ROSAMOND'S ORDEAL

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 77, 1 April 1932, Page 13

ROSAMOND'S ORDEAL

By L G. MOBERLY,

CHAPTER XL—(Continued.) It wa« a very small room, Roger noticed, and very sparsely furnished, but t was specklessly clean and neat, and he exceeding dreariness of the outlook cemed to be slightly neutralised by one ,r two charming sketches on the walls, " n d a vase of daffodils on the table. •<{ flower-girl friend of mine gave me t hose » Iris said. Wasn't it dear of her when really they are part of her Ln livelihood? She and I are friends, and she brought them to me this moraine She called them 'sixpennyworth of r ! , „ swing. •Rc-rer realised that she was talking to train time, but he had no intention of beating about the bush himself, or of allowing her to do so. "May we sit down and talk for a few minutes?" he said. "I am glad you have 7 flower girl friend, and daffodils are such sunny flowers. They shout of spring." . A smile flickered over the girls face.

"I like that expression," she answered. «Yes—they shout of spring." Then she fell silent, looking at him with the question she did not voice. "You are wondering why I am here," he said. "Perhaps you are even thinkin? my visit is a {rross impertinence; but I don't mean to be impertinent." "I didn't think you were anything of the kind. I only just wondered. No one who looked at you could dream you meant to be impertinent," and again the smile flitted over her face, as she looked at the kind, ugly features which shouted of frankness and simplicity as loudly as the daffodils shouted of spring. "You do remember how we met before in Trevor's fiat?" he asked next, going straight to the point, as was his way.

The colour left her face. "Yes, I remember. Are you a friend of his?"

'•I—was a friend of his," the answer tame slowly, with that significant change of words. "I am not sure now what" I think about him."

"Why?" "Because" —he looked her straight in the fa ce —"I am not sure wfietne r fie is behaving to you as a cad or as a decent man." Her colour died away, leaving her cheeks very white, and Roger saw that the lands clasped in her lap were shaking. "It doesn't matter," she said. I mean —it doesn't matter to you how he behaves to me. What do you know about it?" . .j. She tried to infuse indignation into her tones, but it was a pitiful little farce, and Roger brushed her words aside, courteously, but firmly. "Look her,' Miss Martin, lei's come down to brass tacks. I daresay, strictly speaking, your affairs are no business of mine; and you have every right to show me the door, and order me off. But don't let us get on to high horses with one another. I saw you in Trevor's flat, and you didn't seem too happy then. You are still less happy now." She tried to dissent, but again the attempt was a failure. "You are Still less happy now,' he repeated, "and—l have come to see whether I can—well —whether I can lend a hand." "Lend a hand ?" "Yes, we are fellow human beings, and sometimes one human can help another; and I'll tell you the simple truth. By a mere chance, a fluke —or by an act of God," he amended reverently, "I saw some words written by yon. The slip of paper on which they were written was blown to my feet from the fireplace where Denis Trevor had thrown it." "The fire," she repeated, her eyes wide and startled. "Yes. He had thrown it into the firehe is staying with my father and me at the moment—and as he left the room in which he had been writing, a gust of wind blew a piece towards me. Before I realised what it was, I had read the writing on it—and it seemed to me like an S.OjS.—so I came—"

Iris started at him speechlessly. "Then—Denis is not coming?" she asked.

"I should say—not," he replied, not softening the words, because he felt that, at the moment, the brutal truth crudely put, was better for her than any softening process. "I rather fancy he has written to you, at least he was writing hard for. some time, but he expressly said he was not coming to town at present; in fact he asked my father to let- him stay on a few days longer at the rectory." "Oh!" It w-as her only word, but it held such a word of pain and anguish, that Roger left his seat and went to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder, as a kindly elder brother might have clone. "Miss Martin, when I read those words of yours, I felt I must come arid 866 what I could do," he said. "Don't tell me a single thing you would rather lot tell me; but if there is any way in which I can help you, I should be glad to do it." "But why?" she asked, "why should you bother about me? I'm a perfect stranger to you. Why should you take any trouble at all?" "It's funny, you know, but I don't ■eel as if you'were a total stranger." Roger took'his hand from her shoulder, hut remained standing beside her, looking into" her white, troubled face with e ,ves that., she realised were eminently reliable. "Perhaps we met in some former life," he added, half jestingly, and so we are not quite strangers now! Anyway, there may be something I can *>• Would you think me a cheeky brute, if I asked whether vou are in any bad difficulty at the moment?" 'I should never think you a cheeky brute, and it is very good of you to want; to, help, but—" 'Don't say 'but'; it is a stupid word, "fust tell me in quite plain English if you will, and jf TOU f co ] you can trust ™e. What has happened? Are you —a °it stranded?"

. A bit stranded!" she laughed. "That 13 a very mild way of putting it. I'm utterly stranded. I'm on my beam-ends! And I! do feel I ran trust you," she finished rather irrelevantly. Tell me about the whole, thing if you car e to make me your friend," the man said gently, all his pity aroused for this Jl «le girl with the white face, and the eves that were so plucky in spite of their -trouble.

'I dpn-'t want to be unfair or disloyal jo Denis," she said wistfully, "but—if «o Lad/my note—and threw 'it into the nre and—has not come to see what he can do for me, I don't think I am being disloyal;, to him." " am sure rou are not," Roger answered ..-firmly.* "Is he—are you—" «e broke off, not wishing to embarrass "ef-^t-she-'spoke at once. ■ I am his wife," she said.

Author of "In Apple Blossom Time," "Threads of Life," "Love Set Free," etc.

"His wife? Then why do you live here, and call yourself Miss Martin? Why are. you not with Trevor? Has he— is he —"

"I think he is tired of me,'' the girl said in quite matter-of-fact tones. "He would never let me be with him. He said the marriage must bo kept secret, because some old uncle would be angry, and leave his money away from Denis. Sometimes I wonder whether all the things lie told me were true!"

Sho spoke in such level, unemotional tones, that Roger looked at her in some surprise. But he saw that the lack of emotion was only apparent, not real; that Iris was forcing herself to speak quietly, with seeming indifference, but that underneath the surface of indifference she was at terrifically high tension.

"If you are his wife, he is bound to look after you—to help you," Roger remonstrated. "He can't leave you on your beam ends. Do you mean that you are literally stranded?"

'I've got exactly two shillings in the world," she said with a funny little laugh, which brought a lump into Rogers throat. "Denis made me give up my work when he married me. He didn't like my going to the shop. Now —I have neither work nor money." "Were you " "I was in a shop—a draper's shop." "But, it must have been dreadful—you don't belong " again ho broke off, embarrassed. "Oh, but doea it matter much to what class you belong, when you have to earn your bread?" she asked, understanding his meaning. "I'm a lady by birth and upbringing," she laughed again, "but what good does that do me when I've only got two shillings in the world—and the rent is due; and I've no work, and Denis doesn't come to help me?" "It is an asset, all the same, an inalienable asset," Roger said gravely, "but meanwhile, your S.O;S. has not gone quite unanswered! The Fates put it into my hands, and here I am." "I'm not going to let you,' she began, with fierce pride, but he put out his hand protestingly. "Miss Martin," he said, or rather I ought to call you Mrs. Trevor, oughtn't I?" "I—don't know," she answered, to his amazement, her eyes turning away from his, "sometimes —I wonder whether — Denis took me in altogether—whether it was a real marriage at all!"

"What on earth do you mean ?" Roger looked, and felt aghast. "Oh' I've got used to the idea, hateful as it is," Iris 6aid quietly. "You see, when ho asked me to marry him, two months ago, he wouldn't hear of our being married in a church. He said we would go to the registrar's, and that the registrar was a friend of his, and would fix everything up properly. I was an ignorant little fool. I cared for him. I believed in him, and I agreed." "But if you went to the registrar's there can be no question of the legality of the marriage." "But did we go to the registrar!" she questioned : significantly: "I'v.e been wondering about it lately. Denis took me to a dark little room in a big building. Two men were there, and they had papers and books, and made me sign my name, and go through a form of words, but now that I have begun to doubt Denis, I am doubting everything.' I was so ignorant then of any of the formalities, and I went blindly where Denis took me. I couldn't possibly find my way again to that big building. I couldn't tell anybody elso where it is." "No, but we can very easily find out whether the marriage is registered properly. I will see to that for you; and meanwhile —no it is useless for you to shake your head and look determined— meanwhile I shall be your banker." "But I couldn't, and besides, Denis would be so angry." "Does that much matter?' he said, drily. "I don't like saying it of my friend, and if a man for whom you once cared, Du t —I am afraid there is only one thing that any decent person can say about Denis. He is a rotter—an oyt and out rotter." "I can't bear to think of it, I can t bear to hear you say it," she answered, tremulously. "He—he did care for rac very much, and when a horrible man tried to make love to mc, only quite a. little while ago, Denis was furious; I was afraid he would do the dreadful creature some real bodily harm. You see sir—he—the man I mean—followed mc home from the park, and Denis came in —and we had a terrible ; scene here. Luckily Mrs. .Tones was out." "If you lived under your husbands roof and he took care of you properly, there would be no danger of such things happening." Roger's tones were very cold. "The man of whom you speak is not annoying you now?" "He has bothered me once or twice, and there was another scene with Denis. I think he really was a little mad, or he could not have behaved as he did that day." . . ,„ "Where did you come across Mm 7 "I was sitting rending in a quiet little corner of St. James' Park, and he came and sat down on the same seat. I vaguely noticed that an elderly man had sat down there. He is quite elderly, old enough to be my father; and he suddenly began to talk,- and to bo. very strange, and it was all horrible,' she shivered. "I was frightened—and then he followed me home, and more than once afterwards came to call; until Denis—l don't quite know what Denis did do, give him a thrashing or a kicking, but it was all hateful." "I hope lie did thrash and kick him, the abominable cad!" Roger said .with fervour. "That's the worst part of it, lffs exclaimed. "He isn't, technically speaking, a cad at all—he is quite an important person in a way." "I suppose you would rather not tell me his name?" "I don't think I mind." She looked at him wistfully. "You seem to be such a real friend, I don't believe I mind your knowing. His name is Sir David Rawston." "Sir David Rawston," they were the only words Roger could say, and he repeated them, dismay in every intonation of his voice, "Sir David Rawston!" (To be continued daily.)