“LOVE’S LOTTERY”

Manawatu Times, Volume 63, Issue 151, 29 June 1938, Page 7

“LOVE’S LOTTERY”

Instalment 20.

Synopsis of Preceding Instalments: Ten year-old Cicily Eden dreams of Geoffrey Field, six and a-half years her senior, after ho asks her to daneo 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 lifth 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 is stunned by her beauty. A month later, when she tells Albion Carter Marshall, bost 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, lief ore sailing for Paris to buy her trousseau, Cicily learns that Miss Marks, Geoff's secretary, sends her the flowers and books she receives. In Miss Marks' absence, Geoff directs Miss Miggs to compose and send an ocean letter to Cicily. The office stuff jokingly writes a letter describing the boss* letter-writing methods wmch is wireleased to Cicily by mistake, lleartbrokeu, Cicily writes Geoff, breaking their engagement. While the guest of liilda Biukc, near Florence, sho meets Sir Terrill (Terry) BrownThrope, wealthy and 45. Their tastes are congenial and he falls deeply in love with her. Ju.st as sho agrees to marry him, to please her aunt, Geoff decides suddenly to search Europe for her. He receives a cable that day from Cicily asking him to come to Florence but ho allows a market upset to make him miss his steamer.

During their quest of the hills and the far-away, Terry had spoken to Cicily of that which, ho felt, for bet peace, she should do. As ho spoke, he thought that never before had she been so beautiful as she' was at that moment. Terry set his chin hard and looked suddenly away. “Do 1 understand, Terry, that you advise my seeing Geoffrey?” sho asked breathlessly. “Exactly, my dear. This lighting of invisible dragons gives neither to you nor to me, nor— ’* his voice faltered a moment —“to him, a chance to win. I want you to cable him from Florence when We get back, dear, to ask him to tun over . . . Then we ’ll havo what his sort calls *a conference*; we'll say, ‘Cicily, here is the mttn who loves you and here is the man you love,* and we 'll decide who will mako you the happiest—ch ? And not a bad scheme, 1 think— ** “If you love me as much as you say you do, you're running a risk," sho pointed out. He grew suddenly white, and his hands gripped the steering wheel until his skin wus bid parchment,

strained over knuckles. Yet he did not led us she did; he felt it the safest course. And—had it not been —he wanted her to be sure; and he wanted her to bo happy, even if her happiuess made his tragedy.

“ Thing. up what you’ll say, sweet-' heart,’* he ordered, us the car sped on towards Florence. Thus, she cabled. Geoff’s cable came in return: I “You durliug. Stop. Have becu in hell for seven months. Stop. • You’ll never know how I lovo you. tit op. But market perilously un- < steady; can’t get away now; simply j impossible. Stop. Am writing; will! join you later wherever you say.! titop. Always your dearest darling j one, Geoff.** Terry read it; she had passed it to 1 to read. ‘‘When do you wish to marry me, ’ Terry I** she asked, quietly. “Now,** he answered. She had not expected quite that. “li want to bo married in New York, 1 Terry, ’* she stated . . . tihe felt tho small cheat she was as sho temporised. , “I see,** he answered gently. And he did sec. j He settled by her upon a small davenport that stood before Hilda's lire, which wus now a necessity and moro than a cheering decoration. He put an arm around her slender shoulders, to draw her against him. For only a moment she stiffened, then sho relaxed, realising that sho was foolish, edgy and unnecessarily withdrawn. “You need not bo afraid of me, dear,** he said. “But iny telling you won *t help that. When time has told you, you will believe it, but time is slow about speaking. However, where do you want to go for your— ** (ho was going to suy “honeymoon**; he stopped abruptly) “whero do you want to wunder with me—when we can wander without Miss Ella—or HildaT** he ended. “Oh, I don’t care, Terry,** she answer*), heavily. He thought, drearily, and with a downward plungo of heart, “I know you don’t—” “How about a trip—a desert trip from Biskra?’* ho asked. “Camels, sand in the coffee, sunsets that make you think you have never before seen colour; attendants who will make you wish you wore a veil and—and make you look at me with scorn! Riding all day until you're so decently tired that you'll sink to sleep tho moment you touch your pallet; strange foods and new ndises— r * j Sho had turned swiftly to him. “Oh, Terry, will you take me there?’* she) questioned, eagerly. “I’ll take you anywhere in the world you want to go,” he promised, his voice low. “I ll do anything you ! want me to. I*ll not do anything you’d rather not—have me do. I mean that—do you know how much I mean hat? And how I mean it?** j “Yes—Terry,** siie answered, breathless. j “Good!** he said crisply and with nj

(By Katharine Haviland-Taylor)

whole return to his usually every-day manner. “Now lean back and stop acting as if I wore Bluebeard in dlsguiso. Cross my heart, dear, there are nothing but boots and tweeds and braces in my wardrobe.’* She laughed suddenly, unsteadily, her head against his shoulder. Why could sho not love him? No ono could be kinder; no one could be more attuned to her moods—to the needs of ! her moods! Geoffrey would join her j anywhere sho named (when tho market steadied). Geoffrey would join her—• • anywhere, he said ... And she had ijust told—Terry—she would marry him in New York. Six —or nino days 'crossing, governed by their choice of j boat . . . She would say sho wanted — !u slow trip. And—they could linger on •here, a bit. And stop in Paris. Stopping in Paris for clothes would be logical, the natural thing to do. Perhaps •she could manago to linger—a month jor six weeks —in Paris. Her palms had ; grown damp as her hard-clenched hands grew cold; she had realised suddenly that she must not cheat Terry, dear, kind, good Terryl She felt his cheek against he;* hair. “What the devil is the matter now?’* he questioned. tihe was, suddenly, crying. “Terry,** sho confessed, “I think you’re marry-

jing a maniac.** “Darling, I have never differed in any manner from other men. I don’t expect to now! ” I “I knew Geoff for so many years, you know ... I always dreamed of marrying him ... and just now I thought of how I could lengthen the time —getting my wedding things —and tako a slow boat to New York. I—know my peace will come from marryjing you, but—l*m so—afraid. ** ' He spoko then as sho had never heard him speak. “I know all this,** he said, “and how you feel. 1 know you, Cicily, better than you know yourself, and* 1 know, too, that you will only prolong this misery of yours by a long engagement. Long engagements are for happy, certain lovers who fret • at the stretch of days, not for temporarily unbalanced young persons who think—when alono and in dark and \ when sleepless —* Can I go through : with it ? * ” | She drew away in surprise. Sho had felt certain that she had hidden “all that’* —her fright, her wild panic. Ho kissed tho tip of her nose; he smiled jdown at her. “Married to me, dear/* he promised, “you’re going to think ‘what was tho matter with mef ’ ... and when things bother you, you will come to mo, and , when I bother you—l shall disappear and—l shall know —without a word — 'when I am not wanted!” I Ho always did know how she felt, sho realised. She dropped her head against his shoulder once more, a broad shoulder. For a socond her eyes smarted; “I’m a fool!” she decided . . .

Terry was perfect, but—she didn’t love him! She loved, instead, a man whose only true lotho was in the market place, and for whom love was, and over would be, an aside. Her reverie was broken by Terry’s

speaking. “ Since you want to be married in New Y’ork,*’ ho said, “we will be married there, but you will not stop in Paris ... I am sorry to bo so autosera tic, my dear, but wc—Miss Ella, Hilda, you and I—are going to take pussago on tho first fast boat. And in New York—we’ll be married straight !off—sec, dear?’* j His square chin was set. Ho smiled .down at her suddenly, and his chin ; thawed. I “It is for you I am doing this, Cicily,** ho stated. “You know that?’* I *‘ I know—you do most things for 1 . me.** I “This most of ail . . • Nothing will jeomo of this mania of yours for the boy | you’ve loved so long—but—more pain, • more uncertainty. I am going to give 1 you one certainty; that will be made •by your being ray wife. And through that certainty, i hope to give you, with (opportunity and time, a little substitute for—tho thing—you*ve lost.’* ’ Terry was staring down at her as he ! wondered whether she would ever know 1 of his want to take her into his arms, 1 to hold her close, hard, fast and for- • ever. It might be, he reasoned, that > sho never would know, and that he • would never have her, thus. Tho dream mado his hunger keen and ho stifled a t deep drawn breath as ho set hiß teeth 1 on his lower lip. 1 “I’ve been looking up ships,** ho ' said. (Ho could not now, even dare a ! “dear.**) “We ’ll go to Paris and ’ motor from there to Cherbourg and ! boat from tkcnco to New York. To- • morrow I*ll book passage.** | “As you wish, Terry and—if it suits 1 the rest," Cicily answered; she thought suddenly and with a rise of heart that 1 it might not suit the rest. ‘‘Quito pleases them; i spoke to ■ them of it,** he informed her, crisply. “Are you always going to dominate in this way?** she questioned. 1 “Always when it is for your good.’* » “Will you always know what is for 1 my good ?’ * “Well, only God knows that, and only God knows how much I hope—l shall know what will make good for you from that which will make evil for you . . . But—you know** ho tossed his cigarette into tho flro—“but you know,** he repeated, “I always had (lair marks in my studies and I never .had one that interested me as does Hub I. . . a study, dearest, frankly, of neuIrosis; a neurosis grown of a too-long, uninterrupted survey of a golden calf on a false altar. *> j “You are not too flattering!’* “The lover does not flatter. The man who must pretend love—has to flatter; tho real lover only tries to tell of the ’love he fools; his truth is ever beyond any expression and his most extravaIgant words are undersung.” He touched the top of her head with