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- A month later I came back and read the first news in the Morning Post newspaper that Lady Elroy had died

- 'Everyone must always be in love. That is why no one should ever get married. ' -Oscar Wilde

'Varta' was created for the first time in Gujarati language. It was 100 years old last year. On this occasion, a unique celebration was held by publishing classic stories of famous creators of Gujarat in 'Gujarat Samachar'. A treasure trove of Gujarati stories received a warm response from readers. After that, it is now presented to the readers of 'Gujarat Samachar' - the splendor of the works of the world's foremost storytellers ...

(Flowing story: Two friends who studied together in London suddenly meet in Paris. One of them is Gerald aka Lord Mucheson. He seems to be worried, sad. The case is about a young woman. One day in a yellow carriage in London. He sees it and falls in love with it. He seeks it but does not find it.

But one day he suddenly finds Madame Rastail at dinner there. Her behavior is mysterious. Asks to see him again. In the north, he hesitates for a moment, looking around to see if anyone else is close to him. And then he says, 'Yes, tomorrow at five o'clock.' Now on ..)

The latter

'I begged Madame Rastail to tell me something about it but all I could know was that she was a widow and the owner of a beautiful bungalow in Park Lane. And then someone who is scientifically bored, presents a detailed descriptive dissertation that - trying to establish by giving the example of widows that the only person who can survive here is the one who is maritally capable - before such a backlash started I got out of there and Returned to my home.

'The next day I reached Park Lane on time without a moment's delay, but Butler told me that Lady Elroy had just arrived. I arrived at the club in a very sad state. Nothing was understood. This was now a perplexing question, and after thinking for a long time, I wrote him a letter asking if I could get permission, once again in the afternoon. Days passed. No reply was received, but I finally received a letter stating that they would be home at four o'clock on Sunday, and below the extraordinary date. "Don't write me a letter here again because I will explain it to you when I meet you."

"She greeted me on Sunday and she looked very charming, but as I was saying goodbye, she begged me to write to Mrs. Knox, Care of Whitaker's Library, Green Street, if I had the opportunity to write a letter later." . 'There are reasons,' he said, 'I can't accept letters to my own home address.'

"Throughout the season, I have been hanging out with her many times, but the atmosphere of mystery that surrounds her has never changed. Sometimes I felt like she was under the control of a man but ... that young lady was a personality beyond anyone's reach and so I couldn't believe that she was under the control of a man. It was really hard for me to come to any conclusion because it was like a strange crystal in that museum ... sometimes very clear and sometimes blurred.

'I finally decided that I should ask her to be my wife. I was bored. It was a mystery that surrounded every visit or letter I wrote to him. Let someone know. I was really tired of hiding everything, keeping everything private.

'I wrote a letter to his library asking if he could be found next Monday at six o'clock. And he replied: Yes. And I reached the seventh heaven with joy. I was fascinated by it, despite its mysterious behavior. I was thinking that way and based on that I am seeing it today. No, I really loved that woman's personality. And the mystery behind it was getting more and more confusing to me, driving me crazy. Why, why did my luck put me that way? '

'Then you found it?' I asked aloud.

'I'm afraid yes, I found out.' He replied. 'You listen and tell me what this is.'

‘When Monday came I went to my uncle there for lunch, and at four o’clock I was on Marylebone Road. My uncle lives in Regents Park as you know. I wanted to go to Piccadilly, and I took a shortcut from several small dilapidated sherry alleys in between. And all of a sudden I saw Lady Elroy walking in front of me, wearing a veil, running very fast. Reaching the last house on the street, she climbed the stairs of the house, opened the door with the key of the latch and went inside.

'Ah, this seems to be the secret,' I said to myself. I hurried out of the house and inspected it. This was a place to rent. His handkerchief had fallen on the steps of the door, which must have fallen from it. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Then I started thinking about what to do next. I came to the conclusion that I had no right to spy on her and drove to the club. At six o'clock in the evening, as scheduled, I went to see him. She was lying horizontally on the sofa wearing a t-gown woven of woven fabric like a latticework with something strange looking Chandrakant Mani. It looked so beautiful.

"I'm glad to see you," he said. "I haven't been out all day."

I stared at her in amazement and then took a handkerchief from my pocket and gave it to her.

‘This fell from you this afternoon on Comnor Street, Lady Elroy,’ I said very calmly. He looked in front of me in fear but did not try to take the handkerchief. 'What were you doing there?' I asked.

'What right do you have to ask me questions?' He replied.

'A man has the same right that a man loves you.' I replied, 'I came here to ask if you would be my wife.'

He covered her face with both hands and tears welled up in her eyes.

'You must answer me,' I continued.

She stood up and looked straight at my face and said, 'Lord Mucheson, I have nothing to tell you.'

‘You went to meet someone,’ I said aloud. 'This is your secret.'

She turned white and said, 'I didn't go to see anyone.'

'Can't you tell the truth?' I spoke up.

'I have spoken,' he replied.

‘I was almost mad with the trouble of confusion and I don’t know what I said there then, but decided that I had said extremely bad words like not saying it. And I came out of the bungalow. The next day he wrote me a letter and I sent it back without opening it. And the next day I went to Norway with Alan Colville. A month later I came back and read the first news in the Mong Post newspaper that Lady Elroy had died. She went to a concert and had a cold and died of a lung disease within five days. I hid myself and stayed at home and didn't find anyone. I loved it so much, I loved it like crazy. Oh God, how much I loved that woman! '

"Then you went to that street, where was that house?" I asked.

'Yes,' he replied.

'One day I went to Comnor Street. I couldn't stop myself from doing that. I was reeling from the suspicion. I knocked on the door and a respectable looking woman opened the door. I asked her if she had a room to rent.

'Well, sir, we rent the living room but I haven't seen the lady who is a tenant for three months now, her rent has also gone up. You can rent that living room. '

'Is this the lady?' I asked showing the photograph.

‘Yes it is the same. Exactly the same. ' 'When will they come back, sir?'

'This lady is dead,' I replied.

'Oh, sir, don't say that!' The woman speaks. 'That's our best tenant ... were. He used to pay three guineas a week and that too sometimes just to sit in the living room. '

'Did he meet anyone here?' I asked but the woman insisted that it was not so and that she always came alone and did not meet anyone.

'So what was she doing here?' I asked screaming.

‘They were just sitting in the living room, sir, reading books and sometimes drinking tea,’ the woman replied.

I didn't understand what to say. So I gave him a one pound coin and I left. '

'Now what could be the motive behind doing so? What do you think You don't think she's telling me the truth. '

'I believe she was right.'

'Then why was Lady Elroy going there?'

‘My dear Gerald,’ I replied, ‘Lady Elroy was a woman who had the madness to play a mystery game. She used to go to these rooms because she had a strange pleasure in going there wearing a veil. She imagined herself to be a heroine. She was obsessed with keeping everything secret. But it was a mysterious sphinx. '

'Do you really believe that?'

'I'm sure that's it.' I replied.

He picked up a silver goat skin pouch, opened it, and looked again at the photograph.

'I'm surprised.' He finally said.

(Finished)

Introduction to the Creator

Oscar Wilde

Born: 19 October, Dublin, 18

Died: November 30, Paris, 1800

Oscar Fingle O'Flaherty Wills Wild was an Irish poet, short story writer and playwright. After creating a wide variety of literature in the 180's, he became one of London's most popular playwrights in the early 180's. He is best known for his quizzes, poems and plays as well as his novels. The reasons for their imprisonment, as well as their untimely death, were controversial. At the time of his death, he was living in a cheap hotel in Paris, the walls of which were covered with dilapidated wallpaper. His last words were: 'There is a war going on between me and this wallpaper. Who dies first? '