The Vital Flame

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 299, 15 December 1923, Page 28

The Vital Flame

A. Stirring Serial of Primitive Passions

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CHAPTER LVTIL BLACKMAIL, "You really care for the Field girl?" pursued Miss Leonie in languid vein, and pretending to smother a slight yawn. He raised his browe. "Should I be wasting my time In arguing out this matter, if I -weren't? If I hadn't determined to make her my wife, do you think for one moment that I'd give a damn for all slandering stories that could estrange us?" "Xo, I suppose not." Then, looking more closely at him. "You're a strong man. Warwick, and a ruthless one. You'd walk over anybody to grab what you wanted, irrespective of the barn, you dM!" His lips curled in a sneer. "Rather late in the day for you to become a moralist!" She did not flinch. "As a matter of fact, it's pretty beastly to let another woman down. I never was a particular friend of the Marcella girl, but I feel I ought to stand by her, in this instance." The man broke into a harsh laugh. What a consummate "poseur" was this pert young female! And he'd done so much for her! This was hie thanks!

But she evidently wasn't to be "got round." He must change liis tack.

"Look here, Leonie, we've always been good pals. Why not come right out in the open and state your case? What on earth's gained by 'beating about the bush? It gets us nowhere." This was irrefutable. "You admit, then, that the tale Is true ?" She put an elbow on the glasstopped wicker table that divided them, and propped 'her chin thoughtfully upon ■her hand. "It isn't a principle of mine to admit anything. But, ac a woman of intelligence, you must see that it might go rather against mc with Marcella to have a yarn of this sort brought to her ears at the eleventh hour, when our marriage day approaches." '"Oh, is it ac soon as that? D*you know I thought that Miles, my quondam suitor, was going to take her from 3-ou?" He stared at her. Had she quite got over the infatuation for the sculptor fellow, when she could speak co lightly of another woman taking him away ■from her? He wondered. . . . But then one never iknew the workings of the female mind. "You think that Marcella would snatch at any excuse to get out of her engagement with you?" went on Leonie, watching her effect with shrewd, calculating eyes. "That attitude of mind isn't very promising for married life, ie it? "

It was against her own interest to point out this undeniable fact, (but she couldn't at the moment resist the impulse to "bait" him, knowing full well his inflexible determination to marry hie reluctant bride.

Beeides, it was fun to tease and annoy him, realising that her grip on him was so secure, now that this extraordinary knowledge had come accidentally into her possession. Like the sword of Damocles, she could hang it over his head until the very nuptial day! "And the alternative T" said Warwick Treman coolly, with a eudden reading of her thoughts ■that made iier jump. "Money, of course. How much ? " She named a sum that etartled him. "Blackmail's a criminal offence, as doubtless you must know?" he counterthrust. "Whatever I've done or haven't done, I haven't put myself within reach of the law." "Not yet," eaid Leonie composedly, "but you plan to do." There was a silence. Her eyes wandered to the golf course. She must give him time to think, to make a definite decision. And, above all, she must keep her head and give an impression of complete tranquility.

"American golfing clothes are rather odd," she remarked, as though to herself. "The men's I mean. There seems to be no definite type of tweeds or cut. I suppose they'd think the 'plus fours' our men wear, ridiculously baggy."

Some girls in gaily-coloured woollen sweaters went by on the verandah, laughing and talking. They looked so carefree that Leonie —adventuress by dint of circumstances, and not from choice, she told herself—quite envied them. Rich parents were undoubtedly behind them. They hadn't to root for money in the unpalatable ways that fell to her!

Warwick spoke with a suddenness that made her start.

"If I were fool enough to give you a lump turn now, to keep your mouth shut, I've no guarantee that you wouldn't go on with your blackmail after marriage!"

Leonie thought a moment, then she voiced a thought that had 'been turning in 'his own mind.

"There would be no necessity for hush-money, because Marcella would ■be yours, and no matter what she heard it would be too late!" "That's a sensible view," commented the man approvingly. "I don't mind talking business with you now!" CHAPTER LIX. MARCELLA UNFOLDS HER HEART. Marcella and her father were in Philadelphia, staying at the Bellevue-Stratford. Across the street, in the BJtz-Carlton, was the aesiduous Warwick Treman. "If only he would let mc alone, I ihould have a wonderful time in this town," reflected Marcella, much perturbed. ("The City of Brotherly Love" was faacinatin, and its citizens extremely hospitable.) But go where she would—and the English archaeologist and his pretty daughter were inundated with invitations— Treman dogged her footsteps. She walked dosvn Chestnut Street one sunny morning, glad to be alone. The narrow street—so utterly unlike an English thoroughfare and yet pukating with such life, such bustle —had fascinating shops op either side. Attractive girls in eports-clothes, with an out-of-doors air about them, and "sensible," flat-heeled shoes (which caused Marcella's eyes to widen) seemed especially in evidence.

"The New York girk 'dress up' more," reflected the newcomer, thinking of the elaborate suits and gorgeous gowns one geee upon Fifth Avenue. "These girls look as thrfligh they spent their days on the golf links and the tennis courts rather than at bridge clubs or tea-dances. The eunbura even is allowed to show! Yet they are equally pretty—"

She prowled round Independence Square, that haunt of art and literature, and from thence through rambling, quiet streets in the residential section, that had quaint brick or stone houses with flowering window-boxes reminding her of England.

'•The Quaker City is the City of Homee," she murmured, quite intrigued.

The undulating pasture-land outside the precincts of the town reminded her of England, too, co verdant and so beautiful it was. And the millionaire-homes, set. in a world of greenery—although they lacked that sense of permanence, of being part and parcel of the soil that centuries alone can bring—were reminiscent of the castles and the feudal homes three thousand miles away!

"Their country hotels are quite palatial," thought she, one night when she had dined with Warwick Treman at a hostelry with the intriguing name of Green Valley Farms, where the food equalled the Rltz of any country in the world. "Wonder what they'd say to our darling little English pubs five or six hundred years of age, boasting one bathroom, no electric light, ridiculous little lattice-windows, and black-raftered ceilings so low that one actually bumps one's head! But"—with a laugh—"we don't have to drink wine from teapote, and camouflage a cocktail in a kitchen cup!" If only Miles were here! If only Warwick would sheer off!

To Jier intense delight, the former came next morning early, and telephoned her before she was actually out of bed.

"To-morrow I'm having an exhibition in the town," he explained, "I came a day earlier, knowing you were here. I have a plan in mind. , ' The plan was that they should go to Atlantic City for the day! "You ought to see a big American seaside resort. It's quite unique," said he, although Marcella perfectly realised that the scheme had not merely been arranged for sight-seeing but to "have her to himself" for one whole day.

And ac luck would have it, Warwick was engaged for all that morning! She consented to the scheme.

Marcella donned the white sports skirt and coloured sweater that seemed to be the outdoor uniform for such occasions, in this country, and went off blithely to the "depot" with her escort. They must live, to-day, in the enchanted present. The bonds of her unfortunate "engagement" had somehow tightened—would she be strong enough to break them?

And what of Miles with Leonie Dayt She knew now that he tever had truly cared for Leonie.

As they sped through the flat countryside towards the coast, Miles did not talk of his fiancee. He spoke about his work, and then of trivial things.

But the undercurrent of feeling ran high, just the same, and Marcella felt like a little girl let out from school, and wildly happy. When they reached their destination, a taxi took them from the station to the "Boardwalk," which extended along the Atlantic coast for miles and miles.

Marcella cried out in delight. The endless glittering white piere, the tossing ocean, and the wide beach thronged with bathers in the most astounding costumes mightily intrigued her.

Aβ for the famous "Boardwalk" itself, never, in her life had she seen anything to equal it, with its hundreds of "rolling chairs" propelled by negroes, its wondrously attired maidens in the very latest fashion, its splendid shops that gazed directly on the sec, and its air of dash and gaiety. The health-giving breezes from those tossing waters were as heady as champagne. Marcella drew in long, deep breaths.

"Shall we have a swim before lunch?" suggested Miles.

They went to a bathing-house and hired their costumes, then plunged into the tumbling surf. It was immensely powerful, caught Marcella up and knocked her over, flinging her into the arms of a Herculean youth with the word "coastguard" sewn across his tunic.

"You must hold on to someone," he explained, and appeared to be quite willing for the job.

Marcella was amused. She struggled through the surf, and swam with Miles out and beyond it, into smoother waters.

"If we never need return again!" she breathed.

Later, however, they "dried off" on the sands, amidst vast crowds of gay young people, who paraded along the sandy beach, or lay drowsily in the sunshine in amazing bathing costumes. "Look at the young man with the ukulele!" exclaimed Marcella. "Isn't he a Dana Gibson hero! Such a lean, handsome face! And see the two 'flappers' with him, bobbed hair and all!"

The young ladies in question reclined on each side of their escort. One wore a crimson silk one-piece suit, much abbreviated, with her name "Topsy" in large white letters on the back thereof. "Billy," the other damsel, was in emerald green. Their blonde heads were carefully marcellc-wavcd, and neither had been in the water.

Miles and Marcella lunched together in a wonderful hotel, and afterwards hired a "rolling chair" for two, with a striped awning overhead to keep the sun off. A large darkey pushed them for miles along the Boardwalk.

How they talked, those two! There was so much to be said, and—after all —so little time to say it in. Marcella told Miles everything. Her own love for him, the unfortunate Swiss episode of long ago, the ruthlessness of Warwick Treman, the man's absolute determination to win her for hie wife. CHAPTER LX. IN TREMAN'S POWER. Miles, in return, opened hiswnole heart to her. Never would he give Marcella up. Let Treman do his worst, and hang the consequences.

"As for Leonie," he finished quietly. "I don't thihk she cares for mc half as much as she pretends to do. But in any case I couldn't many her, and I shall tell her so."

A weight was ojT Marcella's mind and heart. Never had the world appeared co beautiful. And later, when a young moon rose above the sea and turned the deep blue of its waters into an enchanted silver, she and Miles were literally in fairy land.

They took a late train back to Philadelphia, arriving not at all abashed at the hotel. There, Miles bade her good, night.

"You're certain about everything , , sweetheart?" he whispered, giving her hand a long, close pressure. "Xo going back this time?"

The radiance on her face was sufficient answer. He went away, contented.

When Marcell* gained her room she found her father waiting for her. He

looked very tired and very old, she, thought, and a pang shot through her heart. How selfish to have gone off for, the whole day, neglecting him!"

"How did the lecture go?" she asked, kissing him.

"Very well." His mind, however, seemed on something else. "My dear, I, have been very greatly perturbed. Mr, Treman has been here to see me —very, angry and upset. It seems he knew of, your going off with Mr. Holden for the. day, and greatly resented it."

Xo«* was Marcella's chance. She took it. Into her father's ears she poured the. full tale of her love for Miles, her dread, of Treman.

"I can't marry him," she finished, staring in perplexity at the ashen face opposite her.

Then she added: "What's the matter, Daddy ?"

His hands were shaking. "If you don't marry him, Marcella, we are ruined!" the old man blurted out.. "He—got me—to do something —it seems it was dishonourable—l didn't realise what I was doinjr! He has mc absolutely in his power! To-day—to-day—he told mc that if you 'let him down' he would take full revenee on me —on us "

He buried his face in his shaking hands, and utterly broke down.

"Whatever Warwick Treman dares to say," breathed Marcella in a fierce whisper, "I am quite, quite certain you, are incapable of a dishonourable action!" Rlifi bent over her father's bowed head, hpr two arms about his shoulders. He was so likfi a child —a simple-minded child —a vast protective instinct rose in her, to comfort him, to shield him from every adverse wind. "And now tell mc all about it," she went on, forcing herself to be bracing aa well as cheering. "Two heads are better than one, and yours, Daddy, is always either in the clouds or in the tombs, isn't it?" He did not smile. "I was mistaken in the man, my child. I'm a poor judge of character, And—l can see now when it's too late— I've been a bad and selfish father* following my own work, which is my pleasure, rather than thinking of your, future, your happiness " She placed a gentle hand across his lips. "There! That will do, dearest. To mc you've always been all that is perfect. And now to business. Tell mc all about it." Disjointedly he blurted out the eorry story. "You remember the valuable vase I brought from Egypt?" "Yes, yes, of course. The one you dug out of that ancient tomb, and sometimes show in your lectures over here?" The old man nodded. "Soon after we landed in New York I was wandering round Greenwich village, when in a window I espied a vase that had such a similarity to my treasure that immediately I went inside the shop to make inquiries concerning it." "\es," said Marcella encouragingly. "Go on, please."

"On a closer examination I found it was a clever fake. Behind the shop was a sort of pottery, or studio, run by « queer Russian Jew. He asked mc to bring in my Kgyptian vase. I did so, and he copied it so accurately that even I could scarcely tell the difference between the real and the imitation. And so, having paid him 30dol for his trouble, I took both away with mc, putting a tiny mark on the inside of the second vase so that I should more easily recognise it as the imitation." Marcella cut in with a comment. "I didn't know that ancient vases were a hobby with you?" Her father shonlc his head. "I haren't studied them enough. But in London, experts in the antique business valued the original at about three thousand pounds. I had it valued just before we sailed. Indeed, I should have sold it then, but Mr. Treman advised mc to hold on, saying that I might get a much .better price in this country, where money is 'easier' than it is ai present in England."

"I see," said Marcella slowly, wondering what wae coming next.

Her father went on, speaking with difficulty:—■

"I kept the two vases in Mr. Treman's suite in his hotel. Occasionally I would take the original to a lecture. One night a gentleman in the audience who is enormously rich, and who collect*, came up on the platform afterwards, with a friend who is an expert in Egyptian antiques. After some talk, they made mc an offer of twenty thousand dollars for the vase."

"That's a thousand pounds more than you were offered in England," commented Marcella, listening hard. A sum like this would surely get them out of all financial troubles ! (To be continued Saturday next.)