The Press., 1895-04-18

be quite as bitter in a we'll composed letter to be dispatched from Biarxitz as in a hasty interview.
 "Come along, Parker, ' she called
 ''It's all very we'll to say come along, . muttered Parker discontentedly, "but this is a rum sort of a game, and l don't 'alf cotton to if"
 We've got 20 minutes. Tell the man to drive carefully, but to drive very fast. ''
 The most galling thing about the whole deplorable affair was the certain | ty that her mother would meet her at the station with an -told-you-so-m my. roor-lamb expression. Still there was no one else to whom she could go, and at any rate she could always control nlamma. She always had done so.
 Charing Cross. @ @
 'The mail lidy?" said the porter civilly. 'The mail goes at ite fifteen. It's later'n it use to be-
 Parker, will you get some papersi Get one or two for yourself, you know. ''
 Parker, still rather inclined to be cross, went to the bookstall. It half re- stored the excellent maid to complacent submission to what she termed all this ramping about to find the new number of "The Lady's Own Chatterbox" on sale. It was her own particular favorite | journal.
 "We'll get in now, Parker" said Mrs. Waterhouse. "There's 20 minutes to wait, but we may as we'll take ou1 seats. Seconds, please, porter. .'' They found comfortable corner seats. For awhile they watched the stout, per- spring ladies and the slim daughters and the pet dogs. The usually demure Parker sniggered so much when she saw two Frenchmen kiss each other that she dropped ''The Lady's Own ] Chatterbox. ]" Mrs. Waterhouse took il up and held it in her hand.
 ''I must read" she whispered to her. self. ''I must do something to keer myself from thinking. I shall faint ii I don't divert my thoughts. ''
 The "Lady's Own Chatterbox" lay on her lap. She put one small foot against the seat opposite and leaned for ward to get the steady glare of the cleo tric light on the page.
 "Any more going on?" cried the in spector on the platform aggressively. We commence this week story by a new writer, Walter House, entitled 'Alicia's Only Love-. It will be re. plete with romantic interest, and, in short, wonderful picture of high class life of the present day, with all it's faults and foibles.
 ''Now, then" cried the inspector on the platform in an aggrieved tone to a belated passenger. "are you going on there, or are you not going on?'
 Mrs. Waterhouse began to read. Chapter was headed, "The Countess. ''
 Alicia was half leaning, half re. clining on an ottoman reading deli cately scented letter from Sir Harold de Beer. It opened thus: II want you, my dearest, to believe that am quite true to you. am bound by certain ties tc others, but to you, my sweetheart, my own darling Alicia'-
 "Parker!'' screamed Mrs Water house, with gasp of delight Come out quickly
 Right away" shouted the inspect or. Stand away there, please. "
 'Here, stop!' cried Mrs. Waterhouse.
 She caught up her skirts and jumped nimbly out. An active porter seized he1 bags, and as the train was moving caught the descending Parker neatly and swung her round upon her feet.
 'Ow's that. umpire?" asked the porter.
 "O-u-t, out!'' said the inspector. He turned his hand lamp to Mrs. Wa. terhouse. Hope you're all right, ma a'am?''
 ''Tbank you. yes, z said Mrs. Water. horse brest tblessIy I'm all right lnOsg. z Pail Mall Budqet