“LOVE’S LOTTERY”

Manawatu Times, Volume 63, Issue 148, 25 June 1938, Page 7

“LOVE’S LOTTERY”

Synopsis of Preceding Instalments: Ten-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 little girl, made very unhappy by her mother's four divorces. Ten of the next eleven years are spent with her mother in Europe. When her mother dies after a fifth marriage, Cicily returns to New York to live with her Aunt Ella Eden. The years have wrougnt a great change and when Geoffrey sees Cicily he is 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 whose only thought is of his Wall Street success. Before sailing for Paris to buy her trousseau, Cicily learns that Miss Marks, Geoff's secretary, sends her tho flowers and books she* receives, Geoff being unable to “find time." In Miss Marks’ absence, Geoff directs Miss Miggs to compose and send an ocean letter to Cicily. The office staff jokingly writes a letter describing tho boss* letter-writing methods which is wirelessed to Cicily by mistake. Heartbroken, Cicily writes Geoff, breaking their engagement, and sho tries to forget him in travel. While the guest of Hilda Blake, who has a villa near Florence, sho meets fcjir Terrill (Terry) -Brown-Thrope, wealthy and 40, but years younger in spirit. Their tastes are congenial and soon Cicily'a doep depression is broken by smiles, fclio admits she likes Terry and be is deeply in lovo with her. f?he is interested in tho odd, unfrequented l»laces he knew in and about Florence. 4 * Terry, ’' Cicily said suddenly, as they drove homeward one evening, 41 1 like you better than I have ever liked any other man! f “That is something,'' he admitted. •‘Thanks awfully, you know.'* She laughed; so many men would have been thrown to their knees by such admission from her! And Terry thanked her awfully. “I’ve loveu to-day," she said sober-

ing. “Jolly!** he agreed. Again they were silent. “Jove, I'll miss you when I’m on my way!" he broke out this time. “You’re not going, Terry!" she epoke impulsively and sho turned to look up at him, quickly, anxiously. “Don’t know,’’ he admitted. “Have a good deal I should do at home. I have a feeling that iny manager doesn’t *lo quite ail he should for the people round about, you know"—be was wholly sincere—“ and once and again I pop in. to see who needs a lift. Always plenty to do—" “Frightfully bromidic, 1 know," she offered reflectively, “but I imagine the real peace does conio to those who serve in some manner." “I’m certain of it, child.** There must be some corner where she would be really useful, she mused. 4 ‘l hope you won’t go soonl" sho said warmly. “Have to sometime,** he answered. Arms folded across his chest, face ahead, he eyed her now and again through a slanted glance which gave him much. She was feeling the threat of his going; she was considering use- • fulness as an anodyne for her pain. Transparent as a crystal she was; a flawless crystal, and sho would be so, ever . . . Borne day she might say, “Terry, that was an absurd infatuation of mine!** and meantime, if she said no more than, 44 Terry I like you—** he would have more than had any other man on earth. And —married to him—she would have no reason to revoke that; he promised her this and himself. At the end of another week Cicily turned from her window; Hilda had followed her into her room. Hilda spoke in her usual blunt way, as she settled, rigidly, on the edgo of a chaise longue. “What are you going to do if you refuse him!’’ she questioned. 44 Mourn for this young Babbitt all your days! The funeral pyre for widows has rather gone out, you know, Cicily. Nowadays women who think at all, consider where they will be most useful—" - Cicily's breath caught; she knew ▼ that; she wished Hilda had not —said it. She did not wont to be selfish or • abnormal. But—Geoffrey! “I can’t—seem to decide, Hilda." 44 If tho young man had had any stamina, any real love for you, he would have followed you, recaptured you, and he did not —’* Cicily had felt that too; she wished, again, that Hilda had not said it, and yet again her breath caught, spasmodically. “There's so much for you to do in England,** Hilda went on. 41 You will have a great fortune with which to do good; & man who is generous and who wants good done, who wants help with the good he does —so well! Wo all know him; England does—and loves him! They can't say enough of him. And you could mako him utterly happy by the least of your smiles." (Hilda paused, but only for a moment.) 4 4 And knowing unhappiness, Cicily, do you want to make it—-end tragedy—for • anyone else!" she ended, tellingly. 44 0 h, no!" Cicily breathed out, fervently; and then she was crying, hard aad childishly. “I don't—know what’s the matter with me—" *he confessed betwen the sobs that shook her bq cruelly, “only Hild*-df I do—it will seem as if—the door to my enchanted garden—ia closed.’’ Staff, child! You're incorrigibly young! And—what is it getting you!’’ • Hilda questioned harshly. Cicily was silent. She knew what it was getting—and had got for her; sleepless nights during which slie had begged Geoffrey to follow her and to recnnhire her—with one look! Days

(By Katharine Haviland-Taylor) Instalment 18.

when thoughts of him could not be denied; bitter moments, hunger and pain. Hilda, waiting the answer that did not come, saw witn relief that Cicily was through with her weeping; Hilda’s tightened lips relaxed a trifle. 44 Kind," said Hilda, “so very kind! He’s the kindest person on earth, I believe!"

“Oh—l knowl" Cicily admitted wekarily, desapirin kfwj wearily, despairingly. “I wish I had your chflncel" Hilda dung out. “I wish you had!" Cicily thought. She said, not quite steadily, but very i loudly and almost shrilly, 4 4 You can— down—and tell—Aunt Ella—l amgoing to say yes to. Terry and that I know —I should." “Good child!" Hilda stated briskly. ■ 4 That is talking horse sense, as we say back home. I’m glad you’ve come to vour senses. You’re too young for twilight and this endless repining. When are you going to tell poor Terry? He*J out on the terrace wearing the grass to the roots! He cares—rather dreadfully, Cicily. ’ ’ “I know . . • I’ll tell him—to-night —I promise." “Good!" Hilda exploded, but she left the room frowning. Something about Cicily—and whether made by her own stupidity or not—was 4 4 rather pathetic." Hilda, who had buried an errant husband with great relief, could not understand it. On the main floor she stepped to a widoly opened window to signal Terry who came toward her, haggard-eyed, on a gait that approached a sprint. “It’s going to be all right, Terry," she said. Ho mopped his btow. 4 4 Got to be," he said, “and for her, not for me, Hilda . . . that’s tho thing that counts now. You didn’t—overpersuade her!" ho ended anxiously. 4 ‘l! Certainly not!" 44 1 wished afterward, I hadn’t 6poken; she must not be influenced beyond her will.’* “You'll save her lifo ... if you want to do that!*' 4 4 Bather! " he whispered, but without his usual glib quickness. ‘‘Rather, Hilda!" Geoffrey, in New York, studied tho calendar which stood on his desk. November was written there. He was thinner, more given to sharp, nervous, uncertain motion. He had learned with tragedy what life without Cicily could be, but he did not believe that it had to bo —as it had recently been. He felt that 4 4 with a little letup of work and a chance to brehthe," he could go over—join her wherever she was, to 44 fix it." He had tried to get away time after time, but always ineffectually; in each case the tightening tentacles of the “Big Business" octopus had pulled him into the seething depths, to hold him there. He had accomplished a great deal during the seven months because he had boon “undiverted** ... 44 A silver lining to every cloud," he realised, but “Lord," he “missed her!" She was his girl, all right; he wished be had moro time. Ho had planned to write her and to write her as he had never written to any living soul; to bare his soul to her as ho told her how much he missed her, needed her. But Sunday after Sunday found him 4 4 too dog-tired to do anything" and—to plan a little for the struggle that was before him in the week to come. The stretch had made Geoffrey considerably older; less certain of those which had once been his bed-rock certainties, gentler with others, harsher with himself. His one real certainty now lay in his realisation that his had been the unpardonable sin; that he deserved no less than the hell he was getting and that he loved Cicily as he had never loved before, and that he would love her always and with a force that ho almost prayed few men might feel. He thought sometimes that if she knew how he cared she would forgive anything. Then again—going over his slights of her in the past; slights he had then seen as legitimate time-savers —ho felt she had been too gentle; that bhe should, for her peace, hive written cruelly instead of having written him as she nad—wanting is happiness! Now Luther chine in with the mail; a long habit made Geoffrey scan it eagerly as he held his breath. But—of course— sho hadn’t—written. Luther drew a deep breath. 4 4 Little Miggs and Jim had a fight," he began. 44 That so? I hope it’s fixed up—" He was stirring around at his desk, Luther saw. That meant “Get out!" 44 Sure, it’s fixed!" the incorrigibly impertinent Luther said loudly. “Duggan’s got horse sense! She was actin’ huffy, couldn’t see him through her high-hat stare. But he treated her rough; They ain’t a one of 'cm who don’t like that, Mr. Field! And she come around ... Duggan, he say Sit it was right out in tho office, you couldn’t help but hear—he says, 4 You cut this out! See? You’re my girl! Understand ?* he says, and he looked at her terribly ugly. She bawled, and he kissed nor right afore old Bleaker, and Bleaker, he says he has love-making around homo alia time with his girls and he wisht ho could havo some peace somewheres. But—if you should happen to want a girl—you can get anyone of ’em if you follow ’em a fed—let ’em know who's boss." “When did you get your 8.A., 4 or?" “I aiiit so dumb as you’d think, Mr. Field. * * “That will be all, Luther-*?-" Luther vanished. Geoffrey sat staring at his bleak desk. That noon he booked passage for England on a ship sailing the next day. He was curiously shaky am weak, finishing the transaction. 4 4 lf * hope a lot now—get knocked—again— ’’ he thought, but ne could not finish it. Ho could ten her, finding her, how much he had learned in the seven months. “Finding her'' made him

close his eyes. That night he wandered his living room, to and fro; and his feet were the echo of two others which, across the world, and a few nours before, had paced a terrace on the hill that leads to Fiesole. He would tell her, Geoffrey decided, finding her, that he woo her for years, if need be, and in. any manner she stipulated, if she would give to him his c "' rt ond chance. i (To be Continued.^

Tauber (tenor). 10.30: “King Henry VI," by Shakespeare (part 2). 12.0? News. GSB DAVENTRY 4.30 p.m.: Big Ben. Religious Service (Roman Catholic). 5.5: Appeal on behalf of The British Empire Leprosy Relief Association, by Christopher Stone. 5.10: John Dickinson (Apsley) Band. 5.45: Recollections of Lord’s, the home of cricket, 1787-1938. 6.15: Weekly Newsletter. Sports.