"OUT OF THE PAST"

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 33, 8 February 1930, Page 14 (Supplement)

"OUT OF THE PAST"

By MARTEN CUMBERLAND

CHAPTER XIX,

Facing Poverty,

The next morning Gloria awoke in her istrange bed at Ashdown House with that sense of momentary bewilderment that new surroundings give. She had not slept until the small hours of the morning, and then she had sunk into the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion. For a moment she gazed about her in surprise; then memory flooded back to her and a terrible pang shot through her heart. She was alone, more alone than -she had ever been in her life! Wearily she rose, trying to throw off her physical heaviness and mental depression. After a breakfast in the common dining room downstairs she felt a little better and roused herself for the effort that lay before her. First she would go and see her old master, Carlo Montevecci. If he could do nothing else for her, lie would at least cheer her up a little. She made a careful toilet, and then, lea vine the boarding house, walked into Kensington Gardens in the direction ot Hyde Park. The famous singer was a late riser and it would not do to call too early. It was beautiful ui the xark. •with the eun shining over trees and •water: the children laughing and shoutin- as they played their mysterious games under the watchful eyes of nurse- ' mAt any other time the girl would have ireioiced in the July sunshine and the brightness around her, but now her heart was terribly sad. Carlo Montevecci received her at once in his Jermyn Street flat. The famous singer appeared not to have aged m the least since Gloria saw him last. _ His shock of dark hair and neatly trimmed beard were as black as ever. His eyes, of a very dark luminous brown, were still as keen as a boy's, and his gestures had all the old impulsiveness. He had grown a little plumper, and the fine lines about his mouth and eyes had deepened, but that was all. Gloria felt that while she had grown from a girl to a woman, Montevecci remained as ageless as Peter Pan. "Gloria!" he cried/rising from a breakfast table and taking both her hands in his. "My little Gloria grown into a queen among women. Madonna! I remember you all legs and freckles! He kissed her on both cheeks and laughed when her'face flushed slightly. "Ab! We blush now, eh? And I must not kiss you in these days—is that it. Carissima, I am old enough to be your great, great grandfather. I kiss all my pupils, old or young. It is part of my lee. If they- are elderly ladies they like it; if they "are young ones,and beautiful as you are, I like it. What is the good of being an old man if one .cannot have privileges?" _ He burst, into orte of his great roars of laughter and led her towards a chair Sn the window. Gloria found herself smiling, and her heart lifting at the gjtrht of' this kindly old man, and her energies began to return from mere con;fcact°with his vigorous personality. "Indeed you can kiss me, maestro!" . she laughed. "In fact, I expect it. Perhaps I'm becoming one of the elderly ladies. But you must not expect me to give up blushing; it is one of my jeleverest accomplishments." He roared again, wiping his eyes -with a colossal silk handkerchief. ' "Splendid!" he. said. "You are right, Blushing is rare in these days." He grew a little'more serious. "You- will have coffee, no? It is the best coffee you can get in London. Excuse me receiving you like this, but X am an old sleepy head. I never rise much before eleven, and never get properly dressed before lunch." He made an apologetic gesture towards his ultra-magnificent dressing gown, and jrang for the coffee when she accepted liis invitation. . "And now," he said, when his man liad brought fresh coffee, and they were alone again, "tell 'me, my' dear, what you been doing this last hundred years or so?" £V "Well," said Gloria, "in the first place I'm married. You knew tha,t?" He nodded. „* "Yes, and you abandoned a very fine I, old Carlo, tell you that. That is what happena to all ( my pretty pupils. I train them; I show . them all I'can; I exhaust myself , until I become the shadow you see before you, , in order to teach them my art. And ' .;what happens? Some Romeo with blue , •3eyes and a firm jaw comes along, et e'est ■ fini! Finished! All my toil, all my. work :

gone. Ah! Ces femmesl You have no " eouls, you ladies; you • are beautiful, but you have no souls!" He went on in his old extravagant

etyle, developing his theme with odd in some half dozen different languages. He spoke amusingly, > but •"Gloria could see that behind the mock~ery was a good deal of sincere regret. He was a great man and an authentic He had a genuine passion for ;w3bis work. He took only a few, really pupils, and it waß an honour •y-to be. instructed byCarlo Mont'evecci. •wWhen he lost a pupil 'he was always sorry, and often rather bitterly 'disappointed.

"I have kept up 'my singing," she assured him. "I shall never give it up; music means too much to me. In fact, 3 maestro, I wish to start again in earnest. I want to become a professional ";! this time; to go on the stage if I can. m . . • it is necessary for me now .J# -to earn my living. lam poor." "But . . v 1" he jumped to his feet, and then, as he saw her: face crimeon, he checked himself. He had been going to ask her about her husband; to 2 inquire why she was poor and needed to k .-«?< earn her living. But her flushed face was i!' enough. : His quick Italian brain leaped immediately to something very close to the truth. Later she might choose .to tell him all about it. Why she had left her >| husband, as she obviously had done. Why; with those smart and expensive clothes, -—... speaking plainly of good living, in com--fortable circumstances, she found herself v.-:;-. suddenly poor. Yes,, later she might tell .•* him, but he would never be such an Indiscreet old fool as to blurt out ques-S-.^ions. Instead, he took a pace or two about . the room and groaned. "Malediction! this -is the middle of Julyl But if ia <i. only come to- me before. Cariseveryone is either away on holiday lf oin g ° n holiday. I myself would B m&e cast !. -< : thl; engag«l J W H * couxd not have you in the chorus!"'

He walked to and fro in obvious distress, saying continually, "Let me think! Madonna! Let mo think!"

The girl's face liad paled, and lier eyes had lost the light that his cheerful presence had brought into them. She begged of him not to disturb himself, and assured'him that she would be able to find something quite easily.

"But 110," Jig said, looking at lier tragically. "It is not so easy, ruy Gloria. And you have such a beautiful voice, too. If only you had come to me earlier. They take notice of old Carlo. It would ha\ r e been easy." He racked '/lis brains but could not think of anything. It was the off season In three months' time —yes, it would be easy, but not now. He would, ol" course do anything he could. Certainly, hi would hear if there was anything goinf

In the end. she sang to him two songs, and lie insisted that she come to liiru for two or three lessons. "Just to get the machinery properly oiled," as lie put it. "Who knows, my dear. I might hear of something at once. Certainly I can do something in the autumn.''

In the autumn! The girl left Jcrnivn Street feeling very despondent. Her momentary sense of happiness, induced by the old artist's personality, entirely disappeared. It was the off season; nothing could be done till the autumn. But she could not wait so long. She could barely live a week upon the little scrap of money that she had brought away with her I

CHAPTER XX.

Dick Relents.

There was no sleep for Dick Hemingway on the night that Gloria left him. He may have dozed uncomfortably in his armchair for a few moments, but day.break found him wide awake, and he stole softly up to his bedroom in order not to disturb the maids.

He had been a jealous, unreasoning fool, and he had not heeded Gloria's explanation of her conduct. Well, now it was too late. She would never give him the opportunity to listen to her again!_ Towards eight o'clock in the morning he heard the servants stirring. He rose immediately and took a cold tub, after which ho felt a little better. Annie brought him his shaving water, and later he descended to breakfast.

"Oh!—er—Annie,"he said. "Yqur mistress left last night for the seaside. She —she felt she couldn't wait for her holiday any longer. She has gone to Eastbourne. I shall follow her later on, if I can get away." Annie looked surprised, as well she might, but she was a simple sort of girl, and she swallowed the tale which Dick had carefully thought out. For a long as he could he would hide the fact that Gloria had left him. One never knew what might happen, and, in his heart, Dick had a wild hope that his wife might return to him that very day. He was very late in going to his oflicc, hoping against hope that a telegram might come from Gloria. But nothing arrived. Ho had been too unbelieving, too harsh and insulting, for her to forgive him. He knew her pride, and he felt that he would have to take the first step before they would be reunited. But how was he to do that when he had not the remotest idea where she was?

He went to his office, but he could do no work. For the life of him he could not fix his mind upon details. He felt worn out now, and there was a stabbing pain somewhere at the back of his eyes. He took his luncheon in a quiet cafe where he was unlikely to meet any of the men he knew. He did not want to talk to anyone, and he was afraid of the usual inquiries that friends and acquaintances would make about his wife. It was the same cafe in which he had sat when he overheard the women gossiping .about He was sitting at the same table in the alcove. His mind flashed back to his words that day, and he reflected how indignant he had been, and how much scorn he had heaped on the women who had traduced his wife. If only he had been in the same frame of mind when Gloria made her confession to him!«lf only he had had the sense! Walking slowly back to his office, the idea came to him that he would go to see Tevnan. The man might still be in the town. Dick remembered that on his last visit to their house Trevnan had let fall his address.

- Dick's face was set a little grimly as he made his way in that direction. He would, at least, have a settlement with Claud Trevnan. He would get the truth out of that little blackguard, if he had to wring his neck'to get it! But in this he was to be disappointed. The hard-featured proprietress who came into the hall to see him, looked him up and down suspiciously. "Mr. Trevnan," she said. "He left last night. He had intended to keep his room on another week, but he suddenly changed hie mind. Went off on the 10.30 to London."

Dick thanked the woman, and left the dingy building. For a moment his old, innate jealousy swept over him. Trevnan had gone off euddenly, _ leaving for London by the same train as Gloria. They had travelled together! After all then Gloria must have called round for the man directly she had left; His suspicions were not • Then Dick Hemingway pulled himself together. This was absurd; worse it was highly insulting to Gloria. She had not planned to go to London at all that night; Of course she had not called for Trevnan. Their journeying together on the same train, and the only train, to London, was not peculiar. No, rather did this confirm Gloria's story. She had played a bluff on Trevnan, pretending that Dick had deserted her. She had been so successful that Trevnan was completely deceived. That was why he had left immediately for London.

Dick returned to his office in a more sober frame of mind. He was realising at last how far his insane jealousy distorted his vision, and how dangerous such jealous suspicions were. It was, he thought, a wonder that Gloria had not left him long ago. He recalled the many little tiffs that his jealous anger had been responsible for, and he marvelled at her forbearance in taking them so well; her tact and love in coaxing him from those black moods. ,

~ Like many a man who loses of precious thing, Dick was just beginning to realise his wife's real value. Again and again he cursed himself for'being a fool; again and again he swore that his jealousy would bo a thing of the past, if only he were given a fresh start, ana Gloria were returned to him.

Yet the days passed, and he heard nothing from her. He watched every letter that Annie brought in with a

strained look in hie eyes, but there was nothing* from Gloria. Occasionally there were letters for her, and these lie put on one side, telling Annie that he would forward them.

Sometimes he would not go to the office at all now. He would take an early train to London, and spent the whole day tramping about the streets. Every time lie saw a girl in any way resembling Gloria, his heart would miss a. beat, and he would tremWle like a schoolboy. But when he had crossed, the road or turned in front of the girl for a better look, he invariably found that it was not Gloria.

His luck was out, and in any case his chances of finding her in the crowded streets were remote. Yet, as he usually confined his walks to the West End, lie must frequently have been quite close to his wife!

Gloria, in these days, was visiting theatrical .agents and employment bureaux. She too was tramping the streets by the hour, and she was thinking of Dick as constantly as he was thinking of her. Once, in Fleet Street, a bright idea occurred to Dick. He went to various newspaper offices and arranged for a guarded notice to be inserted in the agony columns of three different papers every day. for a month. His advertisement did not mention Gloria by name, but it was one calculated to catch lier eye. and be understood by her immediately. It implored her to return to him at oncc.

.But Gloria did not see it. In these days she barely glanced at the newspapers because her time was too occupied. The only part of a paper that interested her was the "situations vacant" column, and it happened that the great daily she took in for that purpose was not among the three in which Dick's agony was revealed.

CHAPTER XXI. Smouldering Jealousy.

Claud Tevnan had many frugal habits of mind. One of them was to have everything done in the house that could possibly be accomplished by his gifted and long-suffering wife. Thus, in addition to rehearsing, singing, and dancing, Dolly would find herself washing her husband's varied garments, mending his socks and linen, and even sponging and pressing liio suits. Except when her periodic fits of apathy were upon her, the woman did air this without complaint, and without even thinking of his requests as unreasonable. When her moods were on licrllshe would send his things to the wash, and pay the bills out of her own pocket. But these moods were rare, and as a rule she laundered, stitched, and ironed as an accepted part of her domestic routine. One hot afternoon in mid July found her working in the sultry little kitchen surrounded by various garments belonging to her easy-going mate. She had ironed out handkerchiefs and collars; had mended socks and underwear, and now she contemplated with a rather weary eye the light grey suit which Claud had asked her to "clean up a bit and press." The big, statuesque brunette was not at her brightest in these days. Rehearsals were apt to be long and tiring, and housework oil top of it all was very fatiguing. Added to this, Dolly felt depressed. A conviction had been steadily growing upon her of late that Claud was deceiving her. Not, that is, deceiving her in his usual manner about his earnings and such trilling matters. No, this was more serious. Dolly felt, with uomej queer instinctive apprehension, that Claud had found some other woman. She had felt this ever since the night he returned from Torringdean.

She had these reelings at times, the feeling that Americans call a "hunch"; one of those certain intuitions arrived at by no perceptible process of reason, but arrived at just the same. The woman was half Celt and half Portuguese. She had been born, and had lived the early years of her' life, among a people who have vivid imaginations, and even stronger superstitions. Dolly could never laugh away one of these "hunches" of hers. They might prove to be right, or utterly wrong, but until she was satisiied one way or the other, she could not ignore them. On the contrary, these intuitions preyed upon her mind, and grew night and day. They would not let her rest until they had been thoroughly sifted and examined.

Why had Claud stopped so long in that town of Torringdean when he had only intended going for two days? It was unlike him, for aa a rule he detested email, provincial towns, and he hated to spend unnecessary money. Why then should he pay for rooms in Torringdean which he hated when he could live for nothing in London, which he loved? He had said that business kept him there, but she remembered his face when he had made the statement and she knew that he had lied. His precious business was not important enough to keep him in the town a whole fortnight. She felt certain of that.

She had made a leap in the dark when she had asked him whether he had met there some woman that he knew. And, again she remembered his face when he liad denied that, and ehe knew that he had lied.

Wearily she picked up a pair of light grey trousers and brushed them. She put an iron on a gas ring; laid the troupers upon a board, and once more fell into her reverie.

Yes, he was deceiving her, and the thing must be pretty serious. She had seen that, too, on: his face. He had looked guilty and apprehensive, and it was not easy for her to make him look either the one or the other 1

A slow resentment, like volcanic fires kept for years in restraint, was gradually awakening within this patient woman. She had suffered much, and would suffer more, but there was one thing to rouse the hot Portuguese blood within her, and that was another woman!

She could bear anything but that. Claud -Tevnan might treat -lier with selfish indifference, and she would slave for him; ho might be mentally cruel to her and torture her in' that way, and she would love him. But once let him be untrue to her, and she would neither forgive nor forget. There was a something dangerous in her that his wisdom might well make him beware of!

She had heated the iron, tested its warmth close to her cheek, and now she folded the trousers, and pressed them carefully. The waistcoat wanted little done to it, but the coat was stained on the lapel?. They would need sponging thoroughly.

She lifted the coat, and automatically, from force of habit, ran through the pockets. Claud was careless. It would never do to smash anything in one of the pockets—something that might stain the cloth. Everything must be taken out before pressing.

The pockets seemed to be empty; she had almost desisted from her brief search, and then in the breast pocket of the grey coat she found au envelope. She drew it out, threw it on the kitchen table, and picked up a sponge.

She had been working at the coat for some time before her eyes travelled to the envelope a foot from her bent face. Then she stared as a name leaped up at her, a name scribbled in indelible pencil.

Dolly picked up the envelope now with a trembling hand. "Gloria," she read, and her face went white, and then red with anger. "Gloria H., 3, Park Terrace, Torringdean."

Below this was another note, made at another time, for the pencil was an ordinary black lead. "G. Ashdown House, Ashdown Gardens."

Dolly stared at this envelope for a long time, and as she, did so all her growing suspicions leaped into the full flower of certainty. Her husband had deceived her, and with some woman named Gloria —Gloria H.—at Torringdean.

No wonder he had stopped a fortnight in the little town! No wonder he hat' looked guilty when her intuitions led her straight to a point-blank question!

The question now was to discover the identity of this Gloria H. It looked as though she was the "G" of Ashdown Gardens as well, but that might not be the case. Anyway, her first name was Gloria, and her surname began with an H., and she lived at. Torringdean. It ought not to be difficult to find out who this woman was, living in such a small town. Claud had stopped at a place for ar fortnight. Perhaps this Avoman had stopped tliere with him, or at least visited him there?

The big dark woman stood motionless for some moments turning the problem over in her mind. Then, she seemed to arrive at some decision, for she smiled slowly and rather unpleasantly.

She finished her work of pressing Claud's clothes, and she.put the envelope back in the breast pocket of his coat before hanging it in its proper place in the wardrobe. But, in a little private notebook of lier own, a book that she always kept locked up, she made a careful note of " Gloria H." and the addresses both in London and in Torringdean.

(To be continued Saturday next.)