THE LORDSHIP OF LOVE.

Evening Star, Issue 12874, 25 July 1906, Page 2

THE LORDSHIP OF LOVE.

[Published By Special Arrangement.]

By Florence Hope Author of 1 In the Clutch of Nemesis,' ‘ A Merciless Woman,’ ‘ The Trials of Madge Moberley,’ ‘Tangled Threads,' etc.) [Copyright.] CHAPTER I. THE INTRUDER. “ It simply comes to this, my dear Adelaide, the girl can’t remain at school any longer, the nuns, in fact, won’t have her, and either she must make her' home with us, or—or ” “ Go elsewhere,” retorted Mrs Bellew, »aking a palm-leaf fan from the chimney--1 piece and waving it impatiently ’ to and fro. !'Yon are selfish and unreasonable,” said her husband, his puckered brow showing his annoyance. , * at all. You forget that I can’t keep Flora in the background much longer, that she will have to come ‘ out ’ next season, and I am certainly not going to chaperone two debutantes ; one will be quite sufficient to be bothered with in these days of nonmarrying men. How do yon suppose I shall get two off my hands ?” answered Mrs Bellew, fanning her flushed face angrily. “Yon will not have to do so.” “What do you mean?” he . fan w as motionless as Mrs Bellew looked questionably at her husband. When I last saw Ina Chisholme a couple of years ago, she had the promise ot great beauty; she was, striking then in her budding girlhood—what must she be now at nineteen? I can safely predict that yon will not have her long on your hands, and that if she inherits the charm ”, bei m^ er ; sl ? e will be an immediate success. The girl must come to us. I am her only relative—for one does not count the brother whom she has been told is dead—and my niece left alone in the world and penniless shall find a home in ray house until she exchanges it for one of I ShaU I write the Reverend Mother to-day and ask her to send the fhlT% ? ° nCe; She wiU Probably be able to find an escort for her, and 1 will meet her at Dover I am too busy to go fc he whole way and fetch her.” * B ■Lf doc tor/Poke in that resolute, deaded way of his that his wife knew dn°^i d !n ook T ] " terfere nce, and flinging rnn m i ft P f lm ' leaf She crossed the room to the door, ’* d °- ? s y °o choose, but remember if the girl does not get off my hands this season I wash my hands of her her W sL h m 6 t nothm S to do with ner. She must go out as a governess nr rampomon or something or other, ni turning & * tion M rtere «W . J h ?, j™ opened and closed sharpie nd the doctor heard the rustle of K;, wife s silk-lined skirts dying away in the meTth?^ 8 ? Wept “P »Uo“tafc case to the drawing-room above. i r i[’ T d seati "S himself paper him, 6 tT”hL^d P eas he a„d h"j T™* Sfsv f t re hirnt. b ?„rf 8 ?“ Sh - e u Wns ’ and that it would 'bfsuch a thorough annoyance to her doctor had was well into middle sh e lOV6d th%^ Mrs Bellew herself saw , much she would be himn .° nc , e how !fe E r her own d d»gg?‘l e fo b ? d ev e ”-f / ;n ol feV° 1 daughter would he to savU^ e l sa ’ s I an intolerable nuance * W ° f her h news nr where 0 FI 1 '" drawin 5 room with I f 8 pert-look- J fore a long mirror iu dat ?, ce be ' at the moment when her Wal1 ’ and ; (-orted into some impossible anMe Jingling tambourine with fluttering rib bonShSw.ngmg ,r„ m erved tbe mat ter, mater? You look Zf u’ demanded the girl, bringing her--86 * ™ ck “tc a more natural attitude. ~ Where s Madame Melange?” inquired Mrs Bellew, gJancing round tho room. Bone. I was just practising the last dance she has taught me. It is rather rummy. Just see, I’ll show you. Sit trSoSruS 11 tiß p**-* y t °. Ur father insists upon this girl n f t C if nVent a . nd coming to usFS Iwith hp I i ?rg ? Wh at I shall do with her I don t know. She is sure to be gauche, and will make all sorts of im possible blunders. We shall be'ashamed Bedew. a 3 day ’” said Mrs “ Shut her tip ” retorted her daughter Annf°FrMl C v “M as 7 matter - Look at M ,th her fiv e daughters saffi Flora^ftr-l^ 3 ’’ ° harley Cal,s tW’’ said rlora, striking an attitude before tb» g “ Thtrl U f P ° D ? D t li T n S her dance. is not a -w 6 ’ but th , ls Ina Chisholme is not a gawky maypolo of a chi liko STbSST' Jr; l ather d f ol “™ 5 astic about her! absurdly jo e “‘ S " si - Sy ri? b t l “r7 S *‘“ t ’ S ad that, for heaven’s sake 5 get her off 6 bo*! i?, ome should like to know, for even naren+pl ’ / fection can’t see beantv ir, P aren tal afPlace phiz, oaT4“ y ,ISr J one turned towards tbo 18 T£i you for sympathy,^bra 0 ? 013 You a°re Thm^ mg of your silly dances and l i p '' joyment!” exclaimed her Cn ' state of xmtation that was almost Uear* 'r g 8 |uS/” be ?”uSi r .-Sr js ff’ioT uoCyet“e™ 0! ‘ i8l ” >lm, ’■ & ,,y sb „Y hj 116 z i ** T u en T« c f n . fcell Jon —consult Cyril Carlyon ; he will help you if anyone can. / n [? T h l s valuable advice you will have d mner or send him stalls for a theatre, for you know he is a man who expects a quid pro quo for all that he does, said the young girl, who was abnormally wire m the ways of society. Mrs Bellew’s countenance lightened "Yon are certainly very cfevgr Flora I never thought of Cyril. Yes, he’ll help ns if anyone can. Do go to the telephone and find out if he is at his club—it is jnst about the time be drops in, I fancy and if bo. ask him to come round to lunch at once. Your father has an appointment out of town, so he won’t be in, which islnckv as he abhors Cyril,” The girl ran off, presently returning with the refly that Mr Carlyoa would bo da-

lighted, and would bo with them as soon as a hansom and fast horse would bring him. " ( “That’s all right,” sighed Mrs Bellew. “ Now to change this shocking blouse; did you ever see such a fit? I’ll never go to Clara again.” Tiro man who was spoken of as Cyril Carlyon was one of those individuals that haunt London society, who live on their friends, and in return pick up all the bonmots and scandal to regale to their hosts—or rather hostesses, as they more often obtain their favors from the women folkCarlyct knew everybody—or pretended he did—-and certainly managed to get a footing into what is known as smart society. He was of good family, hut came of a bad stock, and was unscrupulous to the verge of dishonesty, but with his marvellous gTft of tact and quick perception of character was able to make himself “'ill things to all men" and conceal his bad points under a semblance of good. He was a capital companion, and get on equally well with both sexes. He had been of great assistance to Mrs Bellew, who was ambitious to push into society and mix with the best since her husband—a specialist—had been able to move into Harley street. Her “ At Homes ” were already beginning to be talked of, and once her portrait had appeared in the pages of some obscure society journal, so, though but a few rungs np ijie ladder, the doctors wife did not despair of getting to the top. “ Now this is really good of you,” she raid, giving both her jewelled hanas to her guest us he entered the drawing room oh tne stroke of two. “Maurice is out, an important appointment, so we can have a real good talk. Come, let us go and eat at once ; I hear the gong.” They met Flora at the top of tho stairs. Hie shook bands in a careless manner with ard dashed down before them. Vouve no manners. Flora,” admonished her mother. “ I’m so hungry, that’s the reason, and I want to see what cook is giving us,” was the rejoinder. “ Hungry on snch a day! It is quite hot; summer at last,” said Mrs Bellew', seating herself at the head of the table with Carlvon on her right. It was not until coffee was served and the mau servant had left the room that Mrs Bellew spoke of her trouble. Pell me,” she said, “ do you know of anyone who would many the girl right off the reel?” ‘ If she had a fortune I would not mind obliging you myself,” said Carlyon, Brining his coffee. hj You! Ob. we can’t spare you,” exclaimed his hostess, pushing towards hfm a box of gold-tipped cigarettes. I should think not, indeed. What would all the mammas do, to say nothing of lie daughters?” chimed in Flora. Haven t you got a music lesson this afternoon at three o’clock?” demanded her | mother. . Oh, yes, I believe I have; what a nuisance. I suppose I must go. Well, goodbye, Mr Carlyon, sorry not to be able to stay to enjoy your edifying conversation. Suggest something for the convent cousin before you go, slse we shall have given you luncheon for nothing,” was the impertinent gill s parting shot as she whisked out of Hie room. “ You’ll have to take care of that daughter of yours; she’s the sort of girl to go off with her groom or get an engagement at a music hall. You will see, my dear friend, tnere’ll be trouble one day,” remarked Carlyon as the door slammed" to. “I know she’s incorrigible, but don’t let us waste time in talking of her. It’s this Ina Chisholme I want your advice about. Is there any man of your acquaintance who is looking out for a beautiful convent-bred girl who knows ab olutdy nothing of the world?” said Mrs Bellew. . khe is beautiful, you say—am orphan without brothers or sisters?” Carlyon noted the slight pause that came before Mrs Bedew answered affirmatively, and repeated his question: “ No sisters—-or brothers?” “ None,” was the reply. “ She has no relatives except my husband, who is her mother’s brother.” “Well, oddly enough, I have a friend just come over from New Zealand—a man rolling—simply rolling—in wealth, who is determined to find a wife, many, and settle clown. I have promised to take him about and introduce him. He is not ambitious so if only he takes a fancy to your protegee it will be just the thing; but he is an obstinate, determined sort of beggar, and will only marry the woman he sets his heart i upon. Any way. I’ll bring him here. You’ll be giving an 1 At Home' to introduce this girl, I suppose, when you have seen what she is like; so send me a couple of cards By the way, do you think vou could let me have some tickets for Ranelagh?” Carl}on flicked tho aeh off his cigarette as he spoke, careful not to let it fall on the white cloth. “ For Saturday?” les, it is rather a good day, I believe.” You shall have mine. There, isn’t that swiet of me. especially as I have another and better engagement!” laughed Mrs Bellew. She rose and took some tickets from a writing table between the long, narrow windows. which she gave him. “Thanks so much. I must be off now, but shall hope to hear from you; and any thing I can do I will, as you know.” She laid her hand on his arm with a familiar gesture. w . e other, don’t we, Cyril ?” she said, softly “Yes, and understand each other,” he replied, with a look in his eves that was mote keen than tender. CHAPTER H. love at first sight. It was the first night of the opera season all London that is to say, everyone Who was anyone in society—showed themselves in their boxes or stalls for at least a part of the evening. Women wore their bravest war paint, and diamonds Hashed from tinted tresses and gleamed upon whitened necks and polished arms that contrasted vividly against the background of gorgeous crimson. plush and velvet with which the great theatre home had been newly decorated. Outside was a long line of carriages, and an incessant roll of wheels as brougham arier brougham moved off, giving place to another arrival, a humble four-wheeler possibly, or jaunty hansom, with jingling , , a pd chatter of wooden doors thrown back with a jerk. Then there were motors of all descriptions, from tho smartest private car moving noiselessly over the wood pavement with smooth motion to the jar and sway of the commoner hired vehicle. It was in one of the former—a motor brougham—built on the latest design, that Hu Mi Hatherley, with his companion and guide about town, Cyril Carlyon, arrived a few minutes after the curtain had gone up. Both men were keen lovers of music and had hurried through a dinner at Prince’s m order to miss as little as possible of what to them was always a treat. The lights had been lowered, and it was dim almost to darkness when they made their way to their stalls in the centre of the seventh row. A trifle too near tie stage,” whispered Carlyon, who wao fastidious over trifles. Hatherley made no reply. Ho was settling down to -njoy himself, and the number of the row was a trifling matter to him, not worth noticing; besides he was easily pleased, after roughing it for so many years the other side of the world. Everything in this fascinating luxuryloving London was a delight to him. He felt like a school boy let loose, and spending his money with careless freedom was just the companion whom Carlyon approved of. Hugh Hatherley was a biggish man, with a powerful physique, and attracted some notice wherever he was seen. Thera was a masterful air about him, and a self confidence that hinted at great strength of character without any particle of conceit. ■ His blue eyes were frank and clear as a child’s, his smile winning as a woman’s, the clasp of his hand warm and trustful! His hair, though of a golden brown, Lad here and there a dash of grey in it more noticeable in moustache and beard* but his age was certainly not more than four or five and thirty, and he was very upright and vigorous, evidently a man who enjoyed good health, hardly knowing a day’s illness. Whilst his companion's dances rare

furtively thrown here, there, and every- 1 where, even in the dim light taking in who was “on show” that night, Hatherley was absorbed in the stage, noticing nothing until after the first act, when tho lights flashed out into brilliancy | again, and ho was able to glance round the house. In a low yoke Carlyon answered lis queries, explaining who was who with! brief remarks about each important in- ! dividual, remarks that were mostly tinged ! with sarcasm and scathing wit, for Cyril i Carlybn’s tongue could be hitter, and he I had the reputation of being an untrust- 1 worthy friend and a dangerous enemy, j Hatherley knew no one, for his arrival j in England was so recent that he bad not yet had time to make use of the introductions he had brought with himj and had been glad to be welcomed by Carlyon, whom ne had known as a boy, and who had sought him out immediately on his landing on his native shore. “ There is one box you’ve passed over,” said _ Hatherley, when his friend paused in his remarks. “ Who is ” But as he spoke the lights were once again turned down, and left the house in : comparative darkness, whilst the wail i of violins hushed all conversation. Ha therley moved restlessly, and his gaze was constantly, lifted to one of the smaller boxes on the right of the stage, where through the partial gloom ho could perceive the. outline of a woman’s figure, a white arm resting on the edge oT the, box, an oval profile and dusky hair. He wanted to see her again. He had caught a flash of a face that had arretted his attention—mope, given him a vivid; impression—and it was no longer the music that absorbed him, but the thought of a woman’s face, a mere girl’s, so youthful and pure it had appeared to him, that filled his mind. He had caught sight of another occupant of the box who was seated far back iq the shadow, who seemed to be a chaperone,, duenna, or something of the sort to the girl, to whom she did not appear to address any conversation, but scanned the house, boxes, ria'U, and dress circle through a gold-rimmed lorgnette, with pertinacious scrutiny. Impatiently did Hugh Hatherley wait for an opportunity to ask his companion who the lady was. The act seemed longer than usual, the music became tedious, the place insuffm.bly hot, but at last—at last! “The small box on the right of the stage, second tier, who is she’'” Jio inqi ired, Carlyon fixed his glasses in the direction indicated, keeping them raised for some seconds. “Well?” said Hatherley, as. after what j seemed to him in his impatience an unconscionable time, Carlyon turned to. address him. “ I don’t know the girl, never saw her before in my life. She can’t be anybody; a country cousin ” . “But you must know. You live-your life in this whirl of society, and can’t tell nie who the most beautiful woman is in the whole house? Why, there isn’t another here who can hold a candle to her in beauty or refinement. Look at her profile, it’s perfection! Watch her moven,cnts, there is grace in ev«y one of them; see the proud poise of "her head 1 n n i-? er ex P ressi °n! That is no empty doll-like face of passing prettiness that would pail and weary one, but the face of a girl who will grow in beauty like the opening of a half-blown rose. See! She holds her fan like a Spanish woman; she has dignity, grace, and with it all the greatest of oil charms, modesty and sweet womanliness. Carlyon, I must know her. She is the one woman in London for mo —in the whole world—and the woman 1 intend to make my wife.” Carlyon gave a short laugh. “My dear Hatherley, yon must be mad,” he said. “I never was saner in my life, and I mean what I say. Great heavens! If I cannot win that girl for my wife, I’ll chuck all my wealth into the gutter and find solace in work, go back to Australia. and begin life over again. I mc.-ip Carlyon.” He spoke with his rapt gaze on the girl’s face, conscious of nothing else, his passionate tone suggestive of deep feeling. “Ton are really in earnest?” said his u friend. “You don’t seem to know me. I always mean what' I say. It will be easy for yon to find oat who she is and procure introductions, and voull do this, Cyril ?” ' “Yes, yes, my dear fellow, I’ll do my best, but I tell you she’s nobody—a 1 chance visitor to the opera, a—by Jove!” There was astonishment and pleasure expressed in the exclamation, and Carlyon lowered his glasses with a smile. “ I know now who she is. I had not noticed the lady with her who is leaning forward now.. That is a Mrs Bellew, and the girl is—at least I imagine—her niece by marriage. Great Scot' I didn’t know the little convent girl would turn out such a beauty as this. You are right, Hatherley; she is something remarkable. Ah! there’s the doctor himself!” ‘An elderly man just then entered tho box, and leaning over the girl spoke to her. Her face brightened and lost the rapt expression ihat tho influence of Lohengrin 8 had left upon it us she turned eagerly I towards him. 1 “Is that the uncle?” inquired Hather- : ley. “Yes, he’s a well-knovn specialist in j Harley street, a bit of a swell in his way; charges big fees to society women who flock to his consulting room to be ( cured of their fancied ailments and overwrought nerves. His wife is an am ■ bilious woman, tager to push her way to the front, hard as nails and clever; hardly the com pan iop for a convent girl, , I should imagine. Ina Chisholme—that’s the name of the debutante—has jnst left school—a convent near Paris, I think and is making her debut under the aus- ! pK.es of Iter aunt, who is mixious to get her off her hands as soon as poieiblo. So, you see, there’s a chance for vou, Hatherley. “Which I wouldn’t take, unless I could ! w m the girl’s heart,” muttered the other. The last notes of the opera had scarcely died away before the two men were pushing their way out in order to meet the Bellews and their protegee in the vestibule before leaving the theatre. Carlyon felt curious, too, to see the beauty closer, though he thought she might bo disappointing, for he had no taste for unfledged damsels. He preferred older women who were attractive i to talk to—and flirt with. They stood at the foot of /he staircase watching the throng of ladies with their escorts descending from the boxes and dress circle. But at the very moment that the Bellews came by a lady with her daugher had tapped Carlyon on the shoulder, and engaged him in conversation, Hatherley could do nothing, but his eyes were riveted on the girl’s face as her skirts brushed past him. It must have been the strong magnetism of his I gaze that compelled her to raise her eyes swdftly and suddenly to his for the flash of a brief second. The next they were lowered, and the curtain of her long lashes swept her cheeks. Then in the shadowy blackness of the brougham Hatherley saw her drive away. He shook himself as it were, as if to pull himself together, to awake from a passing dream, and heard Carlyon’s voice in ms ear. i “So sorry, old chap, but Lady Cflyn got hold of me, just at the wrong moment, too; the’ve gone, I suppose?” i “Yes, she’s gone.” ' S ° rr y • Hel’s see, was it supper at the oavoy or the Carlton we arranged for ? ° But it was neither the one nor the other for Hatherley. He declared he had no appetite for supper, nor was he in the mood for smart restaurants. “I’m going back to my rooms,” he announced, and bed.” “ Home and bed now—at half-past eleven! My dear Hatherley, the night ■ has only just begun. We’ll go to the bavoy, where we shall probably meet Ella D Arcy, the little dancing girl you admired the other night. Til introduce you—oh, come along!” urged Carlyon, who could not afford such luxuries as oavoy suppers without a friend to pay. But Hatherley was obdurate, and nothat' Gsnl could say would temst

him, so with a short good-night the two men parted, Carlyon in search of a more congenial companion, and Hatherley to wahv along the moonlit streets towards his chambers in St. James’s. He bad barely reached his door when he altered his mind. The night was so fine, the moonlight transforming everything into silvery bpauty, it tempted him to . linger, and crossing under the archway of St. James’s Palace he skirted the park, making his ■way to the Embankment. ■ _ The river was like a sheet of rippling silver, the blackness under the' arches in vivid contrast, and the weird loveliness of the scene appealed to Hugh Hatherley in his mood of romance and sentiment that had seized him, for he was still thinking of the girl whose face had made so strong an impression on him. It was her eyes now that haunted his vision, those eyes that had met his own in that one brief flash. . His heart heat faster at the remembrance, and, leaning over the low river wall, he gave himself up to the luxury of meditating upon the future with ii c many possibilities—love, a home, a haven of rest after what had been a hard life, though crowned early with success.. He had endured a lonely, loveless childhood, having lost both parents when, a mere infant, and been brought up by a atom guardian who never made the least attempt to understand his charge or show him sympathy. At an early age he was sent to a public school, where he had managed to hold his own through sheer pluck and indomitable will, the pluck that had never deserted him.

. At eighteen he had declared hig intention of going out to tho colonies, a colonial life tempting him beyond everything else, and finding that he was quite determined, his guardian had felt compelled to let him goj for • he wanted to

make his “ pile,” he said, as others had done, to work and not to drift. The very hardships he was told he would have to endure appealed to the lad } he was resolved to make his own/life, to master it, and nothing would keep him back. So be bad gone, and for sixteen years had struggled and suffered many a hardship, many a throw-back, but at last bad conquered, and now at the age of thirty-four had made a considerable fortune and returned to civilisation, finding that money was power, for the golden key seemed able to turn all locks and give an entry wherever he might choose to go. ■ -

Would it have the same power to unlock a woman’s heart? (To be continued.)