THE SECOND MRS FAIRFAX

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12528, 18 August 1926, Page 9

THE SECOND MRS FAIRFAX

PI BUSHED BY SPEC lAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY

MARY DREWE TEMPEST

[COPYRIGHT.]

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

CHAPTER I.—Colonel Fairfax welcomes his only son, Ronald, home on a short vacation from Oxford. He is anxious that tho boy should take to his stepmother. Henscheli, the butler, comes with an invitation to Ronald Fairfax to visit Mrs Fairfax in her boudoir. A vision of womanly beauty and grace entertains young Fairfax, accepts his demur at using the word. "Mother," and tells him to call her Margot, instead. The colonel is charmed at the apparent friendship between stepmother and eon. Next morning, after breakfast, a young girl bursts through the French window, kisses her godfather, the colonel, and is introduced to the young wife. Then the colonel tells Diana and Ronald to clear out. Alone with Ills wife he says it is his wish that Ronald should marry Diana Falconer. Margot asks what will become of her ? He says she will bo amply Srovided for, and there is the Dower [ouse for her, but, of course, then she would be a widow. She raises brimming eyes to his at the bare thought of such a happening. Diana and Ronald talk together, and the young man takes umbrage at the way in which Diana speaks of his stepmother. After all, she is a Fairfax now. Thoy quarrel. Diana relates the episode to her aunt, and Mrs Falconer advises her to put her hair up and cultivate dignity. Mrs Fairfax decides to motor Ronald to the station. Diana, on horseback, sings out "Goodbye" as the car whirls past. Margot promises Ronald to let him know how his father goes on. Sir Philip Welwyn asks Diana, “Who is that woman?" and Diana says it is the second Mrs Fairfax. “Do you know her, Sir Philip?”

CHAPTER II. —Sir Philip Welwyn's thoughts have gone back into the far past at the sight of the second Mr* Fairfax. In a gambling saloon ho hears once more his fair companion aak him for a cheque for “JJSOOO to keep my mouth shut." He lies to Diana as he answers that he has never seen Mrs Fairfax before. Ten minutes later they aro chatting gaily with Mrs Falconer, Diana's aunt. Ronald receives a letter from his father, who asks his »on to entertain his step-mother during the "eights." On the point of departure from Oxford Margot makes love to her step-sin and pins on his coat three white violets tied with one of her hairs. As Margot pours forth to him her misery at being married to his father, and implies her love for him, Ronald drops the violets and sets his heel on them. "Xet us make sure of that train," he says. Mrs Falconer urges that Sir Philip Welwyn and her niece, Diana, should accept the Charteris invitation. They do so and have a gay time. Hugh Charteris is lit love with Diana. His sister, Cynthia, entertains Sir Philip. CHAPTER. IL—Continued. When the rest of the party scattered, after their host’s Declaration of Independence, Diana found she had to wait some ten minutes, while Charteris sped a parting guest. She dawdled to the window, and idly watched various pairs making for various destinations. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of two familiar figures vanishing over a fold in the meadows. “Looks as if my warning’s had the opposite effect,” she mused. “Ready? Then let’s lose no time.” She turned with, a smile as Ohaiteris, in immaculate white flannels, joined her. “Now for that Kingfisher; hunt,” she said. The particular pair of those rare and beautiful birds which had fired the girl’s desire to have a peep at their nest, haunted the secluded hackwater, for which they were'bound. But those flashing jewels need not have turned a single brilliant feather in worry, for the punt did not move from the shady anchorage under a weeping willow, to which Charteris had moored it two hours beforb. It was six now, for time passes so quickly in a solitude a deux. Both its occupants were too deeply engrossed in tangled human affairs to give even a backward thought to birds, for Diana was receiving her first proposal. Ever since her hair went up—nearly two long months ago—she had rehearsed six imaginary refusals, one “wait-and-see,” and one acceptance. It was the middle sort she was dealing with first. “I’ve been iu love .with you for ages, Diana, and longing to tell you so.” “I know.” It wasn’t in the least like the rehearsal, but Diana was instinctively an honest soul. She was lying snuggled among gailyhued cushions, one hand trailing in the water, the other behind her halfturned head, and under the flopping river-hat, try as he would Charteris could only see the tip of a freckled nose. That wasn’t good enough for a lover his hand deftly snatched away that inconsiderate headgear and, as her sunshiny eyes looked up in laughing protest, he said contritely: “Sorry, dear; but I’ve got to see my answer in your face; voices don’t always speak the truth. It’s no news to you that I adore you . . . I—l know you don’t care quite so much for me, but I’ll be content if only you care enough to marry me.” Charteris, the courtier, was in deadly earnest now, and he couldn’t suppress the torment of uncertainty in Jiis eyes. “Answer me, .Diana, I am neither a cad nor a coward, so don’t mind saying what you must say—sooner or later.” Diana gave him a troubled glance, then hastily looked away. She was not enjoying this proposal half as much as she had anticipated, for she so hated hurting those she cared for. A great sadness swept all the sunshine from her eyes. Ho looked into her face and read his answer there—just as he had said he would. “Well, dear?” was all he said.

The girl’s glanoj strayed to the other bank, where a pair of lovers in a Canadian canoe seemed so lost in a Paradise of their own making that they wore quito oblivious of curious eyes from passing boats. Tho dappled sunshine played hide-and-seek in the goldy-brown hair tumbled above her brows, beneath which clumpy, curly lashes aid their best to hid© the conflict going on in her musing eyes. Charteris waited in troubled silence. s “Girls hav© rotten luck sometimes,” said Diana at last, “they have to pretend and pretend—and never put out a hand to grasp at happiness. They have much more choice in the acquisition of. a frock than in that of a husband —it’s all so horriblv unfair!” She sat up. “This is how a girl chooses her clothes: ‘T want to see some afternoon frocks,’ she’ll say. “ ‘Certainly, mocldom; what colour, material, and style docs moddom fancy?* I “Particulars of requirements given. 1 tho girl makes a careful choice, and !out of perhaps twenty creations finds a duck of a frock that suits her down to—the ground, sounds too demode, doesn’t it? so I’m driven to say down fo her knees, and she returns chea elle perfectly satisfied. _ “It was just as we came within

sight of Alexandria that I asked her to be mv wife.

“She laughed in my face; then I suppose my look frightened her, for she turned her enchanting eyes upon me with an assumption of surprise and pity. ‘Oh, Sir Philip,’ she drawled, ‘didn’t, you know ? lam going out to India to be married. I’m really most frightfully sorry.’ “I got off at Alexandria, and there I walked about all day—to hell and back—with a dried-up organ in my breast that had once been a heart. Sho killed my faith in women, little Cynthia—just to save herself from boredom, did you ever hear such a piffling reason for breaking a man’s belief in human goodness? That was five years ago—and ever sKTcfi the world has been empty of w’omen —Tar me.”

There was naked misery In his eyes as he reviewed those devastated years. “Philip, all women are not like that.” She had slipped from her seat and was standing close to him with hands tightly clasped under her chin, those lately-lighted lamps in her eyes blotted out with unshed tears. Her tender voice vibrated, with the wonderful inflection that a true woman reserves for the only man that counts with her. The heart he thought was dead stirred again, and, with a mighty impulse, he stifled with difficulty a mad craving to take her into his arms and tell her of that rising tide of passion that threatened all- his defences. Like many another wanderer through the storms of life, he had misread the signals. The girl was offering him love, radiant with the dews of youth and innocence, and he, poor fool 1 took her tears and tremors for pity. Pity !—while his love for her flooded his own moribund heart, thrilling it into new and passionate life.

“Cynthia,” he asked, humbly, “do you think that people may sometimes marry for other Sentiments than love —such as respect, or pity ,and he happy?” “No!” the girl said sharply. The word dropped like the note of a passing bell. “Forgive me, little girl,” he said. “The question was an outrage.” The stark misery in his .voice stung her to a rush of tears.

“There can he no substitute for love —when one dreams of marriage,” she said, very gently. Those lamps were steadily shining again, their name was love, but he called them pity! “In the choice of a husband—that phrase is all wrong; she does not choose, she accepts or refuses one particular man on one particular occasion. A man offers himself, she likes him best of all—when there’s no “all” to choose from ? “And, often enough, there’s a man in the shop window of life who would have suited her perfectly, but she cannot Buy to the conventions: “ ’Before I decide on this offer, please let me 6ee the man in the window—he may be more mv kind.’ Conventions would be scandalised. Certainly not,’ they’d say, ‘you must shut your eyes to the rest of our stock until you have made up your mind as to the one under consideration.’ “So the girl accepts or declines the one who has offered—chancing her luck* Sometimes she accepts the wrong man and meets the right one—just too late, poor, poor soul 1 Sometimes she refuses the right man—because she fancies the cut of the one in the window ■ —whose real value she’s had no opportunity of proving.” Diana clasped her hands about her knees, gazing out into the shining river with perplexed and sorrowful eyes. “Then—there’s somebody else?” Diana swung round. “No—there’s the difficulty, there may be somebody else.” She hesitated, then took the plunge. “I like you most, awfully, Hughie, but should that other man—in the shop window—prove himself to be the loyal lover of my dreams after I’d got engaged to you, then I should either break my heart—-or yours.” He took both her hands between his own and put a halting question:— “You—care for this chap, Diana?” Sho looked up into his face with a wondering: “I don’t really know, Hughie, dear, but—-I’m afraid I do.” Too late sho realised the importance of her admission, and wriggled her hands out of his barely in time to hide a flood of tears. Charteris was chivalry iself, he waited till she grew calm, then took her hands again and raised them to his lips. “I understand, dear, and I shall wait till you tell me the issue—in the hope that I may ask you again.” Diana choked back a sob. “It sounds so unfair,” she began. “Oh, no, it isn’t. I am good at waiting, and ” with a whimsical smile, “there’s no person in the shop window for me.” “You dear,” she said, greatly cam. forted. “We must hurry back now, or we’ll be ever so late, and your mother won’t forgive me if we keep dinner waiting.” They chatted gaily as they paddled down stream. As they landed and hurried along, Charteris said a gallant thing. “Forget all the pain I have caused you, dear. I shall not refer to it again. I’ll help ... in any way I can, but, till your wedding day, I shall wait in hope.” In the hall an old Army officer, hob. bling on his way to the smoking-room, stopped to look twice at Diana’s face. “Had any luck. Miss Falconer?” he asked, as Charteris, who had paused to attend a servant’s inquiry, came to her aide again. He answered for her. “Our luck was dead out,” he said airily. “Although we searched all afternoon, the quest of the elusive kingfisher proved a wash-out. Miss Diana complains that I took her to the Wrong place, and is very peeved about it.” Diana laughed. She had recovered hor aplomb. “Don’t believe a word of it, Colonel,” she said. “Mr Charteris is much too lazy to exert himself like that. I# that the dressing bell?” and she flew upstairs, while Charteris courteously accompanied his guest, tho inquisitive Colonel, on Ins interrupted journey to tho haven where he would be. Diana was her old gay self at dinner, and was ready to parry various insinuations re “The Hunting of the Snarlr,” hurled at her curly head from all parts of the table. Morning brought the inevitable "sweet sorrows of parting,” and leavetaking became general. Diana and Sir Philip were tho last to go, and all the family, which included some relations who were stay-

ing on, came to the gate to see them ofi.

Charteris, aa host, availed himself of his privilege to have a last monopoly of Diana. As they strolled up and dawn while waiting for the oar, they caught a glimpse of Sir Philip in tho shrubbery, also pacing to and fro —but he had no fair maid to bear him company and seemed lost in moody thought. “Odd chap, Welwyn,” remarked Charteris, “and not too sociable, eh? Of course, one generally feels looeeendy just before leaving, but not looser endy all by oneself.” “He’s a dear, all the same,” commented Diana, “and Muzzie and I are going to miss him most frightfully.” “I daresay,” drily, “but I’m not too sorry he’s off to Jamaica—to-morrow, is it? He’s been paying too much attention to Cynthia for my liking?” A red spot began to glow in Diana’s cheek. “Too much?” she said, her chin in the air, “and what is .wrong with Sir Philip Welwyn as a parti, if I, as his hostess, may ask that?” “Wrong, dear? why nothing on earth. He’s good enough for any girl, as far as I can judge, and to judge from your partisanship,’ too good for most. What I meant was just this. I want Fairfax as a husband for her.” “Cold, dear,” for Diana was shivering. “No—no—hut tell me,” feverishly, “does Ronald care for Cynthia?” The words dragged themselves from Diana’s white lips. Charteris mused. “I am not dead certain, but he likes her, anyway. I believo a lot in propinquity, Diana—it’s my idea that that lengthy word expresses the true reason for half the happy endings there are. But for the opportunities afforded by propinquity there would be precious few ‘A marriage has been arranged,’ announcements in tile ‘Morning Post.’ ” “Fairfax is a great churn of mine.

and nothing would please me bettec. That’s why I have invited him here for a week at the close of term.” “And he-s accepted?” Diana’s voice sounded thm and reedy. _ “Yes, dear; he’s coining straight here—ah—the car at last!” There was quite a little crowd round it as Diana and Sir Philip got in, and a great deal of laughing farewells. At the very last minute Cynthia came, raised a still face for Diana’s kiss, then turned to Sir Philip! He sprang to the ground at Bight of her, and stood bareheaded as he took her cold little hand in his. Diana, drawn to them by spme irre sistible impulse, wondered why they spoke no word till she saw the look on Cynthia’s face as he stopped to kise her hand—then she wondered no more. Through the long journey homewards there was little conversation, for both Sir Philip and Diana were lost in tho separate mazes of their separate worlds, both seeking signposts to guide their wandering feet, for—all the land-marks had shifted. How glad they were to reach their journey’s end and receive a warm welcome from an apparently convalescent mother! And the stains and dust of travel removed, did ever tea taste more delicious. As they ate and drank they regaled Mrs Falconer with a resume of their many little galas, and she, glancing from one face to the other, tried to weave another story altogether out of what little material they furnished. There was a subtlo change in Diana—a change with which she could not come to grips, and Sir Philip and she were far too chummy for poor Mrs Falconer’s contentment. “Are they both failing her?” she groaned within herself. “I had hoped so much from this visit. Poor little Di wlil be nil alone when the colonel goes, and my time is so short!” ' (To be continued^