THE TELEPHONE GIRL.

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15235, 24 February 1913, Page 3

THE TELEPHONE GIRL.

BY ALICE AND CLAUDE ASKEW, Authors of "The Shulamite," "The Etonian," " The Woman Deborah," " Behind Shuttered Windows," " Love tho Jester,", ctc. COPYRIGHT. CHAPTER XXlll.—(Continued.) John Martin panted out his long speech and relapsed into breathless silence. Hon or i a .glanccd angrily from him to Standish Grouse, uncertain whether to revile her husband for creating a scene, or to upbraid Grome for his folly in not having kept his own counsel. Finally, after a quick glance at tho clock, she decided to do neither one nor the other. Her guests would be arriving directly, so it would not do to allow her temper to overcome her. Sho would never bo able to pull herself sufficiently together to conceal the fact that there had been a domestic disturbance. As for Gromo, he bit his lip, and mentally attempted to recall the circumstances under which, ho had given himself away. He fancied it must have been one evening over cards, not so very long ago. Someone had made allusion to Owen as being run, after and admired by women, and that had put Grome on hi, 1 mettle. He could not refrain from telling how he. had " scored off" the future Lord Oaversham. Certainly, however, he had never hinted that he meant to drop Peggy, but that haddoubtless been taken for granted, the men who were present that night having a fairly intimate acquaintance with his character. He remembered now that young Bobby was an intimate friend of Dick's.* He was a- foci not to have be'en more cautious, but probably ho had had too much to drink. And now—-well, after the manner in which he had been, treated by his host—it was his obvious duty to take his departure from the room and from the house. Honc/ria, glancing at him quickly, realised that he was about to take this course. She made up her mind at onco that he should do nothing of the sort. She would not have her friends insulted in her own drawingroom. Standi:? h should receive a handsome apology, and that before he left the house that , night. She would see to it later on. How dared John: make suoh a fool of himself? Lucidly it was too late now for him to do any serious harm; he could not disturb the harmony of the dinner-party, and when that was over she f would no longer have any reason for hold- V, ing herself in. . She knew how to manage Joi>n. ' At that moment footsteps were heard upon the stairs. It was the first of their guests arriving. Grome, ; who had been about to speak, glanced at the door with indecision. _ "John," whispered Honoria, hurriedly, silencing heir cousin with a, look, "you will" please remember that you are host to- . night, and behave accordingly. If you have anything to say we will . discuss it after our friends have gone. And I should ; advise you," she added, with withering ; contempt, " to slip out before wo go .down to dinner and brush your hair and tidy yourself up a bit. You look absolutely disreputable." She was trembling w:4* suppressed wrath as she threw out the words. "But don't you understand?" muttered the excited man. " That poor lad—Dick —I tell you ho was desperateho may kill himself— "Bosh!" retorted Honoria;, contemptuously. Then sho settled her lips into a. smile as the door was flung open by Pi liveried man-servant. 1 " Lord and Lady Manmhgbon." , , Two important guests. Honoria gushed ' over them. Then sho introduced Gromo to Lady Marmington, and, in a whisper, I told him that he must take her ladyship ; into dinner. This was not tho original arrangement,, but it utterly defeated any . idea that Grome might have of leaving Y the house in a huff. Honoria would find rime to rearrange things before they went in to dinner. Lord Manningtf j. was a big, heavy man,. with a rather pompous manner. He began almost at once to discuss the great event* of the morrow with John Martin, who dtammered out answers that were only half-comprehensible, looking utterly miserable and ill at ease. Lord Mannington, who had only had a nodding acquaintance . with him up to now, wondered if he was, , quite right in his mind. . . . : " I understand my old friend Caver,sham V . has actually come up to town for the wedding," he remarked. " Mast enterprising, I think, after ail these years and in his v precarious state of health. He roust bo very pleased with the match. Shall we see hiin here to-night?" ' ' Mr. Martin managed V' say that 'Lord •' Cavorsham was ezps.-c.tcd to dinner. He was staying at a private hotel in the immediate neighbourhood, and had a 'vi:let ■ who knew exactly how to look after him. Nevertheless, it was very much against his doctor's advice that he had left Greenhilhr. . " But he declared he must see Owen and my girl married," muttered Mr. .Martin-, v " You see, he's very fond of them both." Poor John Martin, who always tried to fall in with the views of everyone, was reflecting guiltily that any interference on his part with the engagement of Owon and Amy, any attempt to " put things right" for both • parties right very possibly get X-H him into seriou? trouble; with his brother-. ' in-law, who had shown, himself to be Hon---oria's most powerful advocate.. Yet not fox rths world would honest John" have I .willingly offended his relative; and this , from a sense of personal regard, and not at "15 brcause of the benefits to be derived.Swayed by every wind, ready to fall in i with the feelings of anyone whose emotions appeared sincere, quite incapable of form- .1 ing concluv'ona for himself or acting upon his own illativesuch was John Martin. He was as amenable to Amy's tears as he. was co Houoria's tempers, as anxious to please cue as to make things -smooth for the other. Of course, he could not. satisfy both,' t\nd the only possible result, was, ' since he carried out the same principle in all his dealings, that he was regarded as a nonentity. But to-night the misery of Dick Pennant had touched some chord in his vxte-y that >vd arov.wd slubbering Srs.>. had J-jsm If -.id 2Ti lauMMcfcatk-ys, but palp • ably. .. v .'.c-re. Amy was much mora sec- I rf 4 -ive ; <?iie Iml -nven up appealing to her *" her, t; cogn t3ir,g the futility of it. But • iVi ? eyes told their own tale, and more ' . th.m eii'j;, letiring to bed later than usual,. . tho father hud baited outsido the door of. his riaightei-'s ioo:«. and, holding his ' j hverJ-b, -had lister:;, rv. the sound of plain-' ; live robbing witi .' ■ Ail his hs-irfc had J-.ne or.i in sympathy,and tie had told himself xdii- y and determhiati in "-■• -v "taw 'ii 'thing.. .r.iTisf not g:> on' . '.hen, t ..-i «later* he had allowed, ,'um«e3f tv he w-'ed into': ;,j subjection b/Hoiiori? ■ ! " I suppose y->n's« 'y.-Hhit, my dear. We' /' have Amy's Mora to consider. Of course, it's a brilliant match that she is making.; Love will come, and, at any rate, . Owem loves her." / But or -ho knew that Owen'« love was • . no more real than Amy's, and vaguely ho foresaw tragedy. Yet had he strength, courage to stem the tide? Dared he oppose Honoris? Could he risk offending Loid Oavemlaui? Yet it was the tdeveritk : ; ' hour; to-morrow would be too late. . And then, if tho engagement wiera broken off, he and his would ho . plung<>d: into rain. Honoria had said so, and surelyi " she know. "Did- Pennant could make no settlements worth- -speaking :of,. and Lord fhviKSihain wr.-x'd cercsir withdraw hi« . nswrriage .gift. _ and bai>krnpM.jr --and all by his act;. ' .Never Wow is* hist' whole life had John Martin feli >:. ! jrtself in, so cruel a dilemma. ■ "die wandered about r.w/ng 'Ms giissts as. the -drawingrconx g luaHy filled. Bet ... shook hands when his duty m hcett. . prompted him to do stv, and murdered platitudes to people vv'i-:oru he hardly r?mem-i j beared over, to have seen b»4or#. / " Doesn't he look ; just lift® Mr. Pickwick- trying to be 'dignified uiidor ev/kwara • conditions?" gigged a girl friend of Amy s ._ • to the young man who was going to .<wt« ~. r her in to dinner. "But it's* ] : laugh at him," -she added, f»r hc» f dpr.,, really.": . mam®