FACING THE WORLD

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12424, 19 April 1926, Page 3

FACING THE WORLD

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. DOMESTIC STORY OF ATTRACTIVE INTEREST

BY

FLORENCE HOPE ,

Author of “The Trials of Madge Moberley,” “Paying the Penalty,** “The Lordship of Love,” “Against the Wind,” &c., &c.

[COPYRIGHT]

CHAPTER Vlll.—Continued. “I like to see a girl blush, they don’t often now-a-days, it shows modesty, I say. You’ve a fine figure, Miss Lawson, my deai, & trifle too slim, perhaps, but you’ll fill out in time, and that’ll improve you. "What luck it was your coming into the shop that* day, wasn’t it? I was struck with you from the first moment I saw you. Good style I said to myself, knows how to carry herself, but I say, my dear, there’s nothing going on between you and that captain, is there? *He seemed to coipc along pretty frequent, and I have seen him looking at you once or twice in a way that was rather marked, don’t you know. Just tell me the truth, how far it has gone, my dear. I shan’t mind a little- ”

“Stop! how dare you speak to me in this way? I refuse ever to speak to you again; I have never been so insulted,” cried the girl, trembling with the agitation of her feelings. Mr Hatfield did stop, stopped short, but held a grip on her arm, and said what he wanted to say. “Insulted! I insult you! You don’t understand • it’s the last thing I should think of. Why, let me fell you, Miss Lawson, I am thinking of marrying again, and the second wife I have thought of in mv own mind was you, yourself. What do you think of that? ha! ha I Insult, indeed; you think over this idea of mine, and we’ll walk out a bit together, and know one another better, and then you shall give me your answer, I’m not one to hurry a girl, it needs thinkin’ over, though let me tell you some girls in your position would jump at my proposal, to maTry the proprietor of such a place as I’ve got, a good, sound, business —what! do you want to hurry off again?” He could hardly keep pace with her, and listened in amazement as her answer was given him. “I utterly decline your proposal, Mt Hatfield, and I must tell you, also, that I do not enter your shop again; you understand, I have left your employment. This is the house where I am living: good evening.” Irene hastily mounted the steps of the boardinghouse.

“ That’s all nonsense. You can’t leave me like that. You have to give a month’s notice. Tut, tut. Miss Lawson! We can’t have this sort of thing. You’ve got to stay until I suit myself with another young woman. It’s no use your giving yourself airs as if you were a duchess; it’s thatcaptnin fellow who’s been turning your h.ead, I suppose.” t “I am not coming back to vour shop, Mr Hatfield. The money will b© sene you in the morning instead of a month’s notice.”

Irene turned her latch-key in the door, opened it, and was gone before the little man could say anything further, and the girl herself stood inside on tne mat with thumping heart, licr face scarlet with shame and overwhelmed with the sense of trouble that had all at once come upon her through the day. She had to put aside the thought of Jack Willoughby and the love that for so brief a time had illumined her days to think of the present time of difficulty that she had to face. A month’s money to be sent to Hat-

I field. It would mean every penny tha% she had so carefully put by in her little cash-box, and been so proud of saving. Then she would bo almost penniless, and without work. The prospect was a dark one, and Irene had not the spirit of Mnb. who was more full of the pluck that carries one through black times. She sat on the side of the low bed in bei room at the top of the tall house thinking miserably, with the feeling of being stranded and alone. The dinner bell rang, but she did not move. She felt scorched with shame, shame that a. Lorriraer should have sunk to this, to wooed by a shopkeeper, and expected to be glad to respond to his advances. Mab would have laughed at the thing; it wcmld, have amused her, but Irene was different. It seemed an insult. She could not bear to think of it. Tho flaming colour still scorched her cheeks; she felt as if they would never be cool again.

“Miss Lawson! Miss Lawson! They are all at dinner. Ain’t you cornin’?” came the Cockney voice of the maid through the locked door as the girl rattled the handle.

“No, Maude. Say I have a headache. I don’t want any dinner; I want nothing—only to be left alone,” answered poor Irene, for how could slie face the inmates of the boardinghouse with that scarlet face? They would question lier, wonder what had happened, ask detestable question*, and she flung herself down on the bed, hiding her unhappy face in the pillow with a hard, dry sob of angu ; sh. She heard the girl clatter down the stairs, and she prayed that she mieht indeed he left alone in her misery. She know that no one would come to het until after the dinner was over, anc dreaded the kindness of any of th« wormen who might come to her then. The picture rose in her mind of th« dinner table at Old Hall, the shining glass and gleaming silver, the glorious flowers, the open windows to the cool, dark gardens, the twitter of birds, and the song perhaps of a nightingale, the peace and sweet calm of the dear old place. Mab was there, and—and Captain Willoughby, who had taught her what love meant, an<i then—then cut her to the heart with liis. faithlessness.

The air grow dark, the stars cam* out, and no one came near her, foi there was a special fete on at RegentT Park, and everyone was » hurryinj through dinner to be off to it, Irene and her headache wore forgotten, And though she had wished to b< alone, now that they had left her so. the girl felt still more unhappy anc neglected, and lay there longing foi Mab to hold her hot hands in hers, am whisper brave encouraging words ii her ear. But Mab had her owi troubles to face, as well as bearing t good share of her sister’s, and life t lier had become a puzzle, and tb pieces were hard to put together sh< was discovering, and 6he, too, wai wondering about the future, anG whether it would not be the wiser thing to leave Old Hall and begin all over again. (To be continued.)