LEAVES OF DESTINY

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12404, 25 March 1926, Page 4

LEAVES OF DESTINY

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

DOROTHEA CORBOULD.

Author of "A Fatal Friendship." "His Fair Enemy," "Held Bondage," Etc., Eta*

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER Vlll.—Continued. Thero was a pause—Mrs Anstruther’a face wore the look of one who has received a disagreeable shock, and in her eyes, % fixed upon tlie merrily crackling logs in the grate, there was a gleam of angry scorn. “Jtis not a pretty atory you have told rue, Don/' she said at last. "You. may well have hesitated to acquaint your friends with your most reprehensible folly—l can call it nothing else —for supposing this woman—your wife—who, 1 {rather, was not in our own class of life — had lived, what would have been your position—tlie heir to ono of the oldest families in England— on© day to take your place among the landed gentry here, an Anstruther of Collingham Hall, as your ancestors have been before you? They all in their own rank in life. It is well that this next heir—your son—should be unable to speak of liis mother " "My wife was a good woman/' Donald put in angrily, "you speak as if she-—" "I am not speaking of her character, but of her birth," Mrs Anstruther retorted. "Why, if she were a gentlewoman, should you congratulate yourself upon the improbability of her family coming forward to claim kinship with you ?" "Reggie does not remember anything about his mother," Donald said, after a pause, "and therefore is not likely to speak of her." "And there is another thing," Mrs Anstruther went on, "how are we! to explain the fact that a grandchild has been unexpectedly thrust upon us?" /'Oh, that is easy enough. I was married very young, and kept my marriage a secret. My wife died while I was away in France and left a child—my son—whom I am now bringing home to Collingham Hall."

"Weil, you must marry again, that is tho only thing to do," Mrs Anstruther said, after an uncomfortable silence. "How old is your boy?" "Five on ’his last birthday," was the reply. "The young lady I spoke of, with whom he is staying at present, is teaching and looking after him, but of course, she cannot be allowed to go on doing so. Therefore, I purposed going to London on the twelfth, and fetching him home here, that is to say if you and my father consent—if not, I must find another home for myself and him. He is very fond of his 'Auntie Barbara' as he calls his kind friend, and I am sure will feel parting from her very much. I thought perhaps you would let her come here with him to stay for Christmas."

“What"—Mrs Anstruther leaned forward in her chair again, and regarded her son with cold amazement—"ask a stranger here? Impossible! Besides we have several people coming—the Maynards and Lord and Lady Adeano, Mrs Mordaunt and Teddy, and Ida Cravenshaw. It will be very awkward as it is, having an unknown grandson, to introduce to them "

"Reggie need not interfere with your house party," Donald said coldly. "He can have his own rooms, I suppose, and a nurse to look after him, but, of course, if you'd rather he didn't come

"Oh, I never said that, it was the girl —I must learn mote about her before I could invite her here—besides, this has been sprung upon me sq unexpectedly that I cannot realise jt yet. ; I must talk it ovey with ‘ your father-—" "And. I will talk it over too," Anstruther interrupted. ‘T .am sure you will both be proud of Reggie, he is a fine little* chap, and very lovable," and he went on to speak in oraise of his son, of his good looks and cleverness, but he did not mention Barbara Denning again,' his mother noticed, and she made up her mind that once the child was safely at Collingham Hall, all connection with, the girl who had rescued him from the life of a waif and stray—for it is probable that Donald would never have traced him—should be severed for ever. Mr Anstruther received the news of his son's marriage better than' either Donald or his mother expected. He blustered at first, called his son a fool and demanded what he meant by dragging the Anstruther name through the dirt by marrying beneath him, but the fact that death had stepped in to avert a dire calamity in the presentation of an undesirable daughter-in-law to the county, and tta he was particularly fond of children, and longed for a grandchild, made a considerable difference in his views, and after a long confab' between Donald and his parents, the advent of Reggie. Anstruther became not only an established fact, but one to be looked forward to by both his grandparents. About a week before Donald's departure for London Mrs Anstruther received another shock—and this time it came at the hands of Mrs Grantley, who, after her sojourn with her daughter in town, had joined her husband in Paris, and accompanied him* on a tour in Switzerland, from whence they had now returned to their country seat about a mile .from Collingham Hall.

She and Mrs Anstruther were close friends of many years standing, and until Lady Ida Cravenshaw appeared' on tlie scene it had bee nthe general idea that a match would be arranged between her only daughter, Maud, and Donald

Anstrutliu-. one of Mrs Grantley’s first calls was at Collingham Hall, and after discussing her tour, and th© doings of herself and Maud in London, the conversation turned upon Donald's return to settle down at home. It was then that Mrs Anstruther made the first mention of the fact of her son's early unfortunate marriage and the existence of a grandson. "Of course we shall have the boy here," Mrs Anstruther added, at the ! close of her recital, to which both Mrs k Grantley and her daughter had listened with many exclamations of amazement and sympathy. "He is at present living with some girl who was a friend of his mother's, the latter having begged her to look after him. We shall compensate her, of course, for all her trouble, but Donald actually wanted me to ask her here for Christmas," with a contemptuous smile. "Why I know literally nothing about her, except that Donald said she was the daughter of a clergyman. She "doesn't appear, how ever, to have anyone belonging to her, and T fancy earns her own living." "Oh, I wonder. Mother, if she could be the girl who was dining with Donald at the Ravov one evening when we were there," Mand Grantly nut in, before her mother could reply. "Sir Lindsav Charters, who was with us, told us she was one of the chorus girls at tho Diadem Theatre; she was awfully pretty, wasn't she, and we heard her sing one evening in a solo when she was supposed to be a nightingale—lovely!" "A—a chorus girl in a theatre did you fay?" gasped Mrs Anstruther —"Great heaven!"

'Oh, well, it might not be the same,'' Mrs Grantley said soothingly. "But 1 must say I was verv much surprised when Sir Lindsay told us—for she certainly looked most ladylike—and Donald was exceedingly attentive to her. Teddy Mordaunt knows her and gave her ah introduction to the manager of the Diadem—he is theatre nfhd, you know, and., they say, finances the play—the girl was a sweet-looking creature." "But—but a chorus girl, and my grandson under her care. It must be put an end to at once !*.' Mrs Anstruther mentally wmng her hands in her wrath and dismay; and the door opening just then to admit • Donald himself, she turned upon him, giving him no time even to greet the visitors —with—- " Donald! What is this I hear?—that the girl who ha£ charge of your eon is an actress singing in the chorus at a theatre every night "

"It is quite true," was the quietlysjmken reply as Donald shook hands with ’ the Grantleys. "I suppose you told the Mater that"—addressing Mrs Grantley. "I carefully suppressed the fact myself, # knowing her prejudices play-acting; ana you, of course, gained your information from Charters. ' I saw him with you at the Savoy. He is a shining light, if you like—l wonder he gets anyone to be seen with him, only he is rich, of course, and " "I'm eonw you are offended, Donald," Mrs Grantley said plaintively, "and I had no idea of making mischief, or Mand either. ' The girl was perfectly lovely, I haven't said anything disparaging about her." "Except tne one thing likely to prejudice my mother against her/' Donald replied coldly. "She is quite a gentlewoman, and took to the stage as a last resource to make a livelihood."

"Still, she is not the person to have the charge of my grandson," put in Mrs Anstruther. , "And tha sooner he is removed from her influence the better." Donald said nothing, but quietly changing the conversation by a remark on the Grantley's tout} effectively prevented any further reference to Barbara. Nor did he allow his mother to renew the subject, merely remarking that Miss Denning was quite satisfactory to himself as a guardian to Reggie, and that presently he would be removed from her care. None knew of the secret happiness in his heart at the prospect of seeing Barbara again. The days seemed all too long till the twelfth —and then cruel fate stepped in to dash his happiness to the ground. Going after a ball on the golf links the day before his departure for London. he slipped and sprained his ankle badly, ami the doctor gave it as his opinion that it would be some weeks before he could get about again. It was a great disappointment—but as he reflected, his mother was right, and it was a pity to put off Reggie's return, while he himself could quite well go to London later on, and .see Barbara. So he listened and acquiesced in Mrs Anstruther's arrangement to send a trusted maid of her own to London to bring Reggie back, a telegram preparing Miss Denning for his departure, and Donald wrote a long letter of explanation, telling Barbara that directly his foot allowed him to walk he would come to town and see her. This letter his mother carefully suppressed, writing one of her own in its stead, which Barbara received on the morning after the telegram had arrived, ana which succeeded, as its writer hoped it would, in convincing her that Donald Anstrutner's entry into her life's history had been merely a fantastic dream. (To be continued.)