THE HONEY BUZZARD.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19660, 11 June 1927, Page 14 (Supplement)

THE HONEY BUZZARD.

BOOK n. CHAPTER X. The feeling was strong in him now that this woman was mad. What sane jvomen ever talked in this fashion 1 She roso from her seat and began to ■wander about the room, adjusting an ornament here and there, pouring some water from a jug into a vase which contained flowers. Presently, she went out of the room, carrying the empty jug, and he sat still, waiting with his eyes on the half-closed door, for her (return. He remembered now what had been his errand. They could not part on these terms. Why, the girl might work him endless mischief if she chose. Would it not be better to adopt Lady Selmorgan's policy in full—tell the truth, ask ht>r to keep friendly silence ? Possibly his pose cf secrecy had annoyed her. In some way, ho must propitiate the offend«d woman. When she came back he would put the case to her plainly. Their old friendship would revive. That was it. After all, he had treated her as if she was not a friend. Bad policy that. Ho admitted it. Well, when she came back. . . Ho sat there for ten minutes, waiting, his eyes on the door, and she did not come. Twenty minutes passed, and then he got up, aud went out of the house by the front door, which stood open. She was not to be seen. A stableman came leisurely across from some outbuildings. Wykeham signalled him imperiously. " Miss Selby-Duclose have you seen ber ?" The stableman touched his forehead. " Yes, sir, she's just gone off for a ride, sir." "A ride! A ride?' " Yessiiy" said the man. " I seed her go off not five minutes ago." Wykeham's interview with Billy SelbyDucloso was, from his point of view, most unsatisfactory, and determined him to take Lady Selmorgan's advice that he should not delay his proposal too long. It was impossible for him immediately to revisit Morby Chase but, a fortnight after he had parted from Billy, he made preparations to leave London, to enter upon tho last stage of his campaign. Campaign is quite tho right word. It was nothing more. He had planned it as no man in love can plan, and his finer feelings—granted his possession of such useless things—were not touched. He was in* monetary straits, at a critical period, and marriage with an heiress meant safety. Such an opportunity seemed to be offered him, and there wa3 the end of it. He was pleased that a pretty woman went with tho fortune, but that •was really a side issue. What he had planned to do, what he intended to do, is quite commonly done, but so eyer•wrought with insincerities, and disguised under fine phfases, that the plain man ;who observes it is easily deceived. Wykeham was much relieved to find that, so far, Billy had not attempted to meddle. Ho knew nothing of Kwinge s offer, nothing of Biliy's chivalrous refusal. He thought it possible the jealous ■Woman would make a last despairing effort to intervene. He did not, and could not, understand why Billy refrained from making this move. He measured other people's corn in his own bushel. To tell the truth, he did not much concern himself with her possible motives. She had not interfered, and that was good enough for him. To-morrow it would be too late. The affair would be settled by then, and ( Sylvia would be bound to him by a recognised tie. He felt that he •was now out of the wood. Browne was no longer a menace. He would be able to live more comfortably than before, indulge his whims, enter regiided and rehabilitated upon life. And then there was Sylvia. In his mind she came last. Women were not hard to come by, but fortunes were scarce and not easily gained, he told nirnseif, with his habitual cynicism. He had already written to Hersey Lancaster, mentioning the date ,of his coming, and hinting that lover-like impatience impelled him forward. It said much for the'cunning, if little for the honesty of the man that he was able to write a letter .with a manly air of candour and sincerity. Certainly he was much less of a fool than Mrs. Tathely had at first suspected. ( Hersey had replied briefly, extending a hearty welcome to him. Sylvia was yery well, and seemed happy, he ended. Wykeham took train to Morby in the cheerfullest humour possible. As the train hurried on, he rehearsed sentimental openings; built up tentative proposals. This was a business such ai he had not attempted before. Even his American suit had not proceeded to this length. Mr. Van Helsey, seeing the trend of events, had amiably, but without uncertainty, assured him that he had other views lor his daughter. How did fellows propose : You must say something about love, of course, and youi* own agony of mind, and your determination "to strain every nerve to make the blessed woman happy. 1 lie on the sentiment, work yourself up to a pitch of passion, and then put the momentous question. Something like that seemed, to be the right formula. 1 imposing, is inevitably a dreary business to the man who is not in love. These questions were, however, of relatively slight importance. The embarrassment and the awkward business of affecting feelings and sentiments he did not sincerely feel would not last long. Once ovef, his position was assured. lhen would come the business of arranging the settlement. That would be a more de icato affair, ibut tact and candour would win him through. Hersey knew now that he was a poor man; knowing that, he nad still accepted him as a suitor; consequently it would be best to stale his position very plainly, mention the encumbrances on his estates, and trust to the old man's generosity. Hersey Lancaster was no petty bargainer. He would do the square thing by them. Assured that his daughter was going to be happy he ■would not quibble over details. As Wykeham descended from the tiain, and got into the car which Mr. Lancaster had sent down to meet him, he ielt all the triumphant composure of the accepted lover. No doubts lingered it was all cut and dry for him. Satisfied.father, loving and grateful daughter, mocktimid proposal, unqualified acceptance, and then " roses, roses all the way. 1 came, I saw—and the rest you shall heai in my next!" He went up to wrestle with Fate, as the once great Hackenschmidt might have gone to wrestle with a puny boy from a suburban gymnasium. Svlvia was out riding when he reached Morby Chase, but Hersey Lancaster gave him a warm welcome, and led him out on to the sunlit lawny" where Mrs. lathelv sat in a lounge chair, in the shade a fine cedar, reading her newspaper. She \velcomed him, too, but with more qualified warmth, and a more thoughtful gaze. " He's going to propose to-day," she said to herself, feeling sincerely sorry for tho absent Howard. " You will see Sylvia at tea-time," saul Hersey, proffering his cigar case. " She's out with Mary Sommers. Sit down, and let me hear the latest news of London." Wykeham lighted his cigar, and sat down on a chair brought out at that moment from the house. Selecting subjects he thought would be likely to interest his host, he talked easily and naturally; careful when possible to include Mrs. Tathely in the conversation, and defeiring to her occasionally in a way that made the shrewd old lady indulge in a secret smile. If he was going to marry into this family, he must capture the' powerful aunt. She knew the idea that propelled him in her direction. Without respecting him, she was able dispassionately to admire his dexterity; just as.the honest householder, who abhors practical burglars, is able to smile over the cleverness of a stage "Raffles." "Have you seen Lady Selmorgan since jou returned" she asked.

BY JOHN HASLETTE VAHEY. (COPYRIGHT.)

"Quite recently, Mrs. Tathely. She asked to bo remembered to you, and to Mr. Lancaster. 1 ' "Much obliged to her," murmured Mrs. Tathely, smiling again. "Sylvia often talks of her," put in Hersey. "Oh. she's a real good sort," agreed Wykeham. What little sentiment there might be , in Wykeham's composition was whipped up when Sylvia returned from her ride, the flush and exercise in her cheeks, her eyes glowing and clear. She looked something more than merely pretty; beautiful almost, a sight to stir the heart of any man not utterly deadened. Wykeham felt it. He toid himself that was lovely. Quite apart from tho all-impor-tant fortune, she was a woman "to be proud of, a wife a man might show with gratified feelings to his most critical friends. She met him without show of embarrassment, but with quickened heart beats, and a jumping pulse. She knew why he had come. She could not be mistaken Only a fortnight since he had left Morby, and here he was once more, on his own initiative. The crisis, with its inevitable disturbance, was upon her. and she nerved herself to face it. How fervently she wished that it were over! Her feelings had not changed. She did not love him; she could not marry him. She was sorry that she must refuse him. That was natural. She would not have willingly given pain to any living creature, but a proposal of marriage brings up one of those situations when a firm course must be decided . upon and adhered to, whatever the cost in pain to oneself and others. He had come down to ask her to be his wife. Then it would bo better to have the matter decided quickly She would put no obstacle in his way if ho suggested a private interview. Rather she might suggest it, and save him embarrass, ment. During tea, which was- served under the cedar on the lawn, Hersey Lancaster was like a cat on hot bricks. He looked at Sylvia, at Wykeham, then nervously at his sister, who did not seem at all discomposed. He, too, was wishing that the affair might be settled. He would be content and happy again when Sylvia had herself given Wykeham an answer, and had assured him that this was her unfettered, willing choice. Yet the father in his heart shrank from tho inevitable solution, and when tea was over, he seized the first opportunity to retire to his library, and left Sylvia alono with Mrs. Tathely and Wykeham. Sylvia steadied her nerves, and turned, smiling, to Aunt Anne. "I think we will have a .stroll across the park," she said gently. "You'll be quite comfortable here, won't you ?" "Quite, my dear," said Mrs. Tathely. It seemed to her that Sylvia was rushing matters, from what motive it was impossible to decide. "You should show Lord Wykeham that charming slope with the wild-flower carpet. If he's fond of flowers " "Country flowers," said Wykeham. "That'll be jolly. Let's go at once, Miss Lancaster.", They left the shelter of the cedar, moved across the lawn, and passing under the trees that ringed the house, went on across the park. They were silent until they had reached the foot of the slope, and turned toward a coppice that lay near the river. For once, Wykeham found himself bereft of conversation, even of common-places. He walked at her side, now and then looking at her tentatively, admiring, as he had not done before, the charming, downcast face They came presently to a pause at the entrance to a little glade in the coppice, and Sylvia raised her eyes. "Look," she said softly. "Aren't they beautiful —wonderful?" The glade was carpeted with blossoms so thickly that hardly a hint of green showed between the gently-nodding flower-heads, upon which the sunlight fell chequered by the foliage above. But Wykeham's eyes roved absently over the feast of pure, unsullied colour, and came to rest on Sylvia's faintly-flushed face. "They're very lovely," he said. She drew a long breath. Her heart began to beat with a new and rather distressing violence. Her eyes fell suddenly, and she remained rigid for a moment, while Wykeham took a step nearer to her. "Sylvia!" She did not speak yet, but lifted her eyes with an effort, and looKed at him. They dropped again quickly. It was his turn to feel embarrassed. So much hung on her word, and all his phrase making failed him when it came to the point. "Miss Lancaster, Sylvia; 1 came to Morby to-day because I could not wait any longer," he said suddenly. " 1 have often wanted to tell you before, but my courage has always failed me. I must tell you now—May I?—i love you. You are the only woman in the world to me, the only one, and—l love you. Wait, please! let me say what I have to say before you answer me—l love you and 1 want to make you happy. You're too lovely, too good for me, but I dare to hope, because a man must when he loves. Will you be my wife, Sylvia? Will you make me eternally happy by telling me that you love me ?" He gained confidence as he went on, and remembered some of the phrases he had so laboriously constructed in the train that morning. 14 You are the only woman 1 ever loved," he added, in a spasm of reminiscent banality, and moved closer to her. Her face was Hushed now, and her voice trembled, but she was able to control it as she replied: " Lord Wykeham, I am sorry—l am very sorry. You have paid mo a very high compliment. I do appreciate it, and only wish " Sorry —wish?" he interrupted, with a puzzled air. " Sylvia, I love you. 1 want you to be my wife." >( She grew pale now. " 1 am sorry, she faltered. "It hurts me to say what I have to say. 1 wish I could make you happy, return your love. Oh, it is dreadful for me to have to hurt you, but what can I do? It's impossible, absolutely impossible." A battle-axe crashing down on his head could not have crushed Wykeham more brutally. He felt stunned, completely beaten down. His whole world fell away from him; where there had been solid earth there remained only a gulf into which he must presently fall. Never had there existed in his mind the slightest doubt as to her answer, lie had been quite sure of her. Mentally he had already possessed her, had enjoyed the money which would come with her. And even "now he could not believe, 'lhe look of bewilderment and puzzled irritation ho gave her was pitiable. " Impossible—you don't love me . his voice seemed to come from nowhere, an alien voice over which he had no control " You don't mean that, Sylvia, he added in a stilled way. " 1 hurried you. I ought to have giveq you time; * " No," she said in a low voice, " it is quite true. I do not love you, and 1 cannot marry a man I don't love. 1 am sorry—l could say it a thousand times. If I have given you pain, forgive me. f never meant to. But 1 can t marry and it is better that you should know. " Give mo a chance," he said, as pale as paper. " Love will come. Mv love will help yours. Give mo a chance. She felt suddenly very tired. " I say no," she repeated very firmly. 1 m afraid my decision is unchangeable. Won t you accept my decision, and take me back to Mrs. Tathely?" " J can't," he said. " Your father—" " Have you spoken to him?" "Yes. Ho is willing—if you are. Sylvia, you can't mean to say that you refuse me. I can't accept that for an answer. You must marry me! I can't live without you." The scene was becoming distressing. Sylvia straightened herself, "You must know how painful it is for me to have to

refuse you/' she said. " Don't add to that pain. My mind is made up. Quite made up. 1 cannot marry you. ( The resentment, the hate, the growing knowledge that his rum impended, suddenly culminated in flaming speech. VVykeham's face was convulsed with the strength of his bitter passions. "It's that damned Howard! he said fiercely. " I see his game. He told you about those papers, and you—" " Lord Wykeham!" said Sylvia. She was very quiet now, but her eyes were filled with hot scorn of him. j He had stopped, choking with rage. . "It's Howard!" he repeated. " You re : in Jove with him —that cad! \ouve< made came of me between you—made a, fool of me, and think you laugh over it Will you take me back to my aunt ?" j Sa '" you a few truths first," ho said. " I might have known better than to trust to a woman gratitude —a woman whose life 1 saved. The utter, irredeemable vulgarity of this reminder fired Sylvia to retaliate, see," she said softly. "Do you want to disgust mo altogether, Lord Wykeham. I see now that I made no mistake in refusing you. As for Sir Charles Howard, he hasn't said a word to me of love. I j do not know what you mean about papers. | I have seen none. Sir Charles is, at i least, what used to be called a gentle- | man. Now, lam going back to my aunt. I shall not require you to accompany me. I have heard quite enough—" " Not half enough! " he cried. You led me on, with your sly ways, and your green coquetry, and now, when you've made a fool of me, you tell me you meant nothing. It's not good enough, I can tell you. And a rotten fool I have made of myself, too. To be made game _of bv a country coquette, and an outsider like Howard! " . " Tell him that to his face," said Sylvia. " You have no right to malign a man behind his back." ' She turned suddenly and walked quickly back to the open park. He made as if to follow her, then stopped, and stared down. _ Knowing his aims, his confidence, and the salvation which would be effected bv marrying an heiress, his immense and ungovernable passion was understandable. A man abont to enter the gates of paradise and suddenly snatched down to hell could not have been more bitterly disillusioned. Ho had lost Sylvia, but that counted for little. He had lost his onlv hope of fortune, just when he had weighed the money in his hand. He had raised loans on his prospects, and those were now added to his indebtedness. He stood there thinking of all this, and cursing Sylvia with an entirely sincere , furv. Without shame, he realised that his mood was black enough to desire to wreak his anger on her by some personal violence. The instinct of murder does not lie so deep buried beneath the veneer of our civilisation as sentimentalists think, and a ruined man is for the time being a savage, even if his passions do not express themselves in actual violence. He did not believe what Sylvia had said. Mrs. Tathely from her seat under the cedar on the lawn saw Sylvia come slowly up the slope toward her, and closing her book,' stared perplexedly. Where was Lord Wykeham ? Had he spoken ? Why did he not accompany Sylvia? Sylvia came nearer. She was pale, but her" face was composed now. She had no intention of telling in detail what had happened. Wykeham had proposed, and she had refused him. She sat down. beside her aunt, but did not speak for a few moments. Mrs. Tathely did not hurry her. She opened her book again, and began idly to turn the leaves. She was more puzzled than ever. " I have refused Lord Wykeham, Aunt A Mrs. Tathely exhibited commendable presence of mind. She did . n°t start, but turned to her niece as if she had heard the most natural thing in the world; something she had been prepared to hear. ~ " Have vou, my dear? she said gently. " then"—she smiled a little — " Then I think you have shown your j sterling common sense ! " Sylvia looked at her blankly. Aunt Anne ! What do you mean ? " " Nothing but what I said, my dear, said Mrs. Tathely. " Now run along and tell vour father about it." " But Lord Wvkeham told me father approved." said Sylvia. "Did he?" said her aunt. Never mind, child. I don't think you will find your father inclined to beh.t you!" CHAPTER XT. It was not until the new engine had been rigorously tested .that Howard remembered his decision to take a specialist's advice as to the advisability of driving with a recently damaged wrist. But, the tests over, he went to Wimpole Street, and consulted an eminent medical authority. The specialist, Dr. Forgas, examined the wrist, listened to Howard's views, and shook his head. " I think not. I really think not, Sir Charles. It is quite conceivable _ that you might get through the race without injury, but a sudden jar or wrench might put you completely out of action. "When does this race take place ? " "In a month or so." " And the second you spoke of ? " " Oh, that's late in August." ( " Very well. This is nob a very serious matter, but it might become so, if you came by another fracture. If you take my advice you will not take part in the first race, but conserve yourself for the second. Give yourself time. If you do that I think you can count upon participating in the second contest without fear of complications." " Thank you. I may take that as the last word." " You may. I know what these prolonged road races are. You want to be very fit for them. You don't want to play the injured hero merely and not win. You want to have complete control of your car, and that you will not have if you enter this early race." Howard nodded. "I see. I am obliged to you." i He paid the great man's fee, and went out It had occurred to him before that it might be unwise for hito to compete in the earlier race —the Continental one. He must concentrate on getting thoroughly fit for the second. Meanwihle he" would let Marley know what the specialist had said. He went from Wimpole Street to the Nelumbo Club, hoping to see Davis, who had recently corne back to town. Davis was in the smoke room and greeted him warmly. Howard drew a chair near him, and spoke of his Wimpole Street visit. . " He's jollv well right," said Davis. " Marley must see it. With a crocked wrist you wouldn't have had a chance against the Continental cracks, and people would have put it down to the car. Well, what are your plans now?" " I'm going to have my boat put in commission, Ned. I want you to join me in a cruise." " Where to, vou wild man V " Not the usual Mediterranean crawl, old fellow. I thought of the Canaries. We could put in a month nicely." Davis shook his head. " Thank ye, Charles. I'm not going." " Why not ?" " Well, if you must know, old chap, I don't think you ought to go, so I won't encourage you." " That's rather rich, Can you suggest where I should go ' I Ned Davis lighted a cigarette. "Certainly, you ought to go down to Morby." i Howard frowned. " Don't be absurd, Ned." ... " Absurd ? Charles, it s time some one talked to you in a fatherly way. It really is—l didn't know you were a coward." " Didn't you*? What have I funked ? " Lots of things and people. You've funked Bill Marley instead of standing up to him, you've funked standing up to Wykeham, you're funking the situation now. I'm an old friend, and have licence to tell you that you're an ass." " Thanks." " Don't mention it. You are, though. Do you mean to tell me you're in love with a girl, and holt l'ke a rabbit when the other man chips in ?" (To be continued on Saturday nest.)