"THE PAINTED LILY"

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 86, 13 April 1926, Page 18

"THE PAINTED LILY"

By OLIVE WADSLEY,

CHAPTER IV. Val did not appear to say good-bye. but Lil Baker, cheery and peroxide "as ever, waved Ronnie off exuberantly. Lil was "big Bill" Baker's wife, and had run oil fields, ranches, mining camps and saloons in her day. She was tiny, indomitable, straight as a string, and a_ made-up as one woman can be, and yet bear some faint resemblance to her real self.

She had looked after Val ever since her own mothers death years before. Whenever Val had been ill, or Bully obliged to be absent for any time, Lil had either come to Val, or Val had stayed with her. She had ridden over in a Ford the night before; Ronnie was driving in it to the nearest station. Lil watched him out of sight with a very speculative gaze. "Trust a man," she had said to herself when she had heard of the marriage. "Trust a man to fix a tom-fool arrangement of this sort, believin' he was doin' somethin' wonderful! I wish I could have seen old Bully Dixon before he died—before he fixed this anyway. I can't believe one of them lightning, sort of marriages won't end in misery, an' I'm an optimist!" After which she went back to Val, who, in riding breeches and shirt, had just come into the living room. "Goin' ridin', dearie?" Lil inquired. "Yep. May as well. Somethin' to do." A minute later Val had gone, at a tearing gallop. She came back three hours later, her horse and herself galloped out. Lil heated water, and then cooked dinner. She and Val were just finishing when the Ford drove up, and the man who had driven it came in with some things Lil had ordered from the station store. He smiled frankly at Val as he said, unloading his things: "Ten pounds sugar Mis' Baker—five currants—you sure treat us to it, Miss Dixon, and' that's a fac'! ' Ten tins apricots, two barrels sardines—never was so serprized in my life, I guess, a*, when I saw the roan lep three fences ahead—guess the ridin' way's a good seven milo shorter than the buggy track? Yep, apples, soda—starch—Ronnie wondered you didn't catch up again Val— there's the bar of soar,—Mis' Baker— that's the lot."

Lil said nothing to Val, but she stole one glance at her, and it showed her a Val with brilliant eyes in a divinely flushed face.

"My Lawd," Lil breathed to herself, washing up alone, later, "so that's it, is it? He doesn't—she does—wonder ;if he knows? Anyway I guess I can let the old man know I'll not be here tor a long visit. I'll give her a week—that the limit—before she wants to travel to New York!"

It is fairly safe to say that by the time he had reached the first big stopping place, Ronnie had ceased to be 'bothered about his marriage; by the time he arrived in New York he had practically forgotten it. So many little things pleased him so much; the possibility of a bath whenever he wanted one, limit-

less hot water, limitless cleanliness in all matters, and food which wasn't a slap of fried meat, and wasn't canned.

He drove straight to the Ritz-Carlton, and had very, nearly said "A small room," when he remembered "half a million, cool!" "Give mc a room with a bathroom attached and a sitting room," he ordered.

"A decently small suite." He wandered about New York that evening like a scl.oolboy home for the holidays. He had had live years of the hardest living, and as little thinking as possible, one year when he had nearly starced, and all four when he had worked like a black, and now he was here in civilised life again, in one of the finest cities of the world.

He thought of London as he walked down Broadway, of Piccadilly, and Bond Street, of the jolly wide roads which lead into London from Surrey, and then he remembered Val. He had thought, "I'll leave on the Mauretania." Then some dim odd memory had tugged at his mind, and he had realised he couldn't leave until Val came.

Why the dickens had she been so shirty—all of a sudden. They'd been getting along so splendidly. Poor little kid, she was' all on edge. He felt a little impulse of tenderness towards her; it must be pretty rotten for a kid to be up against things—he'd look after her all he knew, try to give her a good time, make her happy. Married—he— Ronnie —was actually married. "Not so you'd notice it!'' he murmured, with a boyish grin.

But he would do the straight thing by Val. It'ud need a bit of patience— she'd want 'teaching rather a lot. But after all, she was so awfully pretty, and it was Ronnie's experience that pretty girls learnt things quite quickly enough! Funny, dashed funny, Iris wiring to him like that, at such a time. Well, she might be at the Baltimore for all of time, she could stay there; that was finished utterly.

He walked back to his hotel, and went to toed fairly early, to a real bed. As he felt the coolness of the sheets he thought of the harsh, mud-coloured blankets of the men's quarters—and these sometimes were their sole posession.

He had never thought much about things in Texas, for the simple reason that all the thinking in the world couldn't have altered them, but now he told himself with a queer sort of amazement that all the hard side of life was finished for him —thanks to Dixon— thanks to Val. He lay awake thinking of her; of her "littleness," by which he meant her youth, her funny little Innocence about everything, her and then of that moment when Jim had barbed in. His last thought was: perhaps some pal of his would help Val a bit iv London.

It was a divine day, blue and golden with a tiny breeze, when Ronnie was summoned up town to interview Dixon's solicitors again. He had been in Kew York for a week, and he had loved every second of it. hiLni lt ?l h I A been ver y de( *nt, very to Val SS Md T itten all «» »ewl to VaJ, had done a few theatres, metof all people under the sun-old Holly Carfax the one man out of all heaven and earth he would have chosen to mitt and Holly and he had done the place to' gether. 1 eKO

Holly was still in the one and only regiment, but he was dashed poor; he was in hope some girl who wasn't would look at him, only she had to be pretty and young, and be had to be desperately in love with her.

Author of "The Flame," "Frailty," "Nevertheless" etc., etc,

Ronnie had told him about Val then. and Holly had listened, and looked embarrassed and then blurted out: "But don't you care for her—or she for you —at all?" So Ronnie had explained all over

again, but still Holly Lad been worried. "It'll turn out all right," Ronnie had promised him, laughing. "I couldn't have done it," Holly said simply, wagging his blonde head— "seems so—so bloodless to me—because, after all, you are married to the girl, and to live side by side with, someone you don't care a hoot fori. . . ." He was really upset. "Xo photo of her, have you J I s'pose you wouldn't have, though—" That was another disappointment. I Ronnie told him: "Val's lovely, absolutely. Wait till you see her." [ "Makes it seem worse her being lovely, like you say, and you not caring," Holly muttered. He seemed determined to be j miserable about it. "Good lord, man, there's nothing between us at all, we're just pals. It's an ideal state of things under the circs.," Ronnie cried, getting exasperated in his turn. Whereafter Holly spoke no more of Val. On the blue and golden day he lunched with Ronnie at Sherry's, and it was he who suddenly clutched Ronnie's arm. i and said sharply: "Let's clear." But it I was too late. Iris had almost reached the table. She called to Ronnie in the voice he remembered so well, it's laziness, its sweetness, its charm: "Ronnie dear—after such an age!" Holly beat it pretty soon. He had never liked the beautiful Mrs. Warden, and, since what he called the "smash," he had loathed her. So Iris and Ronnie went out into the sunshine together, and talked of London, and the war, and Paris, and Charters (the Warden's house was only ten miles away from it). Gloucestershire meets and London balls took place on Broadway as they talked and talked And then with the little laugh (unforgettable too!) Iris said: "You aren't at the Ritz-Carlton, Ronnie! How absurd! Because I am, too, I moved this morning!" They went home together then, and on the way Iris "adored" a flower shop window, so naturally, Ronnie bought most of it for her, and they walked backladen with roses, lilies and violets, and gardenias. 'Where are you?" Iris asked, and when Ronnie told her, said: "I mu st just peep at your room, and leave you some flowers. I know you have none -Nice men never do! unless someone— elderly-and kind-" She laughed straight into his eyes, "an old friend , j-ou know, arranged a few for them'"' ' She seemed more anxious to arrange ier hair and powder her face than do lowers for Ronnie when they reached :he sitting room. She stood before the mirror, inlet into ;he wall, and touched her hair with her vhite fingers, on one of which a square imerald blazed. "Heavens, I look tired," she said. "Tlie reason was a tearing rush. Ronnie, and haven t recovered from it yet. Now ■-ou, coming from your wilds, look •ounger than ever, and awfully fit and mart. ..." It was the reference to his clothe* he knowledge of his money question gam. which awoke Ronnie to the fact hat he had never mentioned his marlage. Iris had finished powdering her face ihe came slowly across the room to him .nd stood beside him. "How do you think I've worn Ronie?" He had to look at her then, into her yes -which were so like dark amber, at er hair which he had once told her ras "night-dark." She was indisputably Dvely, a "finished" woman from th*e rown of her silken head, to the narrow ole of her foot, and she used the same Id scent (jasmine, or something; it -as awfully faint but you couldn't get way from it.) "You look just the same as ever," he Did her. "Oh, my dear!" she paused, then dded, her hand on his sleeve, "Ronnie, 'you know it's ten years—nearly?" He nodded, wishing in his own heart ris wouldn't rake up things. It made im feel hot and uncomfortable—and he adn't told her about Val. She was speaking again : "It hasn'.t been a happy time, since c—sincee —since you went away." Ronnie did make an effort then, .ttempting a laugh: "Iris, this is all bunkum!" he said. It's sweet of you, my dear, to he so kind ) mc, but you know as well as I do, lat I didn't go away, I jolly well was snt I" Iris swept up her lashes, and he saw lere were tears in her eyes. "And you haven't forgiven mc 1" "Of course I have," Ronnie said inantly, eagerly, and he was just going > tell her about his marriage, when lere was a stir of voices, steps. The door opened, and Val entered. Ronnie felt a bit as he had felt when j had been preparing to go over the >p: rather as if he might be sick, and vfully chill all ever. But he went forward instantly and .id : "Hullo, my dear, why ever didn't you ire?" And Val said, in a voice which was rident through anger and nervousness: "Guess I thought I'd surprise you— i' I guess I have !" (To be continued daily.)