Nipped Buds

ILLIE sat on the edge of Nelly's bed with its owner, and conversation was free and constant. Millie was bent on persuading Nelly to go with her to see some friends in Putney on the next afternoon.

“They're delightful people,” she urged. “The eldest girl sings; and the father is very clever, too.”

These vague inducements did not shake Nelly's resolution to stay with Mrs. Martin and help her to receive any casual Sunday callers.

“The fact is,” she said, in answer to further entreaties, “I think some one may come to-morrow; and I would rather be at home.”

Millie detected a conscious tone in Nelly's voice, and demanded details, which Nelly much enjoyed relating. With little smiles and pauses, she told how she had met an American, Mr. Delarne, at Paris-Plage; and how, the night before Nelly left, she had had talk with him—“about nothing much,” she concluded. “Of course, there's nothing in it, but when he happened to meet us at the station the next morning, he asked if he might get the Soneys to bring him to call. They did last week; and auntie said she hoped we should see something of him before he sailed for home; and would he come one Sunday afternoon? That's all.”

Millie was glowing and radiant. She sniffed romance as a charger sniffs battle. Her manner to Nelly became tenderly gay, delicately comprehending; and Mrs. Martin uneasily felt that something was toward. When the girls met on Sunday morning, Millie bestowed with her kiss the breathy whisper: “I know he's coming!” and Nelly began to regret the confidence she had given in a rash moment. She had yet to learn that some things are too slight to be told without unconsciously exaggerating them.

Mr. Delarne did call, and he came early—and the significance of this fact strengthened Millie in her determination to “leave them together,” if possible. After surveying and studying him with an eager interest which inevitably proved to all three that Nelly had thought it worth while to talk of him to her friend, Millie rose and crossed the room, begging Mrs. Martin to let her help with the tea. On Mrs. Martin's polite refusal she entered into a light conversation, standing well between the couple on the sofa and the hostess, with her back to them. When Mrs. Martin, after several vain attempts to look round Millie's plump figure, somewhat peremptorily waved her to a chair, she went to it with a commiserating glance at Nelly, who seemed anything but grateful for the consideration shown her

The conversation had not proceeded long when Nelly perceived a sudden lightening of Millie's face. Her heart sank, even before Millie rose and, holding her handkerchief to her forehead, murmured an apology to Mrs. Martin, and left the room.

“I did not know Millie had a headache?” said Mrs. Martin interrogatively.

“Nor I,” responded Nelly, somewhat guiltily.

Delarne looked rather puzzled, but was about to continue talking, when Elise entered.

“If you please, madame,” she said, “Mademoiselle Millie is very sorry to trouble you, but she cannot find any sal volatile; and would you tell her if you have Doctor Gray or Doctor Kerr?”

Mrs. Martin turned a concerned look on Nelly, who immediately gave the situation away by exclaiming earnestly and with conviction: “Oh, it's nothing. I'm sure it's nothing. You needn't go to her.”

This revelation of apparent complicity forced Mrs. Martin to seem to accept the message; and, after some hesitation, she left the room with a heightened color. Nelly, scarlet and miserable, glanced at Delarne, over whom a subtle change had come. She was quite aware that it all looked as though she was trying to be left alone with him, and she was not surprised to see the stony politeness which had succeeded to his previous friendliness. She could almost see passing through his mind the recollection of her friendship for Miss Carruthers at Paris-Plage, the girl whom he abominated, and her silly imitation of her model's flippant rudeness. He would think her present behavior a fitting sequel!

She stood by the window endeavoring to talk about any indifferent subject, and receiving with growing dejection his frigid replies. His pride and his vanity were both up in arms; and he was not at all softened by the fact that Nelly was laying her apparent snares with the clumsiness of a novice. Things at last reached such a pitch that she turned suddenly into the room, sat down near him, and burst out: “I had nothing to do with it—Millie, I mean.”

Delarne raised his eyebrows slightly, and let his voice drop through several acres of mountain glacier before it reached her.

“Of course not. What should you have to do with your friend's headache?”

“I thought you might think” began Nelly. Then the hopelessness of it flashed upon her; and with commendable spirit she plunged into another subject.

“I hope you have had an enjoyable time in England?”

“Most interesting. Several curious character studies have presented themselves, both here and in France.”

“Then you're going back a wiser, if not a sadder, man?” miserably rejoined Nelly, striving after the Carruthers' lightness. “Are you going to publish your impressions of the English?”

“I think not. I do not like to be ungallant.”

This spoke volumes; and Nelly, sank deeper into the red mire of confusion into which Millie's sentimentality had thrust her. In her stress of mind, she added the final touch by jumping up from her seat, flushed and conscious, when Mrs. Martin reappeared.

Delarne gave her one glance, and then inquired, in a cold, stone-filtered voice, after the invalid.

“Oh, I do not think it is anything very serious,” said Mrs. Martin; “but I have sent for Doctor Kerr.”

Delarne rose to take his leave; and Mrs. Martin, determined to save as much of the situation as had not already been given away, bade him a definite farewell.

“As you are sailing within six weeks,” she said, “we shall not be seeing you again. So I will wish you bon voyage now. Nelly, ring the bell.”

When the door had closed on his glacial back there was a pause. Then Nelly broke out: “I could kill Millie!” to which Mrs. Martin responded: “I could kill both of you! What does it mean?”

Nelly's explanations were scarcely over when Millie came in, full of interest, and without a trace of headache.

“How did it go off?” she asked eagerly.

“It! He went off!” said Nelly. “Never, never will I tell you anything again!”

Five minutes later Mrs. Martin joined their spirited conversation with a neat summary, addressed to Millie, but containing more than one point for Nelly's consideration.

“It is well to remember,” she said, “that you are much too young to play fate. Love and marriage are difficult subjects; leave their management to your elders. It will be not only wiser, but more delicate. One other thing; it is almost as disloyal to act on a confidence, sensible or silly, as it is to repeat it.”

Mrs. Martin looked at her subdued audience, and walked to the door, whence she flung her Parthian shot.

“It is not particularly modest or attractive,” she said, “to imagine that every young man who seems to like a girl is going to fall in love with her.”

When she had left the room, Nelly looked at the other culprit.

“Let us separate till supper-time,” she said, in a tone of strong repression. “A few quiet hours will be good for your headache.”