SQUIRE GOODALL

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 68, Issue 136, 20 March 1948, Page 7

SQUIRE GOODALL

; j Serial Story I!

By W. RILEY

(Copyright).

MILLY MOVES CHAPTER XXIV. “To satisfy an unworthy ambition,” he went on, “you are prepared to trample on love, to defy the verdict of all decent people, to dishonour your father and your sister. You think only of yourself, care for nobody but yourself, and will gamble your soul for a title and an estate. Five-fifths of you me! If that were true I should be a miserable man, Lina. You are wrong, my lass; and the only care I have to carry is the knowledge that somehow or dther, although you’ve got so many of the qualities I possess and am glad to have, you lack one of them —the best of them. You think you know me —have I been a selfish man, Lina?” She made' no reply, but her face Avas hard.

“I believe it is wrong, utterly and inexcusably wrong for. people to marry unless they love one another. I suppose I’m old-fashioned and emotional, but experience is on my side and nothing will change me. I shall never consent to this union, Lina, and all you say about restoring the Mortons to their inheritance leaves me cold. Think it over again, my lass. Love isn’t the negligible thing you think it is. In the long run it’s the only thing that matters.” He raised himself in his chair and Lina knew that the interview must end.

“You’ve scarcely examined my reasons,” she said coldly. “I hope you will think over the question again. I’m very bad to move and my own mind is made up. I must have you consent 10 this marriage, father. Sooner or later you must glte it me.” “‘Must is a strong word, Lina,” ho replied.

* * , * *

Breakfast a little before eight was now ‘again the order of the day, and Squire Goodall took the meal alone in the small morning-room that caught the early sunshine. The girls usually breakfasted in bed; Lina invariably, but Millie sometimes joined Aunt Matilda whose hour was nine—a concession to circumstances rather than to flesh —when there was so little to do and so much time in which it do it what was the use of rising early?

On the morning after his interview with Lina, Squire Goodall was astonished to find the table laid for two and Millie standing in the window-recess. She turned when she heard his step, and smiled as she greeted him. “Why this?” he asked with no great cordiality. “It is your bed or your conscience that hasn’t let you sleep?” “You don’t, sound- as grateful as you ought to be,” Millie replied. “I was feeling splendidly warm and virtuous when you came in, and you oughtn’t to chill me —something might crack.” .

“Virtue at this hour of the morning makes me suspicious,” he replied, still gruffly. “Shall I ring?” she asked.

"There’s no need,” he rejiVfed. ‘“They know I’m always here on the dot, and there’s still half a minute to go. They’ll not be late, you’ll see.” “Evidently not,“ ‘said Millie, as the door opened at that moment, and the toast and coffee were brought in. They sat down. Millie thought her father’s face careworn as well as very pale. He had not nearly recovered his physical strength and she noticed that the hand that, carried the cup to his lips shook a little. The sight clouded her brow and Squire Goodall observed the change. “Well?” he asked; and added, “You haven’t told me yet what lias brought you down at this unearthly hour.” “I’ve been making new resolutions,” she replied brightly, “and this is one of them; that I’ll breakfast with yon every morning. I hope you’ll be pleased.”

“What’s the motive?” he asked. “Please don’t question and crossquestion me,” she replied. “I’m not ahvays looking into my soul through a magnifying glass. I suppose I thought it might please you and I kneAV it Avas going to please me. Like the ‘quality of mercy’ isn’t it?” He eyed her narrowly. It gratified him to see her there, looking so fresh and attractive and —affectionate . It Avas impossible to suspect her of any selfish ulterior motive when her eyes slioAved such transparent sincerity, yet the Ingrained habit of suspending judgment until motives had been examined kept him from yielding too soon to this new allurement. All the earn) his gruffness disappeared and his matures relaxed.

“When Avas this resolution formed—last night, after my conference Avith Lina?” he asked.

“You think I’m just curious, don’t you?” she replied. “Well, I’m not. Lina gave me a full account of what had happened and I don’t think she left much out. You needn’t teii me’ anything if you’ll let me. It may be weakness to admit it. but I’m rather fond of you; and I thought it might be as well to begin to slioav it. We’ve been good friends but never very chummy, have Ave? Couldn't Ave be?”

He looked at her in astonishment. This Avas a new Millie Avho was resting one hand on the other upon the table and leaning fonvard and gazing at him Avith a look in her eye© that Avas humorously pleading. There Avas something of her sister’s boldness and directness in the address, but lioav much more Avarmth, how much more tenderness!

“Perhaps we might,’ he answered. “I’ve never had much use for chums, Millie. All my life I’ve kept, my own couneel and found the policy pay. I’ve not felt the need of chums; but as a man gets older and feebler he needs a stick to lean on, and I’m beginning to l'eel that I can do with one.” “Lina ought to have been your support.” said Millie with emphasis. “She has your strength, and I haven’t. She has any amount of self-confi-dence and resource.” “That is so,” said her father, “and I used to count on them. What have you to offer me, Millie?” “I don’t know,” she replied. “I’m not clever, not extra clever, like you and Lina, so I can’t offer you what I haven’t got. But anyway, if you’re agreeable, I’ll be a real pal. And I’ll love to be. I’ll do anything I can for you. It mayn’t be much I can do, but you can rely on my doing my best.”

Squire Goodall had eaten little. lie took a second cup of coffee from Millie, however, and moved his chair on to the hearth where he sipped it and was silent. The childish frankness of the offer touched him, and awoke emotions that had been long Inactive. His heart warmed to the girl and with

something of a shock he realised that he was not as self-sufficient as he had thought himeelf; that he needed the sympathetic, comradeship (bat was being tendered, and would be all the stronger for it. “It’s a long time since you sat on the i'Ug and leaned against my knees, Millie,” he said, almost reproachfully.

“Can’t be done here, you know,” she replied. “Too many spies. People who live in palaces and Towers lose their liberty and become slaves to their subjects. Butlers and parlourmaids would think it indecent in a mistress to sit on a rug and turn her father into a back-rest. They would give notice. This house simply swarms with Admirable Crichtons. The only place where I dare be lowly is Aunt. Matilda’s room.”

“You'll be quite safe in the office at any time after dinner," said her father. “Nobody disturbs me there.” “Righto,” said Millie, “we’ll renew our youth. He smiled, and for a little while nothing more was said. Then Millie spoke—“l’ve been thinking about this for a long time but 1 haven’t said anything because I’ve been afraid.”

“Afraid of what,?” “Of Lina, mostly. You see, she'll think I’m taking advantage of the situation and trying to ‘grease in’ with you. J should hate to be taken for a sneak or a worm; so though we are going to be pals you won't expect me to be disloyal to Lina, will you?” “No,” lie replied, “I won’t expect disloyalty. But I must know whose side you are on; if we are to he pals I must know where you stand.” “You do know,” she said. "I loathe and abhor that man, and if Lina marries him I’ll never forgive her. She knows it well enough.” “Lina won’t marry him,” he ■ replied confidently; “and what is equally certain is that he won't try to persuade her.” “You’re up against it, father,” said Millie earnestly. “Lina is determined to pull it off, and she’s frightfully clever.”

“Also,” replied her father, “she is frightfully handicapped. Are you afraid she’ll heat me?” “I believe 1 am,” she admitted. “I wish you hadn't asked me that, but as a real pal I had to speak the truth.” “My worry comes from the certain knowledge that she can’t heat me,” said her father. “I’m thinking of all that defeat will mean for her. I’ve had it on my mind most of the night, and it troubles me. I’m afraid 1 must leave you now. There’s Jim on the terrace, and I must go to the office. I’ll not forget that we are pals.” He was surprised to realise how much the girl’s loving sympathy had cheered and stimulated him, and his mind was still dwelling on her words when in the early afternoon he was driven down to Newton Danby where he meant to inspect the new chapel, and discuss details with the clerk of Avorks. He was there quite a long time, and when he Avas about to leave, a red-faced little man of sturdy build Avho had been watching them from a distance came up and touched his cap.

(To B© Continued)