The Money Maid

Hawera Star, Volume XLV, 23 June 1925, Page 4

The Money Maid

By WINIFRED CARTER,

Author of the successful novel, ‘‘Lass o’ Laughter,” “The Marriage Tangle,” and many other serial stories.

CHAPTER VII. It was all u nightmaie to Joau. The ci'oon oi the band the dancers ail round —and Jim s strained eyes, Siieila’s defiant ones, and Lord Ailerton s mocking ones. 61 10 knew that there were undercun ents which she was too inexperienced to understand. Then she looked at Mrs. Doyle’s amazed face, the lawyer’s interested expression, then back again to Jim. Site had been dancing with Lo,d Ailerton, quite Jim wouldn’t wish it, only conscious that Jim and Sheila had disappeared. Lord -Ailerton was tall and danced exquisitely, as though every bone in his body was elastic. She had thought at first he was charming, yet soon she was vaguely disquited. fie was cynical; apparently lie bad no faith in anyone, felt that there was no good m mankind. - And now- Sheila said they were engaged! Why had Sheila said that ? Joan said nothing, but presently fier anxious face drew Mark PassoiTs attention. “What’s wrong with Miss Peterson ?” he asked Mrs. Doyie. Angela frowned. It was ail Sheila’s doing. Wherever that girl went there wa K mischief done. She whispered to Joan. “For goodness sake don’t look so unhappy child.! The world will think Jim beats you before marriage!” “I ffeel something’s wrong,’’ said Joan, “wrong with Jim. Perhaps he’d rather have had Sheila.” Mrs. Doyle lost her temper. “Don’t be a. positive idiot, Joan! If Jim wanted her, why didn’t lie ask lierf Jim’s not mad. He asked you—because he w r anted you.” Joan felt instantlv better.

“Don’t be a .beast!” said Sheila sharply. “I never intended to marry Jim! He’s engaged, anyhow, to that rich Joan Peterson. You know very well 1 must marry money.” Lord Ailerton did not speak for a moment as he guided her skilfully. He was a fascinating man to the feminine sex, but he was well aware that by some strange mischance he did not fascinate Sheila, and for a moment his eyes gleamed “Well, it's fortunate I’m the lucky dog who’s got the money. Well; Sheila, yon and I are a pretty good match We’ve each got about as much heart as a chameleon. Wo shan’t weary each other, or bore each other, because we undertake matrimony.” Sheila nodded. She looked exquisitely lovely. None should guess what she felt. She was quite aware that already the news of her engagement wag circulating round the room. People were staring curiously, amazed to think she could marry a man whose affairs of the heart were legion, and whose faithlessness was a matter for scandal. WeJI, she was creating a. sensation. Y'et how dreary a sensation it was,- when- all she wanted was Jim. Heavens! how crazily she did want Jim!

“We shall make a very good pair,” mocked Sheila indifferently. ‘‘And we’re not fools, we shan’t expect the other always about. At any rate, our steps suit, and if we get sick of each other ‘ we can always dance.” “Exactly! the . modern marriage! based on a dance step!” She laughed, that husky, delicious note’, and the. man tightened his clasp ever so little, staring down at the face so like a flower, the star-like eyes, the scarlet, vivid mouth, and perhaps had Slieila looked up then, seen the look in his eyes, she might have seen the truth, that he mean’t to hold her, all liis after marriage. • That he was playing a .waiting game now, so that the bird 1 should not be scared away for always. And Joan, dancing too. passed them and saw, She touched Jim’s arm. “She looks bapoy —and he loves her, Jim!” Jim-gave a shudder. “I would rather it had been anyone but him,” he said. “That man is without, a heart, 1 swear he lacks that organ entirely. She’ll never be happy.” “Men ha**c changed for love,” said Joan simply. “I know I changed when you asked me to marry you. Love has a great power to uplift. Maybe he’ll change now.” Jim looked down at tire earnest little face. “I can’t see Victor getting a change of heart,” he said morosely. “No! and yet look at me! I was so ordinary a hum-drum little grub, and then hey-presto! Love waved a wand and the-' grub developed wings; something stirred and I was a butteHl y.” i There re as something so transfigured j about her face, something so soft, so ’;

“Well!” said Sheila ehallengingly. “They don’t seem congratulatory, Victor. Mot very complimentary, J. must say, and no one wishes me happiness with the. man of my heart.”

i-. That touched innocent Joan. “J. do. I hope you’ll be happy,” said Joan; in a little, hushed, tremulous tone. “I’m so wonderfully happy, myself, that I hope you, too, will he happy.” There was dead silence. Then Lord Ailerton laughed, that silky, suave laugh of his, that made Jim’s eyes glitter dangerously. “I think I can promise that Sheila will be happy: Now, since you’ve broken the announcement of our engagement. we’d better have the next dance. Sheila. It would be quite the correct thing for the newly engaged coupie to dance together.” Was there a sneer in his voice? Sheila turned to him, that provocative, tantalising face upturned. They swept oil, then Victor laughed. “Well, what’s your game. Sheila? Considering that you refused me theother night, I’d like to know why you’ve changed your mind. Wouldn’t. Jim come up to the scratch?”

thrilling about her voice, that the troubled look in Jim’s face was'suddenly wiped out, and lie smiled. “Look out, or you’ll be a poet, Joan,” he'chaffed her. After all, with Joan there, there was something worth living for in the world. And Scila, seeing Jim’s look bent on Joan’s artless, happy face, felt love change to hate —desired vengeance—power to -wound both. When the opportunity came, and it must come soon, she would use it mercilessly, because Jim Doyle had dared care lor the girl, when he might have had her. In spite of the late night, Joan was up early next morning, but she didn’t confess to Jim that she intended visiting Stephen Doyle in the office. Halfway through the morning, however, there came a timid tap at Stephen Doyle’s private door, and when lie said crustily “Conic in!” she entered. She was dressed in a brown cloth frock, with a cape behind. Fur came up to her little round chin, and she wore a tight-fitting fur cap. From beneuth it those soft brow n eyes glanced out shyly, like the eyes of a squirrel, or some wild thing of the woodlands. A bunch of violets, purple bloom s as shy as Joan herself, nestled at her chin. .

for a moment Stephen Doyle stared at her from under bushy eyebrows. So much hung upon this moment, s o much depended upon what lie thought of Joan; lie wanted to make the best of her. Was it possible Jim had once done a wise action! Quixotic young fool that be was, in his uncle’s opinion, Stephen Doyle had certainly always expected that Jim would make a hash of matrimony. He was the sort to do that, was Jim. Easily hoodwinked by a clever, shallow woman, whose outward exterior veiled the vain mind beneath. But this girl was somehow different. So the grim old man and the shy, softeyed girl took stock of each other, and surely enough, Joan read friendliness beneath the outward crustiness. A sudden access of boldness drew her to his. side. She put out her hand. Her smile was warm. ■ “I’m glad to see you,” said Joan. “It was kind of you to want to see me. It didn’t tel] Jim I was coming. I thought we’d just see each other without anyone else here, and so get to know each other.”

“1 suppose you know Jim isn’t any too fond of his uncle? grunted the old man, waving her into a chair. Joan slipped into it and surveyed him thoughtfully. “Yes! I know. But that’s just because you don’t understand each other. I think Jim doesn’t understand you. and f know you don’t understand Jim.” i e*eity-toifcv yonnnr woman!” said Stephen Doyle, a little outraged. <‘Are you going to come here and tell .me how to treat my nephew? You have not known him very -tong, remember.” “Sometimes,” said Joan seriously, ‘‘T think that those who conic suddenly upon a. fellow being can often, by intuition. know more about them than those who are familiar with, them. You think Jim hard, cold, indifferent. Now, to me, under that quietness is fire, courage, hope! He’s the most wonderfu' lover. Mr Doyle.”

“Ts he!” said Stephen Doyle, touched n. little. “Well. I .should imagine be could be. and I’m glad it’s you, my vim has won his heart.

“So we’re going to be friends?” said Joan eagerly. “Do.you want to lie friends?” said Stephen Doyle, thrusting out his lower jaw menacingly, and flowing so harsh\v that it would not have been a. wonder had Jonh been intimidated, yet sho

wasn’t. She felt this man. loved Jim, and had got his interests at heart; because of that she felt she loved him too.

‘ 1 Very much,” slip said simply. “My dear,” said Stephen Doyle, and his lace crinkled up into a shamefaced smile. Perhaps no one had ever seen him smile quite like that before. “Now 1 believe you’ ! l make Jim. happy. You love him, that’s one thing to your credit. Now listen! A word of warning to you. I want you to beware of the vampire!” Joan looked at him in amazement, at the grim face which showed Stephen Dovle meant what lie said.

“The vampire?” said Joan,/and she broke out into a delicious ripple of laughter, which made the old man soften. “We’re not back in the olden days, Mr. Doyle! What do you mean?” “You’ll discover soon enough who I mean bv the vampire,” granted Stephen Dovle, shaking his head wisely. “But if she starts her gamers my clear, you come to me!” ' Joan nodded, a twinkle stil] in her eyes. “J. suppose you think T shall know that too, by instinct.” “I think you’ll know who 1 mean when you meet,” said Stephen Doyle. ‘‘She’s unmistakable!” He got up and came round and took both Joan’s bands in his own. “My dear! I want Jim to be happy! I. feel a foolish old mail and I’ve gone the wrong way to work; tilings are all topsy turvy between us, but perhaps you’ll make us see reason. I want the boy’s happiness more than I want anything in life.” “I knew it!’’ said Joan ecstatically. “You see, 1 felt like that too!” And then, how it happened she never knew, but she lifted her face, and' pressed that soft blooming cheek against his. The door opened just then and Jim came in. “Joan !” he gasped. Joan’s face was like a June lose. “As it’s lunch time, Jim will you take me out and invite Mr. Doyle. Will you come?” Who con’d refuse that soft beseeching face? Not Jim, and certainly nor Stephen Doyle. When lunch was over Stephen Doyle turned to his nephew. “Run her home Jim—and take the afternoon off, if you like.” They sped away. .“You’re a witch!” said Jim, shaking his head. Positivelv a witch ! I never dreamed anyone could get round Dncle Stephen like that!” “Ah. but vqu don’t understand him,” said Joan wise 'a-. “But we’re right down in medieval times. Here you are calling me a witch, and your uncle has been warning me of the vampire. He says T shad know her when I see her, for the vampire’s a she!” She laughed merrily, but Jim’s face darkened uncomfortably. He knew whom the old man meant. j CHAPTER VIII.

They went for a run in the ear right one to Cliise'hurst .Common, stayed there in that cool, enchanted land, and got back just in time for dinner. “Sheila Garruthcrs rang you up, Joan, and asked you to go to lunch, with her. I told her,” said Mrs. Doylo dubiously, “that you were out and would probablv be going to lunch With Jim. She declared that she would oa :| round for you to-morrow to go in Lord Allcrton’s motor boat up the Thames. 1 refused for you, Joan.”

‘Quite right,” said Jim stubbornly. “Oli!” said Joan, in a disappointed voice. “I’ve never been in ;i motor boat. I’d like to go out with her. I’d no idea she ever really noticed me.

[t’s quite exciting that she should want to take me out. I’ve never had a girl friend.” Jim looked at his mother in exasperation. Both wondered what Sheila’s game was. Why should she want to fuss round Joan? ‘‘l don't see how it can possibly bo niauged,” said Mrs. Boyle firmly. “You know there's your trousseau. 1 can’t do everything. Madame Lucia wants to try o n your wedding dress. You seem to be born without the clothes sense altogether.” Joan laughed gaily. Really it was rather thrilling to .hear Joan laugh. Jim felt suddenly as though the load which never ceased to bear him down lifted a little. ‘‘lf I’ve not got the clothes sense, you’ve got enough for both of us!” chaffed Joan. “And honestly I am interested in my wedding dress, who wouldn’t be? But not’because it’s a frock,” she added gaily. “Just because it stands as a symbol of the most wonderful day of my life. And I do want to go to my lord and master very beautiful.”

Her voice was low, rather serious now, the banter in it gone, then realising he was taking it seriously, she dropped a little curtsey. “That doesn’t sound like a modern girl.” reproved Mrs Doyle, but there was a tenderness in her glance. “You are a witch!” said Jim. “,I said you were, and you are! A most fascinating little witch!” He slipped an arm round her waist, and drew" her into the drawing-room, and, watching them, Mrs Doyle heaved a sigh of relief.

Sheila had come back, but she was not tho menace Mrs Doyle had feared, [t almost seemed that the impossible i had come true, that Jim really loved Joan. Then she sighed. The way he had put his arm round the girl he was engaged to was perhaps more brotherly than loverly, she knew the difference. Yet maybe in Jim’s case it was the forerunner of real love. v Then she thought again uncomfortably of Sheila. Sheila had got some game on, inviting Joan to go out with her, but if she’d any influence with Joan, Sheila and she should remain strangers. Mrs. Doyle was not a match for Sheila, however, for in the business of trying on clothes next morning, Sheila and Joan met i n Madame Lucia’s elegant lounge. The colour scheme was turquoise carpets and thick pile, deep purple hangings, and luxuriant lounges with enormous cushions. AH found were cases of frilly underwear with accessories for toilet; many sinuous, slowly moving mannequins crossed and recrosed. Sheila was intent on buying frocks, and yet again frocks, and always more frocks. “Victor js so exacting,” she said, looking at Joan. ‘My dear, he thankful you are engaged to a man who i<3 as little observant as Jim. Yet, I re- ■ member in the old days. Jim wa s very quick to notice what I wore,” She liad drawn Joan to one side and had sunk to a low peacock blue lounge, where in a severely cut walking habit, she watched the girls parade. There was a far away look in Sheila’s eves -Hie spoke; Joan looked at her doubtfully. ‘You were great friends, I hear ! M sal' 7 Joan. ■ “Inseparable-! The diftFeulty arose when Jim’s father died. Everything seemed to be different. It was -a blow for Jim, and for me. too.” “You w >nt a.wav?” questioned Joan, then added frankly: “I think if Jim had been my friend I should have wanted to stay a.wl< help him.”

Sheila bit her lip ini anger, but her voice was «oft. •

“lit was the only way, to leave him then. He had to find his own feet; |*>. had no room for me, just then, in lpsi life. Joan, I wonder if you’ill understand why I did go away? I wanted -to do what was best. Do‘ you think I didn’t- go over the whole ground a million times before I decided to go away! Yet sometimes I wish I had thought the word well lost for love. After all, the prospect of marrying for money isn’t really attractive.”

“What do you mean?” asked Joan, a -shadow creeping into her eyes. “Why, nothing, silly child,” said Sheila, caressingly. “Look, Angela wants you. ’ ’ She rose as Mrs. Doyle turned, anxiously, tas though she .sensed something was going! on. Sheila (swept back, a gay, inconsequent creature in her exquisitely-cut habit. “Joan, (be my friend!” she said impulsively. “I took a queer fancy to you, little Joan of the Pixie eyes. Do you think yon. could care for me? Do you think you would let, me be your friend?”

Joan, looked at her, a candid, puzzled glance. She was unhappy. Sheila had turned the conversation, but as she had looked into Sheila’s great- eyes, which had melted into appealing tenderness, she was touched deeply. Joan had only mixed with people who did not -attempt to hide their feelings. The class she had come from hated frankly where they hated, and loved where they loved, -and made no effort to bide those matters up. She never doubted that Sheila, desired really to be her friend. “Do you really mean it?” she questioned, a shade of wistfulness in her voice. “I’d like to have you for my friend because you’re so—-beautiful.’-’ Sheila- pressed Joan's .arm. “You’re a darling! Do get Angela to invite me to dinner to-night, just to get away from the inevitable Victor.” Joan, turned as Mrs. Doyle joined them.

The wedding drests is ready for the last fitting,” she said. “Sheila, and. I are going to he great friends,” said Joan, ignoring the dress for a- moment. Her ingenuous manner showed h.ow pleased she was at Sheila’s request. “I’d like to ask her to dinner, Mrts. Doyle.” “Why, mv dear,” .said Mrs. Doyle, dubiously. “You know I desire that you should invite whom you like, only there’s -such lots to be done.” “Oh. we’ll manage,” said Jim. “So you’ll come; I’d love it.” So Sheila came. Delighted, suave, exquisite, all her claws hidden. Bur, Jim, hearing tv ho tvas coming from his wise mother, over, the ’phone had excused himself. He stayed late at the office. Sheila’s very real jealousy grew, and her distaste for her finance grew as well. Sheila felt slie saw tob much of him, yet she knew* she saw very little, for he troubled her scarcely at all. Fascinating as Lord Allerton was to most women. Sheila was not attracted by hian. If he kept out of tho way sho could endure him. Yet engaged to Lord Allerton, .she sometimes felt she hated him. He knew too much! It seemed as if not one foible of the feminine sex were hidden from him. Yet his money held her, -and her beauty held him. He- meant, to nuarry Sheila, had kept that idea in liis mind for a long time. N'oiv it was part of his cunning to act indifference. Even more than a rich mai-riage for herself at the moment,

I Sheila wanted to stop Jim’s marriage. | Jim, however, was careful, extremely careful. He avoided Sheila, though it was difficult, for Sheila was aivrays with Joan. Mrs. Doyle was amazed at her son’s clever avoidance of Sheila. She was thankful that Joan, blind little Joan, never saw anything of what was going on under her eyes. The climax, the inveitable climax, came. Uncle Stephen had given them a box for a popular play. Joan, "at Mrs. Doyle’s advice, had not mentioned this to Sheila, but when they got to the theatre, Joan saw Sheila with a party of friends in the stalls. Lord Allerton was not there, and Jim watching Sheila get to her feet at the end of the first act, guessed she was coming up to finish the play in their box. Joan, still wrapped up in the story of the play, turned misty, dreamy eyes to him as he bent and whispered: “I’ve just remembered a most important bit of business. Sorry, dear, I’m off.’

He was gone, so that when Sheila' appeared, like a dazzling, radiant butterfly, she found Jim had gone. Her eyes narrowed. A bitter anger ravaged the lovely face as the curtain rose. She saw none of the play. At last- it was over. Mrs. Doyle was unsuspecting, as Sheila asked Joan prettily if .she could borrow her oar when they got home. “Of course,” ‘ said Joan eagerly, pleased to lend it. Mrs. Doyle got out of the ear and moved to the door. Now Vfas Sheila’s opportunity. ‘ ‘Gome with me; I want to say something very important,” she whispered, J and Joan called after Mrs. Doyle that fr she was going with Sheila, and was back in the car before she could come too. Hien Sheila spoke. “Joan! Joan! I’ve got so fond- of you, I just can’t- bear for you to go on like this in a fool’s paradise,” she said- wildly. “Why? What !” stammered Joan, feeling frightened. “It seems such a shame that you should be married only for your money! Jim told me he didn’t care a rap for .you. It’s your money he’s marrying. I didn’t mind at first, but now I know you can’t bear it.” She put her hands up to her eyes, moaning, but Joan sat still, as though turned to stone. (To be continued).