MOLLY'S HUSBAND.

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15307, 21 May 1913, Page 11

MOLLY'S HUSBAND.

WSSm PUBLISHED BY : SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT, •'

jfe BY RICHARD MARSH, BY RICHARD MARSH, V' ! || potior of " The Rogue's Progress." " The lpf|p - • Beetle." etc. -■

mmix:-: ■; ■, ... *- 1 ' - :■ ' V : ■ . ~ ' ' ' ■■ SYNOPSIS. . • Molly, the daughter of Lady Mitrord, - Jack Waller, . and is deserted by •fs'liim immediately after the ceremony. Mr. ; Eva, the best man. knows nothing' about •Waller's disappearance, but Benjamin Macklin. who was Waller's valet, --admits = that his master acted curiously in the ;,W morning, and seemed t think the fact of spirits being his wedding: day a joke. Molly's jfrelatives are all horrified and completely 'J': mystified at the event. . ' ' -.7:' ;: CHAPTER 111. ' M; a MODERN mother. '•" • - • %r lady Luct Mitford occupied rooms in m Eccleston Square, she and her daughter. f '"The maid, Binns, was quite a recent ac§l quisition, only rendered possible by the ffl' fact of the approaching marriage.; They «•> were not bad rooms of their kind, but •; . . that was not a kind which her ladyship , liked. She hated,' as she put it, to be 'Iffshut up in pokey rooms with a chit of a girl, even though the girl was her own daughter — in Pimlico. Al.*though she put South Belgravia on her ; letter paper, she never concealed from her ■I ■: friends that she lived in Pimlico. She ' , preferred the Continent; she declared that s•a woman of narrow means could live on the Continent as she never could in Eng- , land, which, from her point of view, was , probably true enough. The wedding was on a Tuesday; she was vacating her Y;,° rooms on Wednesday and going straight to Aix-les-Bains. She liked Aix-les-Bains; she liked to go there late in May or early p.;- in June, before the people came, and stay there while' they were coming— afterwards. There are so many things that a if., woman of limited means can do at Aix- . > lea-Bains if she knows her way about that |f she certainly cannot do in England. V , Her feelings as she returned in a taxicab from the Hotel Belgravia, where the H! reception had been held, to the rooms in |S| Pimlico are not to ,be translated into words. Her daughter, the newly-made Mrs. John Waller, was by her side. Binns, ; {he expert lady's maid, was left behind fa at the hotel to spend the night. Nothing, if) her ladyship had declared, would induce pi her to have her at Eccleston Square/ With > her tongueher 'ladyship credited all V ladies" maids with what she called tonguesvVwhat might she not say? It was bad enough to have Molly. Not f. once,' during that very curious transit, did % -the, mother and daughter exchange a f , word. Her ladyship was conscious that J in her daughter's attitude, as she sat v there stiff, rigid, silent, there was some"•KV thing which had never been there before. ,For a modern daughter, Molly had always !| been most amenable. What she might be . in the immediate future her ladyship: did 0- not care to think. That was not one of ki ,i the least galling parts of the situation - Mr. Nockolds, 1 the landlord,: opened the ; door. ; ; Her ladyship had had a telegram ; sent advising him and his, wife that she was returning with her child. Outwardly >• Mr.; Nockolds , was the most ' discreet of ■ < men within she knew" that he was devoured by ravening curiosity. He did not 3 i say a word, as : they entered, nor did she • speak either. In the passage was Mrs. Nockolds, who, again outwardly, was all smiles. , , " •- • , % V "This ~is , a most' unexpected pleasure. k Will ''she hesitated-—" Miss • Molly : stay . the night ? " 1 ! ; ■ "My daughter is now Mrs. Waller." ; Her ladyship said .this- with her most : stately air. The moment the landlady's back was turned she said to her daughter: |;i "That woman was in the church. I savher. She knows all about : it, with her i . Miss Molly !" • , . -v- , . The girl. said . nothing; she -i retired ;to . the privacy of, her own room, that dark , and father fusty apartment which only a " very short time ago she thought she had " left for ever. 'The scene which her lady- • ship -had expected, which, indeed, she • knew ; was inevitable, < took place a little : later. , She dined alone. ' Molly.-not only , declined, to come. into dinner, she refused • to have . any taken -to .her.: Her ladyship ' had known many vicissitudes; her ; lines ] had sometimes run ,into queer places; but ; .' never, *in the worst of her times, had she • . had such a meal as she .had then, with : : Rich ghosts at her table. As she was i t' finishing . the repast there : came a message j from Molly asking her if she could see her ( : afterwards 'iii the drawingroom. : Her ' ladyship recognised how ominous it was 1 ; that her daughter should ! think ■it neces- : ,; sarv to observe such ceremony. • _. Molly was small; it was one of her < grievances that nature had not fashioned ner on ; larger lines. That nature had bestowed : on ■ her a daintiness which was ; quite unusually fascinating was not sufficient consolation; she would have liked to

J; be two inches taller. j "I am so little," she was wont to say, "that everybody sits on me. It's absurd. • I have a feeling that I shall go thorugli • life looking and being treated as though r ; I were a child. 1 want to. grow up—to < there." • ..... " • And she would raise her small hand % above her head to the point which she '. . desired; to -reach. v -C Lady Mitford' found on entering the ; v arawingrcjom that her daughter awaited J her; she started when she saw her. "Molly!" she exclaimed, "why are you dressed like that?" V,; "I'm in mourning," said the bride am I not in -mourning ? " , ■ As - , regards { her . attire she certainly looked as if she were. She had hunted out her one black frock, which had not | been packed with her trousseau, and put it ' on. She presented a picture of woe. Her mother > showed signs of irritation; he>* tone was acid. . "I: do _ trust, Molly, that you will do ' nothing ridiculous or make matters worse ; than they are. What do you mean by »putting on a dress like that on your wedding day?" -yr" "My wedding day? Mamma, what v courage you have—fancy calling this my | wedding day. I feel as if I had been at;tending my own funeral; indeed, I have." - "Please don't be absurd, and kindly understand that I'm in no mood for high- | falutin rubbish. This is your wedding -/day and not your funeral; . the whole world is in front of you to do with as you ' please.?'. •' Molly looked at her mother with a smile which was so like tears that it hurt even her ladyship to see it; her words, though they -: were - clearly ; and unfalteringly ; spoken, seemed' to come from' her like so ; many sobs. i v" What a number of unhappy girls there must be in England if I am the happiest. I do hope, there isn't one who • is unhappier than I am." Her mother tried to be severe she - ,seemed to find it difficult. • , Ycii are aware what an objection I have to scenes of any .kind; if you feel • like one we had better postpone our con- . versation till you don't." ."-We must understand each other tonight." ' "I am perfectly willing if there is anyv thing to what you call 'understand.' jJirectly you show the slightest signs of hysterics I shall ask you to excuse me. i, Ol • n °t an hysterical woman myself, and Iye not brought you up to be one. NothV ing -is ever gained by allowingshall 1 say, sentiment?—to get the better of one's .-common sense." ""•v.(Mamma, who is this = man ; I'm sup- . posed to have married ?**. 1 -if,; Supposed to have married? You are ■ W much married to Mr. Waller as I was o>y°ur father." "Did father ' run away from you on his wedding-day?" , • . ' - -v'Your husband has certainly not behaved well in that respect, though I can- |? D but feel that an adequate explanation will presently be forthcoming. It will iibejut your power, when it does come, to ■ Pnnlsh him/' • •*'Mamma, who is Mr. Waller?" . J": Fancy asking me .such . a question . al) ° u your own, husband!" , . . „ I know practically nothing about him; except that I went through 'a form of marriage with him ! to-day in church. I met nnn Srst of'all at Monte Carlo, where he Pr ''"

was pleased- to pay me what you call 1 attentions,' which I did not like at all. I have met him frequently siifce, in London, at people's houses; wherever I was ha seemed to be, I have no doubt with . your connivance." _ "My connivance What a word to use Isn't it a mother's duty to do her utmost l'f ?" Ve T daughter properly settled in 5 ■ "You have not answered my question. Who is Mr. Waller?" . "If you had given him the slightest encouragement he would, no doubt, have been pleased and proud to make you his confidante and tell you all you wished to ' know." • The girl stuck to her point. Her face was very white, her eyes seemed very near , to tears, yet there was about her a sug- ■ gestion of determination which her mother ■ seemed to find surprising. ! " Did he tell you who he was? Did he make of you his confidante?" "Do you imagine for a single instant that I should have allowed him to irequent your society had he not been furnished with satisfactory credentials?" "Who is he?" " He is a man of . immense wealthyou know he is. Look at his generosity to you could anyone have given you more handsome presents? Hasn't he settled on you five thousand a year, which you are at liberty to do just as you like with ? Hasn't ho taken for you , a house in Berkeley Square, which he lias furnished regardless of cost, as well as a magnificent place in Sussex, leaving no stone unturned to provide you with as handsome an establishment as any woman has in town?" " You have not answered my question, who is ho?" ' . " Why will you keep repeating your ridiculous question as if you were a parrot ! Haven't I told you who ho is?" "Who was his father?" "I have not the faintest notion. What do I care who his father was? or what need you? You were not in a position to insist upon a man who was prepared to make such settlements taking down his genealogical tree." , ' "Where did he get his wealth from In what trade or profession was he? He has only been in London, I believe, quite a little while. Where was he before he came to London, and what was he doing before he came there, and what was he doing there?" " Tcn't * I,J_ -*U- J_ ' 1

isn t it rather lute in the dav to ask such questions?" . Mother and daughter eyed each other. Lady Mitford 'prided herself on her capacity to stare people out of countenance; on that occasion it was her gaze which wavered and fell. The girl's glance never faltered. ''• ' -. . •. • - , • •, : "Is that the position, mamma, you're going to take up, . really? You knew I was afraid of him : " Afraid of him ! The idea ! What stuff you talk! You might be a baby !" " I have been a baby ■; in your hands, haven't I, mamma? I was afraid of him, and lam afraid of him. If he were to come into the room at this moment I should be more afraid of him than ever. In one sense, I cannot tell you how thankful I am that he has gone." "Then what do you complain of? You are a rich woman, without impediment of any sort or kindas you yourself suggest, even the impediment of a" husband.'.'. "But you weren't afraid of him, mamma, although you knew I was. I often told you so. Do you mean to say that | you knew nothing at all about him— you never asked him any questions, never tried to get information about him from anyone— you sold mo to a man of whom you knew absolutely nothing: except that he.was rich?" " Sold you! What a word to use to your, mother, whose one fault has been that she has tried to do her very best for you!" " It doesn't look like it, does it, mamma? or you and I wouldn't be like we are, talking like this." .Lady Mitford made as if to speak; her daughter stopped her with a gesture. "Please let me finish. You're going to listen to me this time, although you ; never have done so before. This shameful -position I'm in is your fault from first to lastall your doing. KI am nineteen years • old—and it is just as thouch you had murdered me." ■" How dare you say such a thing to me, you' : kicked girl!" ■ "My life is ended before it's begun. I'm married, though single. The home ■which other women have "will never be mine. I'm a pariah, an outcast; everybody will be able to point at me a finger of scorn as the young girl who married an old man for his money—an old man who made of me a public laughing-stock by running, away, from me . within half an hour of our marriage. People will say I must be some dreadful creature; that he found out some dreadful thing about me, something which made him fly from me as it' I were a leper. And it is all the harder on me because you made me marry him. You ordered me to marry him, telling me that if I disobeyed your orders you would never treat me like. a daughter - again. And now— what has come of my obedience." . '-' "■ • <- . •.

' (To be continued on Saturday next.)