Northern Weekly Gazette. — 1904-06-11 (Stockton-on-Tees, Cleveland, England)

CHAPTER 11. PARK-LANZ.  "What can he mean?" murmured a girl sitting in a pretty boudoir in Park-lane that same morning. She was evidently in. great distress, for her beautiful eyes were damp with tears, and the flimsy lace handkerchief she held in her hand was wet and sodden. "I cannot believe Fred would do this but here is his name," and she picked up a copy of the morning paper and read: Fred Burnett, 15, Lancaster Gardens, West.' Yes, it is Fred, my Fred," and her voice lingered caressingly over the words, "and he wishes to meet a young lady with a view to matrimony. Money no ebj ect Ah! I was always sure it was my money Fred was afraid of; he is so honourable. Why was I not poor? A Governess? A lady help? Fred would have proposed to me then. "Dear Fred, 1 suppose he was afraid he might be called mercenary, or that I might think it. was my bank-book, and net myself, he loved, and he takes this way to prove it. But what a way! It's worse than suicide—it's murder, for I'm sure my heart will break. Ugh! what a sloppy thing, if I'm to cry more I must get another handkerchief.  "The clear fellow always said he found life in rooms so dull and dreary —yes, dull and dreary were the words he used. Perhaps he has some horrid landlady who does not half look after him.  "I wish I was his landiedv! And now he'll go and marry some bold, desirpling creature. I should not be at all surprised if Julia Coleridge answered this; it would just be like her forward ways to do it. But Fred can't bear her, he told me so on Wednesday. "Was it Wednesday? Yes, that was the ball I sat out three dances with Harry Goldman. I wish I had not done it. I know Fred was angry, but it was all his fault. "I'm certain Julia will answer— she's just the girl to do a thing like that—and, if it comes to nothing, say she did it for a joke. I wencher what she will say," and a.s she spoke Ethel Cavendish went to her desk and took out pen and paper. "I wonder how she would begin?" and she dipped the pea into the ink.  "My Deer Mr Burnett"—sheet dostroyed. "Dear sir—another gene. 1"1ie, I'm sure sile'd say: Dear Fred?" —niore MS. destroyed; "or, 'Dearest Fred --Seeing your advertisement in to-44's ps.per, hope you will inelutla my name among the list of candidates. —Yours bincerely, Ethel Cavendish.'" "Well I declare! nuive written my own name instead of Julia's. What fun it would be to post it—of course, only as a joke. Julia would think nothing of it. I've half a nilnd to let it go. I'll put it in an envelope, at any rate." Taking an envelope, she addmiaed it, and without giving herself time to repent, rang for he; maid. -Jane, take thie to the post,- she said.  " Yes, miss." And, Jane. be ad quick as you can."  Naturally Jane looked at the m.klrere upon the envelope as the left the room. "Mr Burnett," thought, " that's the nice-looking gent who's always tipping me." "Oh, dear, what hare I done? I with I had not writtee.. What will Fred think of me?" said Ethel, five minutes afterwards, and rushing to the hell she rang it furiously. This time another servant 'amswered. "Rae Jane left ?"  "Yes, Miss Ethel" Now, this was not strictly true, for Jane had not quite finished tidying herself when the !pea rang the s*oond time.  "Oli, there's the bell," the had said. "If itls Miss Ethel, say I'm gone; she's in a dreadful hurry to have a letter sent to Mr Burnett. She's spoons on him. Mind you say I'm out."  Are you sure ?" aeked Ethe!, nervously. " Yee, miss, stye went sti-Aight out," and the recording angel marked another down.  "Well, woll, it can't be helped. Thank. you, Maria, that was al.: I  wanted.  "I've burned my boats, at any rate," mattered Ethel to herself ; "at least, they hare bten burned for me; but I'll never dare to Fare Fred to-night. I'll have to have a headache. A pity I could not say a heartache, for it would be the truth."  The rooms were thronged, the Boor perfection, the music bright and sparkling, but Fred Burnett was not dancing. He stood moodily beside the door, eagerly sean.ning the faces of those who entered. Many turned to look at him. Every now and then some man would point him out to his partner with a smile, but Fred heeded not. He looked e very where for Ethel, but he could see lrer nowhere. It was a joke," he muttered to himself.  "What are you doing here, Ethel?" asked Julia Coleridge as she found her friend sitting in a conservatory alone. "I have been wondering where you were all evening, and as for poor Mr Burnett, he looks as if he had taken poison a something equally indigestible. Why are you here?" "I am waiting for a partner," said Ethel. "If you sae Fred will you tell him where I am ?"  "Ethel is in the oonserratory, Fred. She wont come unless you go for ber,4 whispered Julia, as eke passed  upon her partner's arm.. Forty-five seconds later. "Ethel, my own," the orchids heard Fred whisper, while a bold geranium told the other flowers next morning she distinctly saw him take her in his arms and heard Ethel whisper lovingly, ou wLI forgive me, darling ;I could not help myself." But what Fred answered is ono answered is not easily described ia words—at least, so the geranium said.