By Devious Ways.

Auckland Star, Volume XL, Issue 193, 14 August 1909, Page 17

By Devious Ways.

By CHARLES GARVICE

'(Author of "Lome; or Hollow Gold," "The Marquis," "A Modern Juliet," 1 * "Heart for Heart," etc.)

CHAPTER XXVIII. /_.dy Marchmont was one of those peat ladies who take an interest in famous persons. She was not merely a "new" woman, nor was she altogether a "lion" hunter; she belonged to that rapidly increasing class of fortunate people who are alive to the advantage Jit having interesting persons round them. Her receptions were always orowded; her dinner parties always functions to be eagerly seized upon rather than avoided. One was certain to meet high and cl-ver people at her house. Tlie last rumor poet, the famous actor, painter, singer was sure to be on show at Lady Marchmont's. And sho managed 'them with such skill and tact that, instead of being silent and sulky —as' they are too apt to be at most parties they vecro agreeable, and in the best of tempers. Poets, who would rather have, died than recite at most houses, recited for Lady Marchmont; painters would bring their sketches; the latest tenor would warble; and the great actor would unbend, and talk quite like an ordinary beintf. which was very gracious and condescending, seeing that be was simply •worshipped by Lady Marchmont's smart and advanced set. Nora went to the reception from the theatre. Now, she had never been to a party in her life, and knownothing of fashionable ways and customs beyond what she had learnt at the theatre; and even the matter of her dress worried her a little. But her instinctive taste inspired her t$ choose one of black lace, which she bought and made up herself. For ornaments she •wore one white flower in her hair, and resisted all Dora's attempts at persuading her into buying jewellery. And Dora, who had run round to the dressing room to sco her before she started, admitted that Nora was right.

"You 100k —well, I don't know how to put it!—like a young duchess—a vory young one!" she said, almost undeT her breath. "My dear, there won't bo a lovelier girl in the. room"

"Or a more foolish, if 1 were- silly enough to believe you!" said Nora, as she bent forward and kissed ber.

"And you're not nervous?" asked Dora —"at least, you don't look it. You look as calm and cool as a Neapolitan ice! And —and yet it's your first appearance in this character? Oh, don't tell me—l know better!" and she tossed her head.

"Indeed it is," said 'Nora, as she put her cloak over her shoulders. "I have never been anywhere, nor seen anyone, nnd I am a little nervous, though I may pretend I'm not. You see, 1 don't know the part"—she laughed—"and I Bhall make all sorts of mistakes, I daresay."

"Oh, no, you won't—you couldn't!" retorted DoTa. "Well, good-bye, dear! I shall keep awake to hear all about it! Perhaps Mr. Foyle will be there."

When Nora alighted at Ijidy Marchmont's iio ise in Kensington Palace Gardens, she Hound the usual awning stretched from tha hal! down to the curb, the usual liuc of ciirriuges, and the usual small crowd which had congregated to catch a glimpse of the great and famous people; and, iriuch to her surprise and a little to ho- embarrassment, she found herself recognised.

"That's Miss Mert m," exclaimed a woman, nudging he: young man; and Nora heard her _ame pass from one to the other

bne heard It presently in more sonorous fashion, as the footman announced it at the door of the drawing-room, and her heart sank for a moment. Accustomed as she was to the glare of a theatre, the brilliance of the magnificent room, crowded with handsomely-dressed women, had its due effect upon her. But as heads turned towards her, and she felt a hundred eyes scanning her with polite but eager curiosity, a dapper little lady, looking absurdly young for her age, held out her hand:

"How do you do, Miss Merton?" said Lady Marchmont. "How very, very good of you to come! Edward, this is Miss Merton, whom you so much admire. Isn't it kind of her to come to us?"

Lord Marclunont, who was standing beside his wife, assisting her to receive her guests, bent over Nora's hand, and murmured something. He looked awfully tired and bored, and sniffed at hi 3 wife's bouquet, which ho was holding for her in an absent-minded way. Parties of all kinds—especially his wife's—were an infliction for him, and he had a positive horror of celebrity anil lion 3. Ho didn't understand them, and often remarked at his club, with a perplexed and melancholy sigh, that he didn't know what the devil the world was coming to, and that ho expected to meet his tailor at dinner, and his bootmaker at an evening party. "Not that I care a hang," he always added, "but a fellow doesn't know who's who, don't you know.'-'

"I think you will know a great many of tho people here," said Lady Marchmont, in her kindest and sweetest manner. "No?" as Nora smiled and shook her head slightly. "Oh, then, will you mind waiting with mc for a moment or two? Nearly everybody who is coming is here, I Ihink, and I want to introduce some people to you—■ in fact, everybody is dying to know- you. And no wonder!" she added, with a charming smile.

Nora remained beside her, and got her head, so to speak; and presently the stream of arrivals grew thin and ran dry, and Lady Marchmont, with a sigh of relief, took her bouquet, with a "Thanks, Edward, you can go now—so kind of you to stay!" Lord Marohmont bowed, woke up for a moment, then made his way down the stairs with a kind of suppressed eagerness. Lady Marchmont smiled.

"My husband is off to his club," she explained. "He dislikes parties, and is never happy unless he is playing whist— or seeing Mi3s Merton act. He is a great admirer of yours, my dear; but, then, We are all in the same boat!"

There was a frankness about her ladyship which was very taking: and Nora's self-possession came hack to her very quickly, as, with infinite tact, Lady Marchmont introduced her to one and another. Nora heard numerous titled names, and those of great celebrities, and she bowed or shook hands with apparent culm and ease—but her heart was beating fast, A band—the famous Hun garian band—was playing at the end of the west room, but no one teemed to be listening, and now and again tho buzz of conversation and laughter pierced through the soft strains of music.

Nora did not. know it, but her entrance! had attracted a great deal of attention, and this rather quickly developed into a kind of sensation. *As a rule—be it whispered—famous people are 'ather disappointing, Tho great statesman Jf.QU have rowrod, Droves, on dose

acquaintance, to be a bore; the painter ia—is—not always as nicely dressed as he should, be, and is generally a dumb dog; the poet turns out to be conceited and narrow-minded; and the actor and actresses are —well, not so handsome and lovely as they are on the stage, and a good deal older without their paint and wigs. All these people had expected to find Nora quite middle-aged and plain —so used were they to disappointment; but this young and lovely girl, with the deep, violet eyes, and soft, black hair, took them by storm.

"What a -wonderful young -woman, my dear!" said a well-known duchess, as Nora passed with the last scientific man. "Quite a girl, and not a bit like an actress. Beally, if I had not known who she -was, I should have mistaken her for—for one of ourselves!"

Lady Marchmont was delighted. "Isn't she, my dear duchess?" she responded. "But she is one of ourselves; at any rate, she comes of a very good family. Her father is a dean "

The duchess smiled. "I have heard that story," she said, blandly.

"But it is quite true. Mr. Foyle—do you know Mr. Foyle, duchess?— Mr. Spencer Foyle, you know—l think he is here to-nigh^—says that it is quite true. Wo don't know which dean it is, because she -wishes it to be kept secret; but you may rely on Mr. Foyle. Oh, it is true, and, of course, that accounts for it. I declare, I'm quite in love with her already."

The "duchess smiled; Lady Marchmont was always in love with her latest lion. "Poor girl!" she said. "Why poor girl?" asked Lady Marchmont.

"Well, she seems so alone. There is nobody with her to-night, is there?"

"No"; but you know, dear duchess, public characters can always dispense with a chaperone. Their—what do you call it;—.fame gives them 60 much latitude and privilege." The duchess nodded.

"Anyway, she seems a very nice girl," she said. "I wonder whether she would care to come to my little dance on the lflth?"

This is a very fair example of the effect Nora produced on the women. With the men it -was, of cou-rse, victory all along the line. They had all admired and -wept over her at. the theatre; they were ready to worship her in ssociety. They eagerly sought an introduction to her, and" having gained it, gathered round her, and paid her that ready and fluent homage which men in society find so easy. Nora did not know it, but she was really queening it in Lady Marchmont's salon, and her admirers were forming a kind of court round her. And she found it so easy! .She was almost inclined to smile at the fears and apprehensions which had attached her before she came and conquered. She had thought that she would make mistakes; but she made none. She had only to be herself, speak, move naturally, an _—that was all. Everybody seemed pleased, delighted, with her. She put on no airs and graces; did not, so to speak, pose as the last thing in actresses; but behaved just as one of the numerous daughters of the duchess behaved, and— that was all.

But every now and then, while she was talking to her little court, she glanced round the room with a slightly preoccupied air. These were, the kind of people Denis moved amongst: was it likely that he would be here? But she did riot see Denis, and her heart, unsatisfied, foil somewhat.

Late in the evening, Lady Marchmont brought a young man—little _iore than a lad—to her.

"This is my nephew, Lord Vernon, Miss Merton," she said, and moved away again. Lord Vernon —Vern-ie, as he was always called hy his intimates—was a handsome boy, fresh from Oxford, and on his way to the Guards—he had seen Nor.i at the Duke's, and fallen in lovo with her then and there; and he stood bending before her as a devotee bends before his goddess, his face pale and red by turns, his ardent eyes reverential and worshipping He was a marquis—the son pj a powerful duke—and the men round her made way for him after a minute or two, and he sat beside her on the v-elvet lounge, and tried to talk to her. "You must find this kind of thing an awful bore," he said, glancing up at ■her with his boyish blue eyes. Nora smiled down on him. He was shorter than she was, and looked very young —though he was her senior hy a year. "Why?" she asked. "I think it is delightful. The beautiful rooms, and the music, and tlie people " "After the theatre, and the crowd clapping and roaring at you!" he said, almost reproachfully. "Oh. that is different," said- Nora. "I should think so," he said, looking round with something like contempt. "I go to the Duke's every night!" "Every night?" said Nora, with surprise. "Yes," he said. "I've got a stall for tho run of the piece. I used to have a stall at the Frivolity, but I've taken one for the Duke's —since you have been playing there." His eyes weTc raised to her* with fervent adoration. Nora smiled. "That is a very nice compliment to mc, Lord Vernon, hut I am not tho principal actress. Miss Yorke —I saw her here.just now —is the great attraction." "Don't you believe it!" he said, just S3 one boy speaks to another. "You are the great attraction. And I don't wonder at it! There was never an actress like you, 31iss Merton." Nora laughed softly. 'How can you say so? You are very }Oung " "Oh, don't say that!" he broke in, reproachfully. "I didn't tbjink you'd ring that in on mc! I'm not so young. I'll wager that I'm older than you are." "Perhaps," said Nora, very much amused by his earnestness. "And i know what I'm talking about. I know all about the theatres, don't you know. And I'm so glad to see you here, where a fellow can talk to you quietly. I suppose they didn't give you my—my flowers, Miss Merton? I've sent a bouquet every night—orchids, don't you know." "Oh. yes; I've no doubt they did," uepiied Nona. 'iTSut I gat so'- many bouquets " "I daresay," he said, with a. sigh. "Every Johnnie sends flowers; but I only hope that you've noticed mine. I always send white ones " "It's very kind of you," said Nora, trying to cheer him. "I will try and reme'.nbei and notice them." "Do!" he said. "I think you are something splendid in that last scene; I do, indeed 1 It's wonderful 1. I can

scarcely help crying, though I've seen it so often." j

He eaid a great deal more than thisf, and would have continued his histrionic: praise ad infinitum, but Nora gently led him to talk of himself; -of his cricket and driving, -his fishing and shooting. He was a nice boy, and she liked him better than the other men who had clustered round her with compliments and adulation. In a vague way, he reminded her of Denis.

"Will you let mc call upon you, Miss Merton?" he asked at last, and so modestly and reverentially that Nora could not help smiling at him. "I've got a coach —I don't mean a crammer—ibut a four-in-hand, don't you know, and perhaps"—his face flushed, and his voice grew boyishly eager—"perhaps you will consent to come for a drive with me — and my sister," he added. "That's her— the girl in white over there. She's a great admirer of yours; thinks you're simply wonderful, as we all do. Let mc call, will you?" He bent forward almost imploringly. "Yes, certainly," said Nora, and she gave him her address. "Thank you —thank you awfullyl" he murmured. "I—who's this? Oh, Foyle, how do you do?" Nora started slightly, as Spencer Foyle came up, and she held out her hand. Lord Vernon got up with evident reluctance, and left them alone. "Well?" said Foyle, looking at her ■with a smile. "Weill" said Nora. "So it is a success!" he said. "I congratulate you, and I congratulate myself upon the fulfilment of my prophecy." "What do you mean?" asked Nora. He smiled with a cynical curve of his lips. "You have won all along the line," he said, in a low voice. "Lady Marchmont is spending the evening ringing your praises; the women are all envious of you; the men—well, a very fair sample has just left us. In short, Miss Merton has come, and seen, and conquered. Aro you satisfied?" Nora regarded him with -wide-open eyes. "What do you mean?" "Simply that you will be as gTeat a success in Society—with the capital 'S' as you are on the stage," he said. "There is no adverse opinion. I have been here for the last hour " "The last hour!" "Yes; and I -lave been watching and listening," he responded. He did not add that he had been going about the room spreading and confirming the report that she was a lady incognita—a dean's daughter. "You are a great—an emphatic success. From, to-night you have the entree to any house you like. Do you know who that is who has just left you? He is the son of the Duke of Gorton- You smile! Yes, he is only a boy; but he carries weight beyond his years, and be counts. Are you convinced that I was right?"

About this time, Denis and Culmer were sitting over their supper. The moon was at the full, a delicious breeze was floating through the mountain pines. Beside the pannikin of tea and stewed beef was a small iron-clamped box, which contained the fruit of their labour. The lid was open, and the light played with the dull, half-sultry gleam on a pile of opals. Both men eyed it in silence for a time as fhey took a drink of tea or ate a piece of the stewed beef.

They had worked like niggers, they had lived the lives of anchorites. From early morn till dewy eve their spades and picks had made a rough music in the grim solitude. They had seen no fellow, men, had enjoyed no recreation. Rest had been taken by fits and starts. An eager desire to delve, blast, gather wealth from Nature's womb has possessed them. All their talk had been of opals, all their thoughts had been of opals, as they had watched and dug and picked them.

And there they lay in the box before them.

"Well, Denis, lad, what do you think of it?" asked Culmer, nodding towards the box—that precious box. "It's a fine lot," said Denis.

He was burnt brown by the sun, his muscles were like steel, his hands like iron. He looked ten times the man he had seemed in Sedley's chambers. It is a wonderful air, is that of Australia, and the terebino from the pines which surrounded their camp had got into Denis's lungs, and the glamour of the mountains had got into his Wood; and his heart was still true to Nora. It was of her he had thought as he had worked early and late. It was of the good time coming, the time when he should be able to carry haiT of this wealth to England—to England! Oh! you who live at home at ease, how little you understand what that single simple word means!—and claim her. He dreamt of her at night. He thought of her by day. He put his love into every stroke of his pick, every heave of his spade. It was always Nora, Nora, Nora. At times he would feel her arms about his neck, her kiss upon his lips; and the Thought, the feeling, had sustained him through many a trying day. "Yes, a fine lot," said Culmer. "There's a heap of money in that box, Mr Denis. If we keep at it, and the opals hold out —as they will, mark my words—we shall be rich men—l mean HIGH men—presently." He lapsed into silence for a moment, and sucked at his pipe. "What will you do with it Mr Denis?" Denis smiled. "What will you do with it, Culmer?" he asked, parrying the question. Culmer's face grew grave, and he smoked in silence for a moment or two; then he said: "Take it, and lay ft down at my wife's feet, and say, 'There yau are, old girl; it's yours.' " Denis looked at him with some surprise. "I didn't know you were married, Culmer," he said. "Didn't you?" said Culmer, drily. "Don't know as I've mentioned it. Well, I am. An', what's more, I've got a little girl—a daughter. She was born before I left " He paused for a moment, and sucked hard at his pipe. "An' this 'ere," he nodded at the box, "well, it's for her an' the missus, you see." Denis nodded. "I'm glad you're married, Culmer," he said. "You wouldn't know what to do with this pile otherwise." "An' what will you do with yours, man?" asked Culmer. Denis coloured. The moon was shining bright, and yet placid. The trees stood out in dark yet friendly outline. The air seemed to Denis full of Nora. "Well " he said, and hesitated. Then his love found voice. "There's a girl —l'm in love with, Culmer, and— and —and—'—" Culmer stretched out his hand, and got hold of Denis's. "All right, Mr. Denis. Good luck to you! And, barring accidents, we'll be rich men, and happy 'uns —both of us. Hand mc over the tea, Mr. Denis." And, barring accidents—*nd Mr.

Spencer Foyle—they would be rich, very rich indeed— and might be happy. (To be continued next Wednesday.^