DON’T PLAY WITH LOVE

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12507, 24 July 1926, Page 10

DON’T PLAY WITH LOVE

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY

PIERRE COSTELLO,

Author of “The Man Who Paid,” “A Sinner in Israel/’ “Tainted Lives,” dec., &c. [COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER XIII. “A little more of this delicious lobster, darling?” asked Maitland. And Sybil started and beamed upon him and took another helping. And so it went on. She played her part superbly. She was a consummate actress. She was never so great as at this time when her conscience was tearing her soul to tatters and grim fear and apprehension were plunging led hot irons into her very being. Memory tormented her, conscience, and all that was good in her, tortured her with doubt and suspicion. Yet over and above all. riding supreme, was her strangely subtle earth self that conquered. Maitland never suspected. Her varying moods made her the more attractive. She was like an April day of infinite variety. She intoxicated him. She was elusive. He rever seemed t« l>e able to capture the real, the permanent woman in her. She was a hundred different women. She was never the same and yet she was wholly and utterly desirable. But though she laughed and talked gaily and seemed to bosk' in the sun, the woman who called herself Bettina Maitland went down in the still watches of the night to the very nethermost profundities of hell. Oddly enough that was because she loved Maitland—loved him as she had never before loved man or woman. Her love of Maitland was as a red hot fire, burning intensely, white-heat, purifying. Two or three days before their departure for England, Mnrjorio. in one of her long letters to Bettina, said: “Ralph’s father is in London for ten days. I am so glad you will be back before he returns to the country. 1 haven’t met him yet. Bo ask him and Ralph to a meal. AVliat about Thursday? I gather that you will be bark next Tuesday.’' So Bettina, after consultation with Maitland, fixed up a dinner party for tho next Thursday, which just then seemed to bo years ahead and hardly worth troubling about. Bettina was a good deal better when she got back to England. Time had wrought its eternal miracle. She was getting back her confidence. Grim Bear was receding. Hone and eternal Youth were reawakening in her veins. She was genuinely eager to see her Marjorie again. She almost bored Maitland with her plans for Marjorie and Ralph’s future. Siie schemed to make tho little dinner party at which tlio Reverend Ambrose Cornish was to make his debut, as it were, a conspicuous success. Mr and Mrs Corbett were to be asked—bad been asked, as a. matter of fact, Grisel Sheldon and her mother. Mr Mcnzics a fiend ot Maitland and several other intimates —a party of twelve, six men and six women. Bettina seemed far more interested in this dinner party than she had been in anything during the past month. Maitland was amiably amused and allowed himself to be drawn into discussions not only as to the guests but even as to the menu. “As long as you have oysters and partridge, I don’t care what.else you fix up,” lie said. Their home coming was quite a family celebration. Marjorie and Ralph ntid Corbett and Grisel Sheldon and Pitcher and Tomlin and Spears, the chauffoui, all met them at the station. It was a right royal reception. And thru tho old comfortable spacious life recommenced. Jt. was so good to be back again in London, with the well-oiled wheels of the household, the thoroughly competent servants. the sense of homo and solidity. Bettina expanded. She became herself again. And

Maitland admitted that there was no place like home and did not talk so much about the Italian villa, for next •winter or the projected tour round the world. After all was said and done, what was the matter with Westminster?

On Thursday evening just before eight o’clock Maitland and his wife and Marjorie awaited their guests in the drawing-room. There was an air of expectancy about tho household and, bo it confessed as will be understood by those who live in flats, a distinct atmosphere of cooking. Mrs Sheldon and her daughter were the first arrivals. Mrs Sheuion was a little white-haired lady ot exceptional charm, Grisel was a tall and good looking bloncle girl of twenty, or thereabouts, who was constitutionally unable to live, move and have her being in more than on© idea at a time. It was either all Early Italian Art, or els© it was tennis, or Alpine sports, or Edwardian poetry, or dancing—dancing was the obsession of the moment, dancing and nothing else. She almost fox-trotted into the room. The door bell rang again and masculino voices were heard in the hall. “That’s Ralph and his father,” exclaimed Marjorie excitedly, rushing impetuously out to greet them. Maitland felt impelled to follow her and welcome th© older man on his first visit to his home. He found a tall, ascetic looking clergyman divesting himself of hat and inverness cloak with the assistance of Tomlin. “My father, sir,” said young Cornish. Maitland shook hands with Mr Cornish senior, and at first glance felt that he liked the amiable ecclesiastic. “I’m quite a country bumpkin, Mr Maitland.” said the priest. “Hardly ever venture as far as London town nowadays. It’s very good of yon to put up. with me. I have heard such a lot of you from my hoy that I feel I know you.”

pleased you have come,” said Maitland.

“And,” went on Mr Cornish, “T feci that I shall he more at home inasmuch as I have already the honour of knowing your wife. It will he a great pleasure to see her again after all these years.” Maitland felt something tingle through him like an electric shock.

“You know my wife?” he said faintly.

“It was years ago,” said the parson smilingly pleasantly. “Many years ago; but 1 have a very vivid remembrance of her. She was a dear little thing, a dainty little Dresden Shepherdess. All, well, I suppose I shall see a change.” “Come into my study.” said Maitland abruptly, and speaking in a curious, hoarse voice, “Would you like an npertif—some sherry—-or—a cocktail.” “’Pon my soul, 57 exclaimed Air Cornish, his eyes twinkling, “I really believe I will allow myself to he tempted. I haven't had a cocktail for—well, I luit© to remember the lapse of time. Do you guarantee to look after me if J succumb tr> its unaccustomed efforts ? TVs. it must he at least twenty-five—no twenty-six years ago that I prepared your wife for her Confirmation. f was n pale young curate then/ 1 Mail land almost forced Mr Cornish into his study and closed the door. Marjorie and Ralph had gone to the drawing-room. “I can’t tell you how much I am

.lookvni: ionwinl to meeting Mr* Maitland again.’* (To be Continued.)