THE HEART OF DIANA.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18552, 9 November 1923, Page 6

THE HEART OF DIANA.

BY ? DOROTHY M. GARRARD. Author of "Iris." "Roger Northcote'a Wife.' "The Spider'o Web." ; Etc.. Etc

(Copyright)

| CHAPTER XXIL - As the old man hurried out, only too glad to see that his master's orders were carried out, Derek shut the door. : Then quietly he came over to where his wife was >: standing,- where she had • stood, motionless, only her hands gripping the back of the chair, since he had come into the room. ; ; . " Diana, there is a good deal that . must be said between us." His voice was level and deliberate. What <*as behind the impassive gaze of his blue eyes no one could guess. VI am sorry to have given yov. this shock, perhaps I have been to blame, but I had a reason. Will you hear; it. Will you listen to me first?" , ' ;i. : 'V She bent her head. If only her heart would not hammer backwards and lorwards in this ridiculous manner she would bo able to speak. _. . V o , " You'd better sit down." His voice had something of its old protective kindness in it. And she looked at him wondenngly. To her it had seemed that for her n us ™ nd to find her with Clifford AJlerdyce .must have set the last seal on his suspicions. He would never, could never,, believe in her again. That the visit'. of the novel st had been none of her seeking it must be almost impossible for him, or anyone, to believe. ' . . .. „ i,„„ >. " I want to go back quite a long way, he began. His hands were in his pockets, he gazed away into vacancy; but ho spoke as a man speaks who has carefully thought over what he means to say. i- «««? when you married me, Diana, you didn t love me; that's true, isn't it?" Suddenly his eyes sought hers. . ~ " Yes, that is true," she spoke after a little'pause. "But it wasn't because I still loved Clifford Allerdyce,' she went on, a sort of desperation in her voice.■■ . x just didn't care for anybody, and A married you because you were kind and honest, and could give me everything 1 was supposed to want. That what most society girls do marry for." Her gaze met his without shrinking. He should hear the truth now, whether was good or bad. "I know," he nodded Then,why was it I found you with him, with AUerdyce, I mean, that day .at Coar ? . I m not asking you so as to cross-examine you, Diana. It's because • I have a reason. There was a certain half-apology, Hallappeal in his tone, now. >■ ■_, " It was because I'd just seen the .book, the book he had written I ™ 6W X* ? you read it, even heard about it-although it wasn't true, not the worst part—you d never believe in me, never be happy again. And, even if I didn't love you, I'd grown to value your love for me. i didn't want to hurt you. So I asked him, I begged him, to stop its further publication He refused, and then you came in. Afterwards I felt I couldn't stay an, hour longer in the house, the house with you and him in it, so I ran away. I didn t know, until long afterwards—until Sheila told me—that he - had gone, too, and was actually in the same train as I was at the time of the accident. \ After .:, that I ye no excuses to make. V Although ;I$ don t suppose you'll believe ii; I was no more to blame than you were. And to me» it seemed that you had treated 'me badly, cruelly. I was mad with t resentment and anger* towards you. v; That was why I allowed Clifford Allerdyce to be with me in Cornwall. Bat I thought he had come there by accident. You won't believe that. I don't see mvself how you can be expected to believe it—any more, than you'll thinkTm speaking the truth when I say that, until to-day, I've never seen him since." ...,»., , "But I do believe it," Derek spoke quietly. Only his eyes had watched her, taken in every look and gesture, while she was speaking. " Because <J\ know,, Diana; I know all about that woman,. Toni Kressler—l never liked her, yon know—l know about AUerdyce himself. Hj» wanted you, and your money, too, *md perhaps he nearly got you." ' "; .' . "You know 1" she stared at him in amazement. - . ;* "Yes, when I got back to Nairobi at first, just at first, I thought I might take advantage of the mistake. Don't think me a, brute, Diana, but it seemed the beet thing for both of us that I should be dead. And then, then I found a letter from Freddy had come for me, 'written, : of course, before you all thought I was dead. It must have taken him hours to writ*— he's one of the best is Freddy—and he told me ! the things you know already. I'd always disliked your maid, and somehow, I knew at once it was true. As for Allerdyce it's just the dirty intrigue that .wouldappeal to a mind like his. I ought to have cabled straight home to you i there -i and then; I know. ; But somehow I couldn't. There was a boat;. just sailing for Southampton I managed to catch. I wanted to think things out, think out what was best for us both. , And I've done it." V" ; "Yes?"/, Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. Again her heart was beating, beating so fast that her breath came in quick,gasps. "■;;•" J • . " I think the best thing we can do is to try and make the best of things., If you'd rather I went away again I will, but I don't believe you would. ; We're young, we've a good part of our lives before us, and we are husband- and wife.. We can't get away from that. It can't be as it was, as I once hoped it would be." For the first time his voice took on a ; faint note of bitterness. " But I thinkl hope' you will think so, toothat , for us both the best thing in the long run will be to -try" and pull together. If we can't be lovers we can still be friends. Vvhat do you say, Diana?":?? V ' «■ * v ;■>■■> "." No, Derek, I can't." She spoke on sudden impulse. Leaning forward she laid one hand, upon his arm. ; ; " I can't be friends with you." •, # "You can't." There was bitter disapE ointment now on his face, in his voice, he had stung him to reveal himself.-/ ' " No, I can't." She stood up now until her eyes were almost on a level* with his. Shall I tell you why I can't ? It's because just being friends wouldn't be enough for me. vlv should want more. I should want you to love me, Derek, as—" for the first time she hesitated, a sudden scarlet colour sprang :. up into : her cheeks, "as I love you. , *

CHAPTER XXni. '. It was Sheila Mackenzie's wedding;day. The big house at Coar was already astir, packed from garrot to cellar with visitors for the event. Michael Mackenzie himself wandered about looking distracted. <: He hated fuss and ceremony and was regretting he had let himself in for so large a dose of it. , , ;'■'.. The service itself was to be at the little, grey Episcopal Church, some two miles away." Freddy, with his best man. another ornament of Govefnamental Departments, was staying at an inn in the nearest ■ vil,lags. Diana and her husband had arrived at°Coar oniy the night before. If either of them shrank from sight of the place it was carefully concealed from the' other. ip'-t^ Every car and carriage available j had been pressed into service to carry, the guests to the church. Otherwise, with the exception of a score or so crofters and their children from the district, they composed the entire congregation. The church itself was plain and without 'ov.arhent.;. Wisely Sheila had attempted no -isplay. Onlv 'in the narrow chancel a .mass; 01 Spring flowers, picked in the neighbourhood, gave a touch of brightness to k tho ; sombre grey of its walls; . ; ' ," : As Diana, almost the last of the house:party to arrive, stood next her in the pew assigned to them, her thougnis flew back to her own wedding day. The fashionable ■ congregation, elaboratelydecorated church, the two clergymen in their spotless : surplices, the choir and carefully-chosen music. n~. Yet what had it meant, she thought, a little half-sarcastic smile playing round her lips—to most of those concerned just nothing. It was merely a well-staged pageant, played by actors and actresses who knew their parts. 'S; This little church in which , she stood: how was almost ugly in its plainness?? The Spring flowers were the one touch of ! J beauty in it. The minister, a , short, bearded man, in his black ; gown, had no particular dignity about him. >;:•;:;:: : The guests, too, with a few exceptions, were not] a fashionable throng. She her-

eJf was easily the best dressed, as well aB -although the thought did not occur to her—the most beaufiful woman, there. Most of the others, men and women alike, ; were tanned and weather-beaten sporting folk, like 5 Michael himself. ; There were two or three, pretty girl mends ol i Sheila's, one or ' two < smart young; men, confreres of Freddy's. Otherwise, judged jit j least by the standards of Mayfair, it was a dowdy throng. ; .;,, Y, But it was the real thing; swiftly the thought came home to' her. , All these people were here" from genuine affection for, bride and bridegroom. There was an atmosphere of kindliness and hope, **ot sentimental or gushing, but just rc?l. n Freddy himself, pale and obviouaiy nervous, was already in t his place at the chancel. Every few seconds he glanced at his watch and whispered anxiously to his youthful best man. Sheila was late— already a minute late. < The - oar must have broken down, she must be ill, or already regretting her foolishness in marrying him. So he thought, wildly. Once he took his handkerchief oat of his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his face. And then, just when sheer misery was descending on him, she came. She was dressed in white, as a bride should be. Freddy could not have described her frock, except that it was simple, and suited her. Her single ornament was a necklace of seed pearls— family heirloom of the Mackenzies of Goar. But she looked prettier than ever, her little hand slipped into her father's arm. \ Michael Mackenzie himself, obviously m a state of utter panic, hurried her up the aisle. Folowing came the two small children, chosen as bridesmaids, almost at a trot. . ';:YY~Y-:;'Y" Y-..,;. , . Quickly the short service, without music or anything beyond the simple wording of the Scottish marriage ceremohyr was over. The bride gave her responses clearly and f with perfect composure the bridgegroom failed miserably. Only afterwards, when the register had been signed, and be had kissed his wife before everybody in the vestry, did ho begin to regain his usual ! sangfroid. ; .,- •■'•':'' 'T ■ .-;'■'' '■' - [■ _ 'rA The whole party went back to Coa where the wedding breakfast—a real, oldfashioned wedding breakfast in; that the long table groaned with good things—was a hilarious affair. Michael Mackenzie, having changed his black coat for a shooting jacket, recovered his spirits, ; and toasted the bride and bridegroom in ;' a loving cup mixed by his ; own hands. Then came the one touch of Highland custom pipers in their kilts and tartan played the wedding reel. , Everybody danced. Bride and bridegroom became girl and boy again. Then Sheila danced with her father, and after fiat indiscriminately. But soon she was obliged to go and change her dress. They were travefling as far as Edingburgh tha* night. In a grey, tweed coat and skirt, Freddy in blue serge, they hoped no one would; recognise them as a honeymoon oiuple. The last ; goodbyes were; said, Michael Mackenzie blew his nose loudly, one of the more adventurous of the guests tied three old slippers and five horseshoes on to the back of the- car. ,< Then they were off. < ■■■ . ' ; As someone once said, the worst part of a wedding is when it is over. Freddy and Sheila once gone, a ' feeling : of flatness seemed to descend over, those hit behind. The host himself departed to the billiard room, some, of the other ;men went to smoke: in peace. Those of the younger | members of the house party who were left i suggested games, a dance, anything-to in- [ fuse some spirit of gaiety into the scene. ,» | " Diana, would you care for a tramp? " j Derek had come up quietly to his wife's side.' He, for his part, felt no desire;to; play musical chairs or charades. Y: • Y '.' Yes, I should-" Her eyes brightened as she looked at him. It was the one thing; she would like. 'For even 1 women I sometimes grow tired of their owri ' finery, ! "Well, go and get those glad; rags off, and then we'll slip away, whe ; spoke quickly, in a low tone. ; She ; nodded, assent. A quarter of an hour later, feeling all the delight of f two ? children £; who play truant, j they crept quietly out of a side-door. * For a while, as they climbed the steep ascent which led up on to the open moor, ' they ; did not speak. Y Only once 'orf twice Diana threw a quick glance at her : husband. ■£ He was looking ft better—bo ;. - ranch \ better, , than when he had first come home-; And Jhe limped hardly at al] now. Often, even V, as to-day, there was 7 ; mora than a 5 glimpse of the old boyishness in his face. , " I hope those children will be;happy.'' He spoke suddenly : and inconsequently, almost as if the words had come without his meaning to speak them. " I think' they ; ; will," she v answered, after a little pause. ~ Freddy's a -dear; boy, and Sheila, despite, all her fun, has' plenty of commonsense." . ~;, Y.Y' :' ?„■";: For a little way ; further."" they : walked without : speaking again. :• .It was one;of those days, so common in "jotland in : the Spring, when ,; spells of I br. ght, almost hot; weather, alternate with sharp ! storms. It was hot now, almost like summer. YY- ; > ; '% Suddenly Diana turned to her husband. They had reached the top oi the' cKmb now, and miles of heather' ? and bracken stretched in front of them. k " Let's sit down v a little, Derek,":? she said. " I'm a wee bit tired—l was up at an unearthly hour this morning, you know —and I want to talk to you." ■■.-.' All right." Quickly he made a place for her to sit in. stSfong the dried-up : bracken of the year before. Then he '■ sat? down beside ; her,. his i hand ; just } ; touching hers. Even now—even now, ; although she knew he was happy, he was curiously reticent lin his caresses. "And now, what do you want to talk to me about ■""■■■flii his ways were undemonstrative, his eyes, as he looked down at her, . were full ; ; of, pride and love. ;" I -want to ; talk ■■« about what we're going to do in the future," y she spoke; steadily. " Since you came home '-1 everythine has seemed ' such ?■ a • rush.' ; We couldn't ;'; think; of % anything ; until Y the; wedding was oven -But how .there'will be time, and I think we must make up our minds." 1 ■i' " What we're going to 4 do in "the future? "i He Iroked; at tier ai; little blankly. In truth he. did net even guess at her meaning. - - . . Y." Yes, dear." She saw the litjtle light ii* , aa y s came into his eyes when she' called him by any \ endearing name. " I suppose one thing we can ; *> is to go oh v living the life of ordinary rich peoplethe season; in town, shooting parties, and visits in the autumn, then London again ? n( * perhaps two or three months abroad in Egypt or on the Riviera. That's what Ive done, ever since I grew up. The only difference is that how I have plenty of money to spend, and then I hadn't. But oh, Derek, I'm so tired of it." •. ' ' " You're tired of it? " He stared at her now m utter surprise. Y That -it was : not the only life she cared Yto ; lead had never occurred to him. , ' T. "Yes, it's all a sham-end I'm weary of shams. I want a real life. If on cared for it, too, I wouldn't mind-but you don t." j f - v. It wasi quite "true. ' Even now, although it was all his happiness to be with her, fie 5 ■'£ I ir t d 'A an s:nst « n «> without work. ' But he had never, told her so W •Can't we live a- ? real life, Derek? There s no reason why, just because we're rich we need be idle. There's Park Revel and all the land there. & s crying out for improvements, better housing conditions, and other things. You could W more land, go to Parliament, perhaps, or' {ffteSii oih lf And then^^rffi Jh?nv£!7£ hOl ? ellfe - you know, I think the thing I Want most in the world is a real home-hfe. I've never had' it, I*rek. Her voice grew a little % wistful ' ■■. Even when. I was a Ismail child, deep down in ray heart, I've always wanted ■ it. Would you Idee us to go to ' Park Revel and make it our home, Derek* ■■"•' >< . For an instant he did not answer. Always with him had there; been the louring for home— home with a wife—and perhaps,;children;V* Bui never, with alii his adoration ( for her, had he f thought Diana would care for it, too: ; Despite his love : for : her, he had thought ; her as fe bb-"•' longing to another ; world—thei: world iof butterflies. Even how he could hardly be.'; heve'her. : '~"•''- ;- \C ■ 1 J rV "> " But do you mean it, Diana? " He put his arm round her shoulders, : turned • her face up to his. " You're not saying it just—just because you think it iwould:' please: me? " , " No, I mean it—l mean it with every bit of me,";she spoke gravely. "My darlingmy:darling as in a. vision he saw the beauty of i their lives together. _, Fiercely, passionately,; all the manhood in: him conquering.; the woman- : hood in her, he!bent; his ;head; and kissedl her. V" My darling wife) " ■■:■ (me nsax.\ j