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By Default

By Irene Elliott Benson

OR ONE year I had been in the employ of Mr. Richard Lancaster, lawyer, as stenographer and assistant secretary, when he asked me one day if I knew of a suitable person for the position of nursery governess to a young child.

I answered quickly, "Yes, sir," for I had in my mind my only sister Mary, not a month over from Glasgow, who was after just such a position.

"It's my sister," I said.

"Good," replied Mr. Lancaster. "Send her to Mr. Wetherill's office tomorrow at ten. And here, give her this card." So on it he wrote that he knew the stock that we came from and could recommend Mary.

Mr. Wetherill was a cotton broker and a client of my employer. I had often seen him in the office. He was tall and fine looking, but I thought rather severe. Once he brought there his bonny looking wife. I well remember her-so young and slight, with her deep, purple eyes, reminding me of the hills of heather around Rothsay Bay, where we had lived before father moved up to Glasgow. Her hair was of a reddish brown, and wavy. She had a wee mouth and nose, with a pleasant smile for every one. She wore that day a gray cloth suit with chinchilla, and I thought how pretty it was, with a bunch of orchids pinned to her breast. She came to sign some papers, and after she left the room grew darker. I was glad in my heart for my sister to be able to live with her, and I thought "if Mary gets there it will be like home, I'm sure."

"Miss Duncan," said Mr. Lancaster, speaking low-like to me, "I have the greatest confidence in you. I have had the same in your uncle for over thirty years, but before your sister takes a position as nursery governess, to young Master Wetherill I must tell you something, and I must speak plainly. The child now is nearly four years old, but his mother has been away from him for a year. Do you remember her? She came in here one day with her husband."

"I do, sir," I replied, "and a bonny lady she was."

"Yes," said my employer, "and that was her undoing. She has been faithless to her husband, and he has turned her out of doors-she with her lover, who was his nephew as well."

I nearly arose from my chair with excitement.

"Mr. Lancaster," I replied, "begging your pardon for speaking plainly, I shall never believe that thing about her-never in the world. I cannot believe it."

"I wish I might feel as you do, Miss Duncan," he replied, "but I fear that appearances are against her. Since she left, the little fellow has had many nurses. Now his father wishes to get one who can teach as well as amuse him. There is a middle-aged housekeeper there-a good womanwho will be more company for your sister than the servants. I tell you this, for both of you must remember never to speak of Mrs. Wetherill to the child or any one else. He is too young to have any knowledge of his mother, and when older he will be told that she is dead.".

"Pardon me," I asked. "are they divorced?"

"No," answered my employer, "not yet. But they are about to be."

Well, Mary was engaged, and became quite daffy over Master Richard. Once a week I'd go there of an evening. The place was a good one-work easy and wages large. Every night would the master come in and go right up to the nursery and play with the little fellow until dinner-time. The child was the apple of his eye, and Mary said it saddened her to watch them, he so loved the bairn. In the course of time the housekeeper had told my sister all, and it was this:

Mrs. Wetherill was nineteen when she married. The baby was born on her twentieth birthday, which is an ill omen with us Scotch. Her only relatives were two aunts-one her mother's youngest sister living in Chicago, and a great society woman as well. The other was an aunt of her father's-her great-aunt-who lived in Vermont and whose husband owned a large farm. Mrs. Wetherill loved. this great-aunt, so she told Mrs. Wagner, the housekeeper-loved her well, and spent her vacations on the farmaye, instead of visiting the other, where all would have been more to a girl's liking.

The summer she left college she visited the Chicago aunt, though, and there she met Mr. Wetherill. The aunt made the match. He was nearly the age of her own father, had he lived. After the baby came he bought her a beautiful home on Long Island, for she well loved the country. They spent only their summers here. She seemed to get in with a gay crowd this particular summer-card parties, golf, tennis, polo and horseback riding from morning till night.

Mr. Wetherill was down weekends, but he spent his time writing and reading in his library-shut upnever going anywhere with her, and when he was obliged to sit at the table with company he was like a wet blanket, and made them all uncomfortable. Mrs. Wagner said that the bonny wife

craved affection, but never a caress did she see him give her—at least not in public.

One Friday he brought down for the week's end his nephew, Mr. Tom Perry. He was fond of Mr. Tom, who was then not quite thirty years of age. He left Monday, but his nephew stayed on. So he and Mrs. Wetherill were seldom apart. He read poetry to her and swung her in the hammock, waiting on her hand and foot, and she, poor dear, was happy like a girl. She grew bonnier every day-"sort of as if she had found something that had been lost," the housekeeper said.

Mr. Tom had bachelor quarters in town, and his man, Montgomery, who came with him, told of many gay supper parties and unseemly doings that took place of a night after the theatres in Mr. Tom's rooms.

One day Mr. Wetherill kissed his wife and bade Richard good-bye before going on his yearly trip to Maine to fish and hunt. He never stayed longer than two weeks.

"I noticed," said Mrs. Wagner, "that after he kissed her she sort of hung around him as if she disliked the parting, and I never saw him seem so fond of her. She took him to the train in her electric, and when she returned, she ate her supper in her room and played with the baby until its bedtime, and excused herself to all visitors that evening. Poor dear, she adored little Dick, not having any one to love since her parents' death (and she only at the age of ten when that happened), excepting the aunts I spoke of. So small wonder she craved affection."

The next day, down motors Mr. Perry, and off they went on horseback in the morning-teas and motoring in the afternoon, and with sitting by his side and looking at the moon in the evening, and he quoting poetry, no wonder time passed pleasantly for her.

One night Montgomery, or "Monty" -Mr. Perry's man-said to Mrs. Wagner over a glass of beer:

"I quit Mr. Perry when my next

BY DEFAULT.

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month's up. Do you happen to know of a place down here with the swells that I could get?"

town, and that was why he never cared to kiss or pet her, and how she must go away with him that very

Yes, Mrs. Wagner knew of a place, night-go in his motor to his apartment but "why was he going?"

"Because I don't like Mr. Tom's methods," he replied. "I believe in every single man having a good time and having a sweetheart, but damn it!" he said, jumping up, "let him keep his hands off of other men's wives."

Mrs. Wagner made him no reply, for she well knew that the gossips were at work against her bonny mistress. After a while he drank and said:

"Oh, I know I'm old-fashioned, and all married women can have their lovers, but I ain't going to stand for that sort of thing-it goes against me. I was brought up to respect women, and so I'm off!”

And then, she said, one night she passed the door leading out from the library to a large square side porch covered with rugs like a big parlor, with red awnings on all sides, and sofas, chairs, tables and large vases filled with flowers, and she saw the two sitting in the moonlight close on the wicker couch, he holding her hand and kissing it, and telling her how her husband-his uncle, mind you-didn't appreciate her, and it was a case of "Beauty and the Beast," and other disrespectful things. It was dark, and they did not see Mrs. Wagner, nor would they, in any case, so absorbed were they in one another. Mrs. Wagner slipped away to her room and cried and cried, for she saw shame coming. Like her grandmother Duncan she had a warning. Her grandmother always saw a drop of water on the back of her hand before trouble came, and the housekeeper felt it in another way.

It rained the next day and evening, so they sat indoors before the library fire. He was reading to her at first, and then it grew darker and darker, but they didn't ring for lights, and there they sat, he holding her close and telling her how he suspected the master of having an establishment in

and stay there until morning, when they would leave for Italy. And his uncle would divorce her at once, of course, and then they could marry and be happy. She was sobbing on his shoulder. The housekeeper was in the hall and as the door was ajar, she heard all, and she probably stayed near her mistress purposely to shield her from harm so far as she could.

Well, without warning, in walks the master. He had come sooner than he had intended doing, and Mrs. Wagner stood in the shadow. He looked in the library and heard and saw all. Then he spoke quietly and said to her:

"I have come into this little comedy just in time, my dear. You run up now and see what you need. I'll send the rest to-morrow. And then, you," he said, pointing to his nephew, "may take her at once. I'll 'phone for your machine, and hear me," he said, "I won't kill you now (he had taken a revolver from his hip-pocket), "I'll wait and see how you break faith with Eleanor. And if you should, and when it comes, I'll shoot you like I would a dog. Remember, you are to marry her within twenty-four hours after I divorce her. On account of my child, I shall have no publicity, but I shall watch near to see that she becomes your wife. It is only upon your oath that you will do so that I spare you now," and he held his revolver close to Mr. Tom's head. "Swear it!" he said.

The man was as white as a sheet, and he replied:

"I swear it on my dead mother's memory."

The poor lady had fainted away. When she came to, she walked out of the room, trying to speak to the master, but he pushed her aside. She put her money in her bag. The housekeeper went up with her, and sobbed and sobbed, saying that God heard her she was innocent.

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She did not touch a jewel or a thing that Mr. Wetherill had given her, but when she finished she started for the boy's room, and there stood the master guarding the door, and he refused to let her enter. She begged hard, but he replied: "No!" and called her a wanton. The she put both of her hands before her face and said:

"Oh, Richard, never, never that!" and left. And that night there was a fierce storm outside, and in it the bonny lady had to go.

"Where is she now?" asked my sister.

"God alone knows," replied Mrs. Wagner with tears in her eyes. "Montgomery has been kept in this country to testify as to what took place after she left here and went to Mr. Tom's apartment. Monty is from Devonshire and wanted to go home, but Mr. Lancaster is paying his board somewhere. No one sees him, and no one of us would be allowed to talk to him if we did. I know my mistress wrote to her husband, for I saw her letter on his desk, but I rather think he never read it. He sent all of her clothes and jewels in her three trunks the next day, I presume in care of Mr. Tom, but they were returned, and are now in the attic of the country house. I understand that the divorce will be tried before a referee, and that Mr. Wetherill will let her get it on the child's account. She will make the charge of cruelty and non-support, and he will let it go by default-that is, if they ever find her."

This was told to me by Mary, my sister, and she also told me of something that worried her not a little.

Young Richard was obliged to play alone a good bit. He had a large room filled with every toy that money could buy. Each day Mary would hear him talking. At first she supposed that he was talking to his toys and dolls, etc., but soon she said it was to some one, as if a person were in the room beside him. He would say: "Have you come to stay and play wiv Dick ?" Or, "Dick will give you his Teddie Bear and Scotch laddie" (that

was a doll I gave him.) Then he'd say:

"Why do you ky? Dick's a good boy he isn't daughty-don't ky!" and he'd pat the chair and fill it with toys. Sometimes he'd appear to play ball with some one and say:

"Now hurry up and catch it I'll frow it to you."

One day he made Mary buy him a bunch of pansies, and when she asked what he was doing with it he replied:

(He

"I'm giving 'em to the pretty lady. She'll pin 'em on her dress." spoke very plainly for a child of his years.) And then he would say: "She'll play wiv me and she'll kiss me, too, when I go to sleep."

Mary said the gooseflesh came out all over her at his words, and she told Mrs. Wagner. "Ask him sometime how she looks," said the housekeeper with a white face. She listened attentively, as little Richard described his mother.

Getting up, she brought from a drawer the photograph of Mrs. Wetherill that she had taken from her master's desk, lest he might be annoyed and destroy it.

"Is this your pretty lady?" she asked, and little Dick let one scream, and catching it up, he kissed it many times, refusing to part with it until he was bribed. Lest his father might see it, Mrs. Wagner put it away after that and told little Dick that it was lost. Mary says she heard him telling the master of the "pretty lady" who played with him, and when she, Mary, came into the room, Mr. Wetherill would kiss the child quickly and leave.

One day Mr. Wetherill came into the office very much excited.

"Lancaster," he said, "this thing must come to an end. I can stand it no longer. How can we find her? Is it possible to even communicate with her? Of course, she accompanied her affinity, my nephew, to Europe. That was their plan," he added bitterly. "But how can we find out where they are located? In any event the chapter must be closed, and my son is act

BY DEFAULT.

ing strangely now." Then he told of what I have related.

"It's fast getting on my nerves, and the boy imagines she plays with him. all day long. Of course he must have seen her picture. I had one on my desk that has disappeared, and I prefer not to question the servants as to its whereabouts."

"We can produce Montgomery at once," replied my employer, "and his testimony can be taken before a notary, if you wish. He is only too anxious to leave for England.”

"Well, do so,” replied Mr. Wetherill. So the next day appeared Montgomery with me to put down the conversation. He said, after telling his name and birthplace, and how long he had lived with Mr. Perry, etc.: "The night of Mr. Perry's return from Long Island he had telephoned me at five o'clock to have a hot supper ready about ten or eleven, for two. I sent out and had it prepared by the time he arrived, which was about eleven o'clock that night. He had with him begging your pardon, sir (to Mr. Wetherill), your lady. She had been crying. He helped her take off her wraps, and he rubs her feet, as they were very cold. Then he sits her by the fire and rubs her hands to warm them. (I saw Mr. Wetherill's face twitch and he moved uneasily.) Then he says: "Montgomery, make up a bed for me on the couch. Mrs. Wetherill can sleep in my room. She is on her way West, but the storm is too severe for her to travel farther to-night.'

"He tried his best to make her eat, but she only took a mouthful of roll and coffee. He begged her to drink a hot whisky or a cocktail, but no,that was all she took. He ate heartily as usual, and he goes to kiss her, but she turns her head away. Then he says, jolly like:

'My darling, I'm going to the club for my mail, but I'll be back directly. Make yourself at home. The whole place is yours now.' And then he tells me to see that she is comfortable, and for me to go home that night at once.

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I always slept out," added the man. "Well the minute he goes, up jumps the lady, flies to his desk and writes a note. After sealing it she lays it on the table. Then all of a tremble, she puts on her things and says to me, beseeching-like:

'Montgomery, get me a taxi at once, will you, please?' And her eyes were that soft and pleadin' that if she had said: 'Montgomery, go and hang yourself,' I'd have done it. Yes, I'd have laid down my life for her that night. So I telephoned to the garage and goes down in the elevator with her and puts her in the taxi. She says: 'Tell him to drive me quickly to the Grand Central.' I gives the order and she says: 'I shall remember your goodness all my life,' trying to slip a bill into my hand, which I refused, her thanks was more than enough for

me.

"Then I went up and I saw that the envelope was not sealed, only in one spot. I hesitated, and something says, 'Monty, open it,' and I does. I reads it and makes a copy, then seals it again. And here, sir, is what she wrote," and the man handed the lawyer a paper, from which he read the following, Mr. Wetherill putting his hands before his face like he was about to receive a blow:

"I despise you. I have never loved you-you took it for granted. You played on my feelings-on my prideand almost convinced me that my husband hated and was faithless to me. You have separated me from a good man whom I never appreciated, and who now believes me a guilty wife, and from my little son, whom I love better than my life. The knowledge of my innocence and of my foolishness as well, will keep me alive until such a time as the good God will set me right. I would not depend on you to tell the truth about me to your uncle, nor would he believe it were you noble enough to do so. But my one prayer is that 'never again may you cross my path.'

"ELEANOR."

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