HEART AND SWORD.

Otago Witness, Issue 2356, 20 April 1899, Page 49

HEART AND SWORD.

,' —'■ ♦ By JOHN STRANGE WINTER,

Author of " Bootle's Baby," " Beautiful Jim," " A Magnificent Young Man," " A Born Soldier," " The Colonel's Daughter," " The Soul of the Bishop," " The Other Man's Wife," " Regimental Legends," '" Cavalry Life," " Strange Story of My Life," " H» Went for a Soldier," '• Mignon's Husband," oto. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER XXII. GIFFORD COX. BOUT a month after the arrangements wera mode between Aubrey Brandon and Miss Mallinder for continuing the Grosvenor Theatre the White Horse were moved from Northtowers to Ireland. They had _ expected to go to Aldershot, which would have suited Gregory Alison to a nicety ; the route, however, when it came, was for the Emerald Isle, and it must be confessed that his first instinct was one of vexation that he had not done as Kit wished and exchanged the service for the theatre. It was, however, too late to make any change, without wishing to confess himself the most changeable and fickle of men ; but none the less the orders for Ireland were but little less unpalatable than would have bee? the cast? had they been orders for India. The new play had been but a. partial success. The great- part, M-hkh was to outshine " Prudence Pasturell "' did not appeal to the play-going public. Of course, with a theatre so well established and an actress of such distinction, the management were sure of keeping the theatre full for a certain time, but 'at the time tvhen Gregory was due to leave JSTorthtoweis for the Distressful Country, Kit was already dsev in th.> rehearsal of a new production. It was for both hei and Aubrey~ Brandon a most trying and anxious period, and for th" first time Kit was glad that Gregory had not yielded to her wishes v,nd thrown up his commission in order to become one of the managers oi the (ivoivenov Theatre. She never told a soul what -,vas in her mind, but her thoughts ran something like thiji : "If the worst comes to the worn, I am always sure of £40 or £50 » week ni- the very least ; if Gregory has hia own place in his regiment, he will be satisfied so long as I iieep my dramatic place. If he had failed at this management, lie would never have forgiven himself and would always have blamed himself and fancied that I was blaming him. So ifc is better as it is ; it has all turned- onfc for the best." To Aubrey Brandon she spoke very differently. " Look here," she said ; " perhaps I ought to have told you before my idea— which- has never altered— as to the reason why the new play has not succeeded. There is too much ranting for the heroine and there is too little to do for the hero. It went down once with the public, in ' Prudence,' but what will go down once does not necessarily go down twice. That play is too much on the lines of ' Prudence Pasturell,' without the spice of wickedness which carried everything before it. Now, in the new play you have practically the some idea — which is all heroine. Can"!/ you write up the man's part?" ' Of course I can." "And why shouldn't you. With Lawrence Callaghan things were different. He was a good actor, a sound, mediocre, picturesque, melodious person ; there wasn't the smallest little trace ot genius In hin* ; everything depended upon mo, and Lawrence Callaghan was shrewd enough to realise that. But with Gifford Cox you have a man of a totally different stamp. He ;s full of fire, of electricity, Inimming over with genius; and he is dawdKiiy about the stage, making ey?p at a pretentious little hussy who wanta slapping badly." '•' You are a wonderful woman/ * aaid Aubrey Brandon. *" I don't believe there's ariothe: woman on the stage who would wish another pa %> b than her cvn to be written up." "Nonsense! I want to make the tneatre go ; I want' to make money, I want to have a big success; I want to feel the whole play on fire! But you must give tin hero something to light his torch with; at present he has nothing ; he is like a mute at a funeral."

By dint of a few such conversations Kit contrived to work her will upon Aubrey Brandon's new play, and Gifford Cox, who could hardly believe his good fortune when he found that the part assigned to him was, by Miss Mallinder's desire, to be written up into a part of the first magnitude, flung himself into his work with an ardoiu only equal to hers.

" You are magnificent," she cried, "magnificent ! This will take London by storm ! Don't you see the difference, Aubrey?" "Of course, I see the difference, > but I didn't think you would like it like this." ' Gifford Cox turned and looked at her, a look of significance which was not lost upon the dramatic author.

'' Miss Mallinder is above all such petty coi,&iderations of jealousy, Mr Brandon," said he, quietly. "I see that she is. I "might have known her well enough to make sure of it before. As it is the play will go like wildfire.'" And the play did. By the time Gregory Alison got settled down in his new quarters, the press war once more ringing with the beauty, the genius, and the success of Miss Mallinder, the actress, and there was also a good deal for the jourralist to say about the new actor, Gifford Cox.

Wow, it is just a chance whether those associated together in one theatre will remain on what I may call professional terms or whether they will become iiHimnleg apart fiom tUe ueedb of their art. With Aubrey

Brandon, although he was her partner Miss 'Mallinder never became in the smallest degree intimate or upon any footing other than that of her fellow manager.' For one thing, there jwas a Mrs Aubrey Brandon — -a lady who had been a sdubrette in her, youth and had made more or less mistakes in her matrimonial ventures. Mrs Aubrey Brandon was a person whom it would hava been impossible to invite to a dinner party, but occasionally Aubrey Brandon lunched with Kit at the Belvedere, when some mattei of business necessitated^ a more private conversation than they usually had in tho theatre. With Gifford Cox it %fss otherwise. "Very soon after the 'production of " A Harvest of Roses," as the second play produced under the double management at the Grosvenor was called, the Duchess ot Aberdeen intimated to Kit that she would like to meet him, and such a wish being almost equal to a command. Kit promised to make an early occasion when she might do so. ,

It happened in "A Harvest of Roses ' that there was a very beautiful scene in which the two principal players had a few minutes when tliey sat as spectators of <t village dance. The stage directions enjoined them to talk interestedly together, and Kit, being an 'artist to her finger tip ; s, always took. this chance of appearing to i>i showing the deepest interest in her companion. The first time that Gregory got a. few days' leave wns at the very end of the season. It happened that he had never seen Gifford Cox before. The' only tinm that ho had been able to rush up to town to see the play with which they had started management ais part had been played by his understudy, owing to indisposition. Kib had not spoken of him specially, and although he had read the reviews which \ii.r\ given him such superb notices and spoken of him as the coining man, he was not prepared for such a man as he found playing the principal part in " A Harvest of Rcses." That night Kit outshone herself. Her part was that of a woman passionately in love, with a man who is bound to another — whom she knows to be bound to another; and more than once Gregory found himself watching the progress of the play with clenched hands and fury la his heart, and an irresistible desire stealing over him to jump down upon the stage and try definite conclusions with Gifford Cox as to which of them war the better man.

'Well?" snid Kit, when/ he camu round to her dressing room — "Well?"

" Oh, it is a fine play," he said unhesitatingly. "Whero did you pick up the man?"

" Gifford Cox? Oh, he was a rind of Aubrey Brandon's. Isn't he splendid?" '" Yes, I suppose he is. I don't know thnc I care about that impassioned style myself, but the fellow can act; he's been in the seivice, too."

"Oh, you saw that, did you?" "Of course I saw it. What regiment was he in?"

" I really don't know," said Kit. " I never asked him. I don't see much of him except on thS stage. He cape to tea the other day to meet the Duchess, otherwise I have not spoken to him half a dozen time*."

"Now what," said Gregory, "were you calking about during that dance?" Kit laughed gaily. " You know, dear," sh-i said, with a long breath, " that is the most difficult thing to do of all that comes into one's life — to pretend that you a'-e deeply interested when j'ou are only making believe all the time. To tell you the truth ho was saying — to-night — that Hirondelle's Pastilles are nothing but burnt treacle, and a little coal tar. with sugar to taste, and a few drops of vanilla jus>L to give them a flavour."

Gregory burst out laughing. "By Jove, and I might have eaten my head off with jealousy ! You looked as if yon -were planning an elopement at the very least; you looked as if you might have been saying anything." " Oil, yes, we might iiave been — but we weren't, dearest. Did you see him look 16 you?"'

' 1 saw hini look out &t the houso several times."

"Ah, he was looking for jou. I tuLl him you vere here, and he said he couldn't understand that } r ou didn't give up the v,rvice and take to the stage." " Is he married?" Gregory asked. " Upon my word I don't know. 1 suppose ho —they mostly .'ire ; but 1 *iever asked' him, and he nevei told me. 1 '

She slipped into a voluminous mantle of thin dark silk profusely trimmed wjth black lace.

'" Now, I am ready," she said. " Marguerite, just make quite su:e there :u'e no letters for me before I go." As the woman went out of the- room, Gregory caught hold of her. ■ " ;So it was ail make-believe, va'< it?' Ilie said, looking down upon her with' a passionate light in his eyes. "Make-believe, (Jreg ; what do you mean?" "All that between you and Cox." She gave a little half-gay, half-coquet-tish laugh. " Make-believe of the make-believest," she answered. " Did you think, even for 4 moment, that it was real?" •"Well, I confess that I felt once 01 twice " "As if you would like to break hif head?" " I did." V That is splendid : because so long as I can make them all think fha< — and if J can make you think bo, it ought tc be easy to deceive the general public —that means that the theatre will be full, keep full and brimming over, for as many month:, as we like to keep open. That is f4iffo;'d Cox's great gift — he makes love as 1 Ha meant it ; talks to one as if his whole heart" was at one's feet, as if hi': smi! w:n hanging on one's next word; and all Ilia time he is telling one about Hirondolle's Pastilles! Anybody can make leal love, there is no acting ' mi that, but (_<i make love that looks real and isn't if genius, worth it* wuighl in gold. Dear old boy. you couldn't havu said anything to please me better ! ' The very next iuj{hl f however, when tilt

village dance came on, Gifford Cox asked Miss. Mallinder a question. The two were Seated upon a xustic bench set upon a charming terrace walk which ran at the back of the stage. It was set corner-wise ; feo that although they were at the back of the scene they were not very far from the footlights. His part was to draw her in fcubtle fashion along the terrace, talking : as they went, to plainly coax her along, and to draw her to the seat almost against her will. * "I ought not to be here with you," Her lines ran.

"No, no, I know it? but the others are

Jill occupied, they take no heed of us." I And then the music began and the dance on the lower terrace commenced, and the little by-play between the two followed. i "Did the hrsband like the play?" he fcsked.

" Oh, yes, of course he did ; how could he help himself? He is delighted with it," she replied. "Is he here to-night?" "No, not to-night; he is dining with a jtiaan at his club." f "If I were your husband, just over for a few days' leave," said he, "I should 'come every night." I He was holding her hands in his — by the .exigencies of the play — and bending very ■near to her to speak in the usual loverlike fashion. She laughed outright. 1 "Oh, that would be too foolish," she cried. j. "If I were your husband I should be foolish," he persisted. ' '' Ah, well ; well, you are not my husfoand, and perhaps it is just aa well for you. By the bye, Mr Cox," with a sudden change of tone, "I have never seen your .wife. What is she like? "

He held her hands closer. He had to do

it in the play, you understand — close up against his breast, and she to smile archly at him, and seem as if his love-making .were not wholly distasteful to her. "I have no wife," he said, roughly ; and as he held her hands against his breast she could feel the beating of his heart beneath them. "What l You are not married? What % pity!" "The only woman that I ever saw whom I should like to marry is not free." And then, before she could reply, he bad his cue to continue his part in the play. ' "Dearest," he had to say, rising and drawing her with him along the terrace, /'you take too earnest a view of^life ; it is not all sad, it is not all work and trial and endeavour. There should sometimes be enjoyment" — — I " You tempt me ! But no, listen ; they are coming. Do not betray me." i She sped away to her dressing room with ■ b new sensation about her , heart strings. • .Surely he ..was only trying to act. up to .the. part; he did not mean those words 'for her. Oh,' no, it was -preposterqus ; she •would not think of it agajn ; and "for the rest she would be chilly, dignified, distant. [But it is not easy to be chilly and dignified and distant when you have to play a /part in which passion takes the lead, and iGifford Cox had never in his life before .played as he played that night. It was as if he were playing for the stake of her soul. \Again and again they were called before the curtain. And then, at the end, Aubrey Brandon 'came round to her dressing room and told her that without doubt Gilford Cox was improving day by day. " Snelson was in the theatre to-night," he said, vexedly. "For once I wish that he had played worse. Of course Snelson wants him for that new play of Girado's he is bringing out. Snelson and Girado were together — I could see them laying their heads against one another, and whispering and jotting down things. You'll see, they jivill get him from us if it's possible." "Well, let him. go," said Kit. And yet Something in her heart said that she did xiot mean the words ; something m her. beart told her that no consideration of Walary would take Gifford Cox away from the Grosvenor Theatre.

" Let him go ! " echoed Aubrey Brandon. "Why, my dear girl, it would be the ruin of the play. Of course he is bound to us, and he is not likely to find a finer part ; but if they tempt him with £50 'or £60 a week — which they are quite capable of doing — he wouldn't be human if he did not try to get out of his agreement. " XJpon one thing we must be agreed, and that is that we cannot let him go for any mere matter of money. I really think I liad better tell him in the morning that yre will raise his salary." " Don't," said Kit ; " wait till he hints kfc it." Aubrey Brandon looked at her admir"What fa business head you've got," he said.

And Kit sighed, knowing very well that it was not business, but a more personal reason which had kept her from falling in .with his ideas.

' Not a little to her surprise, Gregory did not come for her tffiit evening. Usually, if he were not in the theatre he was always there at closing time , but on that particular night she only received a note scrawled in pencil. "Hope you won't mind," it said ; " shall Xiot be home just yet. Going on to a tehow with Mayor." She thrust the note into her pocket, feelIng strangely desolate. Of course she knew that Lord Mayor was a great friend of Gregory's ; still, that he should go on anywhere with him without thinking of her struck her with a sense of chill, and of pain. Then there was a sharp rap at the door, and Aubrey Brandon came rushing In. "Whai did I tell you? :> he exclaimed. " I knew what they had come for ! I met Wilkins just now with Snelson's card and a message on it for Cox. Will he go and iup with him a*: the Savoy ? " ■ "How did you know?" asked Kft. "Because I read st, of course." 1 Dhf Well, I don't think you'll find that he "will go, Aubrey : not if we make it worth his -while to stay. *But the great question ia said Aubrey Brandon, '"-rhafe will mane it wo;th ills vhiie/ That is.vhe question. ' JTq bs continued.)