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Copyright.] I To-Day's Short…

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Copyright.] To-Day's Short Story. AN IDKLC OF MONTE CARLO. I By Gertrude Warren. "Messieurs, faites rotre jen!" Of Rein no va plas!" The nasal voices of the croupiers gave out tHe unvarying formulae, and both ends of the long green table were instantly covered by ponderous five franc pieces, with here and there rarer stakes in gold. It was spring in the Riviera, and although at the end of February the best" English people and the smartest" Americans had hardly put in an appearance at Monte Carlo, the tables were yet crowded from midday until close on midnight with visitors from Nice and other neighbouring towns, and with hordes of Germans, broadly-built, ill-dressed, d thrifty, who contrive to economise dently at hotels and pensions to risk a five francs nightly at the all-enticing .tulette. f Vingt-cinq, vingt-sept, s'il voua plait;" < A sweet feminine toice with a marked I English accent murmured the numbers ia the croupier's ear, and the owner of the voice the while pushed her five-francs stake for- ward with a small, well-shaped hand in a pe&rl-grey glove. Two tall Englishmen stood a little behind the player's chair, but the lady herself was screened iTOm their view by a crowd oi players and of spectators anxious to play but unable to reach the tables. One of the Englishmen was a florid man of apparently sixty years of age, with an erect military bearing and a white moustache; the other, considerably his junior, was a handsome, soldierly-looking man with well-cut features, clear bine eyes, and a complexion bronzed by long exposure to a torrid sun. Both men. General Grimthorpe and Major Benyon, had recently distinguished them- selves in a tribal war, and had fled from London lionising with the shyness which so often distinguishes British-born heroes. To Major Benyon the scene was absolutely new. For more than .twenty years he had been absent from Europe; absorbed in his profession, he had spent his leisure in com- piling military handbooks, and had avoided social gaieties. Now, in his 47th year, he had not only attained distinction as a soldier, but he was already regarded as an authority on the subject about which he wrote. Added to that, he had unexpectedly succeeded to a considerable income, and had returned home to see after his property and to await the honours which were to fall to his share. Pending this consummation, Major Benyon had been persuaded by his old friend General Grimthorpe to run over to Monte Carlo to get out of London fogs for a day or two"; and now for the first time in his life the younger man found himself in the close atmosphere of the far-famed Casino on a fine evening in February gazing up at the ornate ceiling, and round at the painted walls, and about him at the painted faces, and beneath at the glittering piles of silver and gold upon the fatal green table. Faites votre jeu!" sang out the croupier. Vilagt-einq, vingt-sept!" murmured the roice of the English lady seated by the croupier's aide. And then a curious thing happened to Major Benyon. Fcr the gilded rooms, the pushing cosmopolitan crowd, the overdressed French- women, the pink-compleiioned English, the Blender, pale, and smart Americans, and the ponderous Germans vanished into nothing- ness. Instead of the stifling atmosphere of the crowded gambling saloons, laden with sickly perfumes, he seemed to fee! the fresh breeze of an English June blowing upon his face; above him was spread an English sky, clear blue, but cloud-flecked; beneath him the grey river flowed, catching the reflections of the pollarded willows which stretched their featherly foliage over the flowering r&ed3 and water-lily buds; and immediately before him, leaning against the red cushions, the loveliest girl in the world smiled upon him; and murmured that she loved him. "What a long time ago it all happened! And yet how strangely vivid the remem- brance was! Harry Benyon was five-and-twenty on that 27th of June nearly Z2 years ago, and "} I .t'" vingt-cinq, vingt-sept, s'il vous plait!" Was it the repetition of those numbers in the gambling saloons of Monte Carlo, which had brought the sweet dead past back to him so vividly, he wondered? Or was it- Yes, of course! What a fool he had been not to recognise at once the spell which had evoked those memoriezi The lady in the big white hat, whose face he could not see, but who persistently 3taked and lost on the numbers 25, 27," had a voice just like that of the girl he had been so fond of—the girl who promised to marry him years ago before he went out to India. Moved by a strong curiosity to see the player's face, he shifted his position so that be stood immediately behind her, and could study the elaborate waves of her glossy brown hair beneath her picture hat." The hair of the girl he loved had been much fairer, as he realised with a touch of disappointment. But the voice was identical -& deep, sweet voice, which stirred his heart strangely even now. Why do I always stake on 25, 27?** she was saying in reply to a question put by a lady at her side. Well, it's a very absurd and sentimental reason, and, of course, you will laugh. But 25 was the age of my first gweetheart, and the last day I saw him was the 27th of June. Oh, no! It was not Sir George. One never marries one's first sweet- heart, you know, except in books." Major Benyon's heart beat hard. He was almost afraid to change his position lest a, glance at the speaker's face should disillnsionise him. The voice of her com- panion reached his ears as he manoeuvred to command a view of her. I had no idea you were so romantic, Lady Bevan." The next minute he saw her face fully. She was very beautiful, with the beauty which some tall and graceful English women carry far into middle life; a tranquil, stately loveliness which, when unaccompanied by fatness, makes a British-born beauty of 40 pass at a little distance for eight or nine and twenty. She was exquisitely dressed in white silk, glittering with jet paillettc3, and adorned with billowy ruffles of white chiffon, with here and there a, gleam of diamonds. Ethel Nelson, the girl in the punt 22 years ago, had never worn anything but the simplest of tweeds and serges; but then Ethel Xelson had been the eighteen-year-old daughter of a needy clergyman, who had flatly refused his consent to the engagement between his daughter and a penniless young officer ordered out to India. Yet those were Ethel's blue eyes without a doubt, and the features, though more accentuated, and perhaps even hand- somer, were Ethel's also. He would not have known her if he had not heard her speak, but he could swear to Ethel's voice anywhere. Lady Bevan's blue eyes idly scanned the groups about the gambling table, but they rested upon Harry Benyon's iace in passing with no gleam of recognition. From where he stood, he saw his friend General Grim- thrope bend to speak to. Lady Bevan's neighbour; presently the latter rose and joined the old officer in a tour round the rooms. They passed close to where Major Benyon stood, and looked across at Lady Bevan. "A deucedly pretty woman," was the General's comment. Who was she before she married Bevan?" Oh, just a country parson's daughter, living in the quietest way in a parish in the Thames valley, I believe. Ah, there is Sir George! Look how her face lights up at the sight of him! She positively worships him." Into the vacant chair by Lady Bevan's side a tall and strikingly handsome young Englishman had dropped. So good-looking was he, so fresh-complexioned, clear-eyed, and happy-looking, with his handsome mouth, shaded by a very slight golden moustache, curving over dazzling white teeth in constant smiles, that even Major Benyon's jealous scrutiny could find no flaw in him. Yet how could Ethel be so silly! This young fellow must certainly be at least fourteen of fifteen years her junior; and yet there she was in full view of everybody at a gambling saloon at Monte Carlo, gazing into his face with the most undisguised fond- ness, and playfully tapping his hand when he slipped it through her arm. Major Benyon turned away, saddened and hurt. "What a fool I am!" he told himself. Ethel left off writing to me on her father's death, when the poor child had to go out as a governess to help her relations. Why should I grudge her the happiness she enjoys with a man she evidently adores, even though he be a few years younger that I know her to be? Upon my word. I ought to be ashamed of myself for a selfish old bachelor!" A few minutes later, as he continued his solitary stroll, Major Benyon came suddenly face to face with General Grimthorpe and the lady with whom the latter had been conversing, accompanied by Sir George and Lady Bevan. Benyon would have pwsed on, but the General stayed him. Lady Bevan is anxious to make your acquaintance, Benyon," the General said. She knew a Lieutenant Benyon years ago, and she wants to know if you are any relation." The two pairs of blue eyes met. Then a faint and most becoming blush passed over i Lady Bevan's face. Why it is Harry Benyon!" she exclaimed, a3 she cordially offered him her hand. George, darling, this is an old friend of mine whom I knew very well when I was younger than you are; Major Benyon, whose bravery at Canderband we read about. Don't you remember my saying I wondered if it could be any relation?" George darling" bowed, not, however, very cordially, and the party moved on together, conversing. Presently the fascina- tions of trente-et-quarante" proved too much for the young baronet, and hastily excusing himself, he joined the groups of players. Lady Bevan looked anxiously after him. You have no idea, Major Benyon," she said, what a responsibility such a splendid son as mine is to a woman." s?7 Your son!" the major repeated in amazement. Beally, I beg your pardon, but I took him for your husband!" Lady Bevan laughed, and blushed again. "People often do," she said calmly. But my George is not 21 yet. His father Sir George has been dead three years. Didn't you know him? He was much older than I, a great friend of my father's, and so kind and generous to us all." Major Benyon looked at her steadily. A great longing to seize the chance of a long- deferred happiness came upon him. Why do you always stake upon 25, 27?" he asked irrelevantly. Ali, that's an old story," she answered, a little embarrassed. Perhaps some day I will tell you. Shall you be at Monte Carlo long?" That depends entirely upon you-Ethel, the major said deliberately And Lady Bevan did not look in the least displeased.

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