THE WAY OF THESE WOMEN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15594, 28 April 1914, Page 4

THE WAY OF THESE WOMEN.

BY PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM,

Author of "Anna, the Adventuress/' "Th» Mysterious Mr. Ssbin," " Peter Ruff.' "The Master Mummer," "A Prince of Sinners,!' "A Maker of History," etc.

COPYRIGHT.

CHAPTER XXXI.-(Continued).

Lucille made no answer, Jermyn came a little nearer. He stood upon the hearthrug, looking down at her"Lucille," he continued, "I cannot bring myself to believe, even now, that you have stooped 60 low, that, you have acted so shameful a part. You say that you believed Sybil Cluley was guilty. To me you swore it. You have posed ever since a? having saved her. You made me believe that but for you she would have been arrested. My God," he went on, his voice shaking for the first time, "you did morel You made me believe that she was guilty!" Lucille kept her head down. She said nothing. "Do you mean,, then, that you have no further explanation to offer mo than this?" Jermyn persisted. " You have induced me to go through this d—d ceromony by a trick! What do you expect to gain by it now? Do you imagine lor a moment .that 1 shall consider myself your husband'/" Sho looked up. "You aro my husband," she reminded him. " Nothing can alter that." Jermyn's eyes suddenly caught flame. " You wear my name," lie cried brutally, "if that is any use to you. Wlia* elto of mo do you claim! My company? My protection? Rubbish! There isn't a woman upon the face of this earth, Lucille, to day whom I dislike and despise as 1 do you." Sho sprang to her feet and stood btioro him, quivering. His words had "stung througn her tears, She was -eady now to tight. "You fool, Jermyn!" she exclaimed. "Can't you see that what 1 did, I did for your own suke as well as mine? I did nobody any harm. I just wanted to save youirora making a miserable mairiagc. You're not ono of those who go about the world with their eyes open. You're at home in your study, or surrounded with your books, or en the h;lltops, or in the beautiful lonely places of the world; but when you come do mi into the market-place you're an idiot. J)o you hear that— idiot! You need a kieper all the time. Your very vision is distorted. _ You know about many things in life. You know the springs that govern human action. Your plays are wonderful pieces of geometrical psychology. But the real men and women ol our days', whom one meets as ono passes along, you know no more about, Jermyn, than the Arab who rides his camel across the desert. You, Jermyn Annerley, daring to tell us down at Annerley that you were going to marry a little gill from the theatre, a daughter without a doubt, of some poor tradespeople, a girl who has had to struggle all through her youth to get engagements, making herself agreeable to all sorts and conditions of impossible people, living half the time in want, living always in the sort of way those people must. Yet you can sit in your study and you make a ii<-roine come down to you from the skies, and you clothe her and make her beautiful, an 1 you carry her with you in your brain and" in your heart, and'you wander out into that littlo bit of London you call the world and find this moon-faced chit, who can chant your speeches prettily and knows all the tricks of saying them, and you immediately shower upon her all the wealth of your fancy, you throw yourself at her feet —she, this little actress, is to be dressed in all those wonderful garments, and you won't see, you won't see that they neVer could fit. Oh, you fool, Jermyn! You fool! I haven't spoken a word about myself. It's as much for your own sake as for anyone's that I have saved 'you from tying up your life unworthily." "Have you finished?" "Isn't it enough?" she demanded. We'll, I've spoken of her. Shall I tell you of myself, too? Haven't you heard it already? Look at me. I've told you about the other men. Well, I'll tell you about myself. A woman who is built as I am, Jermyn, loves only once. I have read as much poetry as you have, thought as many beautiful thoughts, kept my footsteps clean from the muddy places; but all the same I have lived in the world. That's the difference. The strings of life have pulled at me; they have kept my feet upon the earth, and I have measured men and speeches, and gone serenely on, content to wait for the greater things. Jermyn, don't look at me as though 1 wero somo one far away. It is the one jewel of life which I offer to you, and I've kept it just as jealously as you have cherished your impossible fancies. Don't you feel it? Aren't you big enough to know it? I love you with all my heart and all my soul. I love you so that it was torture 'to me to sit at your table and watch' you and that girl. I don't understand it! no one does understand these things. But, Jermyn, if love will make you happy, if love can keep you young, come here, come to me. There isn't anybody in tho world can give you what I can give. There isn't as much love for you in the whole shallow heart of your little comedy actress.as you can take from my lips now, always, every time you touch me. Jermyn!" Her arms called to him, her lips, her eyes. In her tone had rung the triumphant consciousness of truth, overwhelming, self-convincing—truth which neither anticipates nor believes in denial. Even when she had finished she did not for a moment realise lier failure. Something in the artistic sub-consciousness of the man had leaped up, responsive to the fine quality of her words, to the compelling truth, the almost anguished appeal which burned in her sentences, Tlio colour had come to his cheeks, his eyes wore glowing. It was a wonderful change. She had never seen Jermvn like this. He was human, after all. Surely she had succeeded! His tone, too, when ho spoke, was different, was gentler, kinder.

"Lucille," he said, "very well. Now listen to me."

Sho moved towards him. . Her bosom was rising and falling madly. Her lips were parted, her eves implored him. her fingers sought for his shoulders. "I don't want words," she begged. "I want you." He gripped her wrists and held her from him or she would have been in his arms.

" Lucille," he continued, " thank yourself for what comes. You have awakened the brute in me. and it is the brute who speaks. What do you expect? To buy me. a xln\e! To make me complacent with your caresses? Rubbish! If you are a woman, aren't I a man? I've chosen my mate and T want her."

"But you are my husband!" Lucille called out. "You are my husband!"

" Much good mav it do you!" he answered fiercely. " You have made me go through th.it wretched ceremony. Do von fee] any-different? Does it help vou? Do you fee! that you own me any the more? Think it over— you'll have time."

He turned towards the door. Her eyes were full of fear.

Jermvn! she cried. You re not s»o----me to leave me:

"What else?" he demanded. "Do you suppose T am coing honevmnoning with vou? I am goiii'T to find Sybil and tell her the truth. She shall choose She shall make my future' whatever it is to be, not you." "You wouldn't dare!" Lucille muttered. "Today you wouldn't dare to go to her!"

Jermvn took no notice. Already he had reached the door. He did not, even look back. She almost (lung herself upon him. "Jermyn." she nleaded, "be merciful. Consider wlint will happen if you leave me like this. The carriage- is ordered for an hour's time. Our places are taken in the train to Folkestone. You can't do it! You can't make me the laughing stock of Europe! You may be cruel, but you can't be, brutal enough for that! Besides, think of yourself—of your own position. Will

you have it. said that you left me to go to her to-day? It's too hateful to think of! Stay where you are. I will be senBible, only wait. I must think of something." She stood with her hand to her forehead. He looked at her steadfastly. " What is it, then, that you propose?" he asked. "There- is nothing in this world will keep" me from going straight to Sybil when I leave this hotel. Every moment I hold over my confession is a moment longer of shame." "Very well," she said, "I do not-keep you.' Go to her. Tell her the truth—the whole truth, if you will. Don't spare me. But, Jermyn, you mu& have at least the instincts—forgive the bathos of the word, but I cannot think of another— a gentleman. You won't leave me to be made fun of in every drawingroom of the world! I will change my clothes and drive to Victoria. I will explain that you are to meet me there. You must meet me there; you must travel to Folkestone with me. On the way we can talk. If I cannot convince you, if you still remain as you are now, then let us separate somehow quietly. But I won't be left like this!'' He glanced at his watch. " It is now," he declared, " a quarter to four. If I am able to find Sybil, I will be at Victoria in time to catch the train. My luggage shall be there. I will try to save you from what you seem to fear so greatly. If, on the other hand, I cannot find Sybil, I will come to the station, but I shall most certainly return, for nothing in this world would induce me to leave London until I have seen her." Lucille half closed her eyes for a moment. Once more she tried, sadly, almost hopelessly, to win a kinder look from him. She raised his fingers to her lips and kissed them. "I can't say any more, Jermyn,'' she murmured. "I feel rather crushed. It must be as you decide. Will you go and tell Florence that I am ready for her? Get rid of Holland, if you can, or take him with you. I couldn't bear anyone with US." Jermyn did as he was bidden. Then ho hurried downstairs to where his car was waiting. His servant, who was standing in the hall, looked at him in some surprise. "You won't change your things, sir?" he asked. " Everything is put out here." "Not just yet," Jermyn replied. "I shall have to travel as I am. There is something I must see to first. You can pack up my dressing-case and send it on with the other luggage." He stepped into the car and lifted the tube to his mouth, "Burley Court," he told the man. They moved off. Jermyn drew out the white flower which Lucille had pinned in his buttonhole, and sat crushing it fiercely in his hand.

; CHAPTER XXXII. Sybil's maid, who opened the door to him, gazed at this unexpected visitor in blank amazement. "I must see your mistress at once," he announced. " I hope she is in ?" " Yes, she is in, Sir Jermyn," the maid replied doubtfully. " She has a headache and was lying down. I don't know—l sunpose she will see you, sir." Jermyn stepped into the hall and flung tho silk hat he was carrying on to the little hat-stand. t "Beg her to come to me as soon as possible," he said. "Tell her that it is most important." He made his way into the sittingroom. It .was neat and orderly as usual, and rilled with pretty, inexpensive, yellow flowers. The windows were open and a small fire was burning oir the grate. There were one or two letters, unopened, on the table by the gido of the chair in which she generally sat. He walked restlessly up and down the little apartment. His brain was in a complete turmoil, there were so many things which still were puzzling him. If 'Sybil were not guilty, and had known all the time that she was not guilty, how was he to account for her attitude, the terror in her face and eyes, the instinctive manner with which she had accepted the story of his sacrifice? Ho held his forehead. He seemed to, be looking out upon a blank wall. If only she_ would come! He Kept on looking impatiently towards the door. It seemed to him that he was waiting there for an eternity. If was, in reality, less than five minutes. Then for a moment he forgot everything else in a great wave of shuddering pity. She had been crying, crying all night. Her eyes were red and swollen, there were black lines under them which he had never seen before. She seemed to have become paler and more fragile. He took a step towards her and held out his arms.

"Before I speak, Sybil," he almost sobbed, ''for God's sake, kiss me!"

She gave a little wondering cry. He kissed her eyes and he kissed her lips tenderly. " Little woman,'' he whispered, "you have been suffering." " But I don't understand." she gasped. "What are you doing here? The wedding?" u ing. He led her to the easy-chair and knelt by her side. "Listen, Sybil," he began, "answer me one question or I shall go mad. Whom did you suppose had killed Aynesworth Lakcnham?" There were no more emotion* which her face could show. She answered him quite simply. "Why, you!" ( . "My God!" he murmured. ''Could we have been such children?"

"Didn't you?" she suddenly called out, sitting up in her chair, "fell me, Jermyn, didn't you kill him?" "No," he answered. "I didn't."

"Then why," she demanded breathlessly, "did you tell mo that you were marrying Lucille de Sayers because she knew?"

He drew a little breath and held both her hands.

" Because, while the police were in the avenue, when there were only a few moments to spare, she told me secretly that she knew that you had done you, Sybilthat she had seen you! I believed her! When I told you that I was marrying her, because she knew the truth I meant that I was marrying her not to save myself, but to seal her lips about you." Sybil's hands were pressed to her temples. " I can't—no, I can't realise it all yet," she said. "It will have to come slowly. Hut tell me now—is there anything fresh, then? Who did kill him?"

"The American—Norden Smith! He came to Annerley to kill him; he came to Europe for no other purpose. He has killed another man to-day—Aaron Chalmers. They were lovers of bis wife's.'' "Norden Smith!" she whispered hoarsely. " Why, he didn't come till afterwards."

"He entered the billiard-room by tho windows from the garden,' Jennyn explained quickly. " Then he stole outf again and rang the front door-bell. It was absolutely simple." "And I thought it. was you!" she gasped. "I saw someone coming outside whilst he was holding me. I thought that it was you! I ran away directly he let mo go. I thought that it was you who came in through the window! Why, I went to his room that night—it was horrible—went and knocked at his door to ,beg him to keep silence, I shall never forget that awful night! They wouldn't let me in." "And I thought you went for yourself!" he murmured. She laughed a little unsteadily. "I'd never have pleaded for my own life from him!" "I am trying to think all the time why I believed Lucille," Jermvn went on. "She gave me the pistol which she said she had seen in your hand. Norden Smith showed me little fragments of your white satin dress which were scattered upon the floor showed them to me secretly because he said thev might he used as evidence against you. He was honest enough there, but, of course, it all reemed to point to the same thing. This will come clearer to us presently, when we think over our conversations. Just now I-can't realise it all. I can't realise how miserably we have been at cross purposes." She suddenly sat up in her chair. Her face grew lighter. A splendid gleam of joy lit up her eyes. (To be .continued daily).