Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 183, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 August 1913 — The Woman Hater. [ARTICLE]

The Woman Hater.

The man who sets his heart upon a woman - i Is a chameleon and doth feed on air. Throe things a wise man will not trust: The wind, the sunshine of an April day, And woman's plighted troth—quoted Capt. Beauchamp, cynically. "Considering, my dear Beauchamp, that your adjourn upon this planet cannot have exceeded thirty years, you must have been singularly unfortunate in your expciences of women to adopt such aphorisms," remarked Mr. Wyndham, in answer. "The man who takes them for a creed suggests a boy who, having chanced to come across one or two sour plums among a tree full of sweet ones, vows he will never taste a plum again!" This dialogue took place one summer evening on the lawn in front of Mr. Wyndham’s Surrey residence, while the two men were smoking their cigarettes. Cpt. Beauchamp was an officer in a crack regiment—a man of fortune, handsome, fascinating, Intellectual. Mr. Wyndham, who was well advanced in middle age, had known him from his boyhood, and the captain was infrequent visitor at the Pines. There had been an unseen listener to this conversation. The two men were seated close to a very large rhododendron bush, and were unaware that a lady was seated on the other side of it. Clarice Wyndham, the only daughter of the host, who was a widower, was dreaming over a volume of Browning when the quotations with which this story opened struck upon her ear. A look of mingled pain and sadness stole over her beautiful face. After a silence Wyndham consulted his watch. "By Jove!" he said, "we have only just time to dress for dinner! I expected a lady down. Hark! I can hear a motor on the road. I shouldn’t wonder if it be she!” "A lady? You did not tell me you expected any one down to-day,” said Beauchamp, lighting another cigarette. "I understood some people were coming to-morrow!” "Who is it? Some one I know?” interrupted Beauchamp, a little Irritahly. —— "Yes. Lady Beaton—Maud Selby that was. You—Eh! What’s the matter?” Beauchamp had given such a violent start that toe cigarette dropped from his lips. "Oh, nothing!” he answered, stooping to pick it up again. "Yes, the motor has stopped at the lodge gate. It will be she!” cried Wyndham. Beauchamp turned upon his heel and strode towards toe house. Lady Beaton was a fair, handsome woman of about twenty-sx, and fascinating. She had only recently been married to the rich peer whose name she bore, and, as she was the daughter of a poor country clergyman, it was considered a fortunate match, although her husband was seventy. After the first greetings she said, rather anxiously, "Who is the man I caught a glimpse of through the trees entering toe house? His figure seemed familiar to me.” “Oh, an old friend of yours—Capt Beauchamp,” answered Wyndham. A couple of hours afterwards Beauchamp was smoking a cigar out of doors in the moonlight His meeting with Lady Beaton in the draw-ing-room had been toat of an old acquaintance, and her woman’s tact had carried her though the situation with at least equal success. But all the time Beauchamp was under the severest tension.

He had strolled some little distance from the house when the woman, wrapped in a light cloak, advanced rapidly toward him. “Maud! —Lady Beaton!” he exclaimed. She stood in his path. "Give me a few minutes* conversation with you. I—l want to explain!" she cried In a broken voice. "If you refer to the past, no explanation is needed. You were wooed by a richer and a titled suitor, and you ignored that you woro the plighted wife of another!” "I know how badly, how wickedly, I have acted! You wore away at the time, and every possible pressure, by father, mother, friends, wm put upon me. Did you receive the letter I wrote in my distraction?” He bowed his head. "Forgive me, Herbert, forgive me! I hardly know how it camo about. I must have been under some spell—some hallucination!” “No you were so dazzled by the coronet that you could not see right from wrong!” "It hM brought me nothing but misery and remorse,” she moaned. ‘'Nonsense! This meeting hM unnerved you, hM brought back memories that are still fresh.” "But only listen to me!" “No, it would be useless. The fact will still remain that you mo not Maud Selby, but Lady Beaton, that every tie is broken between us forever. If you havo no more thought for your honor m a wife than to rtek being discovered here with me, I still retain too much respect for the woman I ones loved and looked upon aa my future wife to prolong this comvernation. Good-night!" With a bow, he turned upon his heel. When he returned to the house he found Mr. Wyndhm atone to the smoking room. “I am sorry to sag that I anggt lean eprly tomorrow morning. ar data Windham. Do ggt behmmii

to-night to any one. I must ask you to make my adieux!” Wyndham looked up at the pale set face, upon which the recent scene had left its traces, and answered, "I am sorry to hear that. I had anticipated some pelasant days together; and to-morrow we have some nice people coming down. But. if it must be, it must be.” As he passed into the hall he met Lady Beaton, who had just returned from the grounds. "I have beep indulging In a moonlight walk, hoping to hear the nightingale. But they are not singing to-night, it would seem,” she said, speaking quite loudly. She was pale, and her eyes looked a little red, but her tone was free and unembarrassed. "It was very ungallaht of the nightingales to disappoint a lady,” he answered, in the same strain. "I shall find more than compensation in the drawing room. What a delicious voice Clarice has! She is singing one of my favorites— Schubert’s 'Serenade.* Are you coming to listen?** "I am afraid I must deny myself tos pleasure. Good night. Lady Beaton!” Four summers have come and gone, and it is the June of the fifth year when we again look upon the verdant lawn and bosky gardens of the Pines. The scene is the same, so are the dramatis personae, SZX Mr. Wyndham, looking rather grayer, though he still a handsome man on the sunny side of sixty, is smoking a cigarette; Clarice is reading aloud, while Beauchamp, now a colonel, is reposing in a chaise* longue. But how altered! He has been serving abroad and has returned home invalided. ■%. Outwardly at last there, is little left of the proud, indomitable, selfreliant man of the past in the pale, worn-looking figure, whose hollow gray eyes, once so ruthlessly keen, are now intently fixed upon the reader. • ; Claries la little changed, save that her beauty is more matured;, her tall, graceful figure is more firmly set. The dark eyes are as soft and lusrous as ever, the pale complexion is perhaps a shade wamer, but a Shadow of sadness is over all. Beauchamp has been staying at toe Pines nearly a month. When he first came he had not long left a sickbed, and was incapableof using any exertion. But the genial, Surrey air has wrought wonders upon him. Each day he is gaining strength. He glanced toward Mr. Wyndham, who was dozing In his chair. Then he whispered softly, "Clarice!” And, as though there had befin a compelling magic in his voice, she rose and, with hot, flushed cheeks, advanced to his side.

“Clarice!” he whispered again, taking her trembling hand in his. “Dare I say that I love you? Dare I ask you to be my wife?” Was the declaration as unexpeoted as It was abrupt? Oh, no; his eyes had uttered it long before. She was waiting only for the word. Their eyes mot, and though she made no audible reply, the next moment his arms were about her and his Ups pressed to hers. Mr. Wyndham awoke with a start, stared amazedly tor a moment at what he saw, then closed his eyes again and gave a warning cough. When he looked up again Clarice was gone. The two men regarded each other, and there was something in Mr. Wyndham's face which apprised Beauchamp that he had witnessed this love passage. Beauchamp said quietly, “I have asked Clarice to be my wife, Mr. Wyndham. Does it meet with your approval?" “There Is not another man I know to whom I would so heartily say “Yes,” answered the father, rising and grasping his hand. "Thank you!” said Beauchamp, warmly returning his pressure. Then, after a moment’s thought, while the other resumed his seat, he said, “Do you remember a conversation we had upon this very spot just about five years ago?" Wyndham, who was lighting a cigarette, nodded. "You have changed your mind since then,” be said, with a sly twinkle in his eye.—Modern Society.