The Rhos Herald

[All Bights Eessbted.] Phyllis' Adventure BY .TEAN MIBDLEMASS, Aatl or of "Count Reraini," Scoria and Strife," O(C, The rain was pouring in torrents as she Stood, limp and helpless, on the stretch of road that lies between S.idgate and Folke- stone. Phyllis Stourton was a wilful young beauty who, on exploration bent, Had started on a jtf&bious morning in search of some pleasing adventure. She had been warned that the weather was li',>lv to be "dirty," but when -does youth ace ,Jt a warning if it does not oincid with inclination. "She would b, all right," she declared, "and if it did rain, in these civilised days a cab or a 'bus would not be far off." From which, it may be inferred that Phyllis Stourton was Xiondon-bred. She was so, and wished with all her heart she were in Picca- dilly, looking out of the window of the Lyceum Club, instead of gazing hopelessly around at dripping trees and a road fast be- coming ankle deep in mud, while her be- coming muslin frock was saturated till it was » mere flimsy rag; and yet there was never a conveyance of any sort within sight or hail. Ah! Something moving in the distance. Whether it were a cart or a motor she re- solved to stop it and ask for help. Surely even a boor would not be barbarous enough to refuse assistance to a wandering damsel in so sore a plight. "Hullo Corn in Egypt-an omnibus." Her troubles were over. She would be landed in Folkestone in next to no time. Not so fast, pretty Phyllis. "Full," shouted the conductor in a sten- torian voice. Then seemingly taking pity on tier miserable condition, as he felt the rain streaming down his neck from the brim of his straw hat, he stopped the vehicle. "You can get up here along of me, young lady, if you like," he said, "leastwise it is ,better than the ditch." Phyllis needed no pressing; with one spring she was on the footboard, and the rain Streamed from her erst dainty skirt as she jumped. Nor was the footboard any drier than the roadside, only it would get her home at last. She had a dripping umbrella, but she could not hold it up; tlure was no space, and in truth her condition seemed to be but little ameliorated, and she looked longingly at the inside passengers in their cosy, ury seats. Several of them were men, yet no one offered to change places with her-only one lady suggested that she might come just inside, where the elements would not reach her quite so ragingly. She followed the advice, but it was difficult, since the omnibus was too low for her to Stand upright. A middle-aged clergyman offered her his hand to steady her," he said, not his seat-that he retained most determinedly. Phyllis rejected the offer of the hand with scorn—his Knee would have been more useful, she thought. She was a young woman of flippant tongue, and was about to tell him how much she preferred the aid of her own umbrella to that of his proffered hand, when suddenly speech was arrested, and eyes into eyes they looked at each other, with something of recognition iu the gaze. The outcome of the reciprocal glances was scarcely pleasing. No word was uttered, and no further civility of any sort was offered by the elderly cleric, who looked round at the rain as it pelted against the windows- save for the wetting it would entail, he would have forthwith quitted the position. He, however, decided for dry clothes, while Phyllis stood on, kept steady by her umbrella. At first when she saw him she had paled and appeared troubled, but a twinkle soon came into her pretty eyes, and a smile about her rosy mouth. Phyllis could not long remain under a cloud, the sunshine of her nature must assert itself, and the absurdity of a most trying situation appeal to her sense of the humorous. Folkestone at last! At the very outskirts the antagonistic clergyman, pushing so roughly against Phyllis that she fell forward into the arms of a fat woman, got out of the conveyance, and the laughing girl—for by this time she had thoroughly recovered from her passing embarassment—sank down into the seat he had vacated, and looked about her assuredly, as though taking her companions into the confidence that she intended always to have the best of him. In the corner sat a man she had not ob- served till then, but he had been watching her with keen interest. "A historiette," he mentally decided. "I will fathom it-make first-class copy." He was a sprouting novelist, always on the look out for incident, moreover the girl her- self interested him, she was so fair to look on. He was a young man of generous and gentlemanlike proclivitits; twice he had been on the point of rising to give her his seat, but, rivetted by the mute passage at arms be- tween her and the clergyman, he had been too much absorbed till it was too late to move in the matter. Only when Phyllis got out did he also do go, but he did not attempt to follow her, at least not In a t manner that she should sus- pect him of doing so, though to find who she .a8 he was quite resolved, also to learn what the episode was that connected her with the man whom her presence seemed so greatly to Jtiave agitated. "Wampachs!" so the young lady was, as he had supposed, not a mere nobody, only a delicious type of the modern young woman, whose pleasure it is to wander about unac- companied, and who is ever ready to resent a familiarity He must be careful, for Leices- ter Barclay, susceptible beauty-lover as i;e was, was greatly inclined to be in love with the fair Phyllis. He had no wet clothes to change, so he wandered into Wampachs for a whisky and soda, and, if possible, for a chat with the young lady who superintended the bar, and who was one of his numerous ac- quaintances. A couple of well directed remarks and, without giving himself away, he was au fait with much that he wanted to know. Miss Stourton was the daughter of a de- cadent city merchant, who had so over- stepped his means, which had once been very f large, that he had left his only child with nothing but her beauty for dower, and no- thing worldly and financially to depend on but the benevolence and friendliness of an aunt—her mother's sister, and who, strenu- ous though Phyllis' efforts were to free her- self from shackles and make an honest and substantial livelihood for herself, had no be- lief ill her success. Phyllis St-ourtonwas out on a holiday visit to her aunt. Notwithstanding that lady's ostentatious kindness, the existence of her mm mm precluded all thought of so good { ami impecunious a young woman «s i Tlo iiij> iving* a constant member of hai household. I Mora interested than ever in the heroin? I ot tlio rain, Ci" T" u rl i was mo^t J ]b« 1.J u/nf-'o lie *•»•* t jPhyilia was a Jüurnalist and in good witu, though where she resided when in town his ccjii 'intakes., •who had given 1 so milch lutormation, could not tell him. 1 During this lengthy inter- I larclod as it was with amiable amenities, a considerable time had elapsed, and somewhat, to Cia Barclay's surprise just as he rose to I taks Ms departura he saw Pkyllis, clad in sombre Hack, walking towards a side door that led cm to the Leas. The tropical rain of the afternoon had settled into a soft drizzle. That even in this modified weather she should again venture out without some strong motive was in • credible. There was a mystery in the air, of that he felt certain; he must fathom it. This time he followed her in earnest, but most care- | fully; allowing her no chance of suspecting his supervision. clear of the hotel she trotted along UFC j a brisk pace till she reached a spot where SOME bushes guarded the front of a large house. She did not, however, go in at the house-gate, but passed round the bushes to the sea side. Up and down a walk that lay beneath them aman was pacing, as though on a quarter deck. He was evidently waiting, in irrita- tion at delay. He wore a travelling cap, the peak of which was drawn over his eyes, and the collar of his coat was turned up—more, Cis Barclay thought, for disguise than to protect him from the elements. This suspicion mad» him resolved to have a nearer look at the fellow," whom, to his astonished sight, he saw Phyllis had joined. I» a casual sort of way he passed them, I* remarked BY neither—they were too much engimSAD with each other. A low whistle murmured on Cis Barclay's liPb, fortunately it was lost to their ears in the sea-swish. He had recognised Phyllis' friend, and the recognition had given him sorrow—explained too it did, to some extent, the episode with the older man in the earlier part of the day. Interested in Phyllis as he was, even on the verge of being in love with her, he felt that knowing what he knew of the man who was her companion, something must be done to save her from him. But how could this salvation be brought about?" Cis Barclay was perplexed. In search of copy he had not expected to run across a startling adventure, the difficulties of which he felt almost powerless to stem, and, his head down, a -,ery dejected, thoughtful Cis Barclay it was, who wended his way back to the town; and yet he had always considered himself to be a man of many resources. Instinctively, as it were, he wandered back to Wampachs, though his own quarters were in quite a different direction, but it seemed as if he must hover about the spot where she dwelt, and thus, perchance, receive inspira- tion by which he could help her. Till her return he would wait about, and then over dinner and a bottle of champagne he would decide how a painful revelation should be made to this girl, to whom he had not even been introduced. It was a long wait, and the rain still drizzled, but at last she came flying along like a happy lapwing, trill- ing a low, sweet tune as she sped. Alas! alas! to mix a drop of gall with such happiness was scarcely an enviable task, yet Cis Barclay was not the first man who was learning what it costs to be cruel in order to be kind, nor did the poignancy of the stab he had to administer trouble him so much at that moment as the difficulty he had in ad- ministering it at all. If he told the girl what he knew about this man she had evidently accepted as a lover, not only would she not believe him, but he would put himself out of all chance of win- ning her liking and esteem, which was a catastrophe he by no means intended to court. ".La nuit porte conseil," say the French, Cis Barclay, the fates being propiti- ous, might find a modus operandi by the mor- row. jLeantiine Phyllis had passed into her Aunt's sitting-room. "Where have you been? Are you wet through?" was the query. "Really you modern girls are an untenable property," and Lady Best — she was the widow of a city knight-laughed-ahe was evidently in rare good humour. "No, I am not wet—got a seat In a "bus, and who do you think was in it? He offered me his hand to keep me steady, till he saw who I was, and then he put it in his pocket." "Oh, Phyllis, I hope you have not been meeting with any disgraceful adventure. You ( are so reckless and headstrong." "Most respectable, I assure you—the hand pocketer was the Reverend Henry Carter. "Ah! I did not know he was in Folke- stone." "I knew he was in Folkestone, but what I do not know is why he hates me so cordi- ally." "Because you will carry on that foolish flirtation with his son." "That's no reason—I am as good as he is." "Well, never mind the Carters, father and son, just now. I am only thankful the son is not here to hang around." Phyllis smiled, but said not a word, and the Aunt went or- "Here is an invitation to dine to-morrow night with the Russell Owens, and meet a few musical friends in the even- ing." "Y ou will accept?" "Naturally. I do not suppose the Carters will be there. If they are, I do hope you will not fool with him. It is such bad style." "No chance of his being there, but I hope there will be an indefinite somebody. It is so dull to have no one with whom to exchange ideas." "Really, Phyllis, you are incorrigible. I am glad you do not always live with me, it would wear me out to look after you. As it is I often lie awake at night, thinking of what will become of you." "Marry and settle down is the destiny of most girls." "Just what you will not do—you are too volatile." Phyllis laughed. Well, never mind, auntie. Accept the Russell Owens' invitation and trust the future to luck." The first individual on whom Phyllis' glance fell, after she had shaken hands with her hostess, was Cis Barclay. To her he was a mere minim, though she had a vague sense that she had seen him somewhere before, while he He was so startled by the unexpected vision of Phyllis as, radiant in beauty and gowned in soft rose tinted mousseline de soie, she glided in after her portly aunt, that he had somiB difficulty in repressing ill-timed .4 emotion. The gods were indeed kind. This was the very meeting for which he had been longing. An introduction between a distinguished journalist and a well known iiovolisf, and jJ"i :"r\ I'fl,, The Russell Owens were very appreciative of liters4. T< 3.11d art, though they tiieiiieelves never used pell or pencil. The conversation became general. Mrs. Russell Owen strongly objected to Lete-a-tetcs at the dinner table, and always selected guests who could speak 1 cut and to the point. Cis Barclay was one of these and on this particular evening he seemed inclined to beat the record. He was so brilliant and so ver- satile that Phyllis felt glad she had met him. He was another man of the clever contin- gency that contributes to social success." I Under the joint influences of appreciation and champagne, he became venturesome, and resolved to throw the bomb he had been I carrying snug in his waistcoat pocket on the heart side. Have you read a smart book called Irre- pressible Peccadilloes'?" he asked, his eyes on Phyllis, though he address.ed his hostess. Phyllis did not blench, and Mrs. Russell Owen answered briskly: "Indeed, I have—most clever and pointed. It is published anonymously. I should like' to know the author. Are you acquainted II with him, Mr. Barclay?" It is written by a fellow called Carter- Tom Carter. I saw him but a day or two ago —but I should scarcely dare to introduce him." Why so! Do the Irrepressible Peccadil- loes come too near home?" I do not know about peccadilloes, but I personally avoid men who sail under false colours. "This grows interesting. Is he Carter, ag is he someone else?" Oh, he is Carter fast enough-son of parson, but he poses for a bachelor, when I I know he is a married man." Cis Barclay's eyes as he spoke were stil! firmly fixed on Phyllis. From' peony to white-rose—the change was so sudden that the shock was evidently severe. He regretted the pain he had caused, but was she saved was the question? She did not faint, which he quite expected she would do, neither did she speak, but from her eyes she darted glances towards him which scarcely told of the love he hoped to win. How did he know that Carter was mar- ried?" both Mrs. Russell Owen andLadyBest asked in one breath, the latter being the more deeply interested of the two. A friend of mine chanced to be in the church waiting for another wedding party who, like Carter, elected the early morning for their nuptials," he explained. "And the lady-his wife-who is she?" That my friend does not know-nothing save that she is pretty and young." "He does not live with her?" He poses as a bachelor, and flirts with trusting maidens, as he did before." What a dreadful man," said Mrs. Russell Owen, laughing. "I am afraid, however, there are a great many like him. I don't know that I should be afraid of the acquaint- ance on that account. But then I am very free and easy. What do you say, Phyllis?" I am not in the very least afraid of him," answered Phyllis, promptly. She had abso- lutely recovered her sang froid, and her eyes were sparkling with fun. "But, Phyllis, you hear he is a married man," expostulated Lady Best. Phyllis only shrugged her shoulders, ana murmured that she was quite capable of tak- ing care of herself. She evidently had no intention of giving herself away. nor did she, think it worth while to be angry with Cis Barclay to whom she turned and-a dawn of light having come to her—she asked "if ha had not been sitting in the corner of the Sandgate omnibus the previous day, while she stood supporting herself by means of a dripping umbrella?" This was turning the tables with a venge- ance-the young man who sat in a comfort- able corner while the young lady stood, was silenced, and so the conversation drifted away from Tom Carter and his private' affairs. At the music.ale, to which several other guests arrived, Cis Barclay was no mean con- tributor. He had an exquisite, well trained baritone voice, which, appealing as it did to Mrs. Russell Owen's artistic sense, made him one of her especial favourites. Nor did it seem that Phyllis was impervious to the charm of Cis Barclay's musical powers. Shw rather overloaded him with compliments. In fact it almost seemed as if she were heaping coals of fire, encouraging the admiration for her, which she would not have been a woman and a charming coquette if she had not known she had awakened. If to drive him crazy for her sake was the punishment she intended to mete out to him for interference, assuredly she was succeed- ing to her heart's delight. When Cis Barclay went home that night, it was only to sleep fitfully, while he dreamt of Phyllis, nor was his love rendered any easier to endure by a telegram he received in the morning, obliging him to go to town for 11 9 a cc.uple of days. By the time he returned his love for her had become a passion, and he wandered about in the hope of meeting, while he wondered if he dared call on Lady Best. On the Leas three individuals were ap- proaching. The old hero of the Sandgate episode, his son, the clever author of Irre- pressible Peccadilloes," and-Phyllis. Whatever the trouble that had divided a I now seemingly happy trio, it had evidently been overcome. Instead of avoiding Cis Barclay, as might have been expected, they went straight up to him, and TOIll Carter held out his hand, while Phyllis smiled. "Well met, old fellow," said Carter, "quite a conclave of scribblers seems to have congregated to seek inspiration from the waves. My wife—Phyllis—I think you are acquainted with her—my father I must pre- sent." So utterly taken aback was Cis Barclay, that he forgot to bow to the now grinning, pleasant-faced cleric, who was evidently au courant with what had occurred, and enjoyed the joke of Cis Barclay's bewilderment as much as did the newly announccl husband and wife. And bewildered assuredly Barclay was. During the couple of days he had been ab- sent, the old man's objections to Phyllis' marriage with his son had been overcome by the intervention of Ladv Best, to whom Phyllis had 'coiif'os'-ed the share she had had ir, the "In ( 1 le Peccadilloes," when she allowed 1 ei 11 some weeks before to be lured into a private marriage with the author of the well-known book. j "She could not help it, but she loved him ] so, and he pleaded so hard that it was indeed jj one of these Irrepressible Peccadilloes that no girl could withstand," she told: her Auntie, I when she hung- about her neck—forgiven, and -+ promised that a euro of £ 5,000 she had 1n- tended to leave Phyllis at her death should forthwith be settled, and Tom Carter's angry father therewith conciliated. Thus everyone was content except Cis Bar- cl:a.y, who w»5 In; rn means satisfied with n "1 were to lira, r u more he ever regretted that a. love of interference had caused him to be- come ci tfce eoiiort who eoimait Irrepres- sible Peccadilloes. i