Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 December 1898 — A LIVING LIE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A LIVING LIE

By The Duchess.

CHAPTER ll.—(Continued.) “Now that you have been to London,” eays she, “you will find our poor Ireland duller than ever.” “Do you call this place dull?" interrupts he. “Then let me tell you you misjudge your native land. I think it not only the. loveliest, but the liveliest place on earth.” “You are easily pleased,” says she. “He isn’t!” says Tommy, breaking into the conversation with great aplomb. “He bates Miss Maliphant, nurse says, though Xffldy Baltimore wants him to marry her, land she’s a fine girl, nurse says, an’ real smart, and with the gift o’ the gab an’ lots o’ tin——" “Tommy,” says his aunt frantically. It Is indeed plain to everybody that Tommy Is now quoting nurse au naturel, and is betraying confidence in a reckless manner. , “Don’t stop him,” says Mr. DysaYt, glancing at Joyce’s crimson cheeks with something of disfavor. “What is Hecuba to me, or I to Hecuba? I defy you,” a little stormily, “to think I care a farthing ifor Miss Maliphant or for any other woman on earth —save one!” “Oh, you mustn't press your confidences on me,” says she, smiling and dissembling rather finely; “I know nothing. I accuse you of nothing. Only, Tommy, you were a little rude, weren’t you?” “I wasn’t,” says Tommy, promptly, in whom the inborn instinct of self-defense has been largely developed. “It’s true. Nurse says she has a voice like a cow. Is that true?” turning unabashed to Dyeart. “She's expected at the castle next week. You shall come up and judge for yourself,” says he, laughing. “And,” turning ito Joyce, “you will come, too, I hope?” “It is mnnners to wait to be asked,” returns she, smiling. “Oh, as for that,” says he, “Lady Baltimore crossed last night with me and her husband. And here is a letter for you.” lie pulls a note of the cocked-hat order from his pocket. “An invitation from Lady Baltimore,” says Joyce, looking at the big red crest and coloring. “Yes.” “How do you know?” says she, rather auspiciously. The young man raises his hands and eyes. “I swear I had nothing to do with it,” Bays he; “I didn't so much as hint at it. Lady Baltimore spent her time crossing the Channel in declaiming to all who were well enough to hear her that she lived only In the expectation of seeing you again •oon.” CHAPTER 111. The visit to the Court being decided on, Miss Kavanagh undertakes life afresh With a joyous heart. Lord and Lady Baltimore are the best host and hostess in the world, and a visit to them means untnixed pleasure while it lasts. The Court Is indeed the pleasantest house in the county, the most desirable in all respetts, land the ghyest Yet, strange and sad to add, happiness has found no bed within its walls. This is the more remarkable in that the marriage of Lord and Lady Baltimore has been an almost idealistic one. They had been very much in love with each other, iand they grew so strong in their belief in the immutability of their own relations, one to the other, that when the blow fell that separated them, it proved a very lightning stroke, dividing soul from body. Lady Baltimore was at no time a beautiful woman. But there is always a charm In her face, a strength, an attractiveness that might well defy the more material charms of one lovelier than herself. With a soul as pure as her face, and a mind entirely innocent of the world’s evil ways, and the sad and foolish secrets she is compelled to bear upon her tired bosom from century to century, she took with a bitter hardness the revelations of her husband's former life before he married her, related to her by, of course, a devoted friend. Unfortunately the authority was an undeniable one. It was impossible for Lady Baltimore to refuse to believe. The past, too, she might have condoned; though, believing in her husband as she did, it would always have been bitter to her, but the devoted friend had not stopped there; she had gone a step further, a fatal step; she had told her something that had not occurred since their marriage. As a fact, Lord Baltimore had been the hero of several ugly passages in his life. His early life, certainly; but a young wife who has begun by thinking him immaculate, would hardly be the one to lay stress upop that. And when her friend, who had tried unsuccessfully to marry Lord Baltimore and had failed, had in the kindliest spirit, of course, opened her eyes to his misdoings, she had at first passionately refused to listen, then had listened, and then was ready to believe anything. One episode in his past history had been piade much of. The young heroine of it had been au actress. This was bad enough, but when the disinterested friend went on to say that Lord Baltimore had been seen in her company only so long ago as .last week, matters came to a climax. That was many months ago from to-day, but the dhock, when it came, shattered all the sacred feelings In Lady Baltimore’s heart. She grew cold, callous, indifferent; Her mouth, a really beautiful feature, that used to be a picture of serenity and charity personified, hardened. She became austere, cold. She ,was still 5 t good hostess, and those who had known her before her misfortune still loved her. But she made no new friends, and she sat down within herself, as it were, and gave herself up to her fgte, and would probably have died or grown reckless but for her little son.

And it was after the birth of this beloved child that she had been told that her husband had again been seen in company with Mme. Istray, that seemed to add fuel to the fire already kindled. She could not forgive that. It was proof positive of his baseness. He thought her heartless. There was no scandal, no public separation. She said a word or two to him that told him what she had heard, and when he tried to explain the truths of that last libel that had declared him unfaithful to her since her marriage, she had silenced him with so cold, so scornful, so contemptuous a glance and word, that, chilled and angered in his turn, he had left her. Twice afterward he had sought to explain matters, but it was useless. She would not listen; the treacherous friend, whom she never betrayed, had done her work well. Lady Baltimore, though she never forgave her, never forgave her husband, either; she would make no formal attempt at a separation. Before the world she and he lived together, seemingly on the best terms; at all events, on quite as good terms as most of their acquaintances; yet all the world knew how it was with them. So long as there are servants, so long will it b<r impossible to conceal our most sacred secrets. As for Lord Baltimore, he —well, he would know how to console himself. Society, the crudest organization on earth, laughed to itself about him. He had known how to live before his marriage; now that the marriage had proved a failure, he would still know how to make life bearable. In this they wronged him. CHAPTER IV. Luncheon is at an end and the day still heavy with heat, the desire for action that lies in every breast takes fire. They are all tired of doing nothing. The tennis courts lie invitingly empty, and rackets thrust themselves into notice at every turn; as for the balls, worn out from ennui, they insert themselves under each arched instep threatening to bring the owners to the ground unless picked up and made use of. “Who wants a beating?” demands Mr. Dicky Brown at last, unable to pretend lassitude any longer. Taking up a racket, he brandishes it wildly, presumably to attract attention. This is necessary. As a rule, nobody pays any attention to Dicky Browne. He is a nondescript sort of young man, of the negative order, with no feature to speak of, and a capital opinion of himself. Income vague. Age unknown. “Well! That’s one way of putting it,” says Miss Kavanagh, with a tilt of her pretty chin. “Is it a riddle?” asked Dysart. “If so I know it. The answer is—Dicky Browne.” “Oh, I like that!” says Mr. Browne unabashed. “See here, I’ll give you plus fifteen and a bisque, and start myself at minus thirty, and beat you in a canter.” “Dear Mr. Browne, consider the day! I believe there are such things as sunstrokes,” says Lady Swansdown, in her sweet treble.

“There are. But Dicky’s all right,” says Lord Baltimore, drawing up a garden chair close to hers and seating himself upon it “His head is so hard. The sun makes no impression upon granite!” “Ah, granite! that applies to a heart, not a head,” says Lady Swansdown, resting her blue eyes on Baltimore for just a swift second. It is wonderful, however, what her eyes can do in a second. Baltimore laughs lightly, returns her glance four-fold, and draws his chair a quarter of an inch closer to hers. To move it more than that would have been an impossibility. Lady Swansdown makes a slight movement. With a smile seraphic as an angel’s she pulls her lace skirts a little to one side, as if to prove to Baltimore that he has encroached beyond his privileges upon her domain. “People should not crush people. And why do you want to get so very close to me?” This question lies within the serene eyes she once more raises to his. She is a lovely woman, blonde, serene, dangerous! In each glance she turns upon the man who happens at any moment to be next to her, lies an entire chapter on the “Whole Art of Flirtation.” Were she reduced to penury, and the world a little more advanced in its fashionable ways, She might really make a small fortune in teaching young ladies “How to Marry Well.” No man could resist her pupils, once properly finished by her, and turned out to prey upon the stronger sex. “The Complete Angler” would be a title they might filch with perfect honor and call their own. She is a tall beauty, with soft limbs, graceful as a panther, or a eat. Her eyes are like the skies in summer time, her lips sweet and full. The silken hair that falls in soft masses on her Grecian brow is light as corn in harvest, and she has hands and feet that are absolutely faultless. She has even more than all these—a most convenient husband, who is not only now, but apparently always, in a position of trust abroad. Very much abroad. The Fiji or the Sandwich Islands for choice. One can’t hear from those centers of worldly dissipation in a hurry. And, after all, it really don’t very much matter where he is! There had been a whisper or two in the county about her and Lord Baltimore. Everybody knew the latter had been a little wild since his estrangement with his wife, but nothing to signify very muchnothing one could lay one’s finger on, until Lady Swansdown had come down last year to the Court Whether Baltimore was in love with her was uncertain, but all were agreed that she was in love with him. “Whose heart?” asks Baltimore, apropos of her last remark. “Yours?” It is a leading remark, and something in the way it is uttered strikes unpleasantly on the ears of Dysart. Baltimore Is bending over his lovely guest, and looking at her with an admiration tob open to be quite respectful. But she betrays no resentment. She smiles back at him indeed Jtk that Rule alow, seductive wajr of hers.

and makes him an answer in a tone to* low for even those nearest to her to hear. It is a sort of challenge, a tacit acknowledgment that they two are alone even in the midst of all these tiresome people. Baltimore accepts it. Of late he has grown a little reckless. The battling against circumstances has been too much for him. He has gone under. The persistent coldness of his wife, her refusal to hear or believe in him, has had its effect. A man of a naturally warm and kindly disposition, thrown thus back upon himself, he has now given a loose rein to the carelessness that has been n part of his nature since bis mother gave him to the world, and allows himself to swim or go down with the tide that carries his life upon its bosom. Lady Swansdown is lovely and kind. She leans toward Baltimore, her loveiy eyes alight, her soft mouth smiling. Her whispered words, her only half-averted glances, all told their tale. Presently it is clear that a very fully developed flirtation is well in hand. Lady Baltimore coming across the grass with a basket in one hand and her little son hekl fondly by the other, sees and grasps the situation. Baltimore, leaning over Lady Swansdown, the latter lying back in her lounging chair in her usual indolent fashion, swaying her feather fan from side to side, and with her white lids lying on the azure eyes. Seeing it all, Lady Baltimore’s mouth hardens, and a contemptuous expression destroys the calm dignity of her face. For the moment only. Another moment and it is gone; she has recovered herself. The one sign of emotion she has betrayed is swallowed up by her stern determination to conceal all pain at all costs, and, if her fingers tighten somewhat convulsively on those of her boy’s, why, who can be the wiser for that? No one can see it. Dysart, however, who is honestly fond of his cousin, has mastered that first swift involuntary contraction of the calm brow, and a sense of indignant anger against Baltimore and his somewhat reckless companion tires his blood. He springs quickly to his feet. Lady Baltimore, noting the action, though not understanding the motive for it, turns and smiles at him—so controlled a smile that it quiets him at once. “I am going to the gardens to try and cajole Mclntyre out of some roses,” says she, in her sweet, slow way, stopping near the first group she reaches on the lawn—the group that contains, among others, her husband and —her friend. She would not willingly have stayed where they were, but she is too proud to pass them by without a word. “Who will come with me? Oh! no,” as several rise to join her, laughing. though rather faintly. “It is hot compulsory—even though I go alone, I shall feel that I am equal to Mclntyre.” Lord Baltimore had started as her first words fell upon his ears. He had been so preoccupied that her light footfalls coming over the grass had not reached him, and her voice, when it fell upon the air, gave him a shock. He half rises from his seat. “Shall I?” he is beginning, and then stops short; something in her face checks him. “You!” she conquers herself half a second later; ail the scorn and contempt is crushed by sheer force of will out of look and tone, and she goes on as clearly afid as entirely without emotion as though she were a mere maehino—a thing she had taught herself to be. “Not you,” sbo says, gayly, waving him lightly from her. ‘You are too useful here”—as she says this she gives him the softest, if fleetest, smile. It is a masterpiece, “You can amuse one, here and there, while —I want a girl.” "If you are going to the gardens, Lady Baltimore, let me go with you,” says Miss Maliphant, rising quickly and going toward her. She is a big, loud girl, with mouey written all over her in capital letters, but Dicky Browne tells himself she has a good heart. “I should love to go there with you and Bertie.” “Come, then,” says Lady Baltimore, graciously. She makes a step f rward; little Bertie, as though he likes and believed in her, thrusts his small fist into the hand of the Birmingham heiress, and thus ail three pass out of sight. (To be continued.)