DOUBLE HARNESS.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXVI, Issue 5199, 13 February 1904, Page 2

DOUBLE HARNESS.

ALL EIGHTS RESERVED,

By ANTHONY HOPE, Author of the “Prisoner of “Zenda,” ‘'Senior Halo,” “Euperfc of Hentzau,” etc., etc., cite.

CHAPTER XL (Continued). “Oh. don't say that! I—well, Pm hero just to prevent you from sayin" that.” “ “To prevent me? You do know what’s happening? Ho you know he’s staying away from home again? What do tho servants think? What must the children begiu to think? Am X to bo exposed to that?" She looked very handsome and spirited, with just tho right amount of colour in hor cheeks and an animated sparkle in her eyes. “Why, I could name tho woman!” she exclaimed. “And so could you, I dare say ?” “Don’t make too much of it,” ho urged. “We’re not children. Ho doesn’t really care about the woman. It’s only because he’s unhappy.” “And who’s fault is it he’s unhappy?” “And because of that lie’s being foolish—wasting all his money, too. I’m afraid.” “Oil, I’ve got my settlement. I shajll be all right in case of proceedings.” ‘Now, pray,‘don’t think of proceedings. Lady Harriot.” “Not think of them! IVe made up my mind to them. I wanted to ask you how to sot about it.” “But it would ruin his career; it would destroy liis public position.” “I can't help that. Ho should have thought of that for himself.” ‘And then think of tho girls!” “Anything would ha better than going on like this —yes, better for them, too." John saw that ho must face an explanation of his embassy. Ho gob up and stood on tho hearthrug. “I’m hero .as the friend of you both,” be began. The colour and the sparkle both grow brighter. "Oh, are you?” said Lady Harriet. “It conies to this. Tom’s friends—l and one or two more—have been speaking seriously to him. We’ve got him to say that he’s ready to drop— to drop what you very properly object to—and to make another effort to find a—a modus vivendi.”

“I’m glad lie’s got so muck decent feeling. Only it comes rather late. Ho wants mo to forgive him, does lie?” “I don t think we can put it quite so simply as that.” John risked a timid smile., “There must bo a give-and-tako, Lady Harriet—a givo-and-take you know.” “Well?” She was'relapsing into that dangerous stillness of hers. She was very quiet, but her .eyes shone very bright. Tom Oourtlaud would have known tho signs, so would the girls. “We’ve got him to say what I’ve told you, but there must bo something from your side.” “What am I to do. John?” sho asked with deceptive meekness. “Well, 1 think you might—well—er —express some regret that—that things haverdt gone more harmoniously at .homo. You might hold out an olive branch, you know.” “Express regret?” “Don’t stand on tho point of pride, now. Haven’t you sometimes been—well, a little exacting—a little quicktempered?” “Oh, you’re in that old story, aro you? Quick-tempered? Suppose I am? Haven’t I enough to make me quick-tempered ?” ' “Yes, now you have. But what about tho beginning?” “Ho you moan it was my fault in the beginning ?” “Don’t you think eo yourself ? Partly, at all events?” Lady Harriot took up a tortoiseshell paper-knife and played with it. Her eyes were set hard on John, who did not like tho expression in them. He became loss glad that ho had undertaken the embassy. “May a man desert and deceive bis wife because she’s a little quick-temper- “ Ho. of course not; that’s absurd,” replied John. “It’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” “We must look at it as men and women of tho world.” “I look at it as a wife and a mother. Do you mean to say it was my fault in tho beginning?” John was losing patience; he saw that some plain speaking would bo necessary, but his want of patience made it hard for him to do the plain speaking wisely. “Well, yes, I do,” he said. ’’Tn the beginning, you know. Tom’s a goodnatured follow, and lie was very fond of you. But you—well, you didn’t make his homo pleasant to him. and if a. man’s-homo isn’t pleasant, you know what’s likely to happen.” “And you’re tho friend I meant to send for!” “I am your friend—that’s why I venture to speak to you freely. There’s no hope unless- you both realise where you’ve been wrong. Torn acknowledges his fapjt and is ready to change his ways. But you must acknowledge yours and change, too.” “What is any fault?” John took a turn up. and down the room.

T musts let her have it,” ho decided, as ho came back to tho hearthrug. “You make everybody afraid of you with your lamentable fits of temper, 5 * ho told her. ‘Tom’s .afraid of you. and afraid of what you might drive him into./ Your children are afraid of you. Everybody’s afraid of you. You make tho house impossible to live in. You’re oven violent sometimes, I’m afraid, Lady 'Harriet.” • If breaking a paper-knife in two be violence, she was vialent then. She threw the pieces down , on the table, angrily. “How dare you come to mo and talk like this? I’ve done nothing; I’ve nothing to blame myself with. What ■l’ve had to put up with would have spoilt anybody’s temper! Express regret? I shall do nothing of tho kind,, If that’s what you come to ask, you can take your answer and go.” She was working herself up to tho full tide of her rage. John’s undertaking was quite hopeless now, but he would not recognise it yet; he determined to “let her have it” a litt-Io more still. “Look at that!” ho said, pointing to the broken paper-knife. “Just try to think what that—that sort of thing—means! What man can bo expected to stand that? - Tho state of things which has arisen is your fault. You’ve' made no effort to govern your temper. You’re reaping tho fruit of what you’ve sown. If poor Tbm had shown more firmness it might have been better.” ‘You’d have shown more firmness, I suppose?” “Yes, I should, and I believe it would have done some good. You may suppose it gives mo great' pain to speak like this but really it’s tho only way. vUuiess you realise how greatly you’ve

boon to Wame, unless you determine to conquer this deplorable failing, there’s no hope of doing any good.” She sat quiet for a moment or two longer, with shining eyes. wliilo John, now confident again, and very masculine, developed tho subject of tho real truth about her. Then she broke out.

‘fYou fool 1” sho said. “You silly fopl! You oome to mo with this nonsense! You tell mo you’d have shown moro firmness! You toll me it’s my fault Tom’s gone off after this creature! Much you know about it all! Wonderfully wise you are! Leave other men’s wives alone and go back and look after your own, John."

“There’s nothing that I’m awaro of wrong in my house, Laly Harriet. Wo needn’t bring that into tho question.” “Oh, wa needn’t, needn’t wo? And there never was anything wrong, I suppose? I’m such a bad wife, am I? Other men have had bad widtw, too.” “Do you attach auy particular meaning to that?” ho asked, coldly, but rather uneasily. “Do I attach? Oh. what an idiot you are! You to como and lecture me as if I was a child! I may be anything you like, but I’vo never been what your wife was. John Fanshaw.” Ho turned on her quickly. 'TYhat do you moan by that?” ■That’s my affair.” “No, it isn’t. You dared to hint—” “Oh. I hint nothing I don’t know!” “You shall give mo au explanation of thoso words. I insist upon that.” “You’d hotter not,” sho laughed maliciously. John was moved beyond self-control. Ho caught her by the wrist. Sho rose and stood facing him, her breath earning quick. She was in a fury that robbed her of all judgment and all mercy; but she had no fear of him. “You shall withdraw those words or explain them 1” “Ask Christine to explain them 1” sho sneered. “What a fool you arol Here’s a man ho give lectures on tho management of wives, when his own wife— ’’ She broko off, laughing again. “You shall toll mo what, you mean.” “Dear - mo! you can’t guess? You’ve turned very dull. John. Never mind! Don’t mako too much of it! Perhaps you wore quick-tempered? Perhaps you didn’t make her homo pleasant? And if a woman’s homo isn’t pleasant—well, you know what’s likely to happen, don’t yon?” Perspiration was on John Fanshaw’s brow. Ho pressed her wrist hard. “You she-devil 1” ho said. “Tell mo what you mean, I say!” “’Oh. ask Christine 1 And if sho won’t toll you. I advise you to apply to Frank Oayleshara, John.” “It that true?” “Yes. it is. Don’t break my wrist.” “Oaylesham 1” Ho hold her wrist a moment longer, then dropped it, and looked aimlessly round the room. ■ Sho rubbed her wrist and glared at him with sullen eyes, her fury dying down into a malicious rancour.

“There, that’s what you get from your meddling and your preachingl” she Eaid. “I never meant to give Christine away. I never wanted to. It’s your doing; you made mo angry, and Ihitoutatyou where X could, I wish to God yon had never come here, John! Christine’s one of tho few women who are friendly to me, and now I’vo—■ But you’ve yourself to thank for it.”

Ho sank slowly into a chair; she heard him mutter “Oaylesham” again. “If you know. I’ve a quick temper, why do you exasperate mo? You exasperate me, and then I do a tiring like that! Oh, I’m not thinking iof you; I’m thinking of poor Christine. I hate myself now, and that’s your doing, too!”

Sho flung herself into her chair and began to sob tempestuously. John stared past her to the walk “It’s just what Tom’s always done,” she moaned through hor sobs—“making me lose my temper, and say something, and then—” Her words became inarticulate.

Presently her sobs ceased; her face grew hard and set again. “Well are you going to sit there all clay?” she asked. “Is it so pleasant that you want to stay ? Do you still think you can teach mo tho era-ox of my ways ?” From tho first moment John Fanshaw had not doubted the truth of what she said. Things forced out hy passion in that way were true. Her stormy remorse added a proof—a remorse which did not oven attempt retractation or evasion. And his memory got to work. He know now why Christine had neen so reluctant to go to Caylesham. There were things back in the past, too, winch now became intelligible—how that acquaintance had grown and grown, how constant the companionship had been, one or two little things which had seemed odd. and then how there had been a sudden end, and they had come to see very little of Caylesham, how neither of them had seen him for a long while, till John had sent Christine to borrow £15,000. “Per God’s sake, go!” she cried. Ho rose to his feet slowly, and her fascinated eyes watched his face. His eyes were dull, and his face seemed to have gone grey. He asked her one question:

“How long ago?” “Oh,, all over years ago,” she answered, with an impatient groan, drumming her fingers on the arms of her chair. Ho nodded his head in a thoughtful way. “Good-bye, Lady Harriet,” ho said. “Good-bye, John.” Suddenly she sprang up. ' “Stop! What are you going to say to Christine?” Ho looked bewildered still. “I don’t know. Oh. really I don’t know! My God! I never had any idea of this, and I don’t know! I can’t can’t realise it all, you know—and Caylesham, too!” “Are you going to toll hor I told you ?” “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Lady Harriet —I don’t know.” . “Ah!” With a cry of exasperation she turned away and sat down in her chair again. “ocofl-hyo,” he muttered, and touched awkardly out of the room. She sat on .whore she was very still, frowning, hor hand holding her chin, only her restless eyes roving about tho room. She was like some handsome, fierce caged boast. There she sat, for close ’on an hour, thinking of what she was and of what she had done—of how he had shown her tho picture of herself, and of how from malice and in her wrath, she betrayed. Christine. Once only in ajl this time her Ups moved; they moved to mutter: ‘“My God! what a cursed -woman I am (To ho continued.)