HIS GRACE .. . OF PINCHBUCK

Otago Witness, Issue 3352, 12 June 1918, Page 47

HIS GRACE .. . OF PINCHBUCK

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Special Arrangement.]

By RALPH RODD, Author of " Whispering Tongues," "Little Lady Mystery," "The Prisoner at the Bar," etc.

[All Rights Reserved.] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I and ll.—Valentine Duke is down on his luck. He determines to have a gambk with his remaining £IOO. His partner out in Canada had robbad him and bolted; the war hadl left him with a crippled arm. He taxies to the flat of a gambling friend orf his, «. Mr Trevis. In the card-room he finds a beautiful young girl engaged in examining- the backs of several packs of cards. They converse. Sabina Lewie leads Valentine to think that her fa her and Mr Trevis are going to try cone usions with cards in regard to a certain point. Sho begs him to stay to see fair play. He witnesses play between his friend Trevis and Major Lowie. Valentine is not edified by the way the game is conducted. A mirror placed in full view of the card-table meets his disapproving eve. Also he notes with distaste Trevis's unholy glee. Trevis exposes the major's trick with the cards. Valentine is minded to get away, but pity for the girl, who is being gambled away, causes him to Hesitate. He decides to stay. CHAPTER 111. Valentine Duke opened the door gently. He might not be afraid of Trevis's wrath, but he did not want to have Trevis " butting in." He opened it so gently that he had time to catch a glimpse of Sabina before she knew that he had come. There were books .and a number of illustrated papers on the table near her. She was sitting on _i low chair before the fire, her hands clasped round her knees, her eyes fixed on the glowing coals. Because he knew that trouble was her lot Valentine thought that he had never seen anyone so forlorn. He closed the door, and at the slight sound the girl looked up. He saw first surprise, then relief in. her eyes. It was almost as good as a welcome. He was glad now that he had turned a deaf ear to wisdom.

An unuttered question sprang to her lips. The man glanced at the second door warn'ingly. It was as though he held up a finger to enjoin silence. Play something," he said, speaking low. " Play any old thing to drown our voices. They don't know I'm here; I was going, but " —he gave a little shrug—"l didn't," he added, unnecessarily. The girl got up without a word and went over to the piano. Gambler's daughter she might be, but she moved like a princess. She sat down at the instrument which that fellow Trevis had had the cheek to say he had bought for her to play on, struck a chord firmly, and began to play. He liked the way she did that; he was sure that no other girl wou.d have acquiesced so readily. With so much at stake, those others would have asked Questions first. She had no music; her eyes were on his face. She was waiting for him to tell her the thing which must be told. Valentine Duke leaned on the piano ; the position was lover-like, but love was miles away. He was only conscious of embarrassment and pity. " I slipped in here," he began, desperately, " to tell you that the job you gave me is over." She raised her brows. " But you don't mean that they have finished already?" The full, generous swell of melody died down a little, but the music still went on. " Fact," he returned. "I'd have sat there the whole night if there had been any need. There isn't. They won't play any more." The music grew louder. He was not sure whether he heard or read the question on her lips: "Why?" And once again Valentine Duke cursed his fats. What had he done that he should have to go through such a beastly businers as this? As she asked the question her whole soul hung on his answer. "Finished! Trevis scooped the pool." She played the passage faultlessly. A good plucked 'un, this slim, white girl. Her fingers never faltered,, the music went on and on and on. He supposed it was a bit difficult, for now, instead of looking up at him, she learned over her hands, watching them—such shapely hands. " And the play?" she asked suddenly. "I barely took my eyes off Trevis, he played fair enough." That was true. If she asked more he would lie. It was not likely that she would ask more. Trevis was the man she distrusted, not that ineffectual bungler the Fates had bestowed on her as a father. " T am very much obliged." He liked the brave way in, which.she said that, because he knew how hard she bad been bit—'knew it by the dismay that had leapt into her eyes. She was faking punishment with her teeth clenched. Yes, be liked men and women who were not afraid. There was a long pause: be wondered whether he ought to go now. It seemed a blatant thing to ask if there was anything else be could do, and yet to leave her like that was more than lie could manage. " Tt's nothing o? a story," she said unexpectedly, " but I suppose I do owe you some sort of explanation for the way I have behaved." " You owe me nothing. If I'm inquisitive that is my fault." A few more resonant chords, then: " I hate people who are always telling their

life's history ; but this is the merest scrap, and I am showing it you to save possible complications. You are a friend of Norman Trevis. Well, possibly when you come hero again you may find mo installed as mistress. If you do, I am sure you will be too wise to refer to this meeting, or to express satisfaction on being the first to congratulate me. You will, won't you!" She was not mocking him by 1 er question but herself. Congratulate her on marrying Trevis!— Trevis. the fellow who had gloated over her father's shame! ''l'll be hanged if I do!" " How unkind! Perhaps if you saw the genteel boarding-house in which my father and I reside you would realise how all this magnificence must appeal to me." She was still jeering, but not at him. " I don't believe it," he said. "No? What a discerning person! Let us talk of something else, or ought you to go before they come in?" Ho thumped the top of the piano recklessly ; he wasn't going to run away from Trevis. She was only confirming the unpleasant explanation that had come- to him in the other room, yet in her presence it seemed a thousand times worse. "Do you mean to tell me that the game in there to-night had anything to do with your acceptance of Trevis?" "The idea!" she scoffed. "That's what you do mean." . " How clever you are at guessing riddles, and how women love gossiping, even about themselves!" She spoke with a mirthless smile on her lips, yet the next instant she struck a chord so passionately that she quite startled Valentine. "Why did you come here? Why am I babbling like this? What does it all matter? What is it to you?" "I dunno," the man returned stupidly. " Blest if I know. But somehow it seems to matter." "Seems to matter!" she mocked. " Monsieur is curious! I have to call you ' Monsieur ' —l have not the honour of knowing your name. Well, since, as I say, we may meet again, it would he as well for you not to have too lurid an idea of what has just happened. A daughter's fate on the turn of a card! Nothing of the sort, Monsieur. My father and Mr Trevis are friends; two links bind them—cards and their mutual admiration for my father's daughter."— He wished she could not scoff like that.— "My father wishes to win your friend's gold—ft is correct to call it ' gold' in such a tale as this. Mr Trevis wishes to win something not half so useful. And it would seem that Mr Trevis has had all the luck —he always has, or rather my father always loses. My father has had so much pVactice at losing, j)oor deal 1 , that' it has become a habit. His Little property has gone, his quite considerable fortune has followed it. I am his last possession, and his last extravagance. He really can't afford me ; but Mr Trevis is willing to take me off his hands —quite decently, you knew, —and Mr Trevis realises that when my father has lost sufficiently—and he*. ha 9 to-n&ht— -then pride will go as well. It will dawn upon my father that even Sabina Lowie might do .woi'se." A little smile softened the hardness of her face. "It is very odd," she explained, "that when things dawn upon my father they gradually, but surely, dawn on me. To-night I loathe—well, you know Avhom I loathe. Tomorrow morning, or say by lunch time, when I have seen how old and tired my father looks, and what it means to a man like him to live on. a pittance in a thirdrate boarding-house, it will begin to dawn on me that, after all ." She cast an appraising glance round her. " Pah," she said, "what's marriage!" It was a horrid tale. She loathed Trevis. He loathed him, too. The man was shameless to have devised anything so hateful as this. At that moment Valentine was ready to forgive the girl's father for having adopted even the measures he had done in his futile attempt to avert so appalling a catastrophe, yet the next instant he felt that he could never forgive him for having done so because by that very means he had placed himself so surely" in, Norman Trevis's power. She talked of her father's loss of pride. She murt never know that it was his honour he had lost, and that in losing it he had given Trevis a weapon against which she could never fight. "Marriage," Valentine Duke said thoughtfully. "It's a biggish thing; it's so plaguey permanent." She looked up at him half-defiantly. That's how it looks to-night," she agreed. "To-morrow, perhaps ." " Then look at it to-night. Look at it to-night, and —trek." Her eyes were on his face. Valentine himself was surprised by his own vehemence.

"Trek." he repeated, "whilst there's time. There's always a moment when one has the straight tip ; it's hoggling at one's fences <loes the mischief." " Such excellent advice." She was trving hard to speak lightly. '"Unfortunately, some obstacles are so material "Meaning money?" he asked bluntly. She nodded. " Meaning quite a lot of money—a hundred pounds at lea<=t. You mustn't suppose I haven't thought it all out. I couldn't disappear until I bad my infant-parent's comparative comfort between now and next pension dav. And I can scarcely do that on fifteen ebillmes —it may be sixteen.—l hadn't the heart to count the coppers, and " —<die pouted her lips whimsically—- ' mv father's winings to-night!" "Her father's whminss —the tale of his shame! Trevis was not the man. to hesitate. He had hooked his fish, he would have the gaff in his gills by now. The adventurer leanrd a.little closer. " It is the luckiest thing in the world," he said, " the money's here." In her amazement the girl stopped playing, then she remembered and went on. " Please don't be absiirdj" she said. " It isn't absurd 3 " ho returned, " it's

the only sensible thing to do. Bless your innocent soul, I've lots of money," he went on mendaciously; "just stuffed these notes in my pocket and cnmo out for a flutter. "You know what we gamblers axe. Well, I've cooled off a bit; it's getting late."—lie was easting round him for an excuse—" The money was to have been wasted," he went on, "it won't be if you'll take it; besides it will prevent the very thing you disapprove of. I should have thought that would appeal to you if nothing else did." She shook her head. Ho had taken a packet of notes from Ids pocket. She noticed how carelessly he held them; his whole appearance suggested wealth. Sabina told herself that made no difference, but it did. She wanted the money so desperately. To take it from a stranger was clearly impossible. "Right," he said with assumed carelessness, and he crumpled the notes in his hand. " I thought you were the sort to let footling convention go hang, but it seems 1 was wrong." He walked across to the fireplace. The girl _ sprang to her feet. " What are you going to do'/" " Bum 'em." " You wouldn't be so ridiculoxis." Valentine looked obstinate. "No choice/ he said. "Can't take back what I've once given away—ib would bring mo shocking bad hick. ' It's your pocket or the fire, whichever vou like." "Why should I take your money?" Valentine Duke's face* lit up with a wholly delightful smile. He had been, off-hand, careless; he was neither now. " Because I want you to invest it for me in a woman's happiness." And the moment he had said the words he was ashamed of them. They sounded " high falutin," though he meant them. From the first moment of their meeting he had seemed to her unlike all other men. He puzzled her. He had such a careless way of speaking, and yet the things ho said were so kind. Ho was not acting a part; he really did mean to burn the money. Ho must be frightfully rich. He saw the momentary hesitation in her eyes. And it was at that instant that both heard a sound in the next room. Trevis and his guest had, no doubt, finished their discussion; they were coming—perhaps to announce the result of it. Valentino turned from the fire quickly, and he put the notes down on the corner of the table. "You burn them for me," he said;-"I shall be caught if I stay." His face lit up with the friendliest smile Sabina Lowie had ever seen, on a man's face. "Good luck," he added, and he touched his forelock gaily as he slipped from the room. CHAPTER TV. Valentine ran down the steps of Number Seventeen, that decorous haunt of pleasure in which he had so unexpectedly stalked across'- tragedy, and he halfraised his hand to hail a passing taxi. Then he thought better of it. It was time he shut down, that sort of thing. Worst still, it was' time he began to review the position. He lighted a cigarette, turned up the big collar,-of his fur-lined coat, put his hands in his pockets, and struck out for Victoria. It was a long walk; it would give him all the more time for a long think. He had to make his way carefully, for it was freezing—one of those sudden, alternations from thaw and frost which take even London unawares. To-morrow the roads would be sanded, to-night one had to ga' canny. What an. infernal idiot he had been about that money —the last money he had possessed in all the world! It was a shocking way of regarding an incident which- should have been recalled with, chivalrous or philanthropic pride. He didn't regret what he had done exactly; he knew that, given the same circumstances, he would have behaved in jus't the same way again; but that did not make it any the pleasanter to remember the little bundle of bank' notes which he had flung away without even the satisfaction of a gamble. He hadn't got much for his money certainly. It was not even. as though he could follow the venture further; pleasant gallantries were not for him in his present plight. The girl was quite a dear, but, bv her own showing, she -was worse than a pauper, and so was he. Valentine Duke thought quite enviously of paupors—nice cheery folk who wore shocking clothes and didn't mind, —■ at least he supposed thev didn't mind. Anyway, they were made supremely happy by the gift of a shilling, while half a crown caused them to become embarrassingly grateful. Now he had extravagant tastes, quite shockingly extravagant tastes. He couldn't picture living in London under a thousand a year, and he knew that even that was not too easy, for he had tried. That was whv eventually he had sunk what remained of his patrimony in the ranch. Well, now that had gone, thanks to his precious partner, who had foozled the whole show, while he —Duke —was in France. That was how he came to be that pathetic object —a penniless waif in the trackle-s sea of London! And a, waif with crippled left arm. too! It was a harrowing picture, worthy of any fictionmonser; Valentino chuckled—a fellow must always keep on smiling. He stopped to lipfht another extremelv expensive cigarette : the gold cisrarette case caught his evo. Tt and the f°w other gew-gaw T s he possessed, the fur coat he wore, the watch in his pocket, should all be sold. Probably they wouldn't fetch very much, h"t thev would enahlp him to get out of England, and that was what he must do

now. If ho stayed he would have to cadge, live on" relatives, sponge friends, until he could get a job on the .strength of a military medai and a very hind letter from the colonel. Cadger, or under-paid clerk! Neither prospect war, attractive. The sooner he did what he had advised that girl to do—trek—the better, even though it meant tackling, with one arm anc] no capital, work at which he had not been brilliantly successful under happier conditions. The man turned the street corner cautiously. He was in Park lane now; then he stopped. He began to grin. One woman's distress that night h<id aroused his sympathy with most uncomfortable results; the glimpse he caught of asecond woman's dilemma merely struck him as comical. She was 6hort and she was stout Both facts were accentuated by the extremely handsome fur wrap she wore. She had no hat on, but in place of one a lace scarf was wrapped tightly about her head. It framed a very broad face. Valentine thought of alluring mantillas half-veiling Spanish beauties, and he thought of the plaid shawls once favoured by the mill girls of the north. He decided that the latter would have been more in keeping in the present instance. The lady's dress had been pinned up; it revealed' feet which were not small, yet which looked inadequate for the bulk they had to support. By the lady stood a- slim young footman wearing a long fawn coat and tall hat, and the slim youth sought to support his ponderous mistress, who clung with both hands to the park railings on the other side of the lane. "You're no better than a fool," a farcarrying voice announced, "I tell you I can't leave go, I'm all of a dither." Valentine fihrugged his shoulders. Knig-hterranfcry was clearly to be his role that night. This fair lady in distress, if not as attractive as Major Lewie's daughter, was likely to prove less expensive. Anyway he couldn't leave her there to freeze.

"If your ladyship would take my h'a,rm," the young footman said plaintively. The watcher crossed the road. It was like a sheet of glass on the park side of the Lane, there the frost had full play. He was amused no longer, it was a trying position for any woman, then, too, she was older than he had supposed. "Let me help you across," he began in his charming way, as he raised his hat. "You'll find it much better going on the other side."

The lady looked at him piteously. It's no good," she said, "I daren't let go. My legs are all of a tremble." Valentine nodded sympathetically. "I know," he said, "it's a beastly feeling. But if you let me one side and your man on the other we'll manage all right." She looked doubtful. "I'm a fair old weight," her ladyship objected, "I'd bring you two young -whipper-snappers down like ninepins. And a deal of good that 'ua do m«!"

"But you can't stop here all night," Valentine expostulated. "Besides it's really not so bad on the other side, you'll be all right when once you get on to the road," he added encouragingly. "I'm not there yet, and I don't look like getting there neither. I was no better than a silly to leave the carriage—and pair," she supplemented impressively. "But there, I can't abide it when horses start slithering. I'm sure I don't know what Sir Jonas will say." . "Then may one ask what you do propose to do?" He was the best-natured of young men, but he didn't want to stay there all night. It was oold. "I'm going to take my slippers off in a bit, and go in my stocking feet," she returned confidentially. "I'm just getting my breath, you see I'm not much good at standing on one leg." He was really rather concerned. "You mustn't do anything of the sort, you'll catch your death of cold." "I'd a deal rather have pneumatics than broken bones," she remarked, confusing two complaints in her agitation. Valentine began to laugh, partly at her and partly at the ridiculous idea that had come into his mind. Of course, he was an ass, still the poor old thing'had to be rescued somehow. "There was a lady once in very much the same plight," he said, "only her diffioultv v-.is mud not ice. They called her Bess." She let go with one hand cautiously, the better to turn round and look at him. "You don't say so ? Now that's funny, my name being Elizaveth." A very curious coincidence," remarked Valentine gravelv. "Well a fellow came along"—he might have added a needy adventurer like himself—"saw how matters stood, and what do vou think he did?" She was absorbed, she forgot her difficulties in ingenious interest in his story. "Told her not to be a fool. But I daresay she wasn't as fat as I am." "A scraggy, old thing with red hair." He spoke quite confidentially, but his eyes were dancing. Thank heavens a fellow could always laugh, though Queer street lav ahead. "Think of that now . Well, w.,-r.t did the vouns chap do?" "Just this." The fur coat which was to provide half the passage money to the Back of Beyond lav in all its glory on the frozen footway of Park Lane. Her ladvship uttered an exclamation. "Meaning me to walk on that?" He bowed. Vary cautiously the lady placed me golden slipper on the extreme ed<re of .the coat,, and then she stopped and looked un at the knight errant with a w-pnlth of admiration in her eyes. She had known, of course, that he was a "swell" before, but standing there in the moonlight, slim and upright, his white shirt a-gleaming, a flower on the silken lapel of his jacket, the costly fur coat flung on the ground

at his feet—well, the wif-3 of Sir Jonas Doddy knew that her rescuer was indeed a Super-'Swell. "ifcn're a bright young spark," she chuckled, that being her idea oi' praise. "I do have brilliant notions sometimes." "And you're a fool/' the remarked 1;) the footman bri.kly, "why couldn't yon havo|thought of doing it yourself. Your master could have paid for another coat for you." Valentine just touched the speaker's arm, and he pointed again to the coat. "Madam/' he said, with one of those flashes of courtly dignity which were a source of joy to "the Dock's" ribald friends, "mine is the prior claim." She was not quite sure what he meant, but it struck her as beautiful. She wished that Sir Jonas were there to see. Nothing was too good for her in Sir Jonas's eyes, yet he would never have thought of doing what this young nob had done so carelessly. "You're a gentleman,' she said, as for a moment she stood fair and square in' the middle of the coat, the proudest woman in London. "A very fortunate one." Would the old thing never move? " Now, if you'll take my arm we'll sail along, and Jeames shall pick up the carpet, then if we have any moro difficulties down it goes again. 'And so home,'" he quoted. "It is far?"

"It's only a step," she said regretfully. "There didn't happen to be a house to let in Park when we come from Oldroyd. Only a step," she repeated. Lady Doddy was an excellent soul, a dutiful wife, a devoted mither; but she was a woman, and that moonlit night the twin brothers of Adventure and Romance rioted over the wind-swept park, and leapt the high railing at a bound. She just caught the faint echo of their laughter, and she loved it, even* if it could not compare with the whistling of Jonas 30 years ago. It was an imposing procession. Lady Doddy forgot the danger of the ice, or, rather, she just remembered it sufficiently to cling to the strong muscular arm of the young man who Dent down as he chattered his delightful nonsense. He had the pleasantest manner. It was an "eddication" to listen to him. Jonas was a silent man, except when he talked what he called " horse sense."

"Awfully glad I came along. Think If you'd been frozen to the railings, and been taken for a Suffragette—padlocked, you know. They'd have filed you loose, and then locked you up, and Sir Jonas would have had to bail you out—a frightful business! My name? I don't believe I've got a card. Matter-of-fact, I daren't carry one for fear of it being seen. Rather under a cloud, you know, though I still hope to escape the Tower. One never knows, the potatoes and tobacco may pull me through; especially the spuds—they have become so popular. I can trust you, can't I? You told me that your name is Elizabeth; mine is Raleigh." "Eh?" She half stopped. Surely even &he must understand the joke: Queen Elizabeth, Sir Walter, and the old story of the cloak flung over the patch of mud. " Raleigh," he said again, waiting for the joke to penetrate her ladyship's obtuse brain. The girl he had leftf an hour ago would have flashed a glance of understanding, perhaps a smile, even in the midst of her own tragedies. This good dame was staring up at him as though he had been a visitant from another world.

.Rorlie," she said breathlessly. " Your name's Rorlie! I'll never breathe it to a soul until you say I may. But you'll let me tell Sir Jonas." What did the old woman mean, and why on earth had she tightened her grip on his arm as though afraid that he might run away? (To be Continued.)