PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15390, 27 August 1913, Page 13

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

THE GOLDEN GIRL.

BY ALICE AND CLAUDE ASKEW, Authors of "The Shuhunite." "The Etonian." "The Woman Deborah," *' Behind Shuttered . Windows," " Lots the Jester," " The Telephone Girl." etc.. etc.

CHAPTER VII.

THE OLD FASCINATION'.

i Ai/thea had still more reason to be | pleased as the evening progressed. For it was not long before Harold and Leslie ! were palpably, on the very best of terms. There had been some slight embarrassment between them before reaching Covent ; Garden, but this vanished with the re-in-trodiWion of each other's Christian names. It was the girl who first made the correction. Harold had addressed her as "Mis* Carribgton." " It used to be Leslie," she said. " Have i grown so very old and serious that we must stand on ceremony?" On the lips of many a girl th© remark would have sounded pert. Not so, however with Leslie. Sue had such a delight-, fully frank and open manner that one instinctively forgave her for the little breaches of convention of which she was constantly guilty. There was an astonishing fascination about her—astonishing because it was so difficult to defineand it was of the sort that appealed particularly to men. » Harold was quite right when he had set her down as a flirt. It was her nature to be a flirt, a"hd she couldn't help herself. She wouldn't have admitted it, because it seemed to her that it was her mis sion. as a woman, to make men like her. There was, indeed, a good deal of similarity of character between Harold and herself. There had been other men . in her life as there had been other womenplenty of them— his. During those days of the Roman idyll they had flitted together like a pair of butterflies in the sunshine, and probably it was in their pride alone that ono and the other had been Mounded when they had parted, for love had not yet dawned for eitherthey were only learning to care. So now that they had met once more, Leslie, whose nature it was to wear her heart on her sleeve, made no effort to hide her pleasure. For she had passed through many months of trouble and weary watching since those happy days when she had Tmagined that she was winning- Harold's heart, and though she was not embittered thereby, but rather made more simpatica the Italian word that defines her character so well —even than before, she had learnt that the world must not be looked upon as a mere playground for butterflies. " He must have cared for me seriously," sheuad reflected, "or he would not have been so angry with me. And it was all a mistake—a mistake!" She had shed many tears in secret, but Harold had never given her credit for this. He had told her that she had no heart, but in this he maligned her. The fact was that she had so generous and spontaneous a nature that she always wanted to say and do exactly what she thought would please. This was why people liked herand nothing charmed her so much as to feel that she was liked. There were many, in the past, who would have said that she lacked genuine feeling, that she was like a dainty humming-bird, happy in the hour and with no thought beyond it— but these critics would have changed their minds had they been witness of the tireless devotion which, for two long years, she had bestowed upon a bedridden man. Such was Leslie Carrington, and Althea, clever woman of the world that she was, recognised something of that deeper nature in the girl which it was not given to all to see. Besides, was not Leslie rich, of good family as well, and so in every way a suitable wife for that feckless Harold, whom, in her heart, Althea adored? The little party was met in the vestibule of the opera by Frank Barton, who had been waiting with some impatience, though his anxiety was due more to the fear that Althea would not come at ail than to the fact that the performance had already begun. Harold smiled to himself as ho shook hands with the young colonial. "Barton is a good fellow," he reflected. " It's to be hoped that Althea is going to be reasonable at last. I've half a mind to make a compact with her— take Leslio if she'll consent to marry Barton." They mounted the broad staircase slowly. And now, for the first time that evening, Harold looked upon Leslie in the light. He was pleased with what he saw. Naturally attracted by physical attributes, he was glad to recognise that the last year or so had, if anything, enhanced Leslie's beauty—a beauty which was not of the classical order, for, excepting her i rather languorous violet eyes, Leslie Carrington scarcely had a correct feature to 1 boast of. She possessed full red lips and a little j sensitive nose. A mass of copper-coloured t curls swept over her forehead, and clustered heavily at the sides of her head— the lobes of her tiny ears just peeping out from below. She had a rich creamy com--1 plexion. which in its fairness contrasted strangely with her violet eyes and dark red hair. She possessed a dainty figure, but was quite a small person in comparison with the more stately Althea. Harold was glad to recognise that, like his sister, she understood the art of dress. His duty it was, when they reached the box, to help her to remove her cloak, and he could not refrain from saying a complimentary word about her gown, which, exquisitely cut and elegant as it was, had a simplicity about it delightfully suggestive of youth and freshness. It was of blue chiffon over white satin, appliqued with steel embroideries; only Harold, being a man, hardly noticed these things

—yet he know that the whole «*«*:-**, lighted him. He wondered what sort of gown Miss Forde would wear if she went to the opera, and he smiled as he tried to figure her appearance in his aim.Wow was it that some women should willnlly despise the charm of their sex? Leslie was like one of the roses she affected ; just as soft and fragrant and seductive, but Barbara Forde—who could compare her to a flower? , , ~ n ,_... Harold did not see much of 'the opera that night. He sat at the back of the box with Leslie, and by the time the performance was half through the old raw tions between them were quite rc-esuo lished. . ~ ~ + „ <fl « For" Harold very quickly came.to «a that he had made a great mistake and done Leslie an injustice in the past, inm engagement to Count Ferrari, of wfticn she had not spoken to him until, as no doubt she realised, Harold's proposal was faltering on his lips, was merely an arrangement that had been made tor Leslie's benefit and might easily have been broken-with the full consent of the count. Leslie did not say this a » "*g words, but the inference to bo drawn Horn her story was obvious. :„ wn iid Count Ferrari was rich and an invalid, Leslie an orphan and penniless. lheie.was some sort of distant relationship between them, and the old man was most deer. attached to the girl who, by her butterfly presence, brought some reflection of the Sunshine into his gloomy life, l'or *»to had ordained that, he, who owned that marble palace and that wonderful garden, so lesplendent in colour, must live Ins life out in a darkened room. , . He wanted her constantly about him, had openly declared that she should inherit his estate. And so a sort of agreement had sprung up between them as to a possible marriage, for 'declared that she cared for no one in the whole world as much as for her kind old beneactor. Which was true until Harold came upon the scene. And the sting Of it all lay in this-that Leslie was quite sure Count Ferrari would not have stood in her way if he were assured that otie loved and was beloved. " "He thought at first of adopting mo as his daughter," she told Harold, or I was an orphan, and the one. thing that made him happy was to have mei war him. But ho lived alone in that big house, as vou know Harold, and people might have talked, even though he was old enough to be—well, almost my grandfather, That's why ho decided that he must make me his wife. But he wasn t in good health, and he used to say, even then, that it wouldn't be for long. He didn't expect me. to love him—except as I might love my father—and he had always promised to leave mo his money, for he hadn't another relation in the world, you know-not that I could claim to be much of a relation—only a sort of distant cousin. So. vou see, I had to be good to him. "And you were," Harold replied, with conviction. " Althea has told me how you devoted yourself to him lor ah the long months that he lay ill-dying. It was sweet of > you, Leslie, very sweet and womanly." ' , . , . „ .l; It made her very dear in his eyes-th s devotion to a dying man. The whole thing was so painfully tragic. The count had been struck down by pajalysis within » fortnight of the date that had been fixed upon for his marriage with Leslie. fi« had lingered on for sonn eighteen months to two years, during which the girl naa nursed him with unflagging devotion ohsolutely giving up those pleasures of fa livable life in a gay city which she delighted in. living like a little nun. And a*, last the end had come, now Leslie was free once more, rand a rich girl into. \ho bargain. old 1 fascination stirred once And now the old 1 fascination stirred once more in Harold's breaet. Sitting there, in Sie darkeneed theatre, lAgg music in his ears, the epell of sex *■» upon him, and he forgot that Leslie J as far estranged in her way fronr me idealof womanhood as was Barbara Forde in hirs; he knew only that Leslie was fragrant as a dew-moiet rose, that the qmcfe rise and fall of her bosom, as he bent over her, was owing to hi* presence, that, he, lips were red and full, and that they called for kisses. ,-,,.. . At the conclusion of the opera the Utile rartv of four went on to an ' At. Home, riven bv Lady Evelyn Thornton, a mutual friend * Thereswas some discussion as to whether they should do this or have supper at the Savoy, but Harold gave his vote enthusiastically for the "At Home, which, at the moment, appealed to him more, since he would be aWe to find a quiet corner where he could resume his interrupted conversation with Leslie. Lady Evelyn was famous for arranging things well for young lovers. Frank Burton, glancing at Althea, seemed equally pleased, and, perhaps, for the same reason. ' . As they waited for the brougham in the hall of the theatre Althea took the opportunity of squeezing her brothers hand. "You're getting on beautifully, Harold," she whispered. "I m eo glad. But don't forget that Leslie is going away from London on Saturday, and > that you won't see her again for weeks. " Is she, by jove !" returned Harold, in the same tone. "I didn't know that His brow contracted in a slight frown, for this seemed like forcing hie hand. Nevertheless, the spell still upon him, he carried Leslie off at the first opportunity to have some supper. Lady Evelyn, the hostess, a fair, florid woman of comfortable proportions, and with a double chin suggestive of good temper and good living, beamed after them as they disappeared. ... , "That good-looking brother of yours seems quite epris with Miss Carnngton, she remarked to Althea, of whom she was very fond. "I hope he's serious this time, but"— shook a fat forefinger in Harold's direction-" I'm afraid lies a shocking flirt, and I remember how ho carried on with Lorna Mayne at my 'At Home' last year. Anyway, hell know where to find the most comfortable seats when, they've finished supper. Quite an heiress, isn't she?" Althea admitted that this was the fact, and that she was very anxious to bring about a match between her brother and Miss Carrington. "It's a curious thing, remarked her Ladyship, "but I've pot several heiresses here to-night— nice girls, too—and I ve been trying to make up my mind to which of them I should introduce Harold. There's Mies Fordo, for instance — I thought seriously of her, but there are objections— objections." Lady Evelyn glanced round the room. "I don't see her now," she resumed, "but she's somewhere about. She's just the girl that Harold would admire, tor I pride myself upon knowing his taste." Althea smiled, having before her eyes a vision of the determined and rather hardfaced young woman whom she had met the only time 'that she had ever been at the house of Wyndharo Forde, and she thought that her friend was not showing her usual sagacity ; the "independent" typ.i of girl was the verv last by which Harold would be attracted. Althea was not afraid of Miss Fordo as a rival to Leslie, even though Harold was going to live ior a while in the same house with her. "Oh, please don't introduce him to anybody," she said hastily. "Leslie Carrington is an old friend of his, and he's really very fond of her. Don't with them this evening, whatever you do." Lady Evelyn laughed and promised, then she bent forward a little and whispered, "And what about yourself, my dear Althea? He's really very nice, your colonial friend. And it's time you put your silly prejudices away, you know." Lady Evelyn considered that she had a prescriptive right to take people to task about their love affairs Althea responded hastily that she was not the sort of woman to set prejudices, once formed, aside ; but the flush that suffused her rather sallow cheeks told its own tale, also the haste with which she repudiated the idea that Frank Barton had any matrimonial intentions towards herself. "Why, he's quite four years younger than I," she said, "a boy by my side. ( He doesn't the least know his own mind.' "He wants to know yours, though, or I'm much mistaken," commented the other woman with a knowing smile, as she turned away to greet a new arrival. Frank Barton, who had been waiting impatiently. giving random replies to some man friend whom he had met, stepped quickly to Althea's side once more, and presently they followed Harold and Leslie to the supper room. Half an hour later they were sitting iD one of those famous cosy corners upon

which Lady Evelyn prided herself. Althea had had no intention of gravitating to such a place. It was much more in her line, at entertainments of this sort, to be the centre of a crowd of admirers, holding a little court of her own; but nowwell, she really did not see anyone ehe cared particularly to talk to. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she was allowing the true woman in her to come to the surface. She had reached that critical age when a woman resents love or wants it. She had fought a hard battle for fame and fortune, and her youth, thus filled up, had not wanted love; but now that she had conquered, now that the world was at her feet, she realised suddenly that she had missed the best thing in life. It was at this juncture in her career that- she had fallen in. with Frank Barton. Ho appealed to her by the very fact that he was unlike most of the men among whom she moved and whom she met at social functions day after day. He brought with him all the largeness and freshness of a young country; he was primitive and genuine, and she guessed, in her subtle way,' that, as yet, love had played no part in his life. But was it she, she herself, who had awakened him to love?—that was her anxious thought as she sat there leaning back in her chair under the palms, her lashes drooping *haif languidly over her eyes, while Barton fanned her, bending over her chair and talking in his low,' deep voice, a voice which was as happily void of any colonial accent as it was of those special London colloquialismsslangy phraseswhich even the cultured have so freely adopted. Could she be quite sure that he was not merely, idealising a dressmaker's creation, a woman whose smart talk and undoubted talent had made her one of the most popular figures in London society? That was the question which puzzled her, and to which she could find no answer. Althea had a comfortable sensation that she wa3 looking her best. She Isnew that her sallow skin appeared effective, and her natural pallor distinguished, shown up, as they were, by her wonderful gown of flamecoloured satin. Diamonds blazed in her black hair, carefully dressed to suit her thin face. Art and circumstanceperhaps the delicious sweetness of a love-dream had exalted Althea Lynton, for the time being, into a Beautiful woman. Frank Barton had avowed his love, pleaded his cause eloquently if simply. He loved her because she was so different to the ordinary woman, because there was a glamour about her which had taken his heart by storm—why, he could see all the pictures that she had ever painted, and the soul that had created them, by only glancing into her eyes. And Althea hesitated, not knowing how to reply. She felt that she had come to a supreme moment in her life. As she decided this evening, so would her destiny change for good or evil. All the woman in her longed to accept, and with rapture, the love that was offered. But still she hestitated. She had not studied men and manners for nothing. Her brain still curbed her heart. How much did this man really love her? And if he saw her off the stage, playing a natural part—the domestic part she would play as a wife—might not all the glamour be lost and her attraction for him cease? ' - ' ,; ' : ■ ■ J ' ■ Might it not bo that it was because she was paragraphed, photographed, and looked at with interest when she drove or walked abroad, that he imagined he cared?. He had seen her that very night made much of, lionised by well-known peoplebut how would it be if he saw her just as Althea Lynton, woman? ' .-'.'•',■ ;; 1 • "Say that you care," ho urged. ; "Mis* Lynton—— love you." "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I wish I knew.". ','■■'

"Do you doubt my love?" he took her hand under cover of the feather fan. v ''I don't doubt that you think you love, Frank," she replied gently. "What I'm not sure about is whether it may not be an idea, rather than "the actual woman, that you have enshrined in your heart. You know so little of roe-really, and perhaps you haven't seen me as I am." Very probably it was some sudden recollection of Harold's dream lady—with whom Althea was well acquainted, and, whom she disliked •'■-.' intensely'that inspired the speech. She had come to regard most men as idealistic.

Of course, Frank protested at this, and tried to convince her that he knew his own mind. But as ho spoke an idea occurred to Althea, an idea which she proceeded, with her usual directness, to put into practice. "Frank," she said, "I'm going to make a suggestion to you. Before I decide on my answer I should like you to come and stay with me at my cottage at Cookham. I shall be entertaining quite a small party —one or two very familiar friends. So you won't see me there as Althea Lynton, the artist whom people run after and make much of; I shall just be Althea Lynton, myself. You will know me then as I really am, see me without my war-paint, and be able to judge for yourself." "My dearest Althea," he replied with energy, "it is the woman I want to marry, not the artist." The tone of, his voire clearly implied that he meant what he said. "Then you will do as I suggest," she responded, with a smile. "I shall be going to Cookham in a week or so, and will let you know the date. We won't bind ourselves by any promises until after that visit. You understand the position, don't you?— will be free to fall in love with and marry anyone else, and so shall I." "As if I should!" he exclaimed, contemptuously. "Or I, either." But she murmured the words so softly that he did not hear them. (To be continuel on Saturday next.)