THE TELEPHONE GIRL

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15236, 25 February 1913, Page 4

THE TELEPHONE GIRL

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY ALICE AND CLAUDE ASKEW,

Authors or "The ShuUunite," "The Etonian," " The Woman Deborah," " Behind Shuttered Windows,'' " Love the Jester," etc.

COPYFJGHT.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Amx had come down long since, and had been duly kissed by the ladies and congratulated by the men. Everyone agreed that she had a sweet smile, and that she was wonderfully grown-up for her age, and. of course, it was only natural that the bride of to-morrow should be quiet and reserved ; it was rather an ordeal, this big dinner party, and no doubt she wished it were all ovor, and that she could get away to bed. Owen was quito devoted to his wife-to-be—that was noticed with approbation. His eyes followed her about the room as she talked with one person after another. He only seemed really happy when she finally returned to his side. Lord Caver sham arrived late, though he had merely como from an hotel close by. He was regarded with interest only second to that aroused by the bride. There were several among the company that night who could claim relationship with " the hermit of Groenhills," as he was generally known, and yet who had never set eyes upon him. "Who's the old chap who looks like a reincarnation of Sir Galahad?" inquired the young man who was with Amy's talkative friend.

Cissy Beamishthat was her name— giggled. " He's a distant cousin of my father's Lord Caversham. I've never seen him before in my life. It's awfully interesting. Tins is the first time he's left his own place—Greenhills— something like 20 years. There was a romance about his —but it all happened when I was a baby," she added, rather hurriedly. "I wish you'd tell me about it," said Fred Hall, Cissy's companion, and she promised she would during dinner, which was announced at that moment.

Lord Caversham offered his arm to Honoria and followed the rest of the company down the stairs. "I can't tell you how glad 'we are, Arthur," she murmured, "that you are able to be with us. It wouldn't have seemed right if you were not here to see our young people made happy." His elbow gripped sharply the hand that was resting* upon- it. " You're sure thev are happy, Honoria?" he inquired, anxiously. "You have had more chance of observing them than I—besides, you must know your daughter's mind. You are convinced that she loves Owes—that she is content?" A tinge of colour showed itself under the paint of Honoria's cheeks. But she lied bravely. "Why, what a strange question, Arthur! Of course they love each other, Owen and Amy. And they are happv in their love— happy as the day is long." Dinner passed off with nothing to mar the harmony of the company. _ Certainly John Martin was unusually silent, and Lord Caversham, observant always, noticed that ho sent away course after course untasted. Honoria, however, talked brilliantly, and played her part of hostess to perfection. Lord Caversham did not press her with further questions as to the young couple. Both Owen and Amy had assured him that they were happy, and Honoria had done no more than confirm the statement. He told himself that he was probably wrong in the suspicions that he had formed; yet there they were, just as strange now on the eve of the marriage as they had been weeks ago. Dessert had been set upon the table and the wine handed round. ' Two or three short speeches had been made wishing fortune to the bride and bridegroom—Owen had been obliged to respond, which he had done briefly and neatly. Honoria was just j thinking of giving the signal for the ladies to retire. A momentary lull in the conversation had occurred. It was at this moment that something untoward happened. As luck would have it, that talkative and irresponsible couple, Fred Hall and Cissy Beamish, were sitting exactly opposite Owen and Amy. Their conversation could be easily overheard. Owen noticed that Amy suddenly drew herself up, shuddered, and paled. She had congratulated him on his little speech, and had then leant back in her chair, as if she were tired. But now—what could bo the matter with her?" "What is it, dear?" he whispered, anxiously. "Do you feel faint?" "Hush!" she whispered back, and her voice was strangely sharp. It was just as if she were frightened of something, Owen thought. "I want to listen." Owen drew in his breath, and listened too. It was Fred Hall's voice that made itself objectionably audible. He was altogether unconscious of being overheard. " Yes, I knew the poor chap very well. Dick Pennant was quite a friend of mine." "And bow did it happen?" Cissy was interestec, and concerned. " Well I couldn't exactly make out how i& did happen. Reggie Marson— was he Who told me, you know—happened to be sitting at the window of his club in St. James's Street, and saw it all. Dick was blundering up the street, as if ho couldn't •=.eo where be was going. Just as he got opposite Reggie's club he hesitated a moment on the kerb, then suddenly made to cross over the road. There was a big dray coining--" ,_...,, "Oh, merciful heavens! Dick! Amy Had turned deathly pale. Owen seized" her "hand under the table; but it lav cold and unresponsive in his. Me could not understand what was troubling her so. He had been so intent on watchin* her face that he had not grasped the full significance of what Fred Hall was &a "How shocking Fred!" Cissy was as unconscious as her companion of the interest that their conversation was arousing " Have you told -"ir. Martin or Amy? They will bo awfully cut up. Dick was a great friend of Amy's." _ "No not a word. Was it likely I should— ? We don't want a- skeleton at the feast." He lowered his voice a little. . „ ■ And he was killed, you think.' Oh, ho must have been—" Tt was at this moment that Honoria <rave the signal for departure. Everyone rose—except Amy. There was a shuffling of chairs and of 'feet. • t Owen bent over his fiancee anxiously. Every vestige of colour had forsaken her and her lips were livid. * "I—l'm afraid she's fainted, he muttered. There was a. general murmur of sympathy The ladies who had already left the 'room hurried back. Salts were produced and can do Cologne. Every talked at once. , "Poor dear! It's the heat—a window should have been opened. And. of course, it's a trying time for any girl. She's just excited and overwrought— But Amy had not fainted. She had collapsed under a sudden shock. She sat up as thev crowded round her chair, and stared wildly about her . "Dick!" she cried. "Dick!" The guests eved each.other wonderingly. Who iould Dick be? Why this extraordinary appeal to another man when Owen Hughes, her husband to be, stood by her side?

Honoria bustled up to Tier daughter's chair and attempted to assume command. Owen had drawn back a little, as mystified as anyone else in the room, vaguely conscious that the sound of another man's name upon Amy's lips at such a time was hurtful to him. Dick Pennant had met, with an accidenthe was dead. It was quite reasonable that Amy should be L'rievedhe was an old friend of hers. But was she not exceeding the bounds of legitimate grief ?

It eeemed a,-; if Amy was unconscious of what she did. She throw up her hands wildly, ami her eyes were vacant. " He's dead. ' my Dickdead ! Heaven forgive;, me, it's I who have killed him!" " Be quiet, Amy !" Honoria was trying to speak sternly. Sho had always beard that one must be severe with hysterical people. Besides, what was Amy saying? "He-'a dead, and,. I loved him—ohj I

loved him so ! Dick! Dick Hero came floods of tears, combined -with, fierce, hysterical laughter. And now there came a fresh diversion. It was caused by John. Martin. Pale and dishevelled, his hair more untidy than ever, his drees tie hanging limply, ho pushed his way through the little group of sympathisers round Amy's chair; then, standing by his daughter, whose head had sunk back against his arm, he lifted up his voice.

" What does Amy mean that Dick, is dead? Who said that Dick Pennant is dead?"

Honoria tried to hustle him unostentatiously aside. "Leave Amy alone, John," she muttered. '" Don't you see what she wants is to be taken away? Owen will cany her to her bedroom."

But Mr. Martin refused to move. Ho passed his arm about Amy's neck, supporting her, as she appeared now to have completely lost consciousness, and repeated his question in a louder tone of voice. Fred, the over-talkative, abashed and fully conscious that he was the cause of all the trouble, stepped forward. " I'm most awfully sorry, Mr. Martin am afraid it was I. Miss Martin must have overheard what I was saying." "What were you saying?" " About poor Dick Pennant. I was telling Miss Beamish that Dick was run over tins afternoon in St. James's Street. They took him to St. George's Hospital; but Reggie Marson, who saw the accident, said ho must have been killed." There was a momentary hush, horribly broken a second or two later by the sound of laughter. John Martin was laughing, and this outburst on his part, coming as it did so soon after his daughter's hysterical attack, and while she lay fainting in his arms, had the effect of throwing the whole room full of people into utter confusion.

Very few kept their heads. One or two of tho ladies threatened to faint, and required attention on their own account. Honoria, in a frenzy, was trying to drag her husband away from Amy, begging him wildly to remember where he was, while Owen, more gently, was attempting to disengage his wife of to-morrow from her father's arms in order that he might bring some temporary abbreviation to the painful scene by carrying her away altogether. Lord Caversham, after making one or two efforts to speak, had collapsed into a chair. He was deadly pale, and • was breathing hand and pressing his hand to his side; it was evident that he was suffering acute pain. As for Standish Grome, he took no part in the scene whatever, but stood aside, his hands thrust into' his pockets, a heavy frown upon his brow, awaiting developments. John Martin resisted all the efforts of Honoria and Owen to disengage him from Amy. And, after a minute or two, he found his tongue. "So Dick is dead." He raised his voice to a shout. " And I call upon you all to listen to me. It wasn't an accident. He killed himself—and we, my wife and I, are responsible for hie: death. We are his murderers

Here Honoria raised ai cry of protest, a gurgling wail which died away in her throat as her husband continued to pour out his confession.

"He came to me this afternoon at my club and threatened to commit suicide. He loved my daughter and knew that she loved him—that she was marrying against her true inclinations. He knew, too, that he had niy sympathy, and so it was to me ho came to make a last appeal. But I did nothing—l sent him out to his death and for the basest of motivesyou. can all guess what it —that Amy should make a brilliant match—that wo should put money into our own pockets. , I wronged this poor dead boyl wronged. my own child—and this is my punishment." '

The tears were streaming from his eyes. He bent over Amy, covering her pale, iinconscious face with kisses. "Will you ever forgive me, Amy?" he wailed. "Oh, my child, I shall never forgive myself!" Owen took him gently by the hand. " Come, Uncle John," he said, " dont*. take this to heart so terribly. I'm sure that no one will blame you." He laid some stress upon the pronoun. " Besides, things may not be as bad as you imagine. We don't know yet for certain that Dick Pennant is dead. Xet me take Amy to her room now. and after that we will talk it over quietly." • *• He turned, and in a whisper suggested to Honoria that she should get rid of her guests. The painful scene had been overprolonged already. ':' ''

(To be contirreed daily.)