SAINTS IN SOCIETY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 13097, 9 February 1906, Page 3

SAINTS IN SOCIETY.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL AB.EAN'OEMjSHT.]

BY MARGARET BAILLIE-SAUNDEB3,

Prize-wimier in Mr. T. Fi.'ilier Crtwin's

First Novel Competition.

[COPYRIGHT.]

PART 11.

CHAPTER -XXI.

When the papers came out the next morning. Mrs. Hiding's exploit was blazoned forth for all who cared to read, -It caused.a tremendous sensation. It was not the kind of adventure which journalists of the "dramatic episode" type were exactly likely to treat with reserve, and of it.-* sensational character enough was made to have turned many women - grey. Her very dress and complexion were, described iu terms worthy of a fashion book.

Chawshay, in his bachelor town, house, read it, over his breakfast, and said:

"That woman is divine!" and "Torso brutes ought to be had up for libel!" in the same breath. He got up, and calling lor his horse, with a profuse amount of what the footman call '' lankwidge," simply tore round the Row till he was nearly blinded by a racing east wind, not staying Lis wild course till he had all but killed a policeman, and almost taken a Hying leap over a truculent motor-car. Lady Listower, at her country place, Merehames, read it also at breakfast —in bed, over a pink satin eider-down quilt and some cocoa, it must be admitted. "My de;ur!" she exclaimed aloud, though there was none by to hear her, save her maid, rummaging in a distant wardrobe, "that girl!" What a thing! Well, and I serves that horrible husband of hers right. | The tiresome, chattering creature, with his I abominable ties and bad shooting, and i worse temper. I'm not sorry for him. I j shall write and congratulate him. He will 1 look small. Common person way he ! treated poor Henry over that stupid paper. I The ingratitude of the monster. But this ! girl speaking to mobs, and all that! Well, ; 1 shouldn't wonder if other women took it i up now, too —she's quite beautiful enough Jto make it a mode. But I pity the mobs, I that's ail." She turned the paper to the I light. "So he's ill''" Then, quite incon- ] sequently, "Where's Vera, by-the-bye'.' I i haven't heard from her since she went to , the Henleys a week ago. Really, I the way that girl treats me is shameful. | Most ungrateful. I'll write her one of my worst letters. She's had too few lately. Oh ! —here," she glanced down a column of social chat and hex- eye caught a paragraph. j " Mr. and Lady Ulnia Prinz aire enterI taining a small party at Redaway Abbey, i Renby, Yorks, the seat of the Duke of l Puirminster which they have taken for ; the shooting season. The party comprises j the following distinguished l guests: —Colonel | Sir Sholto Oban-Filkes, Mrs. Jack Murphyj Slaughter, Lady Veronica Vade, and Mr. | Mark Hading, M.P." Lady Listower's "My dear!" on reading this paragraph swelled to an actual bellow, and even the maid, hardened to such ejaculations, came running forward at its loud tocsin summons.

"That set!" said Lady Listower " Sholto Oban-Filkes and that unspeakable Winnie Murphy-Slaughter—Jumpie Slaughter, or whatever they call the creatine. And that Mark Hading—that poor girl's awful husband. And such a hostess! — Ulma Prinz with her little red-nosed Bel-gian-Jew husband and , her reputation. What is Vera dreaming of? Something must be done at once! This is terrible!"

Lifting up her voice, her ladyship loudly demanded to be dressed and to. set about her business.

The morning paiper found Lord Henry at Chassingham, where in this fine cold winter morning he was lounging in the hall before breakfast, very fresh and cool and trans-parent-looking after a cold bath and a. morning race with some of the kennel pets. On reading the account of Clo's speech this gentleman whistled J'longJ and low.- TdiaA was really all; except that ho called the passing footman to bring him a time-table at once, and in an hour had despatched himself to London.

The world in general made caustic comments, and several of the older Tory papers were ra?uer weakly rude about "ladies" and public speaking, and women's franchise* and the usual "What are we coming to?"; cry.. They even brought out of the dusky corners of their imaginations, or what oldTory papers call' imaginations, a familiar if tiresome old bogey, the typical strong-mind-ed female, and endowed Clo by inference with hobnailed boots, divided skirts, pincenez and short hair. These shafts can be survived happily. For tho time everyone was talking of the appearance of this " charming laidy' on a mass meeting platform, and she had to give her servants stern orders to refuse admittance absolutely to interviewers and journalists who besieged her for "impressions." She was busy enough. .The appointment of the committee had to be gone through like lightning to enable her to keep her promise of affording relief on the Monday after the speech.- : It was of necessity informal. Lady Highgate permitted her' name to be used, but forbade her share in the subscription list to be publicly announced. She called her g::ft Clo's—she would' not have it named as her own. Mr. Boatman made a handsome donation, and Lord Henry, who arrived, during the forenoon, another. Crawshay sent ai thousand to be [ anonymous, and half a dozen generous women, hearing of the affair and knowing Clo and her friends, sent offerings and permitted themselves to be enrolled as members of the committee. The thing grew with extraordinary rapidity in a, few hours. Vatde was, by common consent, elected president, and he and Beatman, being old hands at such work, soon sketched out a plan of a relief campaign to be temporarily adhered to at any rate; and by noon the workers at the settlement were able to dispense food tickets payable to the local tradesmen, and to make appointments' for work at a reasonable wage for the next day. Tuesday. Of course it meant hours of liard slaving* for aill concerned, and Clo, Vade | and one of the most energetic ladies of the committee, a Mrs. Poster, at least, had no lunch or refreshment of any kind till four o'clock hi the afternoon. The place was fairly besieged by the hungry crowd, wellbehaved enough, it is true, but none the loss pressing on that account. . Crawshay arrived ait the settlement about; noon, after calling at Queen's Gate and hearing from the butler what was on foot', and his steady,-practical methods of dealing' with the intricate business ■ arrangements were of the greatest assistance. When, after hours of work, the ragged numbers outside began visibly to lessen and the noise became less, when the settlement deaconesses had ceased trotting to and fro incessantly under the guidance of Dorcas and Crawshay, who organised the actual handling out* of the tickets and work coupons (no light business), aad at the end of the day's work the self-appointed secretaries were busy counting up and entering the names of those enrolled for work and relief j and writing rough ledgers, the enter door was opened suddenly, the noise of a motor snorting was heard outside, and lo ana behold' Hading entered the committee room. At the threshold he stood and surveyed tho queer scene. In this he is perhaps to be excused. Vade. very untidy, for him, was glancing over sheets of names written in violet pencil and observing also that it had covered his cuffs with its sticky greeny-blue signals. Some of his light hair was standing on end and he looked pale and fagged. Mrs. Foster, a. thin lady whom fatigue made red and sbinv, leant over a desk with Beatman arguing about some entries, a chinchilla toque far back and on one side of her head. Her hands, good kind " loaf-giver," were now very dirty, and her grey dress dabbed with ink. Crawshay, looking worried, as osly rather a fat man can look worried, was poring over some cheques and a banknote, running his fingers through his red curls, and saying inarticulate things to nobody I about a whisky-andwiiodai being about as likely a thing to be got in the moon as here, ! and other irrelevant remarks. . i

Cl'i, very pal© and worn out, but still eager, Kit in the far corner hurriedly dill* cussing some final details with DoTcn*. TH« floor was littered with endless bits of. palter.; the bare flecks and forms were dirty. The high gas jets Dickered, in the rush of the east wind and caught the oleograph texts on the wails Willi spattering shadows. Over »il the place hung an atmosphere of applied charity and violet pencil, two things abhorred by Mark. "What, on eairth rue all you people doing?" he called out in mock playfulness »n4 scarcely-disguised sneering. His manner was not pleasantfor a culprit "Waiting for <?, late lunch, old chap," said Craw shay, rolling up a. philosophic eye but refraining to approach the fallen great or*. '* Whisk'tirS-and-sodas slow in coming. What a lite!" , "All, Hading." said Vade, with imperturbable amiability, and coing on inspect* ing his cuTti. "you haven't, read your morning pa per. Otherwise you would bo aware of our labours for (Ik- unpleasant dirty man to whom we ar? ail so devoted." Mis. Foster bowed coldly iu Hading"s direction, refraining to permit him her eyes. But thi- movement finished the chinchilla toque, already perilously disposed, and it falling oil at this juncture, she forgot lie* hauteur in lie. efforts to scramble after it in the heaps of hits of paper, and to get it placed again right end foremost. Beatman alone went forward and shook hands with Hading, looking in his eyes with a stem and steely glance that belied the sociable act. " I trust you are recovered'.'" he said pointedly. Bec.tman wars a square-set man with a'" N'fWgate fringe." a bushy fringe of whiskers under his clean-shaven chin. He looked at you over the top of his spectacles, very hard, in a manner reminiscent of a reformatory honorary secretary or a jv>lic(!court magistrate. This was not calculated to mollify Hading. "Recovered? Yes," he said shortly, looking round him with defiance. I've motored day and night to be in time for the scheme." He raised his voice. "Thanks, all of you, for all you've clone to help my wife. I'll see to things now myself." The moment for this bald announcement was the worst he could have chosen. And his manner of making ii was worse. life stood in the middle of I lie littered room in his fawn motor-coat, looking the picture of moneyed comfort- and ill-humour. And he made one horrible little slip which revealed his past painfully—he forgot to remove his hat. Mrs. Foster, in bowing to him, had unintentionally removed hers; he had not taken the hint from that good lady. Vade looked hard at him the while ha rubbed his violet-pencilled cuff's vainly witb indiarubber. "I see.' be said, cobby; "you will thsn, in that case, have to reappoint your committee. I understood that this was Mrs. Hiding's work-—she, I believe, made the first contribution, and her clever brain planned out the scheme. Up to the present it is a great success. But if Mrs. Hading chooses to reorganise her plans we are all, I am sure, at her disposal. She is our leader." The prominence lie gave to Clo was the final stab for Mark, already furious with his wife. "What's your capital?" he said. "Five thousand, at present,". said Crawshay, who was constituted banker, "if you like to call it capital. We called it charity, don't you know." "Pooh!—I can buy that op and double. it to-morrow—and will, too," said Mark. The rudeness of this arrogant offer fell like a bomb in the little baud of tired workers. They were all hungry, worn out, and injured ; they had all given generously ol time and. labour and mousy. Mark in his hat, with his black, angry eyes, standing blustering in their midst did not cut the stately figure he intended. • Clo, who had turned paler at his entrance over in her corner, now rose up and came towards him and murmured a few" polite Words, hurriedly explaining the kindness of her friends and suggesting some plan of ( future discussion at a more reasonable season. Mark looked at her with a nasty glance as though her face roused some malignant memory. . "Thanks," he said aloud for all to hear, " I can manage my own affairs best." Vado gave up his cuffs as a bad job. Going over to the hook on which it hung he took down his dandified and be-waisted overcoat, into which Crawshav helped him. He went to Mrs. Foster and asked her, with great deference, which way she went and whether he could be of any assistance with his brougham. That lady, in a. tremor of indignation at Hading, was pulling her glove* on ever her now inky and dingy hands. She thanked him with a pitiful little forced smile, but said her carriage was waiting for her. She looked ready for —indignant tears.

So they nil went, as it were dismissed, but said good-bye to Cslo very kindly. They all, pitied her from their hearts—yet whe could (show it? She thanked them" brokenly, with a little mint of tears in her eye?, standing in the litter of her great work, by the side of her husband—her great husband.

"I think we did a little good,, eh, Mrs. Hading?" said Vade. " You can now carry on your scheme swimmingly, I hope? I wish you every possible success. Count aw. me if you want me." Crawshay muttered something equally non-committal, and they came away together. When they had got clean out ol the. place and were spinning along at a good' pace, Vade said : .'.' ffscfjng- lias somehow gone to the dogs. What-isrit?" : Crawshay paused. The answer, in full, might have been awkward to Vera's brother.- ;■;,

"." Mainly, morphia," he said. "Good . heavens!" said Lord Henry, aghast, "are you sure of that? Never!"" " I know it," said Crawshay. " Nerves and all that, of course. It's gone on now for some time. His friends—he's got into a beast;! "set—do nothing to help him." Vade "whistled. ,

"Then God help his wife," he said.

(To be continued daily.)