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^JSf :> [• â- i i ni i i i . i i i . iii .iiu i i i i ii M.fti.i.i. i i i i i i i , i , i , ni . r . i u n «. ii.iii.i.i.i.'.iim i hi,iirwM.i.i iliii.Uii!i!i!niI \ A Girl's Caprice OR, THE RESULT OF A FANCY DRESS BALL CHAPTER XIV, Luncheon is over; it had proved in the beffiiuiiiig- ruthor a trial to Diana who couUl not forget that other lunclieon, in which Hilary had play- ed such a leading part. llut Clif- ford had said somethinf? about it, to which Ker had responded with an utterly uneiiibarassod air, and then they had all laughed. So it had ended . for me?" says he, i:i;t iinf;r:icofully, "Will you (five me uiy chiinr.e?" Hilary takes her hand out of his. "The whole thing is so ab.surd," says she ruefully, "1 want to marry you, and you want to marry me, just because we ehall be rich people if we do, and poor people it we don't. - But ojice married, if we found wo did not like each other â€" how would it he, then?" "It is a risk ci-rtainly," 9nys Ker, Aftoi' luncheon Ker had asked Hil- it, .u u nry to show him the preltv garden ^''7 g''f\^'V- ,"<•• l''^"«'-'«: «!'7 l^" outside, a glimpse of which could be '""''^ «,t, ^e''- I "in content to ac- caught from the dining-room win- T*^?.'., ' i*"^'' dow«, and she had put on a big straw hat, picturesque to the last de- gree, and brought him out â€" here. "After all," says Ker, "I suppose wo had betler talk about it." Tliey ai'e sitting in the little ar- bor by this time (all overgrown by trailing roKcs), and a slight pause had come in the rather hurried con- versation that up to this has been carried on between them. "About " Her tone is a little i faint. Her pretence at ignorance poor indeed. "I know it is hard for you," says he hurriedly, "but it has to be done, you see, and â€" ^you must onlj' try and forgive me. Of course, you have only to say one word, and I'm off to India again to-morrow, and that blessed £18,000 a .year may go any- where you like for all I care. If only your refu.sal of me would give it to you, I should feel contented. But as It is " "Or," 'says she .slowly, looking on the ground, "if your refusal to mar- ry me " "Well, I haven't refused," .says he, tracing a pattern in the gravel with his stick. "Well, neither have I," says she with a queer little laugh. "Now, what do you mean by that?" He gets up and stands look- ing at her. "Oh, I don't know what I mean. Don't stand there staring at me." She too gets up, and. turning from him, begins to pull a few buds from a long-suflering ro.sc-tree near Hilary flushes faintly. ITcr eyes are downcast, her lovely face is look- ing a little .sad, a little thoughtful. All at once Ker knows that to him. at all events, it is the one beautiful face in the world. In an impulsive fashion he takes her hand again, now holding it close- "Will you risk it?" asks I-.e. It is a proposal. He feels her hand tremble within his. Will she? Will she? She raises her eyes to his. "There would be some time before â€"before " "Some little time â€" a month. You know the will is very stern." "Well â€" yes," says she with a sigli. The sigh is hardly complimentary, yet Ker accepts it with an excellent grace. "You are too good," says he with quiet earnestness. She breaks away from him inipa- .J4,iently. "I am not. And I hato myself. To consent to marry a perfect stran- ger, one of whom I know nothing?" "You know, at all events, that I like beer.' "Oh, ,you are too bad," she frowns but after a struggle with herself, she breaks into merry if unwilling laughter. "There, go awa.v," says she petulantly. "I want to be alone." "I may come to-morrow, how- ever?" "Ye â€" s. Yes, of course. To lun- cheon?" I'm afraid not so early as that. 'Was ever any girl placed in so Mrs. Dyson-Moore has something on horrid a position?" says she at last, in a very distressed tone. "Never, I think! And .what nmkes it worse for mo is, that 1 feel as if I was in fault." "No, no; you mustn't think that. Surely neither of us is in fault." "Of course," pulling oil another in- odenslvo biid, "I could say that 'one word' you .spoke of a moment ago, but," she now turns and looks fairly At him, "it seems yuch a .great deal of money to throw away." "It does of course." "To absolutely sacrifice it as Dia- na saj's,"- â€" hesitatingly. "Still, I can't bear the idea of your marrying me only because I am worth â€" so much." "That applies equally to both of us." returns he gravely. "Y'es, 1 know; yes. of course," hur- riedly. "But it is always worse for â€" the woman, I think." "I don't see that; I don't indeed. You put it rather unfairly." "To marry, just for position?" "Yes, I know, it sounds beastly, l)Ut " "But what?" She has gone back to her destruction of the innocent buds by this time. "Look here," sa.ys he earnestly, "if 1 found, on meeting you, that I â€" well, hated you for o.xample, I wouldn't marry you if I were to lose ten times the money b.y n\y refusal. Hut I can't help thinking that as we are both free â€" l!y-the-bye, " break- ing off, "you are free?" "Oh, yes; as air," breaking into a little shy laugh. "Well, then." .says he, with an evi- dent sigh of relief, "there is not so much to fear." She glances at him. "For you," says she. "But," she leans toward him. "Hut how for nie? Have you." her dark, blue eyes ' search his anxiously, "never been in love?" •"In love?" He colors slightly "Not in love; I may people." "Fancied them?" She looks uncer- tain. "Well, ves, liked them â€" in a way." •'Once?'" This is too much for Ker. He siuilcfi. "Oh, holf-a-dozon timcR." says he. "That's belter," says Hilo:ry grav- ely, unmoved oulwardl.y by his mirth, if .secretl.v a little annoyed by it; "1 prefer that." "On the idea that there's safety Jn n multitude." He is still smil- ing." ••Yes." a little coldly. "But any- way you have got the best of this bargain, as 1 have never been in love nt all!" "Well, but neither have I." says he. "You rcmemlicr I told you that." "Still you have 'fancied' people. I," slowly, "have never fancied any- body!" Ker takes a step towards her. and lifting one of her huiKls, raises it lit;*itiy to his lip^. "Tlion. uorhaps then- ia a. cbmii^^ for to-morrow; I forget what. Some people to luncheon, anyway, but if 1 may come at thi'ee?" "Y'ou may." Her tone is a little low. Some- how, she had not liked his refusal to lunrh with her. However little she may be to him. she certainly ought to be ijjore than Mrs. Dyson-Moore. "That is settled then." says Ker. "Oood-by," sa.vs Hilary. "flood-by." He takes her prolTer- ed hand and holds it. "This is mine?' questions he, tightening his fingers over it. Hilary makes a little aflirmative gesture. A most lansatisfactory one. "Y'ou will be m,v wife?" asks Ker, more decisively this time. He had disliked that silent assent. "I will." Her answer now i.s dis- tinct ?nough, anyway, if ideally cold. Ker, after a second's examination of her face, stoops and presse.-i his lips to her cheek. It is tiie calniest ki.ss on record, yet he hits the satis- faction of seeing that it touches her. She grows, indeed, crimson. She draws back from him. it is true, with a little cllended gesture, but in doing so she lets him see her e,vcs. They are full of tears, and a little quick tlirprise and indignation, and a new sweet suspicion of shame, but nothing at all of horror, or shrink- ing, or dislike. He leaves her, well satisfied. He goes with a light and cheerful step up the road. How beautiful she is; how full of strong, young life. No silly fool ! He could not have eii-dur- ed a silly fool, howevi'r pretty. I'^or the (irst time in his life he knows himself to be honestl.v in love. And she â€" she will coJiie to love him in time. He will he so good to her. His life shall be hers. Uy-tho-byc. wh,v can't he get out of this luncheon at the I>y'son-Moorc»K' lo-inorrow ? If he started h,v the morning train he could get to t^ork by 11.311, and have fancied ! f.""'" t"''''" "">' h*^'' ° â- â€¢i"K--'ill giHs I like a ring, and he would like to give her .something. Of course, that would prevent his being v.ith her nt three o'clock as he had arranged. He could not possibJ.v be there ho- foie four, but he could explain to her; and of all girls he has ever met. she .seems the most rea.saiiable as well us the most beautiful, and the most â€" etc., etc. CHAPTKK XV. Half through the night Hilary lies awake, thinkingâ€" thinking always of this new momentous step t4ie is Hbout to take. Asking herself shall she take it? Is it advisable ? Is it too late to withdraw? l>oes she like him? Like him, thot iM, well enough to marry him? That is the question. Of course, love is out of the ques- tion. Here her thoughts wander r little â€" wander afield indeed, and lose themselves in a rccollei'tion of his eyesâ€" so dnrk and euJ'nest: his mouth â€" so linn, so kind his hairâ€"how well it sits upon his head, and what u. goodly head it has to sit upon! She recovers herself here, with an angry start, and comes back to her question. The bare liking she has for Fre â€" Mr. Ker â€" it must be the very barest liking, connidering how little she has seen of him â€" would that be strong enough to enable her to live out her whole life with him? Would it entitle her to accept him? Ho must be con.-;idered as well as she. And would it be justice to him or to herself to thus embark on a voy- age that would last all time â€" all time for them certainly â€" without some sure thing to go upon? It i.-j a most vexed ([ueslion. And there are so few du,yH given in which to think of it. That miseralile will has rushed them into a corner. Only a month in which to decide the woe or the welfare of two lives! Does .she like him well enougli? .\s usual, the first thought comes back agnin And he â€" does he like her? He had hesitated abont coming early to-mor- row. When nhe wakes, tomorrow is hero, christened by another name. A very lovel3' to-morrow too. All blue sky and tender warmth, mellowed by the singing of iiinuinerable birds. Three o'clock has come and gone. The clock now strikes four. Hilary, who had put on her pielLiest frock an hour ago. for evidently no pur- pose whatever, is now feeling a lit- tle angry. A little, to the outsidera. Inwardl,v she is raging. Presently she comes down ready dressed for a walk. "Y'ou are going out, Hilary? " sa,ys Diana, in dismay. "Hut â€" Frederic?" "Well, what of him?" says the girl, turning upon her sharply. "After all, Di, I feel I have laid myself oiien to this sort of thing. So [lut an end to it, once and ft;r all. Please tell Jim I would not marry Mr. Ker, if ho were to go on his knees to me." "Is this quite wise?" falters Di.ina. "Oh! wise! He is wise if you like." "You mean, darling " "That he detest,s mel" "Hilary!" But Hilary is gone. Dp â€" up the hill siie runs, delight- ing in tl.c energy that eases her of half the angry T«uin that is desolat- ing her heart. In this fi-esh place, tho air is full of twittering of birds â€" of new-blown breezes. She is feeling so low down in tiie world â€" so deject- ed â€" that this evidence of joy and hopi! in Nature conies to her as a tonic. She is not in touch with Na- ture nt this moment, it is ti'ue, and yet the sweetness of it restores her in a measure to her usual state of mind. She had reached an outstanding bowlder on the hill, and resting there for a moment, looks first to tho lovel,Y sk^-. and then behind her. Behind her is Ker â€" advancing to- ward her with rajiid strides. "I'm afraid," exclaims he, as ho cornea up with her. "I'm awfiill,y late. "So" â€" breathlessly â€" "sorry." "I'm sorry to see ,vou so dread- fully out of breath," says Hilary courteously â€" icil,v. "It reall.v would not have mattered," with it distinct- l,v hostile smile, "if you had not conie " sho hesitates â€" she would have given an.ything to su,y" at all," but the rudeness is too much for her â€" "until a little later." Ker stares nt her. "I tried m.v be.yt," says h(; â€" the first warm friendliness of his tone gone â€" a friendliness so near to love â€""but " "It is sonietlines so hard to get away. " Her lip curls involuntarily. "Sometimes! Especially when " He has been about to nnathematizo the train, which had been fifteen minutes late, but she interrupts him. "I quite understand. Y'ou really must not, apologize to me. There is no reason why .you should." "Certainly there is a ioaS(Mi," .says he, with quiet, determination. "1 told you 1 should be with you by three,' and it is now considerably later than that. 1 owe you an al)olog,v â€" so far." "I'll let you off," returns she, calmly. "A guest is often tied I more or le.ss." I "Mrs. D.vson-Moore, however, was .'not the catise of m.v being late." I "No?" The di.'ibelief conve.vcd in this word is very faint and hardl.v reaches Ker, who has gor.o oil' on another solution of this ni.\stery. Good Heavens! Fancy her being so riled over a. mere trifle like this. I'^'eii supposing he had l)een late, without going to fork at all. need the have taken it like thi.s? .\ fel- low has lots of things to keep him i!(nnetimes. Only yesterda.v he hail l(d(i h.iniself she was the most reiiS- onalilc girl in the world, and now â€" The.v arc coming down the hill again, and ho finds nfter getting out of his di.sagii'eable revcry that sho is sn.ving something. "Oi cour.se Mrs. Dysoii-IVIoori? would not bo lh(; cause of aii.\ thing (lis agreeable. She is altogether charm- ing, I've â€" been told. " The meaning in the oaiphasis is clear. "Is she?" sa.vs Ker nbruptl.y. "Vou should hardly be the one to ask that ([uestioii. You are in a pofJition to know â€" .vou. who arc stn.v- ing with her â€" whether she comes un der that name or not." "Ton my worl I haven't thought about it." sn.xs Ker imi.'atienlly. Hilary throws up her l-.eail. Con- tenqit takes possession of her. W^as ever fu-evnricat ion clearer? She is preparing anothir topic of oonvetsa- tion â€" the all-absorbing Home Rule billo of choici' â€" that will ta-X" her as far as the hnll-door (still a good half-mile away), where she holK-s tho good oak door will cloa<^ ngninst him. and bar him out of her life for- ever. wh**n siulHf'fdv *â- Â»** f.»l(o« tho ini- tintivr "What's the nmlter with you?" asks he. The question is so blunt, so unex- pected, that it leaves her witlioul speech for a moment, but with a considerably heightened color. "With me?" "What's tho good of fencing?" says he. "1 can see how changed you are since â€" since last we met." His pause has somehow brought hack to her tho garden â€" his wordsâ€" the pres- sure of his lips against her cheek. Her l<)Vel,v color dies and -he grows very pale! Oh! what a fool she luui been! "I am changed," .says .stie in a low, but clear voice. "I â€" tnivo been thinking. You" â€" with a swift glance at him â€" "have given me lime to think." i "If .vou mean that because I was ja littler late to-da,v " I "Well, you were a little late!" She has s'topped. Sho is tracing something on tho ground at her feet. "Tho fact IS, I have come to the conclusion that fve have made a mis- take. ' "WeV" "Well, tlien, 1 if you will have it so. I am willing to hear all the blame." "Y'ou prefer some one el.se? " "No," with a frown, "there is nothing of that in it. Hut the mis- take is there all the same." "I wish you would place it." Sho hesitates for a moment, and then, as though compelling herself, gocti on ; "[ think you wish to marry mo, only because you cannot get this mone,v unlcsy you do." There is a long silence â€" then : "Except that 1 iim sure ;â- , ou could not mean deliberately to hurt any one." says he coldly. "1 should take that as a direct insult. I may say, however, that you are making a great, mistake. I would not marry you unless I liked you. if you hail the mines of Golconda." "Y'ou are not, however, prepared to sa,v .you lovo me?" says Hilary, whose face is now quite colorless. "I hardly know how I feel toward you," says Ker, which at this mom- ent is perhaps as honest a thing as ever he .s'aid in his life. His anger leaves his judgment blind. "Don't .you?" Hilary smiles a ra- tlier fugitive smile. "Then I'll tell ,you. Y'ou hate me!" At this astonishing declaration. Ker, after a moment's angry pause, bursts out laugliing. It is a very ironical laugh, and drives Hilary to the very limits of lier temper. "Any one can laugh," says she. "But for all that I tell you the truth. I will ask you one question. Would you choose Lie as your wile, if .vou suddenly found that I had not a ponn,y in the world?" "Certninl.v." says Ker. But he is so angry now that his voice denies his assertion. Hilaiy shrugs her shoulders. The rihrug maddens him. "Well, is that what you didn't want me to say?" "I don't know that I wanted you to sa.v anything." "Look here," says Ker slowly, calmly, and full of the grand know- ledge that he is now proving him- self a, thoroughly eipiitable creature, who has the power at any moment to put his lemiier beneath his feet, even when most incen.sed. "Let us talk this over calmly." Hilaiy turns upon hi^i. "One would think," says she. her lovely face lighted up by the lire of a most just indignation, "it was I who was not calm." "Of course, what I desire is tliat we should both be calm." It is plain to earth nnd sky now that he. at all events, is anything but calm! "What 1 want," says Aliss Hur- roughs witii dignity, "is that .vou should keep your temper!" "1? Keep ni,v temper? I assure yini it was never better under niy con- trol than at this present moment." "Then all I can sn,v is. I'm sorry for the other moments!" This, of course, makes an end of all things. Slowl.\. in dogged silence, the.v walk back to tho hou.se. Just be- fore they reach it, Ker addr(!.s.ses her once n)orc â€" "for the last time" is writ large (ui every word ho utters. "That is settled then?" "I sui>i>ose so." "1 sh.ill go back to India next week." "No great hardshij), is it? Mo.'»t men like India." ".No wonder: it's about the best pUu'e going. J^ols of fun aiwl shoot- ing. I have onl.v one thing to n-- grcl , and that is that I ever left it." This is distinctly rude, hut he sticks to it. "It does seein a idty!" sa.va Mi.ss liiirroiighs calmly, li he hod hoped to take a rise out of lii^r he has fail- ed signally. She turns to him presenih-. "1 should like you to take back this." says she. holding out her hand with t.he florin in it. "It was such n stupid allair all through, was it not?" "More than that?" coldly. "Criiiriniil! " with a rather mock- ing sinile. "Well. I don't wish to be reminded of it then." "Neither do T." Taking the coin, he llingv it into a bush on his right hand. All seems nt an end, indeed. They are within two yards of the hall-<loor now. and as Hilai.v turns to bid him an I'Xcrlasting adii'ii Brid- get rushes down the stops and up to Hilary. (To bo ContimiiHl.) A pigsty nnd a kitchen garden .ire nniong tho featiirpo >>f tho ••oi.u.tcrv PEE-SONAI. NOTES. Interesting Gossip About .Some Prominent People. Princess Henry of Hatteiiberc has considerable skill in the almost ob- Bolote art of illuminating. Among Queon Victoria's favorite volumes jwere a copy of Thomas a Kempis's "Imitation ' and a superli autograph 'album, both of which were illutainat- ;od by her daughter. I I'lincess Charles of Denmark is an iexpert typist, wliile Princess Chris- jtian is ulsti a ((Uick manipulator of lliM "keys. " Her machine is littod with (lerman characters as well as .Knglish, and sho types most of iPrlnce Christian's (Jerman corres- !))oniieiue for him. .\nother Ro.yal i typist is the Prince.is of Wales, who is extrcmel.v quick, and tyjies a num- jber of her own letters in quite a pro- jfessional style. I 'Mr. Philip (.'ramiit on Smyly, tho eminent Irish surgeon, wliosc funeral has just taken place in Dublin, was [tile vicliui once, os it has Iieen said, jof a wicked iiractieal joke. Summon- ed to attend a dist iiiguislied gentle- man who had been thrown from his lior.so in College (!reeii, he resjionded, of courHO. 'I'he distinguished genlle- Jiian Was the statue of William of Orange, which had been blown off the pedestal with a charge of gun- powder. The Rev. A. M. Cooper, vicar of File,v, near Scarborough, Kiigland, by his feats of pedestrianism has earned tlie title of "The Walking Parson." In 1887 he walked to Home, 74,1 miles; and three succeed- ing years he walked respect ivel,v acrosfi Ireland, from Hamburg to Paris, and frm Filey to Huda-Pesth. His otlier long walks hax'o been across Belgium, through Spain. to !the North of Scotland, to Y'enice, and to Monte Carlo. The young King of Spain is ro- igarded with affection by the ueople jof Madrid. Indexed, he may almost ;bc called their pet. The fact that ]he is a good sportsman and a fine [rider appeals to the Spaniard. His hundred hor.ses are one oi the sights \ul Matlri.;!. There is a horse lor every ; conceivable function. The King visits ithe stables every du.v when he is in 'the cit,y. Over each box is painted [the name of its occuitant, chosen by i himself. One of the latest is a charger that went through the South j African War, wliich was presented to 'AlfoiiPo NIll. by Lord Koberts. I Mile. A'arvara 'Zakhurin, aged ! nineteen, a popular Russian music- hall artiste, is selling kisses at S2.50 each. At the conclusion of I her performance the other day she sprang a sensation upon her audience b,v di.si)la,ving a notice that she would kiss anyone who would givo her ten roubles for the war fund. [The audience. sa,vs some news from Moscow. immediately sprang up, j llouj'ishing bank-notes, and invaded the stage. So great was the confu- sion that the pretty actreess had t" take refuge in her dressing-room. I When the tumult had subsided she ! emerged and. amid intense enthu- I siasm, "sold" over l.'jO kisse.'i to her ! admirers. i The Barone-os Burdett-Coutts, who I has just celebrated her ninetieth birlhda,\', enjoys the diidinction of being the only woman who b,v merit [ alomi has been raised to the peerage, I and has the honor of being the only I lady alive on whom has bi'eii con- ! feried the freedoms of London ami I F.dinburgh. Amongst the many I birllida,v gifts whicli the HaroneKS re- I ceived on her biithda.v was one pos- sessing peculiar interest. It con- sisted of a beautiful boiaiuet of pink roses, and was presented liy Baron- ess Cliftoi> of Leighton Hromswold, who is onl.v four years of age. Thu bouquet bore the inscription. "From the youngest Baronesrt to the oldest Baress in h'.iiglaiid." In Gulesburir. Illinois, ihere lives ; .nil elderly huly whose rh.vthniic words ni;url,y every h'.nglish-speaking r'erson has recited. She is Miss) .Julia A. Carney, the author of the famous jioem. "Little Droiis of Wa- ter." and she is nearly eighty-two years old. While Mis.s (,'ariiey has devotird most of her life to writing â€" l)Ublishin.g n greater part of her widely read poems ano.\inousl.v â€" her ])opularit.v n^sts upon the one short poem, "Little Props of Water," as it is cenunonly known, or "Little Things," which the author says is its real title. The iioem was writ- ten while Miss Carney was attending a class ill phoiuigra|ili.v held in tho old Ticniont Temple, Boston, fifty- nine years ago. She wrote it in ten minules merely as an exorcise in metre which a professor desired t!ie students to practise. The fiunou.s Hussian siddier. (Jener- nl Kuropatkin. has a grout deal of military e.xporience behind him. The general is .said, among his other accomplishments, to be ;a crack marksman. When he was Minister of War. during a lour of inspection he visited Sebastopol. ami strolled with the conunandnnt along tho BoulcMird. where there was a shoot- ing nnloon. His host invited him to a contest, ond the Minister accepted, each to fire ten -.hots, with a revol- \cr at fifteen paces, the target being n piece of while cardboard about the size of a small cigarette-ca.se. With II revolver the general ' l«il all his ten shots into the target, to this complete di.scoiidlture of the other competitor, nnd when a siniihu tar- get was put up ten paces inrther off lu- repeated the ixM-formance with tVjO rifle. . 1 f ]i>TVol*tf>n. W;li. Beef nnd beer hn\o l)c«'n a-ssociatnd from lime in.meniorinl. The Butch- ers' .Amis nt n.v<le, Rnglav-'l. is juseil as both a nuhlir-h'xqu* ••t) a ">iifrhor'« <thot