He Who Fights

Manawatu Times, Volume LIV, Issue 6629, 17 August 1931, Page 5

He Who Fights

SYNOPSIS. Madame Anatoie, a shrewd old wire of forty years’ stanaing, knows well enough the doings of her husband, Pierre. By her own methods she finds out his hatred of one, Gregoire. Pierre, a tail man with great ntoustachlous, goes in secret fear of his wife, but a husband at ease Is not Madame Anatole’s idea or conjugal felicity. Barbara Dallington lives with her mother in Devonshire. Christopher Frayne, Barbara’s fiance, resides in the same district, with his sister, Sally. Mrs Dallington is friendly with Mortimer Brown, a man whoni everyone dislikes. CHAPTER V.— (Continued.) “ Bui how?” “ Listen. This evening I write to the little lady: I remind her of my devotion; I tell her I treasure her words in my heart, ‘ never come to England ’ ” “ London,” interrupted his friend. “It Is all one,” continued Guitard grandly. ‘I have the imagination. I tell her she forbid me to come to England and not pay her the visit of ceremony, that I come and bring my friend with me.” “She will refuse."

" She will not. Ah, you do not understand your Lucien. The opportunity 1 take from her. I write to her this evening. I tell her we come to-morrow unless she send me the telegram of regret. There Is not time for that; we arrive, therefore. She has no room, perhaps? Well, she has an understanding almost French; she is of the kindness: she make room. It is very simple.” ” I do not like 11,” Ramonet said slowly, shaking his head. “ What yould you?” replied Guitard, shrugging his shoulders. “ 1 have no choice; I must go; and you will not let me go alone. I will make them to pay for this; never do they leave me in peace I I am Lucien Guitard, and they know it.” He twisted his moustache fiercely. “It will not cost us many francs if we are tho guests of the little lady, eh? Well, am I to tell them that? Iso, no, that is private; that is my cleverness. And, besides, Ambroise,” he went on less jauntily, “ ‘Broadcombe ’ —you have read it. It is the fate; how can I help it?” “That is true,” remarked Ramonet thoughtfully. “ You see. It is the necessity. Are we to be made miserable in this wretched country? It is for me to obey their accursed order; I have no choice. Well, then ” he spread out his hands deprecatingly—“ am I imbecile that 1 do not visit my little friend?-We go to her, and it is the journey natural. We do not want questions, do we?” Ramonet nodded his head in acquiescence of the force of the argument and Guitard recovered his lost good-humour. Playfully he slapped the offending letter, saying “ Ah, my little fellow, you thought you would make me miserable did you? But you do not know Lucien Guitard.” He had a brief return of exasperation when it became necessary to extract a bill from the disdainful waitress; but his knowledge of the English tongue was too imperfect for him to be offended, as he put on his hat preparatory to departure from tho restaurant, by the audibility of her comment, “ Balmy—like all foreigners.”

He wished her “ good evening” with a superb gesture and swept out, feeling that her stare was irrefutable evidence of the impression that his elegance had made even upon this bovine Englishwoman.

CHAPTER VI. Kiss The First.

“How vexatious,” murmured Mrs Dallington, opening her letters at breakfast on the day following her daughter’s easily foiled attempt to remonstrate with her for her indiscriminate hospitality.

“What’s up?” inquired Barbara. “Lady Colter writes to say they can’t come after all.”

“That’s a good thing; let me see the letter.” Barbara took it from her mother’s surrendering hand and read it with a quizzical expression. “What a vile hand she writes I” she commented. “I can’t read more than about every alternate wmrd. No matter, that’s plenty for her excuses. 1 never thought they’d come.” “Why ever not?”

“Too dull. Dartmoor for a smarty like her and an old fuss-pot like Sir Wibrahaml No one to admire them and nothing to do.”

“They could have talked to me,” answered Mrs Dallington. "I admire them exceedingly.” “You admire everybody, especially the undeserving.” “They might have let me know a little earlier; very inconsiderate, but —” Mrs Dallington’s face brightened as she read her next letter, “here’s compensation. That amusing little foreigner who was so useful to us at —oh, you remember, writes to ask if he may really take me at my word and come and pay me a visit of ceremony, so he puts It, for a few days; and may he bring a friend. Now that's delightful, so friendly.”

“Who? I’m sure I don’t remember half the people you’ve given a similar invitation to at odd moments when you felt expansive—that is, half the people you’ve ever met.” “My darling, don’t exaggerate. It’s the besetting sin of the young. Be original, whatever else you are." “Who’s coming, mother, and when?” repeated Barbara patiently.

“That dear Monsieur —what is his name?” answered Mrs Dallington, scrutinising the signature appealingly. “Don’t tell me you don’t rememeber that?” “Of course, I do—only I can’t read it. Guit —Guitard, that’s it. You know, we met him at Dinard, or no, wasn’t it Paris? A charming man, most complimentary.” “I don’t remember.” “Oh, but you must; he was so helpful over that necklaoe I thought I d lost; and there it was after all in the lining of my hat-box. How it got there is a complete mystery, but— —” “That fellow I My dear mother, who will you ask here next?” “I haven’t decided. But I didn't exactly ask M. Guitard; I only returned his politeness—and af*er all he’d taken a lot of trouble for nothing—by saying we’d be .very pleas-

(By LORD CORELL.)

Instalment 5.

ed to see him any time if he was ever in England. He says he called at Grosvenor Street, and when he learnt I was here he thought how nice it would be to see a bit of the real country; he’s on holiday. That’s what I call friendly.” “I call It great cheek! When’s he coming," ‘‘To-day, if we can have him. He’s only got a fortnight; he asks me to send him a telegram if it’s inconvenient.” ‘‘Well, upon my word!” “It’s my fault,” confessed Mrs Dallington Impenitently. “He was such a nice man that I hardly liked to offer him a tip, so I told him particularly to come and see me when in London; in fact I assured him that I’d never forgive him if he didn’t. And,” she went on brightly, “it all works in very well. The Colters fail us at the very last minute and M. Guitard —Lucien his name was, I remember now—and his friend come instead. I call it providential. Why, otherwise, Barbara, we should have been quite alone 1”

“And that of course would have been a tragedy," rejoined Barbara, unable to keep from laughing at her mother’s tone. “You really are the very limit. Well, you can chatter away to them; I don’t feel that I'm called on to help. And French isn’t my strong point, as it is yours.” “Oh, you talk it well enough; you mustn’t desert me entirely. Mr Brown ” “Well, what about him?” “You’ll be an angel and take them off my hands when he’s here, won’t you?” The suggestion was made demurely, but the quick flash of Mrs Dallington’s eyes betrayed the consciousness of her own audacity. “I’ll do no such thing 1” exclaimed Barbara with emphasis. “You must think me blind if you imagine that I’m going to smooth that creature’s path. What you can see in him ” “He’s a. very interesting man,” murmured Mrs Dallington, “and we’re all creatures, if it comes to that.” “Interesting, perhaps," retorted Barbara, exasperated, “but—Oh, I’m not going to argue with you; It's too serious." “Nothing’s ever that,” Mrs Dallington murmured, welcoming the discussion that seemed to be beginning with delicate appreciation. But Barbara Interjected, “Sorry; can’t stop now 7,” and fled, too uneasy and indignant to trust herself to further words, which might only serve to fan the perverse contrariness of her wayward mother. “Will you be in for lunch?” asked that lady nonchalantly after her. “I doubt it—too jolly a day,” was the vague response. Barbara betook herself to the moor whose calm solitude was invariably soothing; but her face was still shadowed by her sense of responsibility when she descended from it and turned in at Pengley Park. Christopher Frayne and his young sister w'ere strolling in the garden considering how best to turn to advantage the second consecutive day of sun, and came to meet her with joy. "Hurrah, here’s Barbara,” cried Sally. “Thought reader 1 Chris and I were just planning a day out with you, and he was making the usual difficulties.” “Oh, was he?" rejoined Barbara. “What kind now?” “Didn't know whether you’d care to come—and all that sort of thing.” Sally was in many respects a replica of her brother, fresh-faced, blueeyed and eager. She was just out and life was an adventure to which she stretched both hands. Since their parents’ deaths she had been her brother’s constant companion and willing slave, looking after his well-being with a grave concern that somehow w'as not incongruous with her vivacity, and taking her eventual supersession by Barbara with an assurance that both he and Barbara found at once delightful and disconcerting. “Perhaps he’s right," replied Barbara. “I saw him yesterday.” “That’s what I said,” put in Frayne awkwardly, signing to Sally not to come out with all the other thiDgs he had said.

But Sally could be as blind as Nelson when she chose; and now she embarrassed Frayne and gratified Barbara by exclaiming, “What has that got to do with it? You know you said yesterday was a whole age ago, Chris, and so it is.”

“As it happens, children," remarked Barbara, with an air of great detachment, “I have need of you. I know that secretly you’re dreadfully bored, Christopher, after a whole hour of me yesterday, but tact is called for; you must put up with it. I’ll talk to Sally mostly.” “I didn’t mean ” began Frayne, floundering badly. "Never mind what you meant. I won’t take offence. It’s understandable." “Chuok it, Barbara,” put in Frayne unhappily. "You know I never meant ” “Listen, listen. Let's be serious. I’ve come over with a purpose. Don’t you see how careworn I am?” “I’m afraid I don’t,” answered Frayne, gazing at her clear young beauty with no attempt to hide his thoughts. “You’re very unsympathetic.” “Wliat’s the matter, Barbara?” inquired Sally, taking her arm. “You do look a trifle bothered.” M A trifle 1 I am bothered, worried to death, in fact. It’s mother. What are we going to do about it? "Wo must do something. I don't ordinarily concern myself much about her on the safety-in-numbers principle; but I must admit I’m more than half afraid that this time she’s on the point of going in off the deep end. She’s got that Mr Brown on the brain; a couple of wnetched Frenchmen- are coming unexpectedly and she actually asked me to take them off her hands so as to leave her free for him when • —not if, observe—when he comes.” “I was thinking about him only yesterday as I came home,” said Frayne, “Surly, disagreeable brute I” , t’l’o be eonUaueo.i,