Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 120, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 May 1913 — MARPLOT OF CUPID [ARTICLE]

MARPLOT OF CUPID

Each Supposed the Other to Be * Another Until Properly ' Vouched For. By NELLIE CRAVEY GILLMORE. Maizie Shuttleworth was ha a flutter of excitement She held a long, ■creamy envelope in one hand and a sheet of letter-paper in the other. The latter contained the magic contents: “Cedar Park, April tenth. "My dear Girl: “Come and take dinner with me on Tuesday evening, quite informally. I have asked only one other guest; that delightful young fellow I have been so anxious for you to meet —and to have meet you. “Let me have your answer by return mail, and be sure that you make It yes.” Devotedly, * “Caroline.” There was very little doubt about what she would make her answer, thought Maizie, her heart leaping in her breast For Miss Maizie Shuttleworth was not without her own secret aspirations, and this prospect of coming in actual contact —really talking to—one of the charmed circle of the “arrived” filled her with a delightful sense of agitation. -■ David Brierson had long been the; young girl’s chosen favorite from the Gotham literary lights. He was the man of all others she was anxious to know. The days that must Intervene before Tuesday were the longest Maizie ever spent. She occupied the time chiefly in a whirl of speculation over just how she was going to broach the subject nearest her heart—and considering what was the best to wear. She finally decided upon a dress of simple white lawn and resolved to discard all curls and puffs from her hair. A young man looked up expectantly as the postman blew a shrill reminder in his ear and laid a batch of letters down on the desk. The first penned in a faint, spidery hand and delightfully redolent of sandalwood, claimed his attention. It was from his very dear friend and counsellor, Mrs. Ashton Ardent, and ran as follows: "Cedar Park, April tenth. "Dear Boy: .."Can’t you snatch a leisure hour from your eternal ‘business’ and run around next Tuesday for Informal dinner? I am asking only one other— I’ll leave you to find out later who — and shall never forgive you if you fall me. Sincerely, "Caroline Arden.” < Of course he would go! When had he ever refused —or wanted to refuse —one of Mrs. Arden’s charming Invitations? Accordingly, he drew up paper, ink and pen and scribbled a hasty acceptance, seized his hat from a peg and hurried down to the mailbox. But thinking it over, perhaps an hour or so afterward, when he was striding up the avenue toward his rooms, he suddenly came to a halt and uttered a prolonged whistle. Mrs. A*rden had been threatening for weeks to Introduce him to one Patricia Atnsley, blue-stocking and famous fictlonist. She had predicted great results from their meeting. And this was her method of taking advantage of the situation and forcing the woman on him! Well, it was too late now and he stalked doggedly up the steps to his apartment. The meeting came about in a slightly unceremonious manner. Maizie having arrived in good time, had rppaired to the hammock on the veranda and was swinging lazily in the shadow of the clematis when he made his appearance. Innocently bent on steadying his nerves with a big black cigar before the ordeal. What Maizie glimpsed—before he had a chance to see her —was a goodlooking. almost swarthily dark, young man with wide, light-gray eyes and a mouth that seemed always to be ready to smile. He wore a suit of purplish-tan and a broad-brimmed Panama pulled down over his forehead. “I beg your pardon—” With a little muffled exclamation and a burning flush, Maizie flung herself upright, her dainty, brown-suede pumps descending upon the porch floor with a click. “Excuse me, Miss—er—Mias Ainsley, I believe? but I was looking for Mrs. Arden.” Maizie regained her poise with admirable alacrity. “Out in the garden, I think, Mr. Brierson. We scarcely need an introduction. You see, I have heard Caroline speak of you so often that I feel almost as If we’re old friends.’’ "I trust we shall be very good ones,” he replied, "as well. I, too, have heard a lot about you from our mutual friend.” Maizie pulled up a chair for him and sat down on the bench opposite. "Only,” she took up where she had left off, “my name is Maizie Shuttleworth, you know.” She smiled as he gave a little laugh. A nom de plume, he ' mused. David Brierson was a very interesting companion. He laughed when she said witty things, looked serious when she talked sense—and listened to her every word with flattering attention. '/ Brierson? Young Sherrill canvassed his mind for something familiar about the name. It struck him suddenly: David Brierson, author and critic! she had made this mistake somehow, •nd with a whimsical appreciation of

his position, he resolved to humor ft. A writer, herself, it was only natural that-she should be attracted by the atmosphere. Thus it was that he secured a. private word with his hostess just before dinner and confided his secret to her. For if .the truth must be known, Dick Sherrill desired very strongly to remain attractive to his new acquaintance, although he puzzled a little when Caroline Arden laughed and continued to laugh as she agreed to his suggestion, and ran upstairs to speak to Maizie, who, likewise bad her own secret to impart. “He thinks I am Patricia Ainsley,” she said breathlessly, "and I don’t want you to tell him. Carry. Probably he will cease to take any further interest in me if he finds out I am just a silly little aspirant for fame—and I do so want to keep friendly.” Mrs. Arden cheerfully acquiesced and led her young guest down to the dining-room. They were met at the door by Sherrill, and the older woman surrendered her partner to his arm. When he asked permission to call upon her, Maizie had replied unhesitatingly: “I have no regular abiding place, Mr Brierson. I—l am so busy, here, there and everywhere. But we shall meet often here at Caroline’s." The weeks dragged when they did not see each other, and flew when they did. Still, Sherrill kept his lips closed, though every fiber of him was tingling to tell the girl that he loved her. And one day he was very glad that he hadn’t He picked up the morning paper and read in it in flaring headlines, the announcement of Patrlca Ainsley’s approaching marriage to some railroad magnate of Chicago. His blood boiled. In desperation, he paid a visit to his good friend, Mrs. Ashton Arden. He poured out his grief to her and became Silently enraged when she laughed in his face. In the next room was Maizie Shuttieworth. Her eyes were red and swollen from too much emotion of some sort and her lips quivered. She was glad Caroline had company and had left her alone. She wouldn’t have had her guess her weakness for a kingdom. On one of Mrs. Arden’s silver salvers reposed a richly-en-graved card which, read as follows: Mr. and Mrs. George Smith request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter Annie to Mr. David Wells Brierson, St. Anthony's Church, June the eighteenth, at eight o’clock.

Fifteen minutes, later, a fluffy brown head was thrust in the doorway. It was followed immediately by the graceful, well-gowned owner of it and with a little circumspect smile, Caroline Arden tripped across the floor and took her seat on a* divan. Maizie’s nose was tn a book and she did not even look up. Neither did Mrs. Arden look at her, but nevertheless, she —saw. Presently she said: “My dear, I’m giving a luncheon at one. Will you excuse me while I run out and attend to the diningroom? An old friend of yours Is here, and I’ll send him in to keep you company.” Before the girl could protest, her friend had turned the door-knob, was in the corridor and the door had shut behind her. Maizie dabbled her pink eyes viciously with her handkerchief as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and changed her seat to one of the dark corners. “Maizie!” At the sound of her name, called in Brierson’s deep, familiar tones, the girl sprang to her feet and hid her cheeks with her hands. He came up to her and pulled them down from her face. Her flickering gaze met his. Dick Sherrill was looking at her with the look that no girl ever misunderstands, and few resist. But she remembered all at once and jeered away sharply. “Don’t!" she cried, “you have no right—you—” "I have every right," he broke in masterfully, “because I love you better than anything on God’s green earth, and if I am not more mistaken than I have ever been in my life, you—” Scalding tears rained down the girl’s cheeks. “Oh!" she exclaimed in an anguished voice, “this is—unspeakable. And you—to—be married —in a week!” Then it was that he took her in his arms. "Yes," he said fervently, “it you—will take me.” She struggled to free herself, but he held her close—and told her. “We’re to be married in—?” he looked down at Maizie. “In a week,” she answered from the muffled region of a purplish-tan coatsleeve. (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)