Together at Christmas

Evening Post, Volume CVI, Issue 141, 18 December 1928, Page 23

Together at Christmas

By Marjorie Bsll

[copyright]

tl p-rr*\o my niece, Gloria ThompII son, the sum of ten thou- )| sand pounds, providing "T" that she attains to the . holy estate of matrimony within two years of my decease." Mr. Rawlings refolded tho will. "That, my dear child, means that your time is up on Christmas Day." Gloria, perched on the edge of the lawyer's desk, swung her silk-stock-inged leg reflectively. The will was no.news to her. She was here to-day >,-o discuss it again in response to an urgent summons from Mr. Rawlings.. f ' "I think it was a mean will forUncle Henry to make," she exploded at last. "I don't want to get married." ■'' ■ "My dear young lady." The venerable lawyer's brow contracted at this scathing denunciation of his dead client. "Dr. Thompson, your uncle, was my esteemed friend for many years, and I know that he had very sane and definite reasons.for making such a will." Gloria got off the tabic and fell to pacing the room. "Uncle' Henry was always grumbling about my lovo affairs'—trifling with people's affections, he called it. I suppose he thought if I got married I'd settle down.", "There'was the case of my young' nephew," the lawyer remarked. "Peter .Dawson? Well, if Peter chose to make a fool of himself just because I refused him, I can't be blamed." "You encouraged him, and ruined his life." "Quite. Also, there was Pat Soyncrs- - by and the Tinkler boy, and that weird youth named Angus Williamson -" Mr. Rawlings curtailed this flippancy. "Your uncle, who adored you, and spoilt you from the time he adopted you as a tiny child, was deeply grieved at these heartless flirtations of yours. You have caused an infinite amount of . nnhappiness. It was because of that I was instructed to draw up this will." "And if I'm not married by tho time specified, I get nothing?" "Not a penny." Gloria drew her brows together iv anxious thought. There was but one short week left to Christmas Day—ono week between her and absolute penury, unless "I have it!" she cried excitedly. "Tho will simply states that I must bo married by that date. It says nothing about living with my husband, or remaining married, does it? So I'll get myself a husband to conform with the regulations, and divorce him directly afterwards." The aged lawyer rose to., his. feet with agitation. "My dear young lady, what a dreadful idea! There is nothing to prevent your taking such a step, but I do implore you not to do anything so rash. It is the last thing your uncle would have wished." "Nevertheless, I shall do it," said Gloria decisively. "I wonder I didn't think of it months ago. Now, who can I get to marry mo under such conditions?" She looked at the portly, sedate form, of the little lawyer, and her eyes twinkled. "Mr. Rawlings, will you marry, me J" "Bless my soul, no, Gloria!" exploded the astonished man. "I can only hope that you did. not ask that question seriously." "I most certainly did," she returned, laughing up at him gaily. "But, perhaps, after all, I'm glad you refused. Xow, who can I ask?" He took her slim young hands in his. "My dear child, bo sensible." She turned, away with impatience. "How can I help myself? I won't marry anyone properly, and I won't lose uncle's money, either, through one of hia silly whims. I must make a business proposition of it. In return for services rendered I'll agree to pay my future husband a certain sum of money on tho day that the decree is made absolute." It was in vain that the lawyer pleaded and argued. Nothing would turn her from her purpose. "Then may heaven send you the right sort of man," ho cried fervently, as she blew' him a kiss and danced out of the doorway. * * # That was exactly Gloria's problem— to find the right sort of man. Those who were eager to marry her would not accept the conditions she intended to lay down, and, as most of them had money of their own, tho reward she offered would be no inducement whatever. On the other hand, the chosen husband must bo someono whom she knew. It would bo silly to risk unnecessary complications. After several hours of anxious thought she decided on Paul Hilleray. In her opinion ho exactly suited the position. Paul, the son of a farmer long since dead, had been her abject slave ever since she could remember, although her position as the adopted daughter of the wealthy doctor had made it impossible that a working farmer should ever aspire to hor hand. He had left the township several years previously, but was at sresent on a visit to his mother. Gloria's eyes shone with excitement, and, getting out her cS* f sho drove to his mother's cottage. She found Paul in the kitchen, packing. "Going away?" sho cried, and he was surprised at the regret in her voice. "My mother has gone to see a sick sister, and, as I'm not particularly keen on spending Christmas alone, I'm join--ing her." He looked at the girlish figure in its expensive fur coat and pert, tightfitting hat. "It's wonderful to see you, Miss Thompson. I had. not hoped to be so lucky during my short holiday here." She seated herself on the edge of the table and regarded him with a calculating air. "Paul, I want you to do something for me." "For you!" There was eagerness in his tone. "I'd do anything on earth for you, that goes without saying." She humoured him with a look that made his heart miss a beat, and laid an impulsive hand on his arm. "You do like me, Paul, don't you— I mean, is there another girl?" Startled, his clear grey eyes met hers with a directness that seemed to pass straight through her. Ho said hoarsely: "You know I do—like—you. There can never be anyone else," A pause followed. For a moment Gloria experienced a wild sense of panic. Then, with a laugh and a shrug, she got down from the table. "It's just this, Paul, I want you to marry me."

How Gain Fought Love—And Lost! i

An incredulous stare answered her. "Do you mean private theatricals?" he asked at,length. "No, I mean a real marriage. Don't look so solemn, Paul." "Ar.e you crazy?" His voice shook. Very shortly and concisely she outlined her plan to him. When she had finished he looked into her eyes for ono long, aching moment, and then turned away without a word. She .thrust her arm into his with the wistful gesture of a child. "You will, Paul, won't you?" "Does money mean so much to yo#,- ---?' Gloria?" - "The lack of it does," she returned shortly. - "After all,- Paul, it won'thurt you to,do what.l ask, and I'll pay you well-' —-.-" ' "Don't! That hurts." He stopped her-with a peremptory hand. "Oh, all right.. We'll leave that part for a bit, then." He .took a short turn up and down the room. - "Very well, Gloria, I will marry you." '.'You darling old .sport. When shall it be? My time is up on Christmas Day." ' - ' , "Then we will be married on Christmas Eve.'-' He tried not to let her see the hurt in his eyes. Slowly he pulled out the things from his suitcase on tho table. "I shall be alone for Christmas, after all," he said whimsically. "I must wire to my mother and tell her not to expect me." •''*'"*' « They' met at the door of the registry: office and the ceremony was performed with startling rapidity. Gloria's glittering ear awaited her outside, and Paul settled her into it. "Are you, too, spending Christmas alone?" There was a wistful note in his voice. "You bet I am noil" sho answered with emphasis. "I'm going to the Jarwin 's. They live about ten miles from here. I'm driving over in time for dinner to-night. A wholo crowd's there. It'll be a tremendous rag." He stood alone in the street, hat in hand, and watched the rod car glide out of sight. # # * "Miss Gloria, there's a letter just come for you." The maid stood, salver in hand, beside the dressing table where her young mistress wasjputting the finishing touches to her toilette. "Thank you, Olive." Hastily she scahnedthe few written lines. "Who brought this? Is anyone waiting?" "A little country lad, miss. He said there was no answer, and went off." "Very well." The maid withdrew and Gloria read again the note. _ "Dear Gloria (it ran)— rCan you possibly call to see me for a few minutes on your way to the Jarwins? The matter is urgent.—Yours, Paul." _ The girl frowned thoughtfully. How tiresome of Paul. If some complication had arisen, why couldn't he have come to see her? Slipping on her wrap, she crammed tho final oddments into her suitcase and went down. "I don't know when I shall return, Olive. Have a good time this Christmas, all' of you." "Thank you, miss, and a happy Christmas to you." The car-purred gently down thedrive and out on,to the road, along'under the trees which,gleamed bright in the moonlight, but piled-up clouds threatened a speedy change. "I mustn't, stay long with Paul in case there's a heavy rain coming, and the road gets impassable," she told herself as she sped down the narrow lane leading to the hollow in which the cottage stood. Paul heard the car and came :to the door. Gloria followed him intoj the tiny, parlour, impatienco in her every movement. "What on earth's the trouble?" she began, petulantly.' "You'll make me horriblyilate." ' : " "I'm sorry." His eyes travelled down the white-cloaked figure. "Gloria —as a.yery special favour—won't you let mo see <your frock ?'' The.: cloak slipped from her, and she stood-before him, lovely and fragrant, in a frock of shimmering blue. He drew his breath sharply. "You are wonderful—wonderful, Gloria." Her laughing eyes mocked him. "Thank you, gallant knight. Meanwhile, why did you ask me to call? I'm in' a hurry." For answer, he took her hands in his. "Gloria, to-day the law made you my wife. Won't you let me kiss you—just once?" Angrily she stooped and picked up the discarded cloak. "Did you ask me to como here for that?" "Yes, I did." 'Then you might have saved yourself tho trouble." Before, sho could get past him he sprang to the door and locked it, pocketing the key. Her lip curled with scorn. "For heaven's sake, don't behave like a pago from a penny novelette. Let mo go at once! " "Not until I havo kissed you." "So that's the sort of beastly catl you arc! I was a fool.to trust you." "There is nothing caddish in wanting to kiss one's wife." "Oh, don't keep harping on that. You, know well enough that our marriage is ono in name only." "You,said so, yes." "And you promised it should be so." "I did not. I merely said I would marry you." Slowly the colour drained from her face. "What exactly do you mean?" "Simply this. You made mo marry you, and now I cannot let you go. Stay with me, Gloria, if only just for this one night; I need you so!" There was a strango look in his clean-shaven, wea-ther-beaten f aco, and his mouth set into a rugged line. He came towards her, his arms outstretched. Gloria strained back, but his arms wero hard round her. "Gloria, stay with me!" he pleaded. "Let me go, I tell you, let me go!" With ono.arm still holding her ho lifted her face until her blazing eyes met his. "For tho last timo I ask you, will you stay with me?" "No, no, no!" she gasped, pushing him from her. Ho gathered her-again in his amis and crushed his lips to hers. Before -sho-knew'what she was doing her nails wore tearing at his hair and her teeth descended with a snap into the thick part of -his-mist.

"That, will do. I've stood enough from you—your turn to stand something from me, now." His voice was harsh and his strong hands pressed relentlessly on her arms until she was forced to Irer kueesj Like a wild thing sho wrenched and writhed and kicked, but his grip held. The agony of that pressure drove all fight out of her. Humiliated, she huddled on tho. floor, sobbing dully. He held her there. "Now listen. For . what has happened to-night you alone aro to blame. For twelve long years I have loved you, with never a thought of making you mine. The selfish, spoilt you that the world knows would have laughed in my face,had Tasked you to marry me. But there is another 'you' that only I have discovered and. that I love." She sneered. "You talk like a missionary." "Do I?" There was infinite tenderness now in his voice. You can get up. I am sorry if I hurt you. Slowly she Toseto her feet. "Paul, please let me go." The failing light illumined tho red stain on his wrist whero her teeth had been, and she felt a wild gladness at the sight. "No, you are staying, here to-night; that's final." The words 'were like tho flick of a whip in her face, and, before the masterful blaze of his eyes she lowered, her own in panic-tricken terror. Following a hiatus while she gazed in dumb misery at her tormentor. But he made no sign. She tried appealiug to his chivalry, assumed an air of gentleness, or weakness, but of no avail. The situation seemed to afford him a strange satisfaction. He kissed her, exulting in her distate at his caresses, and at length, taking her unresponsive arm in his, he led her up the narrow stairs, to a low, sweet-scented room. "You will find everything here you need. Ho pointed to a collection of dainty feminine things that were assembled on the bed. "And, by the way, you can't escape. The window is securely. shuttered on the outside.'' Her head bowed in weary asquiesCCIICC. "Will you come down again, or are you tired?" "I will stay here." A sob choked in her dry throat. ."Very. .well.'.'. .. With set face, he walked out and locked tho door behind him. ■ ' Outside'tho'rain still fell. Paul took the car and put it safely away inside the-cart-shed.-By morning the rain had flooded the landscape around the old cottage. Gloria noted the'fact dully as she looked out of the window. The door was unlocked, but sho made no movement to go downstairs. She spun round and faced Paul as he entered the room. "Once I am free I will punish you for this. I'll make you sorry!" "You can never do that. Nothing can ever take from me the joy of having once owned you. Now I have prepared breakfast. Let us go down." "I shall not eat." But the very matter-of-factness of his tone frightened her, and she followed him without further resistance. The day passed slowly. Paul cooked the dinner and tidied up with a characteristic thoroughness, while his wife sat staring with lack-lustre eyes at the dancing flames in the kitchen range, and from there to the dormer window through which the sun shone. At length darkness fell once more. The lamp was lighted, and the curtains drawn. Paul joined her in the draw ing-room and smoked thoughtfully. Presently he began to speak. "See that old framed sampler up there, Gloria? My mother worked it when she was a girl. There's another one upstairs, too, that she did. Hers has been a. sad life. Her people were gentlefolk, but she defied them and married my father, a rough,.untutored farmer. Some people will do a lot for love." She-made no sign, but he continued, as if speaking to himself. "Soon after he died there was a bad epidemic of diphtheria, and it took both my small sisters. So my mother, has only me now. She will love you, Gloria,- if you will'let her." The girl spoke tonelessly. "I did not know your mother had ever had any other children." "We moved to this cottage when my father died, and I started to work. Do you remember how I used to b/ing you the very, first primroses from the woods and the-most luscious wild strawberries I could find? Every year I did that." '' You' stopped—later.'' "I know. When you were old enough for all the eligible young men around to take you out in their wonderful cars I knew that my love was hopeless. You could never stoop down to my level. Yet when I went away something urged me to make my way in the world, to prove myself the equalcombatively—of those others that encircled you. Journalism appealed to me, and I drove myself at it like a nigger and forged ahead. To-day I havo a position that I am not ashamed to ask any girl to share with me." "Then—did you intend to ask me? "No. It was not money that could make me your equal, Gloria. - You are still as far, above me as the stars, and I—l havo been a beast to you." Suddenly he buried his head in his hands. A strange pity stirred in Gloria, a vague' something which she tried fiercely to crush. Ho rose to his feet. "To-morrow I shall let you go. It was madness that made mo hold you against your will. To-night it is late, but to-morrow you shall bo free "And you will divorce me, Paul? At that he stiffened. "I supposo I must.' I hato'the thought of a fake divorce, It's nothing but an unclean lio. Still, I'll do it. That shall bo my atonement for the sweet madness of this Christmas." Tho girl shuffled uneasily. Paul's abject misery, the thought of the lonely, loveless years that lay. ahead of him cut her deeply. He had broken the-let-ter of her. contract, of course, but still, it was an incident which she could soon live down and'fo-get, while he . Her eyes filled with tears. "I wish you didn't caro so much, Paul. I feel so mean, now, for having married you." Tenderly he stroked her hair. "Dear heart, don't cry, and don't worry about mc. I shall get along, somehow." With an impulsive gesture she seized his hands. "This evening is yours, anyway, and since you say you will remember, let's make it a happy memory, shall we?'' He smiled at her, puzzled by the varying moods of her, but she opened the old piano, and, after a few preliminary trills, began to play—jazz, lovesongs, anything that would make him glad-and help him. to forgot. Presently he started to sing and together they ran through a vast repertoire of light, frivolous choruses and oddments. Tho whole atmosphere was chauged. They laughed and mado merry as if there had never been a cross word between them: '- • ' At length they stopped, exhausted. "I feel better for that," laughed Gloria. "Now let's sit down and be

Christmassy. You tell nic ghost' stories." . Paul sat in-tho armchair and his wife sat at his feet, her head resting on his knee, while he poured out a stream of seasonable anecdotes until at one, moro creepy "than its predecessors, sho clutched his hand in sudden panic. He got up and pulled her to her feet with a happy laugh. "Better stop that, before I have you in hysterics, Now what.'ll wo do?" Her eyes lighted on the gramophone. "Dance!"-she exclaimed, winding up tho wheezy, .'old' instrument. "'Fraid there's nothing very up-to date,, Gloria.'. Hullo, her's a waltz." He- put it on, and they danced up and dowii the narrow parlour. Tho' solemn grandfather's, clock in the corner struck midnight. Paul's arms dropped to his sids. . ''It is—to-morrow, Gloria. You are free." -;.':,.■■ He looked at, her and a little sob rose in her throat. .-'.-• "Paul—l;wish T could—care." Sho came to him, and, putting her arms around his neCk, kissed him.. "Good-night, dear.'.'And; without looking up, ..he answered, "Good-bye, my'wife.". : . The sports "car was'at the door awaiting her when. she.camo down next morning. Breakfast' Was .a: silent meal, although Gloria did her best to keep-up a fire of light-hearted chatter. He help-ed-her into the-'-car, a frozen smile on his lips. „.'- ',"•'.- ---"I, will "let; you'know,, when I've fixed the ,-• divorce; Gloria, and—-try to forgivo me." "I've done that." There was a groat earnestness in lier tone. Abruptly she ended, "Oh, well, good-bye." The,- car sped down the lano'. and on to the high road, dirty and slushy from the heavy rain. She would not look back, or "think" back, she told herself, and concentrated on the tale sho must tell the Jarwins. It proved ridiculously simple. Knowing Gloria's exploits of old, everyone regarded tho marriage as a supreme joke on-her part. Amongst that assembly of cheery, carefree boys and girls it should bo easy to forget, she thought, and became, impatient with herself becauso their brainless chatter jarred on

her. She had always enjoyed it before. Why should she feel so stupid about it now? "Come on, let's dance!" she^allcd, and set out to be the gayest and most irresponsible of the whole crowd. The long day was dawning to a close, outside the shadows fell, but a demon of unrest possessed her. Someone put a waltz on'tho.gramophone, an old, haunting tune. ; Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. Why should thoy play that tuno of all others, when she wanted to forget? She looked up at tho insipid face of tho youth who held her in his arms, and, through the mist of her tears she pictured another face —strong, square, with chin dogged, and lips tightly pressed together. - ■■' Before she could collect her thoughts and order them she was out:of tho room and feverishly packing her belongings. .No'ono saw her go. No one heard the sports car as if fled swiftly on its way. Paul did not hear it cither. Gloria found him sitting at the table, his head bowed on his arms. She stole softly behind him and-kissed his hair. | He sprang, from his seat: and looked at her in amazement.. ! "Gloria!" he cried hoarsely, "is it ; really you? What has happened? I "Nothing much," she answered happily. "Except thaf I have found out that I need my husband, and so I have come home." Sho ■ lay against his shoulders, a Gloria who was new to him and very | sweet. •■■■■■