the vital flame A Stirring Serial of primitive Passions bymay Christie

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 213, 8 September 1923, Page 25

the vital flame A Stirring Serial of primitive Passions bymay Christie

WHO'S WHO IN THE STORY. A FIELD - Deaitifnl girl, Is sought In marriage by W |ta. W J C , K TREMA *. a power In the emrSn la ' world . who does not ecorn to hu J » memor y of an indiscretion In •SVhSSbind PerßUOde hCr tO BCCept bUn H&VEEn&J^ 11 - xiarcella thai L^om E h DA J- a calenl atin X young woman, whom he has set up In a millinery shop ParirshTi^rodiic 8118 t0 *' ' considerably aboveie/statlon! , a person L mKtg R e RINGT ° N - a fatU ° US ™ D Of ort?M J iB 1 !- 1 < ,ucd aa Holden, thinking l"i r * confesses he had been dreaming when she chides him for his neglect. Meanwhile Marcella. convinced by his 5« ?.°mli ♦ Mlleß ' V**™*' discover/that Her family fortunes are very low. CHAPTER XVT. THE OTHER HALF. She must sell her jewels. They would fetch enough—even though the market wasiA good at present—to tide her father and herself over this crisis. Thereafter she would go to worx. The thought of sheer hard work was comforting to her aching heart. Work ■was the panacea! It taught one to forget unhappy love affairs—at least, if all the wiseacres w-ere to be believed. Here Marcella fell into a day-dream. Impossible to believe that Miles Holden was the callous creature he appeared to be! There must be some excuse —301110 adequate explanation. This Leonie Dajl But—loving Marcella^ —how could he be attracted to another? Ruefully ghe admitted that lots or men seemed (built that way! A married man, for instance, in New York, had showered roses and "candy" on Maroella, and when the latter had remonstrated, sayjng that his wife I might recent euch actions, he had laughed gaily and assured her that, although hie heart might not 'be the home of many mansions, still it held lots of room for two women at the 9ame time. I "Phe artistic temperament," said Marcella slowly and deliberately, turning the knife round in the wound, "the artistic temperament can't be judged by ordinary standards and—and reflexes. He showed mc only one side on the ■boat. To be the artist that he is, must . mean .he has a dozen different sides, ' and —and—" J A lump in the throat prevented further articulation. Two great tears welled up in her eyes. "I must forget him! I can't go on and on, hoping, and waiting, and trying to trust—and becoming more and more ; miserable!" thought she, jerking the dreary row of bills and "Please Remit'a" j into a long line. I The 'phone bell rang. Her heart leapt at the sound. Good gracious! Could it be ? It wasn't. "That you. Marcella? This is Warwick speaking. Would you dine with mc toI night? I've had an awfully busy day, ana I 1 won't ibe through till seven o'clock, ; but I could call for you in the car soon after that—if agreeable to you?" The girl hesitated. She didn't want a tete-a-tete with him. But she was young enough to find a restaurant amusi ing. To-night her father was to read a 1 paper at some meeting, and she would be alone in the <big, gloomy house, lacing a solitary evening of profitless worry on the subject of the man who didn't write. 'Thank you. I suppose I could come " she said uncertainly, and without the least enthusiasm. "That will be delightful! Be ready at seven-thirty. Thank you so much, Marcella. You're a 'brick!" He must not expect too much at once, he told himself, with a. little smile which showed his confidence. In a garishly furnished flat in the theatrical quarter of the city, a woman in a gorgeous pink kimono, with a mop of yellow hair framing a white and frightened face, stood facing a slim, dark, foreign-looking man who glared at her in sullen anger. "I can't, Jose! I tell you that I can't! It's not a J>it of good to ask mc!" Without the make-up on her face, she had a haggard air. Her hands were shaking. "And I tell you that you can—and will, Deirdre! Who's the 'boss here, I'd "like to know? And who are you, to go against mc?" Her nostrils quivered, like a stag at I bay. ' "111 do anything in reason, Jose! Aβ God's my witness —" "Oh, cut out the dramatics! They don't work with mc. I know your kind 'too well." She put out a pleading hand, and caught his arm. "I love you, Jose! You do 'believe I'm on the straight?" •He ehook her hand off, angrily. "Yes, that's your trouble. Conscience! Faugh!" He gave a short, harsh laugh. "It's too late in the day to start that sort of thing. Why, you white-livered coward, if I'd known you'd let mc down, I'd never have—haye—" "Married mc?" she supplemented, trembling. He flung his dark head 'back, with a crow like an infuriated rooster. "Married you, 'ha! ha! That's a good one. I wonder you have the nerve—" A wave of dull red crept to the chalky whiteness of her face. "We did stand up before the clergyman. Don't you remember putting the ring on my finger, and promising to—" "Yes, and I know what I found out afterwards. Enough to have you gaoled, my lady! I was the one that was deceived. Now, when I only ask you to get your rightful—" here he hesitated for a moment, gToping for a word — "your rightful hush-money, you come the innocent angel over mc, and flatly refuse to do as I tell you. He moved close to her, and caught her- roughly by the arm, twisting it until she screamed. "You shan't defy mc! I'll chow you I'm your master!" "Oh, let mc go! You're hurting mc! Ugh! Ah!" "Shut up! I don't want the police in." He released his hold so unexpectedly that she staggered back. "I only want you to understand that if you think I'm going to support you here in luxury, you're mightily mistaken. There are lote of younger and better-looking women thai *nd knock apoto off you, my lady— «• tw warned in tiawl"

Deirdre's mental suffering eclipsed the pain of her injured arm. "You wouldn't turn mc out, Jose! I— I m mad about you. Sometimes I've tried to hate you, to break away from the —the kind of spell you cast on mo —but I can't. I can only go on and on, caring for you, and' having you trample on my lieart." The man sneered openly. ""Aw, cut out the melodrama! You're no damn good to mc at all. Look at the boardship swag you lost by flatly refusing to <?nter that girl's cabin, and trying to queer my pitch, and 1 muffed the whole, thing, and was very nearly caught— '' "She was very, kind to mc. I couldn't —couldn't —" stammered Dejrdre. "I believe you 'squealed' on us, too," went on the angry man. "Come on— own up—you told her to watch out, and lock her door—" "I didn't," lied the trembling woman, knowing full well he would half kill her if she told the truth. CHAPTER XV] T. OUT OF THE PAST. Then, with a desperate effort to placate hini. "I did my very best ill the cardroom, Jose. You said at the time how well I'd done!" ' He nodded, grudgingly. "\ ou're a wonder, when you really try! But lately it seems as though you'd got religion. You'll be wanting to go into a convent next!" "And leave you? I—l couldn't!" He could beat her and ill-treat her, as indeed he very often did, but—like a faithful dog—she would crawl back to him. Some women are like that. Jose was a double-dyed rogue, but he had hypnotised Deirclre. And he realised his power. He changed his tack now. "•Jake and Andy and I have fixed up a little job for you. Nice, lady-like, refined," he chuckled nastily. "You know the Beau Regard Hotel in Bianritz? The Countess of Blankshire is stopping there, and Jake has engaged the room next to hers, on your behalf—he can't take it for himself, because the Countess is so terrified of burglars that she pays the manager to put only ladies on that floor—and I nant/ you to go on over, and get friendly with her, Deirdre. You can do it perfectly, so don"t start jawing, Wear the quiet brown 'transformation,' and pose as a titled French widow. You'll pull it ofF all right!" He patted her reassuringly on her bruised arm, and she gave a little cry of pain. "tl 1 don't put it off, I'll get five years in quod, maybe," she murmured. "The .police 'udrake up everything. Sometimes, Jose, I think Scotland Yard's watching mc, and just waiting, waiting." "Nonsense, girl, don't lose \ - our nerve! D*you remember the last time you were of French nobility, when you bored the hole in the wall into the English madam's dressing room, chloroformed the maid who was asleep in a chair, for fear she'd wake; and cleared the whole place out?" And he chortled appreciatively. Her dog-like passion for him merely bored him, but he turned it to good account. He full}- realised how able was this woman's skill in sleight of hand. Deidre drew him on a divan that was gay with multi-coloured cushions, and slipped a hand about his neck. "Listen, Jose. I have a plan." She rubbed her cheek against his olivotinted one. Her voice was low and very much in earnest". "I've been round the managers and agents, and they're all on the look-out for a clever dancing couple, as you and I used to be, and we could easily land a job on the halls, at — say—thirty quid a week." Then, hurriedly, seeing his face harden: "I'd Bleep easier at nights, Jose, if you and I were running straight! Time and again I wake up, all of a tremble, thinking the 'tecs are here." "Aha! So that's why you take the sleeping-powders? Fine excuse, my dear!" he sneered. She flushed sensitively. "I—l'd give 'em up, Jose, honest I ■would, if I had an easy conscience. And —and I love you so—and it'd kill mc if the police were to put you away—or maybe catch mc first and lock mc away from you. I—we're swell dancers, Jose —we could draw down big money. No one can get near our class—" "Shut up, you fool!" the man said, irritably, pushing her away, and rising. "I'm after bigger fish than your beastly jobs. If you don't do as I tell you, 1 don't be surprised one fine morning to j find mc gone—for <jood—or maybe I I should cay 'for evil!' " And he chuckled ' grimly. j r>«irdrc buried her face in the garish cushions, with a heart too sad for tears. "How beautiful you look to-night, Marcella!" Warwick Treman leant across the table in the crowded grill-room of the restaurant Marcella had selected, and gazed appreciatively at his lady-love. She had been rather silent and "distraite" throughout dinner, but of course the constant banging of the orchestra had prevented talk. (Marcella had chosen this place for that very reason, had he only known it.) 1 She tried to smile at him, a wan 1 attempt. "Flatterer!" she retorted. Someone else had used those very : words to her, hardly more than a week ago. How happy she had been! \nd ! how wonderful if the man opposite could have been transformed into that fascinating, handsome, "someone else" ' . What a painful thing love wast Really' ; one suffered far beyond its compensat-' mg pleasures. " She must drag Miles Holden from her mind and heart. Warwick was talking eagerly. Someva'K« t!"; , 8 * n ° ddcd *t bterthing he said ln a ltlmugh her thoJX turned painfully and persistently to that :Sef^o C To e r; a t? m r^ !w^e at w^ B htf SdOin^tth -o m e nt? B hlwe^w^;ys^-- r but I' m sure "^J*,*" I Marcella stared I "The little car I'm jrivinc „ ~ j he, explaining P Vou > said

She scanned the big room quickly, hoping to light on a brand-new topic to diotract his mind. Her gaze rested on a yellow-haired woman who, seated alone at a distant table, had her elbows stuck out before her, and her two hands propping up her chin, in an attitude of , hopeiess dejection. There was something familiar in the ! woman's pose. . . • "Why, that's a girl I met on board ship. Deidre was her name. Poor soul, how miserable she looks!" cried Marcella in quick pity. Then, to her companion:— "I'd lifce to run over and talk to her for a moment. I'm sorry for her." 1 Warwick Treman's gaze followed Marcella's. "The blonde woman at the table over there?" "Yes. Awfully down on her luck, poor creature!" I The man rose at once. He had already J paid the bill, and— i "I'll get my hat and stick from the 'contrnom. and meet you outside," he said hastily, in a queer, strained voice, staring at the yellow-haired woman with a srowinsr conviction. Was it. . . could lit be. . • rtood ""J! ■ • • ■ "All right. I shan't be more than a moment," said Marcella. I She did not see that Warwick Treman'3 ! face had turned a sickly green, and that beads of perspiration had mantled on his i forehead. CHAPTER XVIII. A RESCUE. Deirdre etared blankly at Marcella, as though looking through beyond ihe girl. "Don't you remember mc?" inquired the latler, rather regretting her impulsive action in renewing 'He slignt and not too apparent pleasant acquaint- , anco with thi. woman. But somewh w she had felt sorry for her. And —miserable herself—she could unders and th sullering of others. "Yes. Yes, of course." Tlu blank 1 look gave place to a puzzle 1 one. i''Quite lately, wasn't if! We met somewhere " •■>;jii board ship," said Marcella, t;iken back. Could the woman really have ! forgotten? ! Deirdre shrank away from her. Fear ! shone in her amber-coloured eyes. Her ! hands ehook. She clasped them tightly in her lap and stared up at Marcella as though she were a terrifying ghost out of the past. "Do you want anything? , ' she gasped. "What is it? Tell mc!" Marcella slipped into a vacant chair. People would notice the creature's excitement, so she must act normally and easily. J "Of course I don't want anything,' , she said in a soothing voice, "unless to help you in any way I can —" The supplementary phrase was uttered on an impulse. Intuitively eho sensed that the trembling woman was in trouble of some sort. I "No one can help," said Dcirdro in a J dull, monotonous tone, her hands grip--1 ping one another tightly. Then, as though she had to say it: "death 'ud !be the only thing could help mc! I'm j trying to make up my mind which way ; the going would be easiest —and quick- | est." ■ Her listener recoiled. I Suicide? "Don't talk like that! Nothing's so ' bad that it can't be better J " J How trite and silly the empty phrase sounded. J But Deirdre wasn't even listening. ' , She was staring straight ahead of her again, with the blank stare that had jso alarmed Marcella. "Would—would it help to tell about it?" went on the latter, coaxingly. Her own trouble had- grown less gigantic in the face of another's woe. • "No. You wouldn't understand. No /one would. They'd think I was lucky Jto have got rid of him. They'd say he was a bad lot. He was, too—but I'd give my soul to have him back j again. Marcella saw daylight. A love affair? "I understand. Dcirdre. That kind of pain is the worst to bear. You mean j that your husband's dead?" She didn't know if Deirdre had a husband, but the grief on the woman's small, pale face showed the strength of her affection. "No, not dead." She looked up suddenly at the other. "He's chucked mc, that's all! Cleared out this afterI noon, and says he's through with mc." I Her voice broke. "Why?" Marcella put out a sympathetic hand and touched the woma.-'s arm. Deirdre winced, and jerked her arm away. "Don't! That's where lie hurt mc. He—he always was a beast to me— leastways, nearly alwaya. He —he only I wanted mc as long as I was useful to I him." This was followed by a chokina stifled sob. "Then you are lucky to be free of him!" exclaimed Mnrce'lla. "Why, if a dared to strike mc, I—l'd turn 1 the police on him—l'd walk straight ] out of the house, and dare him to follow I mc, to epeak to me—" I "Oh, no, you wouldn't. Not if you I loved the way I love my—my husband." I She lifted up her hand with a queer 'defiance that went ill with her misery. "Girls like you—sheltered and well-born and refined—don't understand the kind of love that'll bear anything, just so long as your man stays 'with you —" ("I do understand," Marcella* told herself, her thoughts upon the absent Miles. He might be faithless, cruel, false, but she simply couldn't tear his image from her heart!) Aloud she said, gently: "I can feel for you, Deirdre! Don't you think you're exaggerating things, nnd that this husband of yours will come 'back, after all? Men often do and say things m a temper, and then repent." Deirdre pave a dreary laush. "You don't know Jose. Sometimes I don't think he has a human heart." Marcella hesitated. She couldn't spend much time here with this woman —Warwick Treman was waiting in the vestibule—but she did want, to understand the whole cause of her trouble, "Why did he go away and leave you?" "Because I wanted to run straight." "Ah! thought Marcella, here was missionary work all ready to her hand. God had sent this poor creature to her, to distract her own mind from "her troubles, so that she might find happiness in extending succour to a being in distress. "And you'll go on running straight, in spite "of what he's done? The best side of him is bound to respect you. And you'll soon begin to see the brighter side of things." Deirdre gave a wan smile. This Innocent child was almost funny, though her heart seemed in the right place. "The brighter side? Ha! Ha! Would you feel bright if you hadn't a single pal in the ivorld, or a job, or money, and your last boy left you? Would you? Why, I don't know where my next meal's coming from— end what's more. I dont eaxel"

Here was a snag. Marcella herself was in financial difficulties. The family bills hung over her pretty head like the sword of Damoceles. To-morrow morning a man from the jeweller's was coming to value her trinkets and make an offer. She and her dreamy, impractical father were in actual straits. "But there"s surely something you could do, Deirdre? - You'd be happier working. I —l want to find a job, myself." "You?" Deirdre twas incredulous. "With your lovely face, and clothes, and jewels? And the young fellow on the ship that was crazy over you?" The other winced. She had touched inadvertently on a very sore place here. "Never mind about mc. Talk about yourself. You must get work, Deirdre. No, what can you do?" Marcella tried to sound brick and bracing, and Deirdre's sad face Hght : cned just a little. "I dance quite decently. Jose and 1 did a dancing turn in Belgium one summer that was a perfect riot. Cabaret work you know. Maybe 1 could get on the halls over here if I could find a partner. But there's no one could touch Jose ——" and ehe sighed reminiscently. Marcella rose, slipping a card into the woman's hand. I'll see if I can find anything for you. Come and see mc about eleven to-morrow morning, nnd we'll talk tho matter over. And —and in the meantime, don't do anything—foolish!" (To be continued Saturday next.)