Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 127, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 June 1917 — A Mid-Victorian Maid [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A Mid-Victorian Maid

By Alice E. Ives

(Copyright. 1917, by W. G. Chapman.)

“Fm glad you are asking little Zenaide Farr to your teas and tennis games. Poor child! since she came back from school, over a year ago, I haven’t seen her anywhere but here.” “Of course not, and you probably won’t while that old crarfk of a father lives,” said Mrs. Peter Maynard, handing her guest a cup of tea. He lives up there on the hill with Zenaide and a housekeeper, and he wouldn’t let that girl outside the stone wall once a year if he could help it.” “What’s the matter with him?” asked Mrs. Felky between sips of tea. “He has peculiar ideas about women, thinks the way girls are brought up today is setting them on a swift run to the bottomless pit.” “Well the hand-painted faces of some of them might easily lead to that supposition. But does he think he can keep her shut up forever? Some Romeo will get over that stpne wall, and Zenaide will fly the coop.” “I wouldn’t wonder. Zenaide had brought back a good many twentieth century views from school. But in the main her early training stays by her. Anthony Farr Is a pious bigot, and thinks the stage an Invention of the devil. I don’t believe Zenaide ever was in a theater.” “How -strange,” laughed the other woman. “How does he happen to let her come here?” “He knew my father years ago, and I’ve known him ever since we came here to live, six years ago. You could hardly find Oakhills on the map then, but It’s getting to be something of a summer resort now.” “What would he say,” laughed the other woman, “if he knew you had introduced his little Puritan to an actor?” “For heaven’s sake don’t tell her or anyone else Robert Cary is an actor. She mustn’t know Just yet. I’ve got to

break it gently to her. My conscience is smiting me now. But you see Robert is so fond of tennis, we couldn’t make up the two on a side without her, and she’s the best tennis player out here. So I said to him: ‘Just wait till Zenalde Farr comes, and —’ ” ‘“Zenalde Farr!’ he laughed. ‘She must be a chorus girl! That’s their brand of name.’ Well you should have seen his face when the dainty little figure in the rosebud-sprigged muslin, demurely down to her instep, the frilled fichu and the big hat came into view. ‘Ah,’ he said as though smelling a rose. ‘A mid-Victorian maid!’ “Zenalde Farr, I Informed him. But this time he didn’t laugh. I’m afraid the poor fellow is in deep. Aa for Zenalde, I don’t know. Girls with her training don’t wear their hearts on the outside. But Romeo will climb that wall, and before that happens I’ve got to tell her.” “Yes,” answered Mrs. Felky, “if you’re reckoning at all with the old man, I should say the sooner the beF ter?*-'"' “Robert Cary is a splendid fellow.I’ve known him a long time, and it’s such a pretty romance, I hate to. break it up.” "Perhaps it has gone too far for you to break it up. How do you know but that he is Just amusing himself? Men have done that before—and It will be the girl who will suffer.” Mrs. Maynard was silent, thinking. (Then she said with something like conviction: “Perhaps you are right. If she comes today I will tell her.” Zenalde meant to come. Even then she was dressing with a kind of ecstatic delight In every move she made. Cary had told her that he had some business that would take him near Oakhills that day, and though he | never came out for week-ends to Mrs. Maynard’s unless especially invited, he would try to run over there for an ihour or two late in the afternoon if

he might hope to meet her tnere. Like Juliet, time traveled a leaden-footed pace till she could see him, and she found herself starting out much too early. When she looked at her tiny watch she discovered it was only three. That certainly jcould not b 6 considered “late in the afternoon.” So she concluded to make a detour of .about a mile by the river road. She loved that way by the river, for often little boats went gliding past, sometimes with a solitary rower, but more often a man and a woman, and always they seemed happy. ’ A small boat, keeping close to the opposite shore, came slowly down the river. The man was so earnestly talking to the girl in the. stern that sometimes he stopped rowing and let the boat drift. She had flowers in her hand and she trailed them in the water and, as he bent nearer to her, she threw one of them in his face. He caught it, kissed jthe flower and thrust it into a little pocket. Then he looked up quickly toward the shore as though fearing he had been observed, and began to row quickly. As they came nearer Zenaide, who had been watching, suddenly recognized the man. It seemed that everything became chaos before her eyes. But she pulled herself together and went on watching. The girl was very pretty and the man, Robert Cary, stopped rowing and drew nearer and nearer to her. Suddenly he took her in his arms and kissed her many times on the lips. She struggled and tried to push him away. Then she screamed. Her cry must have attracted someone on the shore for he drew away and both looked toward the bank. She begged him to-let her get out, and half rose from her seat, but he made her sit down and began to row swiftly down the stream and was soon around the bend and out of sight. Zenaide, crushed, horror-stricken, rose weakly and staggered on, not to go to Mrs. Maynard’s, but toward home. After awhile she dropped down again in a secluded place on the road, away from the river. She felt too tired and exhausted to go on. Besides, she did not yet wish to meet her father and be asked questions about her visit to Mrs. Maynard. She had never yet lied to her father, and she shrank from beginning. She wondered what she would do about Jason. He was the old servitor who was always sent with the funny old cart to fetch her Ifbme from Mra Maynard’s. She remembered how once, when the old man had been seen coming, Robert Cary had said: “Jason in search of the Golden Fleece!” He had looked meaningly at her hair, and added, with a sigh: “Fortunate Jason! He always finds it —and bears it away 1 It must be wonderful to be Jasonl” She walked back .to the road Jason would have to travel. It would nbt do for him to go to Mrs. Maynard’s and find she had not been there. After a time he came jogging along with the old mare. She met him and got into the cart. Though he asked no questions, his perturbed face seemed to demand an explanation of such an unusual proceeding, So she simply said she had preferred to walk part of the way, but it might be just as well to say nothing to her father, as it might worry him. Jason promised discretion, but looked as though he would not be the second time a party to deceit. As the days went on Zenaide felt that she must invent some excuse to Mrs. Maynard for staying away, so she wrote her she was not feeling very well and had had a slight accident to her wrist, so that she could not play tennis. She felt like a wicked sinner for having written these but she could see no other way. One day as she came in from the garden she heard voices. It was Mrs. Maynard’s! Yes, and her father’s! She had actually invaded the sanctum! Zenaide went ip. A man rose at her en- 1 trance. Robert Cary! She went so white at sight of him Mrs. Maynard thought she must have been more ill than she had said. Giving Cary a formal greeting, she_paid all her attention to the lady. Her father chatted with Cary and the two seemed to be on very good terms. In a pause in her talk Farr broke In:

“Zenalde,” he said, “Mr. Cary tells me he knows you. I can’t recall your speaking cf him. Still, you may have. Simply the name Cary may have meant nothing- But-Robert Cary, the son of my old college chum, Bob, means very much to me. He has promised to come again to see me. I want you to be friends.” Zenalde forced a smile as she nodded acquiescence to her father, and again gave her attention to Mrs. Maynard. It was torture to be in the room with this man and, on pretense of showing Mrs. Maynard something, she took her out in the garden. After this, Cary came several times, but Zenalde would never see him. Then her father took her to task. But how .cpuld’she tell him ? One day Cary brought her to bay In the garden. “Zenalde!” he Implored, "Why arb you treating me this way? Mrs. Maynard thinks It may be because I am an actor. But If your father can forgive that, why cannot you?” “I wonder you dare come here,” she said. "I saw—l couldn’t help seeing that disgraceful scene in the boat, and you—” , He broke in on her with a peal of laughter. “And you can insult me by laughing! Oh!” He caught at her arm as she turned to go and made her hear him. “Listen to me! lam what they call a movie star. That was all for the camera.” And he went on to explain. “Oh, Zenalde! Dear heart! Don’t make me suffer any more. There is no camera here now. I wait to tell you— I must tell you—l love you! J IOYO Xpu!” -r- _

A Small Boat