SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3495, 1 March 1921, Page 58

SHORT STORIES.

[All Rights Reserved.]

THE STEPPING STONE,

By

W. S. TENNANT.

He was hers. Warm on her bosom, beneath the “V” of her simple white frock, lay that which made the assertion possible. Her eyes wandered round the table, with its gathering of strangely-assorted guests, to return, like a homing bird, tc the face opposite, which in the soft glow of the candle-light bore a look of almost statuesque beauty. Other women had loved him, other women would always love him, she supposed, and yet —he had chosen her. Beside him, her slim fingers idling with the stem of her glass, sat Laura Hurst, in a green gown sequined with jet, which gave her the appearance of some curious species of beetle basking in the sun. Her dark, closely-dressed head added to the effect. Sitting in almost unbroken silence, snatches of conversation drifted to the girl. “A splendid drive,” her uncle was saying. ‘‘The caddie himself was amazed, find he a veteran of the links.” ‘‘Golf,’ complained her aunt, ‘‘is a disease, and should be treated as such.” “Yes, my last exam.,”, came the voice of her cousin Eric; ‘ ‘and ten to one I fail it, though it won’t be old David’s fault—the slave-driver.” • Lindsay, you’ve dreamed through every course, and will have to pay the penalty of going hungry to bed.” Thus, at her elbow, the matter-of-fact voioe of David brown. “Wise persons attend to their own plates, not to those of their neighbours,” pile told him, “and being a mere man you don’t know the woman’s privilege of access to the pantry. Thank you—the grapes.” She knew that David thought her extremely silly, but it amused her. He was a dear old thing—quite thirty. It would surprise him if her even dimly guessed at that suspended treasure sheltered beneath the soft folds on her breast; yet soon even David would realise that she had outgrown her long-discarded pinafores. To-morrow night Neil would spend perhaps an hour with her uncle; later her aunt would kiss her and say she had always guessed (as, of course, she hadn’t) ; Eric would probably exclaim, “Our Lindsay, and Neil the most-run-to-earth mar in the place!”; and David would surely look frankly amazed and say, “Too young, too young.” Later, from a stern sense of duty, which characterised most of her relationships with her somewhat austere foster-parent, Lindsay sat winding wool for her aunt. In the curtained alcove at the end of the room Laura Hurst was extracting exquisite music from the baby grand, punctuated at intervals by the crisp rustle as Neil, also obviously from a stem sense of duty, turned the pages.As Lindsay dropped the last softlyrolled ball into her aunt’s work-basket the music ceased. Lindsay sighed. David asked Eric a question in French, and was rewarded with a grimace and, “After hours, old thing.” “Lindsay,” said her aunt, “aak Laura to play ‘ Destiny.’ Lindsay arose, crossed the room, and drew aside the curtains of the recess where the piano stood. It was empty. Laura’s white gloves dangled from the end of the keyboard. Through the open door, w.:ich gave on to the balcony, came the subdued murmur of voices. Two figures stood there silhouetted against the moonbathed garden. “Neil, I’m up to my eyes again. Be a dear. “My good girl, I’ve more to do with my precious money than pay the bridge debts >jf my friends.”-. A l'-ng white arm stole upwards until ehm fin.rera touched his cheek. “Neil.” ‘ Yea.” You re avoiding me. You know vou are.’ MiV-.ee and then: “Aren’t you?” “Never.” He ca'-ght her outstretched hands and drew them to his breast—the silhouette iiicrge*.. became one. Lindsay stepped back to the curtains, baura, ahe called in a voice level and cunouHy calm. “Aunt wants you to play Destiny -I expect because it’s such 1 soothing air to knit to.” ■ That yon, Lindsay? All right, dear—coining.” Lindsay dropped the curtains behind her as .hough she were closing some chapters -n her life, luted her eves to the circle of chairs in the room beyond, and found her glance held by the deep, warm scrutiny of David Brown. . “Where’s Lindsay?” Neil, alruggliim into his overcoat, glanced round’ the group. “She’s gone to bring an extra wrap for \- r o' / fanc y>” said Lindsay’s aunt. JNeil turned and ran up the stairs He met Lindsay at the head of the second Might. At his approach she placed the JU 1J was carr y ln R over the balustrade and held out her hand. He took it in his but ,t remained closed in his clasp, then released it bewildered, and looked down to find in her open palm the ring he had given her ‘Won might take this, please,” she announced ouietlv. He laughed lightly. “What,” he said afraid of losing it V* ‘I have lost it already—or all that it should represent.” “What do you mean ?” he asked sharply. I mean,” said Lindsay curtly, “that the Jove of a man who trifles with other loves In nooks and corners does not appeal to me as worth keeping.”

He seized her then roughly by the shoulders, and turned her face to the light. “You listened?” “I listened.” Her voice sounded inexpressibly weary. “Out of a morbid curiosity, 1 suppose. I saw you kiss her.” “She loves me,” he answered thickly; “and when other women love a man it’s up to him, Lindsay, when he’s through with them, to let them down lightly—without unnecessary hurt.” ‘ Still,” returned Lindsay with a dignity beyond her years, “when a woman becomes engaged to a man ; when at night, on her knees, she prays to be made worthy of him—worthy to be his wife, — she expects to become the only star in his firmament, not merely the brightest of a very bright host.” With an air of finality she laid his ring on the top folds of the cloak, and, without another glance at him, turned and retraced her steps up the stairs.. “Jealousy,” commented Neil to himself, dropping the ring into his pocket, “is a sin in any woman, and sheer crime in a pretty one. I shall starve her into submission. And that’s that.” Later, from a deep leathern chair in the study, where, like a wounded creature, she had crept away to hide, she heard, one by one, the remainder of the family retiring for the night: Eric, whistling up the stairs; the closing of David’s door; her aunt coaxing the cat from the warmth of the house into the chilly out-of-doors , her uncle’s muffled, carpet-slippered tread; yet to her the thought of bed seemed intolerable. Through the leadlights the moonlignt streamed in chequered bars, bathing the white-clad figure in a ghostly radiance. Dimly outlined stood the stately columns of books, and beneath the window the writing table, where David and Eric spent their morning hours. Against the pane a rose nodded fitfully, beating a monotonous accompaniment to the girl’s dreary thoughts. Roses! Symbols of love! As sweet, as wonderful, and as lasting. Desolation descended like a cloud upon her, out of which her dreams rose up like pale ghosts, to mock at her, until, with the eternal hopefulness of youth, her reflections sought another channel. Supposing Neil, having been brought- to judgment, purged and purified, came back. Could not a richer happiness be built up on the foundations of a reawakened and perfect trust? She had cast him off, yet surely, surely there must be some means of making him understand. It was then that her musings were broken by the door opening to admit \ solitary figure in a lose grey dressing gown. David! David, with that alert sleepless mind seeking relaxation in this moonlit den of knowledge. He passed her without a glance, turned to the farthest book-case, and switched on a small reading lamp set in the wall; then, reaching down a book, drew nearer the light and began to read. For many moments Lindsay lay back in her chair unobserved, and watched him. There was pity in her gaze, the pity of one who looks on a kindred loneliness. There wasn’t much in David’s life—no woman to listen for his step. Some men had everything—wealth, charm, homage; others only talent, overwork, straight brown eyes, and—a handful of dreams. There were dreams in David’s eyes now as he turned the pages. Impulse stirred her. Softly she rose to her feet and stole noiselessly across the room until she stood unnoticed at his elbow. Omar Khayaam. Her eyes followed his. The worldly hope men set their hearts -upon Turns ashes—or it prospers; and anon Like snow upon the d-eeert’s dusty face, Lighting a little hour or two—is gone. With an inward chuckle she reached up behind him and placed her hands over his eyes. “Guess who,” she said. “Lindsay!” exclaimed David, turning swiftly, to stand looking down at her as though she were a ghost risen up out of the night. “Lindsay,” he repeated, and, reaching out, caught her by the shoulders. She looked up, conscious of something rather overwhelming in David’s straight brown eyes. “What are you doing here at this hour?” he asked at length. “Sitting thinking,” she answered lightly, “and reading about snow and ashes over your shoulder.” “Sitting thinking?” he queried. “l"es,” she returned meekly. “I do think sometimes, though, of course, you couldn’t possibly believe that.” “My child,” said David, “if I were your uncle I should order you immediately to bed.” “Oh,” she said gently, “you’re a dear old thing, even though you don’t realise the wisdom of my years, and some day I hope some good woman will marry you and make you happy.” David closed his eyes for a single fleeting instant. When he opened them again they were twinkling. “Lindsay,” he observed, “you’re growing older every minute. Goodnight, my dear.” Weeks before, in her autograph hook, Neil had unwiselv- written : “People never really want anything until they find it of value to others. -Competition is the keynote of appreciation.” Dawn was breaking when at length she fell asleep. At the end of a week Neil came back, partly because Laura Hurst had encountered Lindsay on a botanical expedition in the woods with David Brown, but chiefly because he was hungry for the sound of her voice. Neil was confident. If Lindsay sought solace looking for white violet's with her cousin’s tutor, that in itself was a harmless occupation, he reflected, since Brown had always treated her as an irresponsible child. Within two days Neil decided that the “Return of the Prodigal” should be rewritten. Lindsay had not killed the fatted calf. Brown’s attitude towards her was disconcertingly new. Lindsay showed no marked preference for either, yet dumbly he realised that Brown was an obstacle. On that same balcony which bad proved the grave of her dreams Neil laid bare

Her heart sang within her, yet her voice was calm. “I trusted you,” she said v “Lindsay.” His voice was unsteady. ' I have learned my lesson. I love you.” Humility and tenderness. Impulse urged her to draw that fair head to her breast, yet some sixth sense held her back. “Wait,” she said; I shall write you my decision to-night.” Now, if the inkpot in her desk had not been empty she would not have gone down to the library to refil it. If she had not gone down to the library she would not have found David there. He was seated at the desk, correcting Eric’s Euclid. “Hello!” said Lindsay, and reached over for the ink. David’s hand closed over hers. For fully a minute Lindsay stood motionless; then : “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don t say it.” “Why?” asked David. “Because I can’t listen.” “You guessed, then?” Swiftly he arose and stood facing her. “Lindsay.” His voice was husky with emotion. “Come here. Look at me.” “Oh,” she cried wretchedly; “I didn’t mean you to care, only to—to pretend to care.” “What?” Light blazed in his eyes. “Why should you say that?” “Because,” she laughed faintly, “ ‘competition is the keynote of appreciation.’ Neil put that himself in my autograph book.” Whereupon she burst into tears, and found herself crying her heart out in the arms of David Brown. “So,” he said at length, “I was only a stepping stone to a higher plane of happiness. I might have guessed, but I think I was blind. Child, don’t cry! Lindsay— Again in her room, Lindsay sat down at her desk. Tears still lay wet on her lashes. Reaching for her autograph book, she tore out one page and crushed it in her hands, then she picked up her pen. Her eyes were very gentle. “Dear Neil, ’ she began. David set a paper-weight on Eric’s corrected problems and pushed Kick his chair. At the door stood Lindsay; slowly she came towards him. She was smiling. His eyes dwelt on that new look in hers. “David,” she said softly, “take me. I’ve grown up.”