint me.
Now go home; take an old woman's advice
and have basin of Cruel before bed to-
night. Good-by"
Il accepted her plump hand despair
ingly. | was incapable of resisting her
authoritative invitation-her size added
weight to her argument-and so l found
myself engaged to rusticate at Darlington.
Lady Pownceby, who | hardly knew,
was the widow of an Indian merchant who
having won fortune and baronetry,
died, leaving his childless wife to console
herself with the solidity of one and the
sentiment of the other.
Duly, on Monday morning, left Water
loo, and in couple of hours was seated in
Lady Pownceby's dog-cart, listening Ian
guidly to the inane monotone of the coach
man. My hostess met me with effusion at
the door, and insisted on my going at once
to my room, where found a luncheon laid
on inualide. In the afternoon she took me
round her ample grounds, pointing out
things here and there for me to admire
Dorothy is out" she said presently.
'She is very busy with her poor women
this morning. She is very useful in the
village; indeed our vicar, Mr.. Haig, calls
her his assistant-curate."
Dorothy is your niece~
"Yes; my poor sister, Mrs. Braithwaite's
daughter. She is an orphan. You will
meet her at dinner, and Pm sure / hope
you will be great friends"
| hoped SO, too. | never was a .lady's
man. OF woman friends / had not one,
and OF acquaintances but few. What
would two months be at Burlington if
Dorothy and l were not friends? | was
anxious to meet her. Her name sounded
prim, | thought; and her aunt's mention
of parochial work had raised foreboding
within me. She was sallow, angular,
old-young lady, felt sure, who spoke al
ways with polish and precision, and whose
conversation sayored of the mothers meet
ing. / was angry with myself for coming
to this place, and waited for the dinner
hour on thorns.
Even then no relief came. As the bell
rang Lady Pownceby sailed into the draw
ing-room. l looked past her in search of
the niece, but she was not there.
dorothy hasn't come in yet, Mr.. Oswald
Jones. eve will not wait dinner for her
One never knows when she will return.
Will you give me your arm@
/ felt that / was man with grievance
], Oswald Jones, of the Middle Temple,
barrister-at-law, one Of the rising men, the
papers sald, had condemned myself to
spend my vacation in an obscure country
house, and Dorothy Braithwaite (but a
rather pretty name, l thought), spinster,
showed herself so unimpressed as to absent
herself from the house the whole day.
felt disagreeable, and slipped my soup in
silence. But with the fish came Dorothy,
81 am sorry am so late, aunt" she said.
Mrs. Wade's Tommy has the measles, and
had to mind her 9th er olive branches while
she fetched the doctor. This is Mr.. Os-
wald Jones ?'
had risen, and she looked at me with
frank smile as We shook hands.
81 am terribly hungry" she said. 81
was beginning TO fear that / should be too
late to get anything"
She sat down and began to eat with a
healthy appetite. i watched her. My
foreboding was utterly stulti6ed Not an
gular, but tall and stately: not sallow, but
with complexion of red and brown, fail
hair, and pair of eyes so large blue
dark-fringed, expressive, that | felt my
4
twice as far to make the acquaintance o
the owner Of such eyes. She was moi
prim, but perfectly sesiif-possessed. sh'
seemed TO ignore me. She seldom spok,
during the meal, and when she did, it wa
tn tell her amt of come incident of he