MARRIED OR SINGLE

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 230, 28 September 1934, Page 15

MARRIED OR SINGLE

\/ y By N \ N K. F. Brodrick y> \*/1

/ Author of \ / "Through Deep Waters," "Against N. the Wall," y X - /

CHAPTER XIII. Directly Hadfield left, Sylvia went to her room" and, dismissing the maid who was waiting to help her to undress, she changed into a light wrapper, and dropped into a chair by an open window. The strain of the evening had been trying, and she was worn out. Taking up a book at length, she began to read, but was soon interrupted by a sharp knock at her door. In answer to her "Come in," Sir George entered. "How often have I told you, Sylvia, not to read in such an abominable light," he began sharply, as he closed the door with an air of irritation behind him. "However, I am glad you have not gone to bed yet," he went on, crossing over to where she was sitting. "I wanted to have a word with you. First about Harry. I am not at all pleased with the way you are playing with him. It is most unseemly. Girls may play with men nowadays, and 1 suppose they do, but I can't have my daughter doing it. Well—" ho finished angrily, sitting down and leaning fiercely towards her, "have you nothing to say about it?" Sylvia flushed with annoyance. "Harry and I understand each other all right, I think," came from her in a low voice, as her book dropped from her hand. "Oh, you do —and what is it that you understand, may I ask '!" "I do not wish to be thrown at Harry's head," said the girl hotly. "He is my cousin, and we are just good friends, but —that is all, dad. I hoped you knew that by this time," she struck jn.

•Sir George's fist came - down on to the table beside him.

"But, by Gad, I don't know, and it's tommy rot. Harry is my heir, and a thundering good thap, and you arc my daughter, and a match between you is most suitable and desirable. And it is only you who are hindering it. Harry is dead keen. But you—you put every possible discouragement in his way. The man is getting, I tell you, pretty wild about.it. Ho is mightily in love with you, and you flirt with him up to a point—and then —.He's asked you to marry ' him several times, I understand?"

"Oh, must we discuss it now?" sighed Sylvia, "I am tired, daddy, and—and— it's really no use —"

'•Nonsense." Sir George looked angrily down at the lovely girl as she sat with a white and frightened face before him. There was something just then about her which reminded him of his wife. He had seen a similar pitiful look on her face many a time, but it had only goaded him on to crush her still more, to go on hurting until she knew it was no good lighting him any longer.

"I must discuss this at once, because I am beginning to wonder," he persisted hardly, "whether you are being quite above board with me, Sylvia— whether, indeed, I am not being deceived in some.way. What about you and this Mr. Hadfield meeting-ih London? Why has he come here? A decent fellow enough, I grant, but still—'. What I want to know is, was his tale to-night true?" I A hand like iron gripped her shoulder, and Sir George's eyes sought her face, as if he was trying to read her very soul. The girl shrank.back, trembling. "Has he anything to do with your coldness to Harry?" he demanded. "That's what I wanted to know. And— are you really meeting as strangers? Sometimes to-night I wondered. 'Pon my soul, I wondered." A shiver ran through Sylvia again, as the hand went on painfully holding her shoulder. "Daddy," she breathed, "what—on— earth—ara you saying—and imagining? How—silly, daddy." ' "Is it V Her, ' father's hand moved, and Sylvia breathed freely once more. "Well, if I get fancies into my- head, it is because I am most sincerely disappointed," he struck in a trifle more amiably. "If I see Harry going off and marrying some other girl—and that is what will happen if you play ducks and drakes with his affections much longer— I shall be.more annoyed than I can say. And if T find you are deceiving me— —." Ho peered once more, with eagle eyes, into her face. "Deceiving you, daddy? How foolish you are to-night! Please don't talk in that strain. It is too ridiculous," thrust in the girl, her courage reviving. j "If I found out " proceeded Sir George, taking little heed of her protest, "if I found you were deceiving me—as onco your mother deceived-- —." "My mother!" Hastily Sylvia raised her head. Tho mystery hanging round her mother's illness and death had never been made quite plain to her. "Was it true, daddy, that—that she touched the opal—and that V she managed to whisper. "Who told you • that ?" came Sir George's sharp voice. "You need nojt listen to idle gossip, and what there is to know some day T shall tell you myself. Anyway—the point is—that she deceived me, and she had to pay. And if you ever deceive me,"Sylvia, you will have to pay too. Remember that. You will have to pay a thousandfold." Unable to bear the conversation ar.y longer, Sylvia dashed wildly to her feet. "Oh, daddy," she implored, "why should I ever want to?" "That is my hope," said the man in leyel tones, "that you will—never—want to. But all the same, it is right to warn you. Good-night, Sylvia, and remember our talk, about Harry must be resumed very soon." With a kiss coldly implanted on her forehead, Sir George departed, and Sylvia sank, trembling, into her chair again. "Oh, my mother—my poor—poor — mother —what did he do to her?" she murmured. "What—did he —do?" Shivering, she buried her face in her hands.

CHAPTER XIV. John Hadfield was a walker, and one afternoon not long after the evening spent with the Whartons, he was tramping down a country lane about ' eight

miles from home, when he heard light footsteps hastening after him. Involuntarily he turned, to come face to face with Sylvia. Her hat was off, her face flushed, and in her white cotton frock she looked very sweet and girlish.

"Mr. Hadfield," she panted, as she came up to him, "won't you come and see him?"

She crimsoned suddenly as she stood looking eagerly up at him, then noticing he looked rather perplexed, she went on softly, "My baby, you know. Nurse lives in tho cottage over there, and I was in the garden when I saw you pass. I'd love," she finished tremulously, "to show him to you."

"Why—of course —my dear," he thrust in willingly, his eyes answering gently her questioning smile.

Turning on .his heel, he went back with her to tho cottage, which stood at the corner- of a lane touching the main road. It was a lovely afternoon with sunlight and soft kindly breezes, and sweet scents of stocks and other delicious things greeted him as Sylvia opened the wooden gate, and led him into the garden, and on to the whitewashed cottage where, in a tiny sitting room, a white-haired old woman sat with a baby in her arms. She looked up timidly as Hadfield entered.

"Come in," said Sylvia to him, and he followed her, bending his,head so as to pass through the low doorway. "Nurse knows all about you, you know."

The old woman rose, holding the baby closely to her.

"Yes, I have heard of you, sir, and how you befriended my little girl when she badly wanted a friend. The poor littlo lass," she muttered tearfully, "it was truly a terrible happening, sir."

Sylvia flushed, and went forward to peer confusedly into tho baby's face.

"Don't bo sentimental, Nanny dear," sho begged, "and let Mr. Hadfield be properlv introduced. Isn't he a dear, Mr. Hadfield?"

John drew nearer. He. knew little about babies, and this one looked as most babies did to him, crumpled and pink and bewildering. He was pleased, however, to see there was not much of Stephen in him. The child had his mother's eyes, .and was really, ho supposed, very bonny.

"Isn't he a darling?" murmured Sylvia, taking him out of tho nurse's arm's, and covering the tiny face with kisses. "A jolly kid," agreed John. "But very delicate, sir," muttered the old woman, shaking her head in a worried way, "and now his teeth will soon be trying himi" "You are absurdly nervous, Nanny dear," interrupted the young mother, a trifle impatiently. "And you are going to bo a top-hole youngster, aren't you, old man?" she whispered to the baby, who began, all the same, a weak littlo wail as she hold him. Drawing him closer, Sylvia sought to pacify him with her gentle rocking.

"You fhust let me make you-a cup of tea, now you are here, sir," said the nurse, looking towards John, "and—if you can see a way out of all these terrible difficulties, well, I should be real grateful to you, sir," she went on, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron. "To me it seems all wrong. Why can't the man be found? Why can't-Sir-George be told, and treat them decent? That's what 1 says."

"If I can do anything, be sure I will," said John, solemnly. "You can certainly rely on me," lie finished, a little gloomily.

The old woman moved nearer, and her words did not reach Sylvia, who still stood crooning over the baby.

"It has near broken me heart, sir," she said, tearfully. "My bairn whom I nursed since she was a baby—to he treated that way. It's too awful, sir, and almost unbelievable, her being so pretty and sweet. Why, if her poor mother could only know- —"

She pulled herself up hastily, flushing a little as if fearing she might have said too much. "Well, I feel sure you'll do what you can, sir," she continued tremulously. "You're a gentleman, I know, one can trust like, and Miss Sylvia likes you."

"Does she?" murmured John to himself, as he turned to look at the unheeding girl by the window. His heart thumped rather curiously. "Ah," he began thinking hungrily, "if only she would 'like' him, and in the right way l — like him so much that she would long to be free so that she could go on liking him' for ever."

'But what was the good of thinking of anything so foolish? A sharp sigh escaped him, and he heard the nurse saying she would go off to see about tea.

"Let us take the kiddie into the garden," whispered Sylvia, drawing the shawl tenderly round the baby. "I like him to be out as much as possible."

Carrying the child carefully, she made for the door, and walked slowly down the flagged path which led towards the gate, followed by Hadfield. As they neared the gate, with the idea of turning to the right to reach the little lawn, a car whizzed past on the road outside, and, as it did so, the solitary occupant stared boldly into the little garden where the two stood with the baby.

In a minute it was gone, but not before Hadfield had seen more than pleased him.

"Could I be mistaken?" he asked himself savagely. "Wasn't that Montague Fleming? Great heavens above —if he had seen us—" He frowned as he went slowly after Sylvia, who apparently noticed nothing unusual. "Why is the fellow in these parts at all?" he asked himself then. "Surely he isn't on his .way to look me- ■ up, as he said. I thought I had settled that."

He sat down by Sylvia, and waited for the tea to be brought out, but already the pleasure of the afternoon was gone. Once more a sense of uneasiness took possession of him. (To bs continued, daily.)