THE UNEXPECTED.

Otago Witness, Issue 3278, 10 January 1917, Page 58

THE UNEXPECTED.

By K. and J. Arnold,

(Copyright.) Left alono Eichard walked restlessly about the room. Was she going to say yes? Her remark about their old friendship seemed decidedly hopeful. "If only that confounded maid had been ten minutes later I should have known my fato by now." Ho spoko half aloud. 1 really believe she was going to say yes, and now—women are so queer." Standing by ihc table ho picked up tho card lying there, and idly turned it over in hia fingers. Suddenly he dropped it wiih a cry, then he looked at the name again. There ■waa no mistake, both name and address were plain, "Roland Markwick.*' The letter which Eichard Cunningham was reading seemed to bo unpleasant, for he crumpled it savagely in his hand, and then stood gazing into the fire. Over thirty years of age, his fair colouring made him lock younger, and, in spite of his weak, sentimental mouth, he was rather handsome. With a sigh that was almost a groan, he sank into a chair, and, straightening out the letter on his knee, read it through again. Dear Sir (it ran),—l was surprised at not hearing from you this morning concerning your debt, which fell due yesterday. I shall be obliged if you will call at your earliest convenience.—Yours truly, Roland Markwick. With an uncomplimentary remark about the writer, Richard threw the offending epistle into tho fire. " The brute," he muttered. "Ho knows I'm in a hole or he wouldn't dare." Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back and began to study the position. It was not cheering, for he owed the moneylender three thousand pounds, and at this moment possessed hardly that number of pence. The second son of a wealthy family, he had by his repeated failures at length exhausted his father's patience, and when the latter died everything had been left to an elder son. Richard inheriting merely a hundred a year, the capital of which he was unable to touch. This had been ten years before, and since then he had lived a pleasant, idle life in town. At first it had ail seemed great fun; the lucky bet, the occasional flutter on the Stock Exchange, and when all else failed, a dip into the pockets of some kindly and moneyed friend. Now and again he would try with great enthusiasm to get some work, but the fit lasted only a week or two, and lately the position had become increasingly difficult; fortune had ceased to smile, and friends, especially complacent ones, had been distressingly rare.

The truth was that his world had found him out, and was wearied of him. All his life he had posed, and only his vast powers of self-deception enabled him to regard himself as the victim of circumstances. Even now he imagined that, given a fresh chance, lie might make something of life. Could Markwick be inducod to renew the loan? Richard shook his head. Borrowing had once been easy enough, but this had been changed by the arrival of a direct inheritor. Appeal ir his brother was hopeless; that had been tried too often. Remains the last chance, he thought. Could he by hook or by crook raise some fresh credit? There was only one way, and one only, as far as no could sec—by marriage, and here he had some hopes. Tho lady in his mind was Millicent 'Cheyne. They had been friends years ago—Millicent Harboard she was then, —and at one time it had looked as if they would be more than friends. How over, nothing had come of it; Richard had pursued his career of failure, and Millicent had married Julius Cheyne, a city gentleman reputed to lie of considerable wealth. She had been a widow some yeais now, and was established in a comfortable house in Kensington, where she entertained considerably. Since their meeting some little time back, Richard had been a rather frequent visitor at her house. Certainly marriage with Millicent would be the solution of every diiliculty, if only he could being it off. She had undoubtedly been fond of him. and now—well, why should she not take up their friendship where it had been left years ago? Like the poet Burns, Richard had a facile gift for battering himself into a warm affection, and iince he had again met Millicent he had graduallv almost convinced himself that he really was in love with her. Once she was his wife (and his debts cleared off) a new heaven and a new earth opened before his eyes; a fresh start would bo his, and then people would see. His head filled with empty sentimentalities like this, he went to bed, determined to see Markwick on the morrow, and then put his scheme to the test. Roland Markwick conducted business in comfortable chambers, and his office presented none of the usual features of such a place. A luxuilously-furnished room it was, the prints on the wall being specially noticeable, and the next morning Richard was ushered in by a man-servant who had the appearance of belonging to a ducal household at least. Now moneylenders, though they may have changed in external-;, are still .much the same at heart. and Markwick was no exception to the rule. His methods with dilatory debtors were not lenient, and when Richard left the office he had suffered considerably in dignity and only gained a respite of two days.

So that same afternoon saw him making his way towards Millicent's house, lie sincerely hoped his visit might not after all prove fruitless, and was exceedingly glad to find his hostess at home and aloi.^. "A pleasant surprise, Richard," she su ; d as thev shook hands, the name was a relic of their old intimacy. Milliccnt Chevne. could not perhaps he called a beautiful woman, but she was undoubtedly good to

look at, and her manners were charming. She possessed a wealth of dark hair which she wore rather low on her forehead, and beneath it a pair of wide open blue eyes looked out on the world with a startlingly direct gaze. Her husband had been many years her senior, and marriage had left her comparatively unchanged.

She knew- her old affection for Richard had been deeper than his, and even now while by no means blind to his many defects, she still retained a considerable liking for him. During tea, conversation ranged over different subjects until Richard thought it time to come to his point.

"Can vou guess why I called this afternoon, Milly? May I?" he opened his cigarette case as he spoke. "For tho pleasure of my company, I suppose," answered Milly, smiling. "Yes, of course, but there was something else." He paused and then went on. "You Temember the oM days, Milly, don't you? Wo were good friends then." "Well, aren't we now?" asked Milly with another smile.

"We are good friends, at least I hope so; but it's not quite the sime, Milly, I was very fond of you. you know." "My dear Richard you are talking of prehistoric times, before my marriage." "Are they too long ago for you to remember?" asked Richard, and receiving no reply, he went on. "l r ou know I was fond of you, Milly. I loved you then,* I always have, and now I have come to ask you to be my wife. I haven't much to offer, I've made a mess of life, I know. I never had a chance though. But if you loved me I would make a new start. With you to help me, there's nothing I couldn't do. If only you loved me, Milly." His voice quivered with emotion. Carried away by his own words ho felt himself passionately in love, and believed implicitly in 'his capacity to build up a new future.

Milliccnt sat silent, gazing into the fire. She hardly knew what she wished to say. The memory of their youth together rose before her; then she would have said yes, but now "Ah, Richard," she said at length. "You're right when you sav things are different now. We wero children then, now we're grown up, and what have you done since then? Not much, have you, and I wonder if it's altogether through bad luck?"

"Milly," he broke in, "it's quite true I've never done much good, but perhaps it has not been quite all my fault. You see, no one ever cared whether I did weil or not, and that makes all the difference in the world." " I don't see why one shouldn't work for one's own sake.'

Richard got up from his chair and came towards her. "I would for yours," he said softly. At this moment the door opened. Richard hastily moved back to his own side of the hearth as a maid entered with a card. Millicent looked at it. " Oh, bother," she said. " I suppose I had better see him. Please excuse me a moment, Richard."

Left a'one Richard walked _ restlessly about the room. Was she going to say yes? Her remark about their old friendship seemed decidedly hopeful. "If only that confounded maid had been ten minutes later I should have known my fate by new." He spoke half aloud. "I really'believe she was going to say yes, and now —women are so queer." Standing by the table he picked up the card lying ' there, and idly turned it over in his fingers. Suddenly he dropped it with a cry; then he looked at the name again. There was no mistake, both name _ and address were plain—" Roland Markwick. What in the name of fortune could he be doing in this home? (lood heavens —could it be! Was Millicent keeping up appearances on borrowed money, and was she poor, like himself? There were_ such things in the world as unlucky investments and bank failures. Al his excitement died away, and one thought remained. If his surmises proved true, what was his position now? A door slammed in the distance, and, going to the window, Richard caught sight of a familiar figure leaving the house. It was Markwick! What could he do? The question beat and hammered at his brain. He gazed at tho card as if expecting to read the answer there, and at this moment Millicent entered the room. " Please forgive me, Richard," she said. " I am sorry to have been so long, and it was only'tiresome business. Come, let mo give von some more tea." She sat down at 'the little table. "I think I'd better make some fresh." Then, catching; sight of his face, "What is it, Richard?" she cried in a startled tone. " What "s wrong?"

" Milly," he said, holding out the card, " what business brings Roland Markwiek to vour house?" She flushed slightly and hesitated a little before replying. "It was a private matter,.." she said at length. '"I am sorry. Richard," sne added, noting his look.

"But I'm atraid I can't tell you more." " No." lie renlied. Then his anxiety to know the truth got the better of him. " T think I can guess," he went on, his voice harsh and unsteady. "So you are '-n the same boat as myself. Milly, and been borrowing from the same man as myself, trio. It's true that one-half the world never knows how the other lives," he finished with an unpleasant laugh.

A scarlet flush had covered Alilly's fare at his words. Xow it died away, leaving her pale.

'' Yes, ' she said steadily. " That's true, Richard—quite true. We all have our secrets, or skeletons in the cupboard, if yen like to put it so." Her manner, her grave f".ce, her very words themselves seemed to Richard the knell of all his hope, the confirmation of his worst surmises. Well, there was no help for it now; he pulled himself together.

'•'Milly," he began, but she stopped him with a gesture. " Richard." she said gently. " If I have been borrowing from Markwiek, if

it's true that yon and I are in the same boat, as you call it, does that idea make «> great difference to you?" Her eyes were upon him. They seemed* to fathom his dcepe.-t thoughts, and presently he let his own fall.

" Well, it's like this, Milly," he said at last. " All my life I've been trying to make a fight against poverty, and you see the result." He threw out his hands. "I've been a failure alone. What could I do for the two of us? It's no use. 1 can't ask you to share my failure—l can't, 1 can't.' His voice broke, and he felt that he had carried il off rather well. As she made no answer, ho looked up, and, meeting her steady gaze, the cold contempt in her eyes stung him sharply. His face flushed, and he rose from the chair, holding out his hand. "Milly," he began again; but she interrupted him. " I think you had better go," she said quietly. "I understand perfectly."

He tried to stammer out some excuse, but, before those steady, searching eyes, the words died on his lips, and he went out in silence.

The next evening after one of the most unhappy days Richard had ever experienced in his life, he received a letter. Dear Richard (it ran),—lt may surprise you to learn that Mr Roland Markwick acted as manager for my husband. The business is now mine, a fact I do not reveal to everybody. I am returning the enclosed, which was apparently all you wanted of me. I trust your confidence in your new start will be justified.—Yours, MILLICKNT CIIKYNE. Richard looked at the enclosure in a dazed way. It was his nolo of hand for three thousand pounds.