Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 January 1886 — THE RED-HAIRED ENGINEER. [ARTICLE]

THE RED-HAIRED ENGINEER.

By the Anther of “So Blue: The Story of a Girton Girl,” Etc., Etc.

CHAPTER L ‘iEstelle, are you ready?” A little shriek of horror is the answer, and in another moment Estelle Verries comes flying down-stairs, boots unbuttoned, neckerchief unfastened, hat and gloves in hand. ‘‘My angelic Mary, if you scold me I ahull die!, Blame the chair you have put into my room. It is positively too seductive —I could not keen awake in it. Suddenly I hear a great strike of the clock; I jump up and find I have only a little tiny five minutes to dress in! Ah! dear, patient Mary, forgive the foreigner and her abominable ways.” “Never mind about apologizing, child, hut button your boots and put your hat on.” “My boots!” Eytelle looks down at them in despair, and then dropping cn her knees in the hall, tries to do them up with her weak little fingers. Mary Cotterell pulls her up, orders her into a hall-chair, and drawing a button-hook from her own pocket pro•ceeds to do up the high foreign boots. “There! Now turn slowly round, and let me see that you are all right.” Estelle obeys submissively. “I hadn’t time to do my hair again,” she explains. “So I see; but as it is always rough, that makes very little difference. I suppose you must do now. Put on your gloves; and where’s your parasol?” “Up-stairs. I don’t want it.” “Yes, you do. I’ll get it for you.” Estelle doesn’t object at all; but when Mary comes down again she flings both arms around her, and calls her her bestbeloved cabbage. “Tell me, Mary,” she asked, as they walked down the garden on their way to Mrs. Charleswortß’s tennis party, “will that dreadful red-haired engineer be there—you know; the man who is so stupid and gauche?" “Sure to be,” said Mary dryly. “He’s devoted to Eva Charlesworth.” “Poor girl! I pity her,” observed Mdlle. Verries, emphatically. “Oh, you needn’t do that; she doesn’t care a tig for him. And, besides, the •dreadful red-haired engineer, as you politely call Arthur Rivers, is a very good fellow.” “I call him a beast!” said Estelle, with exceeding frankness. “Now, Estelle,” said Mary sharply, “I won’t have you pick up bad words from my young brothers, and I won’t have you epeak rudely of my friends.” “Do you like him?” inquired her cempanion, stepping forward, so asAto.get a good look at her face. “Certainly,” replied Mary, not the leastdisconcerted by the mischievous scrutiny of the dark eyes. , Estelle let go of her arm, tad held up both hands in amazement. 1 ’ “You are funny, you English! You positively like people because they are good!" '• “Certainly,” replied Mary again. • “But men never are good” answered Estelle, changing her ground. “Oh, indeed!”

“My mother says bo, and the knows.”’ “Your poor mether was unfortunate in ter experience of them; but surely, because one Englishman was a wicked husband to her, she would not condemn all the rest?” “Oh, that is only part of what she knows,” «aid Estelle, confidently, “bhe has seen a great deal of life, and she has always taught me never to trust any man at all, however good he may seem.” Mary, was silent, not liking to say what she thought of such training. Estelle’s French mother had been forced; when hardly more than a child, into a marriage with a wealthy Englishman, who had treated her with neglect and brutality, and ■finally deserted her. Released frohi galling ibonds by the intervention of the law, she had liminediately quitted his hated country, and retired with little Estelle to a quiet suburb of Paris, where the child was brought up to call herself French, and to hate everything that was English. Ye*t, when an invitation came from Mrs. Cotterell for Es- : telle to spend a whole summer with her at Coppenham, the girl’s reluctance to go was overriden by her mother, who never forgot that the Cotterells, husband and wife, had been the only people in England whose sympathy she had been able to accept or rely on. So Estelle nerved herself for a visit to her native country, and, once at Coppenham, found to her surprise that she was . going to enjoy herself. She found English country life charmingly novel; she particu<larly liked the admiration accorded to her

beauty and vivacity; and she took at once to Mary Cotterell, who had much of her mother’s intelligent tact and thoughtfulness. The two girls had walked on another hundred yards or so without speaking.when Mary was roused from her reflections by feeling her arm suddenly pinched. Looking up, she discovered rapidly approaching them the young man whose “goodness” had been so summarily disposed of by Estelle a few minutes previously. He certainly was not a beauty. Slightly above the average height, and disproportionately large, he not orrly had no good looks to boast of, but carried himself particularly badly, with a kind of undignified shamble, his head forward and his hands forever in his pockets. Estelle managed to convey her opinion of him to Mary by a rapid little grimace and shrug of the shoulders before he came up to them. “How do you do, Mary? How do you do, Mademoiselle—er I really forget your name.” He put out his hand in an unthinking way, much to her displeasure. He ought only to have bowed; and how dared he to forget her name! Her reluctant little fingers just touched his. Rivers saw now, and his lips twitched with amusement.

“Beg your pardon, I’m sure. I’ll only bow another time,” he said, bluntly. “Hate shaking hands myself; it’s a barbarous custom. I suppose you aie bound, like ma, for Charlesworth’s, Mary?” On her assenting, ho turned and walked beside her, without asking whether his company was desired or not. “If you were polite, Arthur, you would offer to carry my racquet and shoes,” observed Mary, laughing. “You can’t imagine what a bad opinion Mademoiselle Verries is forming of you.” He took the things from her, rapidly glancing up and down Estelle, who looked bewitchingly pretty under her rose-lined parasol. “Quite right, too,” he returned, with a smile. “You see, Mademoiselle, I’ve no sisters to lick me into shape.” Estelle was not sufficiently well up in English slang to understand quite what he meant by this; but gathering from the pleasantness of his smile that it could not nave been anything rude, she condescended toanswer. “I've no sisters, or brothers, either,” she said naively. “Ah! I thought so.” “Why?” Rivers had guessed it from her manner, which was very much that of a spoilt only child, but he managed to escape blunderingly from telling her so. By this time they had reached Mrs. Charlesworth’s lawn, and with a short, “Oh, can’t say; intuition, I suppose,” he hastily crossed over to where the fair, slender Eva Charlesworth was standing, racquet in hand, talking to the favorite and scapegrace of the place, Hal Armitage. Neither of these two particularly wanted him, and after a little while Eva gracefully sent him back to Estelle, who did not play tennis, and who had been left stranded on a garden chair, while the rest of the guests were occupied with the game. She felt so neglected and uncomfortable that it was quite a relief when Rivers came and sat down beside her. “We ought to fraternize,” he said, drawing his chair rather forward, so as to get a good view of her face, “since we neither of us play this all-engrossing game. Are you over in England for long?” Estelle allowed herself to be gradually drawn into conversation, and was getting quite interested in comparing notes with him about the Riviera, when an amused, approving little nod and smile from Mary brought the color to her face. She was a complete child in many respects, and her vexation at finding herself blushing was so great that the tears started to her eyes. Rivers wondered what on earth had happened, but if his manners were abrupt, his good feeling was rarely at fault, and he showed tact now.

“I brought home no end of mementos,” he continued quietly, “and among them some flowers from Mentone—roots, I mean—which I planted in the garden here for Miss Charlesworth. Would yon like to see them?” Estelle sprang up, ready to go anywhere rather than continue to sit with her face in full view of all the players. She was sure every one must be looking at her. But in a very few minutes, thanks to Rivers’ tactics, she was herself again, and inwardly determined to pay Mary out. This little episode had cured her of her dislike to the young engineer, and before the evening was over her feelings had undergone a. further revulsion. She and Mary were asked, with some of the other guests, to stay to the eight o’clock supper at Mrs. Charlesworth’s, and later on there ;was a general vote for music, Estelle was •k'nowpt to have a beautiful vpic.e,» §he Waft <f±ceedingly nervous, and c.duid: not;be prevailed,, upon to sing till Eva suggested that she should be supported by. a yiplin obligato. “That would give me courage,” Estelle admitted, “and I know this song’for voice and violin; but who is the virtuoso?” “Oh, my tidelle and I are at home in this drawing-room,” said Rivers, coming up quickly, and drawing-out the case from under a tow’ settee. Estelle regarded him doubtfully, making up her mind thut she should stop singing at once if his playing did not please her. She need not have been alarmed. He was a thorough musician, ahd soon she confessed to herself that she had never been accompanied with such instinctive sympathy. Her mellow voice gathered strength and evenness as she felt, she could rely on the response of his violin to its faintest inflections, and at the end of the song their eyes met in a glance of mutual understanding and admiration. Hal Armitage turned to Eva Charlesworth with a significant chuckle. “Our good Arthur is smitten,” he said—“settled and done for.” Eva followed the direction of his eyes, and appraised Estelle critically. “I hdpe it may be so,” she answered gently.

CHAPTER n.

For a week or two Estelle went about in a frame of mind which is apt to upset the calmest natures, and which, in a girl of her excitable temperament, took the shape of extreme fitful alternations between turbulent gayety and tearful depression. She would have worked herself into a fever had it not been for the sincere good sense and unobtrusive sympathy of quiet Mary Cotterell, who understood her visitor well. Then one day she dinted into the house, dragged Mary to her room, and there burst out crying and laughing wildly. “I am so

happy!—so happy!—oh, Mary, can’t you guess?” “What a child you are, Estelle! Of course I can guess, and I’m as glad as ever I can be, dearie. Tell me all about it.” “I was in the garden, and he came up the path—oh, I can’t go on now—l’m just overwhelmed —frantic—my heart’s beating all , over me!” j “That dreadful red-haired man?” said Mary, mischievously. “How dare you cull him dreadful! Yes, yes, I know that’s what I said, but then I began to like him just a tiny little, and then it went on crescendo—crescendo —forte— i fortissimo!” She waved her hands as if conducting an i orchestra, and ended on tiptoe, tossing them i high above her head. “So, after all, you have found a man you ; can trust,” said Mary, half-jokingly, and [ not at all prepared for the sudden cloud , that settled on Estelle’s face. She did not ! answer at once, and then her tone had ! changed. I “Mary, you told me he was devoted to ; Eva Charlesworth.” | “Oh, did I?” said Mary, much embar- ; rassed. “Well, I used to think so, but | clearly I was mistaken.” “No, you were not. He told me about it j himself. He says a long time ago he asked I her to marry him, but she wouldn’t. She I said she liked somebody else, but he mustn’t ! be angry with her; they must always be friends. So he took it very quietly, and stayed near her till I c’upe, then he ffltfnd oiit he only cared for her like a brother, but for me in quite a different way. He says she is very good, but I hate her. lam frightened of her; she is so pretty and sweet, and I’m such a rough, undignified baby!” “Do you mean that you are going to begin by being jealous?” asked Mary, quite coldly. “I have told him he must never let me see him near her!” declared Estelle passionately. Mary’s first impulse was to be indignant, but the memory of Estelle’s training came into her mind, and she resolved to be very patient and gentle with her. For the moment she dismissed the subject lightly. As to Arthur Rivers, he walked away, too full of the happiness Estelle had conferred upon him to think seriously of her confession of a jealous disposition. In the consciousness of his single-hearted devotion to her, he thought it impossible but that she must quickly learn to trust him. There were other considerations that seemed to him of more importance, and esJiecially he had on his mind the difficult etter that must be immediately written to Madame Verries. But gradually he became aware that Estelle’s distrust was far deeper seated than he had conceived possible, and it is hard to say which of the two suffered most: Estelle, alternating between jealousy and remorse, or Arthur, under the continual necessity of behaving not only to Eva Charlesworth, but to all women, with unnatural familiarity, and of remonstrating with his angry betrothed. Estelle honestly strove to crush the unworthy feeling down, but their deep roots in her temperament and education put forth fresh shoots as soon as the old ones were lulled off. At last a crisis arrived.

Eva Charlesworth had long ago promised to marry Hal Armitage as soon as he should be able to keep a wife, but her parents would allow no open engagement, as Hal was a harum-scarum fellow, with a great distaste for hard work, and correspondingly little prospect of making a sufficient income. The poor girl was beginning to suffer from the effects of long waiting, and to feel, though she never doubted her lover’s affection, that he was not doing all he might to forward their marriage, when it was mentioned before her one day that Arthur Rivers had a voice in the appointment of manager for some engineering works in New Zealand. Eva resolved to make an appeal to him on behalf of the man she was ready to follow to the end of the world, and an opportunity presented itself shortly at the Cotterells', where she was spending the evening. “I want to speak to you in private presently, Arthur,” she said in a low voice, almost as soon as they had shaken hands. Arthur bowed with the stiffness required of him by Estelle, but his words were cordial. “Whenever and wherever you like, Eva.” “In the conservatory, then, while Estelle is singing,” she replied, indicating by a nervous little laugh her comprehension of possible difficulties. Soon Estelle was called to the piano. At the end of her first song she missed Rivers, but it was not till she had finished a second that she discovered that Eva had also absented herself. • In a moment her indignant jealousy surged up, and, trembling all over with suppressed fear and anger, she went to the head of the steps.which led down into the conservatory. .Two figures were standing below her, half hidden by a tall palm. ’ “You know I will do all I can for you, Eva,” said the man. “I know you have always been better to me than I deserve,” said the woman, her voice hardly under control. “You will keep my secret now, Arthur?” “I. will keep your secret and serve you,” said Rivers, with just that strong gentleness in his voice which Estate thought he had no right to use to any one but her. The miserable girl olenched her hands and teeth in the effort to restrain herself, conscious of the unfitness of making a scene, but self-control was not to be learnt in a moment, and passion asserted itself. “Arthur,” she said, in a tow, choiring voice, and stepping down toward him, “you are a traitor—you haw deceived me—you ” she could hardly speak, and now she put one hand to her head, while the other, extended, forbade his approach. So she stood for a moment, then her figure swayed, she missed her footing, and he only caught the words, “Ah, you have killed me!” before she fell at his feet, sobbing, crying, raving, flinging herself about in violent hysterics, like one possessed. Eva, shocked beyond measure, called Mary Cotterell to her aid, and, with as little fuss as possible, they got Estelle upstairs, where she continued all night in a state of half-delirious misery and rage. The only thing she was distinct and persistent about was that she would never see or speak to Arthur again. He left the house in despair, pinning his only hope on Mary, who promised to bring the poor girl to reason. “Leave her to me for a few days,” she said, and Rivers obeyed, devoting all his energies to getting' Hal Armitage the colonial post desired for him by Eva. Estelle, sorely ashamed of herself bj’ now, heard the news of his success from Mary, who added an explanation of the part played by Arthur. “Are you satisfied now?” asked the latter, with the sternness she found more salutary than gentleness.

“Why hasn’t Arthur been to see me?’ asked Estelle, looking down. “Y’ou went too far this time; you forgo! that he has his pride. i Estelle sprang up and dropped on he! knees beside Mary’s chair. “Let me go t< him! Not to his house—l don’t mean that but somewhere where I shall meet him Oh! my dear Mary, do this one thing more for me, I implore you!” “I don’t think you deserve anything of the sort,” said Mary sharply, and nothing like a promise could be extorted from her. j It was, therefore, of course, only a singui lar coincidence that the following day j Arthur should be walking through Coppeni ham Wood just when Mary and Estelle , happened to be nutting there—or, rather, Mary was nutting, while Estelle stood by in her Frenchified dress, and never so much as took off her gloves. It was lucky, too, i that just when Arthur came upon them l Mary should be high up from the ground i in a thick bush, and qu te out of sight and j hearing behind the leafy screen which compassed her about. Where were Estelle’s low spirits now? She had meant to be very humble and penitent, but it was never any use for her to decide beforehand how she would behave, and now, when she saw the “ dreadful redhaired man ” approaching her, the pleasure of it was so great that everything els? went out of her head. There was a stile between them, and hastily gathering a field daisy, she went aiyj stood her side of it, with a face full of childish gayety. “He loves me a little, much, more, not at all,” she began, rapidly counting out the petals, and glancing mischievously at her lover. mjichj jnogi of all!” she ended triumphantly, expecting hiffi to clear the stile in a moment, and punish her with kisses for her bad behavior. But Arthur did nothing of the kind. There was not a vestige of a smile on his worn face, and he looked at her so gravely that a sudden fear and heart-ache took possession of her. “Arthur, forgive me,” she said timidly, and, taking in both hers the hand he had laid on the stile. “Am I never to be more than the plaything of your jealous caprice, Estelle?” he asked sadly. “Ah, you are cruel! You are tormenting me, humbling me!” cried the girl, her cheeks flaming. “Yon think I have not suffered. Arthur, soy pity’s sake do not look at me like that!” What could the man do? Did he not love this wayward child, with all her unjustifiable distrust of himself, better than anything else in the world? First the position of their hands changed, for he put out his other one, and took both her little ones into his strong grasp. Then his tone softened: “Estelle, Estelle, how long will this phase last?” “I will never, never doubt you again!” she exclaimed passionately. “Never till next time,” said Rivers, with a just perceptible smile. “How am I ever to feel safe?” She would have protested, but he silenced her. “Words are useless, my child,” he said. “We must begin again from the beginning.” And therewith he got over the stile, and proceeded to make love sb delightfully, that when Mary descended from her perch and insisted on going home, Estelle thought and called her a “horrid bore.” But Mary was too well content with the completeness of their reconciliation to mind being abused. Nor had she any fear for the ultimate stability of their happiness, knowing that there was in Estelle plenty of good material, and that Arthur not only understood her well now, but would conquer in the end by sheer force of love and patience.