“LOVE’S LOTTERY”

Manawatu Times, Volume 63, Issue 143, 20 June 1938, Page 9

“LOVE’S LOTTERY”

(By Katharine Haviland-Taylor) Instalment 16.

Synopsis of preceding Instalments: Tcn-year-old Cicily Eden dreams of Geoffrey Field, six and a-half years her senior, after he asks her to dance with him at dancing school. She is a homely littlo girl, very unhappy because of her mother’s four divorces. Ten of the next eleven years she spends with her mother in Europe, and when her mother dies after a fifth marriage, Cicily returns to New York to live with her Aunt Ella Eden. The years have wrought a great change and when Geoffrey sees Cicily he ;s stunned by her beauty. A month later, when she tells Albion Carter Marshall, best friend of her father, now dead, of her engagement to Geoff, “ Uncle’* Albion tries to convince her she cannot be happy with Field, whoso only thought is of his Wall Street success. Before sailing on a trousseau-buying trip to Pans, Cicily learns that Miss Marks, Geoff's secrotary, sends her the flowers and books she received from him, Geoff being unable to “find time.” In Miss Marks’ absence, Geoff directs Miss Miggs to compose and send an ocean letter to Cicily. She tells Jimmy Duggan, old Mr*. Bleaker and Luther, the office boy, and jokingly Bleaker dictates a humorous letter tclliug of the boss’ let-ter-writing methods. This is wirelessed by mistako and Duggan, in great fear, wires Cicily an explanation. She answers, “I promise never to tell,’ 1 then writes Geoff, breaking their engagement. Cicily, heartbroken, tries to forget Geoff in travel. With her Aunt Ella, she is the guest of Hilda Blako who has a villa near Florence, and meets there Sir Terrill (Terry) Brown-Thrope, wealthv and 45.

Terry ’s falling in love had been sudden and complete, and it had happened during his third day as a guest of Hilda. Cicily that day had been almost incredibly and very sweetly patient with her aunt's attack of conversation, which had been even more severe than most. Miss Ella had babbled of Florentine history, Paris styles, an attack of neuritis she had suffered in 1917, which had brought in the World War and the “dear, dear boys who fought to save humanity. And this had taken Miss Ella to her work at the Bed Cross rooms, and a very well connected woman from the South she had met there, who had, from a child, suffered from warts—and so on. Cicily had smiled a little at Terry; then her face had stiffened, and she said to the aunt, ‘M adore you!” H6r •yes saying to Terry at the same moment, “Laugh at her in my presence, if you dare! He had said bluntly, “Wo all love your aunt, Miss Cicily,” and she had believed him, to know he understood the warmth of heart that was beneath the verbal vacuity. From that day on he had seen much in Cicily to plunge him more deeply in love. He knew there was no use fighting it; fie did not want to fight it. He wanted that which he had; sleepless nigats, no appetite, dreams of her that made him unsteady; and hopes of making ner happy that made him happier than fie had ever been before. Suddenly, as aide by side they sat looking down into the Homan theatre, Cicily spoke, to tell him of Geoffrey. “1 kept hoping things would change,” she said, after ner tale. ‘“Things,” he said slowly, “don’t change, near child. People can, if they will. Unfortunately most of the time, they won't.” ‘ * Oh—i know. That is true. I wanted to be—so much that he would never understand. A good wife and mother, without, of course, being sloppy about it—it helps to talk of this.” “It takes two,” he pointed out, “to make a joke, and t'j love, and to make any suffering bearable. It is the thing mortals bear alone that makes madness. Two men, housed in an arctic cabin don’t go cuckoo; ono doos.” “Up to this moment,” she confessed, “I’ve been alone in a long, cold night.'' “I thank you, iny dear child,’’ he said humbly, warmly, “for that implied compliment—the highest I have ever had! Any service I can render, I shall Tender, I promise you—and with all heart! ” She slipped her small hand in his to give it a hard squeeze. He hoped he did not show that which her touch had done to him, and he felt a deep apology for te emotion she mad put in him; to feel so was cheating her, because she did Aot know of jt. And as yet—he dared not let her know how he felt and loved. “Steady nowl” he thought to himself, giving so, to himself, the necessary dose of caution. She talked on of Geoffrey; telling of her love for him. More than once Terry felt the twist of a knife, plunged deep into his heart. “She could never love me in that way, of course,” he reflected, “but perhaps I could give her —a sort of contentment —and—help her to forget.” “What are you going to do about it!” he asked. “Give yourself to a morbid survey of the waste behind youf —Or determinedly set out to build something of your to-morrow f” . She considered that for some space. •‘l’m going to forget him!” she vowed suddenly. “I think I can’t help but forget him—in time—with the trying as I am to do so!” Ho felt, having lived and thought, that a too eager trying to forget is akin to the same order of trying to remember. “My dear,” he said, “meet your pain in the open. You can’t vanquish a hidden foe. That is absolute truth which I tell you because I want to help you.” “I think you are helping me,” she conceded slowly. “Good! Another thing for you, child. Study the shortness of life a bit. Realise that you should fill your hours with a synthetic sweetness if you cannot get

me real, x or —aiier mu—n uv* ■■ - I what?” It was all very obvious, she realised, yet, as is always the caso with the obvious, it was wholly true. “One must forgive or forget,’’ he went on; “tho coupling of thoso two is assiniue, for ono never needs do both. You have decided you cannot forgive and—thus—you must —if you wish any happiness —forget. And for a start, to-night instead of skulking in the shadows of the open, and so running a bally risk of catching a caso of influenza, why not play duets with mo? lour aunt says you used to play the piano. Poor lady 1 She’s been extremely troubled.” “I suppose I’ve been a frightful pig-’* . . ~ , “All suffering youth is porcine,’ he admitted. “They want to make their agonies a community affair! Jolly generous, you know, ‘if you don t’ as you say, ‘care what you say!’ ” It was true she knew, his accusation, although sho had “tried”; she felt the deepest compunction. “I will be goodl” she promised, “or L will try to be, and your help, if you’ll give it, will help me. Will you help me?” He did not answer immediately; after a somewhat prolonged interval ho promised, “Rdtherl” in a voice tnat differed a trifle from the voice that was usually hia. “All I want —’’ ho thought, “all I’ll ever ask of God, or from life —to help—you.” She stood up, drawing hor flowing cloak moro closely around her. The sun had dropped behind another Tuscan hill and tho purple-grey shadows wore chilling. And that night, to Jliss Ella’s tremulous happiness, Cicily sat down before tho piano. Terry leaned upon it, looking at her. “What's that?” he asked casually. “ Binding’s ‘Silhouette’,” she answered. “No end topping; like it awfully. Can you play anything by your eccentric Ornstein?” “One thing—l like his things.” “So do I.” “Do you know the ‘Rhapsody in Bluet?” she asked; she swung into it 'ferry nodded. Sho played beautifully, he realised, with that strength and softness of touch that is usually only a man’s. She was, she realised, enjoying the music sho had thought she would never again have tho heart to make; and Terry was helping hor, adroitly, and by gentle prodding. Later they played duets. Miss Ella sat in a shadowed corner of the great salon, wiping her eyes, which were moist with gratitude, and saying her prayers. That night had been the woek before, and since then the days had been packed with utterly delightful diversions all made by Terry. They had explored the roads that ran—like yellow ribbons—up and down the hills. They had disagreed about art during a long morning in the Uffizi; they had hunted old churches the tourist rarely finds, to linger in them as the average tourist rarely lingers. And now—but seven days after her session with Terry in the Roman theatre and her asking him to help her forget—Cicily turned away from the window that looked toward Fiesole, a cluster of houses and a place to pray, set upon'the crest of a steep hill; and she turned away quickly because Terry was waiting for her—Terry, with a party up the sleeve in which he tucked nis handkerchief. “What sort of party?” she had asked with an interest that his skilled touch had revived in her. “Now, nowl” he said in his crisp, English voice. “What a question! Once upon a time (ono tells fairy tales to children, Cicily, and that is the proper prologue for them) 1 visited in a house in the States where there were no end of brats and they were forever making themselves rackotty and disagreeable by shouting, ‘Mother, what's for dessert?’ Jove, their yaps sounded like a clutter of empty tins rolling down a stair, you knowl” “The moral is plain,” she stated, laughing. “It always is,” he agreed; “and vice is no end fancy and —alluring.” “You don’t look as if you had found it so,” she commented. His face had changed, looking down at her, but her gaze was caught and held by the subtle green of olive trees and sho did not sec his altered expression. “My life has not been blameless ” ho said, and as seriously as she had ever heard him speak, “but I can tell you that my affairs were only two, and those in the heat of youth and twenty years goDe; and that—l'vo never hurt a woman!” “Terryl” she said quickly, “I know 7 you haven't; I didn’t mean to probe!” “Oh, rather! I know that, quite!” he assured her. “There,” he thought, “I’ve told her.” Ho felt “no end better I” A relief from getting it out and into the open. “Frightfully sorry about—all that —” he went on, “since meeting you, child, because—your casting me for the role of your guardian angel makes mo wgyit to be one!” ‘‘You are, Terry! You’re a perfect | angel! I've never known anyone kinder! ” “Kind!” Lord! And he wanted to bo the man who could light stars in her eyes and leave, with even so little as the mention of his name, softness in those same eyes . . . and instead, she thought of him as “kind” and in a fatherly, brotherly, remote, goodnatured, easy-going way. Well* tiine—timel And—he’d use itl he vowed, use it I (To be Continued.)

To-day’s Wireless Programme IYA AUCKLAND (650 Kilocycles—46l.3 Metres.) 7.30 p.m.: Agricultural talk, Mr H. H. Taylor, “Soil Erosion.” 8.0: “Hay Fever.” Play by Noel Coward. Studio presentation by Zoe Bartley-Baxtcr and Players. 9.5: Professional wrestling match at Auckland Town Hall. 10.0: Music, mirth and melody. 2YA WELLINGTON (570 Kilocycles—s 26 Metres.) C. 50 a.m.: Woather for aviators. 7.0: Breakfast session. 9.0: Close dowu. 10.0: Devotional service. 10.45: Talk to women (Margaret). 12.0: Classical hour. 3.0: Talk by A.C.E.: “Wet-Day Games for Children.” Sports results. 3.28: Weather for farmers. 4.0: Sports results. 5.0: Children’s session (Andy Man). 6.0: Dinner session. 7.0: News. 7.25: Kebroadcnst from League of Nations shortwave station at Geneva. 7.28: “The Whirligig of Time: Manners and Morals—Good Form in Primitive Societies.” Speaker, Dr. Ernest Beaglehole. S.O: Chamber music programme (R) Pro Art Quartet. 8.12: (R) Schubert recital by Elisabeth Schumann (soprano). 8.24: (R) Vladimir Horowiti (piano). 8.40; (R) Talk, Mr Douglar Uresswell: “John Guard, Whaler: A Story of the Sounds.” 9.0: Weather Station notices. 9.5: Wrestling match 10.0: Dance programme. 3YA CHRISTCHURCH (720 Kilocycles—4l6.4 Metres.) 7.35 p.m.: Talk, “Garden Problems.” S.O: Christchurch Municipal Band. 8.9: Claude Burrows (baritone). 8.16: The Band. 8.24: “Eb and Zeb” (country storekeepers). 8.33: Tho Band. 8.41: iClaude Burrows (baritone). 8.48: The Band, cornet solo with band accompaniment (soloist, It. Simpson). 9.5: (R) Talk: Miss Lydia Sydney (founder of the “New Age” Theatre), “Founding a Theatre.’’’ 9.18: Ernesi Jennor (pianoforte). 9.38: (R) Lottie Leonard (soprano). 9.44': (R) Isolde Menges and Harold Samuel violin and pianoforte). 10.0: Music, mirth and melody'. ' 4YA DUNEDIN (790 Kilocycles—379.s Metres.) 7.30 p.m.: Talk to Youfig Farmers' Clubs, arranged by Department of Agri culture. 8.0: Recital programme. (R) Boston Promcnado Orchestra. 8.16; Danny Malone, Irish tenor. 8.31: (R, : Horst Schimmelpfennig (organ). 8.40: Talk, Mr J. T. Paul, “World Affairs.” j 9.5: (R) Alfredo Campoli and Salon Oi chestra. 9.11: “Florence Nightingale’ 1 I (the Whito Angel).” 10.0: Casa Loma i entertains, interludes by Bing Crosby. 2FC SYDNEY (610 Kilocycles—49l.4 Metres.) 9.30 p.m.: National Military Band. 10.0: Lauri and Dorothy Kennedy (’cello and piano). 10.20: News. 10.40: