Wanted--A Match Maker | Page 3

her, dear; but she really isn't happy
herself--for--well--she is a stepdaughter, you know--and so can never
quite be the same in the family life; and now that she has tired of
society, she really doesn't find enough to do to keep busy. Constance
wanted to go into the Settlement work, but her father wouldn't hear of
it--and really, Josie, every one would be happier and better if she only
would marry--"
"I beg your pardon for interrupting you, mama. I thought you were
alone," came a voice from the doorway. "How do you do, Mrs.
Ferguson?"
"Oh!" ejaculated both ladies, as they looked up, to find standing in the
doorway a handsome girl, with clear-cut patrician features, and an erect
carriage which gave her an air of marked distinction.

"I only stopped to ask about the errand you asked me to do when I went
out," explained the girl, quietly, as the two women hunted for
something to say.
"Oh. Yes. Thank you for remembering, darling," stammered Mrs.
Durant, finding her voice at last. "Won't you please order a bunch of
something sent to Miss Porter--and--and--I'll be very much obliged if
you'll attend to it, Constance, my dear."
The girl merely nodded her head as she disappeared, but neither woman
spoke till the front door was heard to close, when Mrs. Durant
exclaimed, "How long had she been standing there?"
"I don't know."
"I hope she didn't hear!"
"I don't think she could have, or she would have shown it more,"
"That doesn't mean anything. She never shows anything outwardly.
And really, though I wouldn't purposely have said it to her, I'm not sure
that I hope she didn't hear it--for--well, I do wish some one would give
her just such advice."
"My dear, it isn't a case for advice; it's a case for match-making,"
reiterated Mrs. Ferguson, as she once more held out her hand.
Meanwhile Miss Durant thoughtfully went down the steps to her
carriage, so abstracted from what she was doing that after the footman
tucked the fur robe about her feet, he stood waiting for his orders; and
finally, realising his mistress's unconsciousness, touched his hat and
asked,--
"Where to, Miss Constance?"
With a slight start the girl came back from her meditations, and, after a
moment's hesitation, gave a direction. Then, as the man mounted to his
seat and the brougham started, the girl's face, which had hitherto been

pale, suddenly flushed, and she leaned back in the carriage, so that no
one should see her wipe her eyes with her handkerchief.
"I do wish," she murmured, with a slight break in her voice, "that at
least mama wouldn't talk about it to outsiders. I--I'd marry to-morrow,
just to escape it all--if--if--a loveless marriage wasn't even worse." The
girl shivered slightly, and laid her head against the cushioned side, as if
weary.
She was still so busy with her thoughts that she failed to notice when
the brougham stopped at the florist's, and once more was only recalled
to concrete concerns by the footman opening the door. The ordering of
some flowers for a débutante evidently steadied her and allowed her to
regain self-control, for she drove in succession to the jeweller's to select
a wedding gift, and to the dressmaker's for a fitting, at each place
giving the closest attention to the matter in hand. These nominal duties,
but in truth pleasures, concluded, nominal pleasures, but in truth duties,
succeeded them, and the carriage halted at four houses long enough to
ascertain that the especial objects of Miss Durant's visits "begged to be
excused," or were "not at home," each of which pieces of information,
or, to speak more correctly, the handing in by the footman, in response
to the information, of her card or cards, drew forth an unmistakable
sigh of relief from that young lady. Evidently Miss Durant was bored
by people, and this to those experienced in the world should be proof
that Miss Durant was, in fact, badly bored by herself.
One consequence of her escape, however, was that the girl remained
with an hour which must be got through with in some manner, and so,
in a voice totally without desire or eagerness, she said, "The Park,
Wallace;" and in the Park some fifty minutes were spent, her greatest
variation from the monotony of the wonted and familiar roads being an
occasional nod of the head to people driving or riding, with a glance at
those with each, or at the costumes they wore.
It was with a distinct note of anticipation in her voice, therefore, that
Miss Durant finally ordered, "Home, now, Murdock;" and, if the truth
were to be told, the chill in her hands and feet, due to the keen
November cold, with a mental picture of the