THE LIVING STATUE

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 140, 16 June 1930, Page 18

THE LIVING STATUE

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS,

AGNES HUBBARD, a poor young sculptress, who lias been fighting hard, in depressing circumstances, to obtain recognition for her work, is introduced by THE HON. MRS. HEATHCOTE ST. CYR, a society leader, notorious for her desire to bo associated with "the latest craze," to COLONEL HARRY MUIR, an elderly and attractive M.P., whose secretary is ENA LAURENCE, an ambitious and discontented girl of thirty. Agnes is disappointed with the lack of support from "the Hon. Mrs." and Muir, and becomes very friendly with WILMOT CASTLEMAINE, a famous sculptor, who has a bad reputation with women. Muir, after not having seen Agnes for two months, invites her to lunch. Muir is surprised to find how well--1 dressed Agnes is and how prosperous she look 3 compared with her appearance at their previous meeting. That afternoon he sends his secretary with a note to ,the . address Agnes had given him. Ena. finds herself in a charming, fashionable flat. CHAPTER X. "Well," said Ena, over the first cup of tea, "Colonel Muir really sent me up here to'ask if you could do a little thing for a friend of his. A small group, I understand it to be. He's given me a letter for you. As soon as he heard lie told me to go and see you."_ Ena put down her cup and began hunting in her bag. "Here it is." Agnes took the letter, and read it. It addressed her by her Christian name for the first time, and told of a certain small commission which might be useful to her, Avent on to explain the nature of the thing and ended, "Your most sincere friend, H. J. Muir." - "Will you thank Colonel Muir very much and tell him I shall be most glad," said Agnes. "But I'll give you a note to take back to him, shall I?" Ena seemed to approve. "He's a dear, isn't he ?" she asked after a pause. "Do you like him ?" "Immensely," said Agnes. "He's been very good to me." "He's very fond of you," Ena said. "I know that." "Is hp? Agnes suddenly felt curious. Of one thing she felt perfectly certain. She would get the truth from this girl. She was far too astute to tell lies. "Oh, yes, indeed he is. Poor old dear, I feel sorry for him," Ena went on. "He's getting on now, and — well, he'd love to be young and he's not. It's a tragic life, really." Agnes nodded. The rain was coming on again, heavily, with a great darkness | over the sky. She could see Ena in the firelight without being seen herself, which, in the circumstances, was a blessing, she thought. "And he really has been awfully good to me," said Ena. "I know I'm very lucky. Before I got this job I always hated secretarial work, the routine and the monotony and the people one works for, you know, but Colonel Muir is so sweet always that I enjoy it now." "I can understand that, and the difference between working for him and the other kind of work," said Agnes. It was hard to resist something so polite, so pleasant and candid about that manner, tinged all the time with the least suggestion of simplicity, as if Miss Laurence had had a hard life and would not pretend to be anything but Avbat she was, a girl glad of a good job and anxious to keep it; as if Agnes were a superior and infinitely more fortunate being, yet still young enough and poor enough to need encouragement and sympathy. They talked of life, that ambiguous and much-abused term, and got, of course, pretty soon on to the eternal topic—the part played by sex. 'I suppose you find yourself up against that sort of thing," suggested Ena. "It must be difficult." The fire had died down a little and Agnes searched that shadowed, still face for signs cf cunning, but in vain. ■ "Oh; I don't know," she said carefully. "I suppose everyone does. It's no good letting it worry one." "No. You' must give everything to Art, I suppose," said Ena reflectively. They were talking in quiet, thoughtful tones. She looked up and laughed suddenly. "Do you know, that's what always annoys me in Colonel Muir. He's very keen on that idea of marriage being a course, and it gets on my nerves sometimes. I suppose you've heard him. I said.to him onoc about.it, 'It would take a fine type of man for Miss Hubbard to marry,' and he immediately had to snort out something about genius and the. perambulator. I hate that." Agnes laughed a little. ' "He may be right sometimes/' she said, "although not in my case, because I'm not a genius." "Well, I do think there's nothing finer," said Ena with an air of defend" ing an -unfashionable cause, "than a really ideal type of marriage. It must bring out the best in one. Surely you agree 1" \ "Oh, yes. But it's so rare," said Agnes non-committally. She reached down the cigarettes. "Have a cigarette; matches on there. Oh, yes, I suppose so." "Just because he never married himself!" said Ena indignantly. "Did he never marry?" Agnes lay back, watching the smoke dreamily. "No, never." "Does he love much ?" she asked, halfforgetting that she spoke to his secretary. Ena paused before answering. "He has all sorts of affairs," she said at last. "That Ido know. You know what these men are. They know everyone. But it never lasts. He can be very nice, though, when he likes." "I know he can." "But he tries it on with everyone," Ena went on explaining. "You'll find : he will with you, before long." "Has he with you?" "He knows I won't let him," said i Ena, with immense superiority. "Oh, ' of course, he has tried." She paused. "I should liked to have warned you. When J I saw you that night and saw you were • the type to attract him I just longed to be able to tell you how he might be. ' But you'll know, if he starts, what to * expect, won't you?" * ; 'Something far down in her voice, 1 urgent and pathetic and desperate, s sounded. Quite suddenly Agnes heard s it. Heard it like a tiny bell buried and distant, and began to understand. i "It is nice of you," she said gently, 1 "really nice, but I think I know now ; all right." ' ] "He's sure to try it' on," repeated Ena. "It means nothing, of course, I 1 mean," even she lost some of her clever- < ness in the agony of these interminable i explanations, "I suppose I know Muir as c well as anyone can, and I've seen. It '

By MARY GRACE ASHTON.

. means nothing, of course, but plenty of women have thought him serious, and that's a terrible thing." I Agnes found herself nodding gravely. "I understand," she said. "Still, Ido t like him." J "Oh, yes," Ena broke m hastily. I "It's not that, only—you know what men are, and he's got such a nice man-. - ner. I often tell him he is very clecep- [ tive." i The picture this most salutary procedure called to mind was so striking " that Agnes was quite spellbound. "Oh— ! oh, yes," she said. I > "He really should be' more careful," [ said Ena, and then, still in her simple, t straightforward tones, "I • expect you J can't help feeling just *a little bit bored : sometimes, Miss Hubbard. He does so love talking about what he calls art. And, really, and I often tell him this, too, it isn't everybody's conception by any means. You must be bored." c Agnes kept silent for a moment, then, ) "No," she said levelly, "I don't, really. ? I never notice anything, you know. I'm C always interested." ! "He loves nothing better," observed !■ Ena, "than to get hold of a young pert son and talk. I've seen it often. I i often tell him. . . ." Agnes tried to laugh naturally. "Do ' you always tell him?" she asked. Ena blew out the smoke and nodded, 1 perfectly matter-of-fact. "I'm used to [ him, you see. He doesn't frighten me.. : But he is a dear," she added. "And he ! likes you very much." "I'm so glad." Agnes sat up. It was \ already past six. "Would you like to see my studio?" '■ Ena rose with alacrity. "And then I must be going. Time slips away here, > somehow." 1 They went across the passage to that wonderful room, and she regarded it in--1 terestedly. "I expect you mean to do some good ■ work here," she observed. There were one or two casts about, a ■ couple of stands, a few rush mats on • the stained boards, a rush chair, a stool, ■ very little, and an object covered with a white cloth. ' "Is that your latest?" inquired Ena, ■ pointing to this shrouded thing. Agnes nodded. "Yes," she said briefly. ■ She did not offer to uncover it. "For the United Arts?.". ' Ena had heard all about this project, 1 evidently. "Yes." "Well," said Ena, "all I can say is, I hope you have great success." "I hope so, too." ' "I may tell Colonel Muir, mayn't I? All about your flat? I know he wants to know." , "Yes, please do." It would be as well now -to get her 1 out and close the episode, but Ena seemed rather inclined to linger. "Aren't you lonely sometimes, Miss ! Hubbard?" "I should be," Agnes replied, "if I were alone." It was late and she was beginning to feel a little frightened. "I see." There was a silence. "That's all the room," said Agnes at length. By easy stages they were out in the passage, and now Ena very evidently' would like to see the rest of the flat. • The kitchen was permissible, Agnes showed that, then just pushed open the bedroom door to allow Ena to put her head in, which she did, long enough to look round. It was lighter again now, with the lifting of that great cloud, and' the rain had ceased some time ago. Then they had to go back to the sitting loom for Ena's gloves and bag and fur. "Oh, I haven't written that note!" exclaimed Agnes. "I'll send it. Will you thank Colonel Muir very much?" "I can wait a second," said Ena obligingly, "if you want it to go now." That she had a motive for lingering was obvious. An instinct to frustrate it rose up in Agnes. ■ "No, I think not, thanks," she said, coolly.' "No, well, let him have it to-morrow, then." Ena was putting on her gloves with methodical care. Still, they could hardly be prevented from being actually and undeniably on at la*it, and she picked up her bag. "Well, Mies,Hubbard . . .". . And then, sudden and. clear in the silent hall came the click of a key in the lock. The front door was very near the sitting room, it was impossible to run and push him somewhere out of the way. Agnes smothered her dismay and determined to be philosophical. "There's your friend," remarked Miss Laurence. "Yes." They had been heard. He did not call 'Angel dear,' from the hall, as Ausual. "Yes." Agnes tried to think. D —• this girl, catching her like this! She would go back and tell Muir. Perhaps it didn't much matter., She looked out of the room, Miss Laurence coming close behind to leave. Wilmot stood in the passage. "Good evening, my gentle child, how are we?" "Oh, Wilmot." Be philosophical, and humour was the best philosophy; it was funny, really. "This is Miss Laurence, you know, Colonel Muir's secretary, and er—this is . . ." '" "A very old friend," he said calmly. "Good evening, Miss Laurence. I'm glad to find Agnes is not alone. She's too much alone. Are you just going?" Ena was beautifully bland. "I must really go," she said. "Thank you so much for the tea and the delightful talk. I have stayed too long, I am . afraid." Wilmot passed through into the sitting room, and Agnes saw her out. When she .came back he was standing, looking out of the window, tall and black against the pane. She came quietly into tiie room, and stood regarding him, thinking. For a moment he did not turn round. The clouds were still low and watery. A distant high window gleamed like a shield of gold and the opposite trees . glowed faintly in their top leaves. Then the figure at the window turned and she saw that he smiled a little to himself. "The situation," he said, "needed no adjusting. Still, I suppose you're used to compromise by now. Well, pretty angel, are you coming out with me ?" He held out a hand. She still stood there, thinking. "I must say I'm rather surprised.' She could hear that red-haired girl saying it. 'She doesn't look that sort, really, does she?" And Muir's quiet, meditative "No."

( "Oh, they won't understand!" she cried suddenly. "And I tried to get her away." He laughed. "She didn't mean to go without her money's worth!" He was still holding out his hand. '"'Come along, you little fool, everyone's got to know some time." "Well, don't call me a little fool." "The beautiful part about you is," he said slowly, and she saw that he was in a mood to hurt, "that you don't count in the least. I or anyone can call you anything we like. I could think of a much worse word! Only " and then he caught her to him and kissed her passive face with his sudden passion. "Only I won't, because you do matter to me."

A resolution was ever gaining strength in her heart to matter ■ before so very long to many other people besides him. But' he mustf be the means. If only in return for her bruised, unhappy heart.

(To be continued daily.)