FAITHFUL

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume 49, Issue 2888, 31 January 1940, Page 3

FAITHFUL

[By

MARGARET GORMAN NIGH OLS.]

When Iris and Mark had gone, Clive asked, “Why are you crying?” “For them, my dear. For pride that’s too great—and faith that’s blind, lie’ll never ask her now. He’ll wait for her to come to him and Iris will never do that. Cliw tell me more about China.”

The residents of Eaton Forest saw much of the “hermit” after that and found him to be an entertaining host. To the various parties in the Forest he went with Iris and his own parties at B'uff House were to make history for the residents who came year after year. There were midnight suppers and swimming parties late at night when every one went to Bluff House for a bite to eat and steaming coffee. Iris lived in ’a >state of suspended happiness. There was no time for brooding even over Joel’s consistently lugubrious letters and Mrs Wade’s old complaint of the lack of money. When Iris opened her eyes in the morning in the little lodge, she hurried to dress and meet Mark in the dining room. After that they swam, played tennis, and there was usually a party in the afternoon and at night every one went to Bluff House.

She had never had a vacation like this. When some of the residents talked of, “When I was in Spain the summer before I lost my money,” Iris felt no envy. Eaton Forest, with its merry sunburned people and Mark at Bluff House, were the fulfilment of her wildest dreams.

“In a week we go back,” she said 01 e night. Mark said, “I’ve nothing to go back !<.. I’ve everything here.” She was sitting on the ledge of the si one porch, wearing blue pyjamas and a white sweater. . Inside the radio was playing and people were talking and dancing in high spirits. “This will always be slightly unreal to me,” she said. “This is the first playing I’ve ever done in my life. I didn’t know how to play before. I didn’t know that people could live so harmoniously as they do here.” Didn’t she know, he wondered, that all this entertainment and keeping the house filled with people was to spare him the madness of being alone with her? He rememebred the drive back from Boston the day Mary was married. They had been silent most of the- way, uneasy, terribly conscious of each other. Maddening for him, maddening for Iris. And so he had opened the big house to the residents, and moments alone with Iris had been rare. They had swum together in the cold lake water, he had improved her tennis and commended her splendid serve, loving almost to distraction Iris in her clean white tennis dress, her arms and legs bare and brown. Play! They could play around the world if only . . . Iris said, “I’m going in.” She had to go in—away from him. INSTALMENT 26. There was a letter from Louis Tracy the next morning. “1 can tell by your letters you’re having a great time,’-’ he wrote. “You merely said that Mark was there. Trying to kid me again? You know perfectly well he’s there. Good friends, I siippo/e, gcod pals. What deceit, Iris! “What am I doing? I’m being divorced and I suppose Annette will marry young Jameson. It was a shock at first but it is the sensible thing to do. I saw Camilla in a new limousine yesterday so I guess her troubles are over with her marriage to the old bank president. “My new secretary? Is she fifty and homely, you asked, to keep me out of further complications? She is not. She’s young and attractive and her name is Anita Rogers. She’s a better secretary than assistant anti the patients like her because she has a soothing smile like yours.”

Letters from home were from a world of strife and conflict, and soon she must go back to that world of strife and conflict —for better or for worse. . . .

The last day at Eaton Forest, Iris tried to enjoy to the fullest extent. In brown linen slacks she joined Mark at the breakfast table in the dining room.

Elise Henshaw, feeding small Tuck, cried out, “The place will he dead when you and Mark leave, Iris.” “Don’t remind me of it,” said Iris.

“We’ll take good care of Mark’s car,” said Elise. Their flivver was falling to pieces and Mark was leaving his car for them to drive back home to Washington. “It’ll be like old times driving a real car again. We’ll have quite a caravan with the three youngsters and Major. The children are all crazy about that dog pal of Mark’s.”

Iris played tennis with Mark that morning and swam with him. At noon that day the Henshaws and her other friends looked for her, but Iris did not come in for lunch. Mark ate alone. With her hands dug deeply into her brown slacks, she was standing on the platform at Bluff House, looking at tlie waterfalls. The bite of early autumn was in' the air. Pine needles made the ground a green bed around her. Good-bye to all this . . . Once, many months ago, she had prayed to be faithful to the old love. Now in this place where there was no sound except the echo of birds in the pines below she prayed again. “I want to be

a good wife. I want to be true and loyal. Thank You, Thank You for this. Mark called it Eden. I’m going back to marry Joel when my heart is full of Mark.'*

Back at the lodge she put on clothes for travelling. Going out, she locked the door and looked around for the last time.

Was Mark standing on the bluff saying good-bye, too?

Each house had to be visited. Men took her hand and said, “Gome back next year. This has been the jolliest season yet—thanks to you and to Mark’s hospitality.” Women kissed her and said, “Iris, darling, do visit us this winter.”

Each Henshaw child had to be kissed. Elise’s motherly arms took her. “My eyes see things straight, my dear. Mark’s in love with you. Something, I don’t know what, has put a barrier between you. Take it down, Iris. Come to see us in Washington. We have a funny little house and a backyard full of animals.” Mark came and Wilson Henshaw drove them to Boston. She felt a termor when the gangpank was raised. She stood alone at the railing, her coat collar high, her hat pulled down to shield the bleakness in her eeys. Going home .. . going back to Joel, to Selina, to her marriage in three weeks or so. She felt strong hands on her shoulders. She did not turn around. Mark was there, his hands giving her courage. They stood there, watching land slowly become a narrow straight line, like a thread in the distance.

“I guess Mary is in China now,” said Iris, frowning as the wind cut across the deck.

Mark puffed on his pipe. “Mary acquired a husband and you a shadow.” “A—what?” “Oh, a nondescript young man with a nose that’s too sunburned and slightly peeling, and an uncontrollable cowlick.” Iris grinned. “A very callow youth.” “You might smile at him and let him treasure that/' It was typical of their conversations, just banter back and forth. Yet in her cabin she lay face downward and hated herself for treating him as if he were a casual acquaintance. It was a cruel trick of Louis and Mary to bring them together again—a trick with the best intentions. •