PLAYING THE GAME.

Otago Witness, Issue 2818, 18 March 1908, Page 106

PLAYING THE GAME.

Br E. Bitrrowes

The fire was blazing well, leaping up the wide, old chimney with hungry spurts of flame, yet Bruce Furneaux attacked it fiercely with the poker. It was an outlet for his overwrought feelings, and when at last the angry clatter had ceased, he felt distinctly better. Yet — with a look of apprehension he glanced over his shoulder lest anyone should have been a witness of his ebullition of temper — the anyone that mattered being Nina. But Nina" was still upstairs dressing for dinner. Outside a winter hurricane was raging, and now beat with a soft thud against warmly -curtained windows. It was a night on which one congratulated oneself upon being safely and comfortably housed, but no satisfaction shone in Bruce Furneaux's brooding eyes. "It's not cricket," he muttered to himself suddenly ; "it's not cricket — I know it. But I can't go away without saying something. When shall I see her again? Perhaps never." And the gloom deepened in his handsome eyes. A burst of laughter rang out from an upper region, . and he raised his head quickly. He would know Nina's gay voice among a thousand others. He moved irresolutely, then attacked the fire again with unnecessary vigour. "If only I might — it wouldn't V playing the game — but if only I ccuM go up to her now and say, 'Nina ' '' r "Well, what comes after 'Nina'? ' asued a gay voice, and he started up ir.Hu hia chair to find the subject of all his tliou^l u-

standing there, a delicious smile in her velvety ©yes. the firelight gleaming over her pretty white gown and drawing wondrously red tints from her curling hair. "Do go on — what were you going to say? You're not usually tongue-tied, Bruce !" The gibe passed him by. How easy it had been to talk and jest and laugh with Nina before that amazing discovery of his — the discovery that if he could not marry her no woman could ever pla-y any important part in his life. That without her his life was worth nothing. And the worst of it was he felt he had no right to ask her to tie herself to a lon,g and nopeless-looking engagement ; that he had no right to ask her to wait — ■ to waste the best years of her life waiting for him. That was what made him tonguetied before her. He knew — no one knew better — that Nina's mother looked to her pretty daughter to make what is popularly known as a "good match." With the girl's beauty and freshness and chances it was only what might be expected of her. And the Gordons wanted money — they always wanted money. It ran through their fingers like sand or water — and it now lay with Nina to help the failing fortunes of her people by making a rich marriage. Bruce knew all this— and it did not tend to make his outlook on life more cheerful. He was only at the beginning of his career at the Bar, and briefs flowed but slowly up the dusty stairs to his chambers ; and for him, too, it would mean a lon,g waiting — weary work always for a woman. "You've lost your tongue, Bruce!" He looked up from the dancing, flames and met Nina's smiling eyes. "I -was dreaming," he confessed ; "a shokking bad habit, Nina. You are really going back to town to-morrow?" She nodded ; he thought she sighed. "Yes— but only till Christmas. That is not long. I hate London." ''Perhaps we may meet there later on," he said. "I've got to run down to gee Sir Richard Bellew for a few days ; but — what's the matter, Nina?" "Do you know Sir Richard Bellew? Is he — is he really so very rich? I met him this last season in town. Father likes him so much." "He's not a bad sort," said Bruce, with a laugh — "rather 5 a rough old diamond, but as rich as Crcasus, and kind-hearted. He's my godfather. But I have never seen much of Tiini. He must be getting on in years now, too. Why did you ask if I knew him, Nina?" "Oh, nothing," she said evasively, with a faint little smile ; ''I only wondered — I wish he wasn't so rich, Bruce — I wish he wasn't!" Her words rang in his' ears all the way to Clinton Court, where Sir Richard Bellew, his godfather, lived in solitary splendour. What on earth was the meaning of them ? What had Sir Richard to do with hea', unless — a. wild, horrible, impossible thought flashed upon him. but he thrust it away fiercely. The thing was out of the question — why, Sir Richard must be over 60 — a> martyr to gout and an irascible temper. That mea that Mrs Gordon might have marked him down — rich man and baronet — as a suitable husband foT her lovely daughter was simply horrible, yet he knew such things were done — such things had happened over and over again. And there must have been some reason for Nina's mysterious words. Clinton Court was a fine old Elizabethan house, and the winter sun wa6 shining very pleasantly upon its red front when Bruce arrived, to be welcomed by an lrreEroachable butler, who informed him, with tting gravity, that Sir Richard was keeping to his own Toom, and would be clad to see Mr Furneaux as soon as he nad lunched. Evidences of wealth and comfort were to be seen on every side. Wonderful pictures hung on the handsome panelled walls of hall, dining room, and library. Softest Turkey carpets covered the polished floors, ancient silver gleamed from sideboard and side tables, and when, after an excellent lunch, Bruce was conducted upstairs to the room in which Sir Richard was irritably nursing his gout, he could not repress an exclamation of admiration, for the view from the long windows of the corridor was unsurpassable, including red cliffs, a wide stretch of cold, blue sea, and- a fine headland away to the west standing up against a splendid sunset sky. In a big armchair drawn near the cheerful wood fire Sir Richard was sitting with the daily papers in a pile at his elbow. A man in attendance on him withdrew discreetly as Bruce came in. and the invalid raised hi 3 head sharply, looking with an almost unwilling smile at the pleasant face of his godson — the boy he had not seen for years — no longer, indeed, a boy. "How are you, Bruce?" he said, holding out his hand. "Sit down, do— this beastly cold weather has touched me up horribly. Most annoying, ac I wanted to go up to town this week — most particularly. But I'm glad to see you. It's good of you to come down to this dull place. How are thin,gs going with you, en?" , Bruce pulled a chair to the fire, and stretched out his legs to the pleasant warmth. "Pretty well, thanks," he said. "Nothing very much has come my way yet, but one must have patience — it's uphill work, but I'll succeed some day. But I should be asking afteT you, sir. I'm sorry to see you are tied by the leg. Were you coming up to town for long?" "Till Christmas— but I doubt if I'll get away yet — this gout is the very deuce. I ■was at the Brittains yesterday, but I had to cancel all my engagements; I didn't feel at all fit — frightened the village sawbones by fainting the other day. I believe he saw me a corpse in his mind's eye, but I'll cheat him yet. I'm tough enough — it's only this cold weather I can't stand." "You should go abroad, sir." Sir Richard laughed — then made a grimace as a twinge of sharp pain took liin suddenly. "So I will — so I will later on," he said with an ood sort of chuckle. "I won't go ,

alone, though. I suppose you'd think me mad, my boy, if I told you I was thinking of — getting married?' 1 "Mad, sir? Not a bit. Why shouldn't you marry? They say it's never too late to mend. And, of course, if you've found the right lady " ''I've found her. Theie's a certain disparity of years, but what does that matter? * If I can make her happy and comfortable — secure her against any fear of poveity, and so on — isn't it better for a pretty" girl to get a good home and an indulgent husband than .o fall in love with some penniless whipper-snapper, who will only make her wait for years, and then perhaps neglect her? That's how many a pretty young women has got into mischief before now, and Nina Gordon i 6 too charming a girl to meet with such a fate. Eh? What did you say?" Bruocfß lips tightened. So — it had come. All his fears had been more than justified. For a minute everything whirled lound him, then the mist cleared, and he saw the face of his godfather looking at him with curious eyes. He realised that the man was old — more than his 60 years in many ways ; — that it was a horrible idea to think of Nina — his pretty Nina — tied to a man old enough to be her grandfather. Yet — society would allow it — nay, more, would smile upon the union of May and December, and declare that the girl was making the match of the season. Wa6 not Sir Richard next door to a millionaire? And something of a celebrity to boot? He had everything on his side. "What did you say?" queried Sir Richard again irritably. "Can't you speak, man?"' "I was only going to say, sir," aaid Bruce, very dcliberatelv, "that Miss Gordon is — very young. She might find the life here — dull. 1 ' "You know her?'' "Well." "You admire her yourself, perhaps?" | Bruce was silent. Was it playing the game to confess to his love? "Was it, after all, fair to Sir Richard, for whom he had always had a boyish admiration and regard? ''Come — out with it, boy. You're in love with her, I suppose?" snapped Sir Richard, as Bruce said nothing for a minute. At that he raised his head. "Can you wonder — if I am?" he said simply ; "I think I've always loved her, sir." "Bless my soul ! Am I to look upon you as a rival then?" said Sir Richard with a comical air. "This promises to be like an Adelphi drama. I suppose you've spoken to her, eh?" "No, sir. It wouldn't be playing the game; You see, I answer only too well to your term. — a 'penniless whippersnapper.' I can't marry yet ; I won't ask her to waste the be&t years of her life waiting for me. My tongue is tied. You can give her everything — I can give her nothing except love. And one can't live on that."' - "No — one can't — one can't," said the older man musingly. Back into the past flew his memory — he looked back to a time when he would have counted the world well lost for love — when he would have moved- heaven and earth to win and marry the girl he loved, but poverty forbade him. And — she had married someone else! What no one ever knew was that Bruce Furneaux was her only son. And the fact that she had married Richard Pellew's greatest friend only made things more painful for him. He had lived down that old pain — but how it had hurt at the time ! How those memories still had power to sting even now. And heTe wa6 her boy — sweet Mary's "boy — actually a would-be rival. So strangely does Fortune's wheel turn ! ; ''And Nina herself," he said abruptly — ; "what does she think? Do you know?" Bruce hesitated. Before him rose Nina's frightened face — in his ears rang her faint, sweet voice. He remembered what she had said about the man who was watching him intently. " I wish he wasn't so lich, Bruce — I wish he wasn't !" Looking back with his present kuowledge, what a world of meaning was in those words ! " She cares," he said slowly, " I think — no, I'm sure of it, sir." "For you?" "Yes.'' There was a momentary silence. j " She cares for you, and you can't marry [ her; she doesn't care for me, and I can i marry her to morrow — her people are entirely on my side." said the older man, grimly. " Oh ! I know, my boy — I know what they want — what every matchmaking mother has wanted from me for years. I escaped them all — but now — well, the girl is charming— l'd love her like my own daughter. I can do much for her — murh to lighten her future, at any rale. Only I —ryou step between ! It won't make much difference to you, as far as I am concerned, 3'ou know. That was partly why I sent for you — to tell you that any marriage I may* make will make no real difference to you. You're not forgotten in my will, Bruce. But I must think it over. I must think it over." " You're tired, eir. Shall I send Wi'son to you?" "No — I don't want him at present. Make yourself at home, my boy, — and, if you care to, take out one of the motors, either of them is at your disposal. I hope you'll stay with me for a few days. I'm a lonely man, Bruce — a lonely man." The few days sped pleasantly enough at Clinton Court. And Bruce saw a good deal of his godfather, who, before he left, was able to hobble downstairs oil his servant's arm ; but he looked dull and delicate, and the sudden cold seemed to try him severely. Not- another word was said on the subject of itfina Gordon: hut. when he was leaving, Sii P. u Laid preyed Bruce's hand warmly, avl promised to look him up the following we-ok, when he hoped to be in London. Ard Bruce felt his heart sink within him. What -w.s to

bar pen —then? The question haunted him all the way back to town. • • • . . r "Wear your pink frock, Nina —and th« Spanish lace scarf. I wish you to look your best to-night. Sir Richard will meet us at the Lamberts' reception; I had a note fiom him this morning." Mrs Gordon gathered up her gloves and letters, and sailed away to her own room, leaving her daughter to mount very slowly in her wake. It wanted only an hour to dinner, and the girl felt tired and heartsick ; yet she was obliged to join with a good grace a merry party downstairs which was to assemble for dinner before the reception, to which all the world was going that night. Lady Lambeth was just at the moment the most fashionable hcetess in London, and her parties were proverbial for their splendour and many delights. Nma Gordon, one of the prettiest girl* in the room, in her rose-pink frock, tho creation of a famous Parisian dressmaker, her curling hair bound with a golden fillet, her cheeks rivalling her gown in colour, should have enjoyed every moment of the time —but she was too miserable to think of anything but the ordeal before her. Sir Richard was to meet them —the man to whom her mother was so anxious to sell her. That was what it came to! She had not seen Bruce Furneaux since their parting some weeks since, when she cameup to town and he went away to stay with —Sir Richard 1. It was the very irony of fate that the man should be actually his godfather. The girl looked fearfully about her in the smart crowd, wondering when Sir Richard would appear. And then quite suddenly the colour raced to her face; her heart leaped within her breast; for, instead of Sir Richard, she found Bruce Furneaux before her. He held her hand rather longer than the couventional minute —they were so much alone in the crush ! rt You're not alone, are you?" he said. " No —mot her is here somewhere, a^d we —we were to meet Sir Richard. Yoi^,, have been staying with him, haven't you, Bruce ?" He nodded. "Yes —he was laid up with gout, but was coming up to town to-day. He may be late. In the meantime, tell me what you're been doing with yourself, Nina, since we met last. You've been very gay, I suppose?" It was with an effort he talked brightly to the girl —his heart was as heavy as lead as the thought was forced upon him that if Sir Richard had arranged to meet Mrs Gordon and her daughter here he ! must mean business. "Won't you com© outside in the corridor," he said presently ; "it is so hot here. Phew! What a crush." It was cooler outside, where palms and towering plants made a pleasant sittingout place ; but as thej r strolled along the softly-carpeted space a footman stopped them. He cairicd a telegram on a salver. "Mr Furneaux, I think, sir?" he said. "This was brought on to you from your chambers." Bruce tore open the orange-coloured missive. "No answer," he said, after a short silence, and Nina even in that dim light saw he had grown very white. When the man had gone he turned to her suddenly. "Nina," he said hoarsely, "Sir Richard will not come to-night. He —he died this afternoon. I must go at once." "The will is of the simplest order," said the lawyer, clearing his throat. "With the exception of a few legacies to servants and employees, and one or two charitable institutions, Sir Richard bequeaths all his immense fortune and la ided estates to you, Mr Furneaux . . • under one condition." "And that is?" said Bruce in a voice that he hardly recognised for hu own. It was a week later. With all honour the remains of the millionaire had been laid to rest in the quiet country churchyard near his old home,-and' now Bruce Furneaux was closeted with the deceased man's legal adviser. ''That you are married in &ix months time." "Married! To whom?" The lawyer coughed discreetly. "The lady's name is not mentioned here," he said ; "but I am empowered to give you this letter, Mr Furneaux, left in my charge by my lamented client the day before he died. Although his death waspainfully sudden, it was not altogetherunexpected by himself. I think he appeared to anticipate his own end, for, although be had serious thoughts of marriage, he changed all his plans and inteution6 with etrange suddenness only a week or two ago. But I will leave you to peruse the letter, and I shall be happy to place my services at your disposal whenever you may require them." I Left alone in the quiet library looking out on the sea, with all the evidences of wealth about him, Bruce Furneaur opened the letter penned by his godfather the day before his death. And, as fie read, a 6trange miet came to his eyes. ". . . And because, my dear boy, I do not wish you to know. the pain that filled my life ioiA years, I give up all idea of making sweet little Nina anything more than my adopted goddaughter. Make her happy —■ that is all I ask of you. Don't altogether forget me in your happiness —and don't keep her waiting. It's bad work for a woman. Go to her, Bruce, and God bless you both.'' And Biuce obeyed. —M. A. P.