The Man She Never Married.

Otago Witness, Issue 3613, 12 June 1923, Page 58

The Man She Never Married.

THE NOVELIST.

{Published bt Special Arrangemrnt.J

By CORALIE STANTON and HEATH HOSKEN, Authors of “Three Men Who Came Back,” “Sword and Plough,” “The Beaten Track,” etc., etc. l [Copyright.] CHAPTER I. If one went to the origin of the whole extraordinary business, it began on an October day when the rear olf side wheel of Mr Kite’s waggon, groaning under its last load of most excellent March-sown \ Aeat —Biffen’s Yeoman it was, three bushels to the acre—ran over and crushed a hollow Hint in the road outside Coppin's farm. The hollow Hint contained a rare inscribed gold coin of pre historic Britain, and in due course became the subject of an important work on ancient numismatics. Also it was the beginning of this tale, because it brought two young people together. Dolly Champneys picked up the coin, and was regarding it dubiously when a tall, good-looking young man with a Cocker spaniel at heel came swinging down the lane. He was a stranger to Dolly: but Dolly was accompanied by Pat, an Irish terrier of doubtful ancestry and playful mood. The tall young man found it necessary to settle what might easily have become a serious canine altercation.

He apologised to Dolly, raised his hat, and was about to continue his journey when Dolly showed him the coin and asked him whether he knew what it was. The young man took it in his hand, and. as Dolly afterwards described the matter, suddenly went mad. Of course, he did not go mad; being a rather distinguished archaeologist, he was quite naturally excited at finding so unique a specimen of ancient British coinage, and he talked a lot about Verica and Commitis, and swore the device on the coin was copied from the beautiful designs of Philip of Macedon. Whether it was the head of Apollo or a vine leaf he could not then decide. It was all so much gibberish to Dolly, who became more and more convinced that the young man was insane. To his unbounded delight she .n----sister on giving him the coin, and they walked on together. That was less than a rear ago. Npw, if anyone then had told Dolly Champneys that within a year she would marry the tall young man she would have regarded that prophecy as improbable of fulfilment as her death within the same period, and certainlv as undesirable.

Yet the thing had come about. Dolly Champneys and Jack Vicars were to be married to-morrow, and here they were, walking past Coppin’s Farm over the very spot where a year ago Farmer Kite s waggon had split the flint that brought them together.

It was Vicars who reminded her of the flint and the coin, and the dog fight. She had long ago forgotten all such trivial details. And it seemed so much longer ago than a year—less than a year, to De correct, for that was in early October, and they were to be married to-morrow, which was the seventeenth day of June in High Summer—St. Alban’s Day, Saint Alban, first martyr of Britain, so Jack told her.

Now, Dolly knew as much about St. Alban as she did of neolithic scrapers, Roman reads, or the Domesdav Sui«vev: but Jack Vicars amply made up for the deficiency. He was, as a matter of fact, ouste a big man in these matters. Barely thirty, he had achieved a reputation rarely attained by men twice his age. But an expert knowledge of RomanoBritish pottery, Frankish graves, and matters of that sort does not necessarily mean money. Jack Vicars was a name to conjure with in certain learned circles ; but the income tax collector would not trouble to assess him. In worldly possessions he was a very poor young man. His standard work of reference on Wolfit ere, the Mercian King, had brought him in a matter of less than a hundred ponffis. and his monumental volume on the B ronz-e ornaments and implements of Ancient Britain had added even less io his exchequer.

At the time he met Dolly Champneys he was engaged in excavating a recentlydiscovered Roman villa at Holtinge, in East Kent, the expense of which was being borne bv several learned societies and wealthy amateurs, amongst them being Sir Luke Stanford, a baronet of romantic origin and erudite taste in art and historv, on whose estate the interesting Brito Roman remains had been discovered.

Mr Richard Champnevs, Dolly's .atber was .a tenant of Sir Luke. He rented a little old-world Tudor house—the Moat House—on Sir Luke’s estate, whither he, his wife and three daughters, some maid servants and a dog or two. were wont to sojourn in the vacations. Richard Chnmpneys was a prosperous Chancery lawyer, a K.C., and a comparatively wealtny man.

In London the Champnevs lived in a charming house in Signet Walk. Chelsea, and Mrs Champnevs, who was just forty, and ten years younger than her husband was quite a figure in society. She was remarkably beautiful. Dnllv was twentv-two and the eldest of the family. People often took Diana Champneys and her pretty daughter for sisters.

The old-world village of Holtinge was on fete. For several days past prepara-

tions for the wedding had been in progress. The countryside had taken the matter up with a right good will. It was going to be the greatest day that Holtinge ever knew, and tiie old parish church* of Ail Saints’ had seen many stirring events in its 7CO years’ life.

Mr Champneys was a wealthy man ; but he had an expensive wife, three younger daughters, all of whom were beginning to cost him much more than he had ever contemplated. But, despite all opposition, the young people carried the day. Dolly was determined and very serious. “If you won’t let me marry Jack openly and above board, 111 run away and marry him at a registry office,” she declared. “I know Vicars well enough to know that he would never allow you to do anything of the sort,” said Mr Champneys. then the beautiful Mrs Champneys had a lot to say on tiie matter. She and Dolly were great friends. bather was just “Father,” but Mother was more understanding—she was more of a pal. For the past two years she had had young Stanford in her mind as Dolly’s husband —Brian Stanford, son and heir of the millionaire, Sir Luke Stanford, of Holtinge Park. But it was no good. Brian was willing, but Dolly was not. It was Jack or nothing. Daughters were very trying in these days.

Then Jack’s Aunt Selina died in Mentone, and left him three hundred a year ; and he got a five years' contract with a publishing firm in Edinburgh for articles and technical advice worth another two hundred a year. So one evening over a bottle of Mr Champney’s ’B9 Clos de Vougeot, a wine only produced on very special occasions, the parental blessing was obtained. And from that time onward all had gone merrily as the marriage bells which would make the welkin ring tomorrow.

There had been a certain amount of profane business to be settled in connection with the marriage—settlements, insurances, and a number of things in whicn Dolly took no interest, but which occupied the attention of Jack and her father and Messrs Nicholas, Sharp, and Del try, solicitors, of Lincoln Inn Fields, a quite unreasonable time. But ail that was over and done with long ago, and to-morrow would ring in the great and glorious new life. CHAPTER 11. Dolly liked Rawson. He was quite different from what she had expected. He looked so much older than Jack. He was a big man, not fat, but large and broad and overwhelming. He looked strong, strong in mind and body. He had character. He talked to Jack as if he were liis father. Yet these two men had been at the same preparatory school together. They had rowed in the same boat at Oxford. He was full of fun. He kept up a running raillery all the way from the station to the Three Kings, where Jack lived and where he was lodging*Tony for the great event of the morrow. Tony was dominating. He took possession of her from the moment he gripped her hand in his great, hard, cold clasp, and told her merrily that she w s a brave girl to marry old Hengist. He called Jack “Hengist.” She gathered that once upon a time there had been another man they called “Horsa.” She determined to call Jack “ Hengist” in future. She almost wished his name were Tony, for Tony Rawson was really a great fellow —a positive dear. Why on earth had Jack never told her about him before? He might be a millionaire stock-broker, but he certainly was the most attractive creature she had ever met. It was sheer personality. Why on earth no one had married him before this puzzled her profoundly. But for Jack she could almost marry him herself. Poor Jack, looking after Tony’s luggage while Tony was making Dolly break into p“als of laughter over silly pointless stories. A frivolous and fascinating personage was Mr Anthony Rawson.

And Jack was immensely pleased. She had never seen him so pleased in his life as when Tony—she called him Tonv in her mind from the moment she met him, and, indeed, long before—claimed the right of his important office to kiss her at the door of the Three Kings before she left the two men together and started off on her walk back to the Moat House. Half-way home she wondered a little why she thought of that kiss. It was just ordinary badinage, and yet— Then, just as she was passing Coppin’s Farm again, she came face to face with Brian Stanford. Now Brian Stanford was the last individual on earth that Dolly wanted to meet. But here the encounter was unavoidable. The confusion and embarrassment of the meeting sent a flush to her cheeks. “The very person I was looking for,” exclaimed the young man, advancing and holding out his hand. His manner was a little theatrical. He looked somewhat like a character in a stage play. He was altogether too well dressed and too well groomed to be walking along an out of-the-way lane in an out-of-the-way corner of Kent on a June afternoon. Ilis meticulous costume was an anachronism. He wore a black and white pin-stripe suit with trousers acutely creased, a blue striped shirt and soft collar tied with the colours of the old Etonian, a brand new soft grey Homburg hat and aggressively new and very much polished brown shoes. He wore a pink carnation in his button hole and was smoking an Egyptian cigarette in an exaggeratedly long amber cigarette holder. Also, he carried immaculate w,ash leather gloves and a gold-topped Malacca cane. In Bond-st. he would not have been noticed in Coppin’s-lane at Holtinge he made something of a sensation. Altogether a preposterous person. But no fool, as you shall have good reason to know. Brian Stanford at seven and twenty years of age enjoyed the reputation of

being a brilliant young politician, the hope of the new Centre party in the House of Commons. He was Member for the Holtinge Division, sworn of the Privy Council, and Parliamentary Under Secretary of State for War. As the son and heir of Sir Luke Stanford he was one of the wealthiest and consequently most interesting bachelors in the kingdom.

And Dolly would have been Mrs Brian Stanford two years ago if it had been left to Stanford himself and Dolly’s beautiful mother. He had long cherished an ardent affection for Dolly and had proposed to her times out of number; but, despite the great weight of family influence and the lure of the Stanford wealth, to say nothing of the dazzling prospect, which was without doubt exceedingly probable, of being the wife of a future Prime Minister, Dolly chose the man she loved. Stanford did not behave at all well about it. tie too'-: his beating badly. All the bad blood in his ancestry came out. The memory of that last unpleasant meeting she had bad with him was in her mind now. That was six months ago, since when she had not seen him or heard from him. He had studiously avoided her whenever he was down at Holtinge with his father and had point blank refused to meet Jack Vicars which, needless to say. did not cause that young

man any regret. But when the wedding day was fixed and all the preparations were in full swing, it would appear that the Right Honourable Brian Stanford, P.C. M.P.„ relented of his churlish Behaviour and accepted Mrs Champneyes’ invitation to the ceremony and sent Dolly a wedding present—a beautiful little fifteenth century picture by Domenico Brusasorci’s of a blonde lady playing a. guitar. It was in its original frame and was altogether a charming present. Dolly was blonde and played the guitar but Brusasorci’s lady did not look in the least like Dolly. Stanford was a man who looked older than his years. He was good looking in a foreign way. He was exotic and betrayed his Semitic origin. The Stanfords originally bore the highly honourable name of Eliakim. They were Sephardic Jews who changed their name with their religion in the early days of Queen Victoria’s reign. The little place was packed. What with the Champneys family and relations and friends at the Moat House and every available room taken at the Three Kings’ Inn in the village, and the big house party at Sir Luke’s at Holtinge Hall, and the Post Office, and Mrs Craddocks, the village had never accommodated so many people in the memory of the oldest inhabitant. They made a fine pair, Dolly and Jack, as they stood there outside Coppin’s harm where first they met and where began a series of extraordinary happenings. Dolly belied her name. She was tall and si ini and lissom. She had the figure and gait of a boy, and there was something boyish in her laugh and her* voice. She was an out-of-doors girl who did not mind her pretty face and hands being tanned by the sun. She was carrying her big Panama hat, and the sunlight da.nced in her gold-brown hair. Her blue eyes sparkled. She was radiantly happy. “Oh, but I shall be glad when it’s all over!” she exclaimed. “Not so glad as I shall be, young woman,” said Vicars, drawing in a deep breath of relief in anticipation. “I hadn’t the vaguest notion what getting married meant.”

Like her, lie was tall—he stood six feet one in his stockinged feet. He was wellproportioned, too. Dark, bronzed, cleanshaven, his was the well-conditioned figure of the natural athlete. He was splendidly fit, and looked a fine figure of a man as, clad in a loose fitting grey flannel suit, he swung along beside her. They were walking from the Moat House, where he had called for her, towards the village, about half a mile away, to meet the four-thirty London train, which was bringing down, amongst other people coming for to-morrow’s ceremony, that most important person in matters "of this sort, the Best Man. Anthony Rawson was Vicars’s oldest friend. They had been at school together, and later on at Oxford. “You’ll love old Tony,” Jack said. “He’s not everybody's man, but I’m sure you’ll get on with him. I’ve had an awful iob to persuade him to come down and see me through with this dreadful business. I think he knew what he was being let in for.” I know I shall like him, darling,” she answered, “even if I am a little jealous of him* He must be very well off if he can afford to give many wedding presents like the one he sent me. Did you ever see anything like that Queen Anne coffee service! It must have cost a small fortune !”

“Tony evidently spread himself, laughed Jack. “But, then, he is realiv very rich—verging on the millionaire limit, you know. But everyone seems to have done us very well in the - way of presents. Heavens 1 what a lot of friends you have, sweetheart! And what a lucky man I am !” She looked up shyly into his dark eyes. “Me, too,” she said. “Oh, I wish it were to-morrow.” “To-morrow!” he repeated. “It seems unbelievable. Only a few more hours—” And then they fell to talking of all the details of the great ceremonial, of the arrangements for the wedding breakfast, of guarding the presents, of their getting away in time to catch the Boulogne boat n.fc Folkestone, of their honeymoon in Touraine, of a score of pleasant things. They were like two happy children planning out the great things they were going to do. After the halcyon days in Touraine they were to come back to Holtinge and live at the Moat House until Jack’s work was finished. Then they_ were going to make their headquarters in Edinburgh, where Jack liad already secured a little flat. It

wa« all a delicious romance, it was 100 good to be true. Now- all this had not been achieved v.’itno-ut a considerable amount of trouble, diplomacy, ana clogged determination. Air and Mrs Cnanipneys nail ambitious plans in respect ot loony s luluie, plans in which a young man ot Jacit Vicars a financial position nad no part.

There was nothing against him but his bank balance, * and his luture prospects. Champneys frankly told the young man so in so many words. As a matter of fact he was very loud of tne young man, and was interested in his proiession and archaeological research, lie could sit and converse intelligently lor hours with V icars. He took a very keen interest in his work at Holtinge. Indeed, he olieied to join the l-ittle group of people wlio were financing tile Holtinge excavations should it ever ue necessary, nut, wnen it came to allowing his daughter Dolly to become engaged u> the young man, Mr Oflampneys was adamant, ne would discuss tne peristylium and tnchmia oi the Holtinge .noman Villa, and he would argue on the pleistocene gravels and weald clay and gault of the neighbourhood; but he v.ouid not discuss love and marriage in respect of Doily. The idea was ridiculous. It wootd simply mean that he would have to support Dolly' and her husband and goodness knows who else lor the rest ol their lives. No, Dolly must marry a man who could, at any rate, support her. in appearance tsi’iati Stanford was not unlike a modern edition of the young D Israeli, and it was oiten said that he was very conscious of the lact and rather laboured it. But that was not true. iStanlord wanted to forget his ancient lineage, lo the new order of things he was “pins royalist que ie roi.” It caused him great distress whenever he pictured iiis deceased grandfather reciting the Story oi the Exodus to his household on the first night of Passover or standing clad in symbolic grave clothes with bowed head from morn to night on the Day oi Atonement.

Dolly controlled her feelings and held out her hand. “It’s awfully good of you to come down for ail this lass, she said in her frank ga.rnm fashion. “And thanks ever so much for the perfectly adcrame picture. It is a gem.” As a matter of fact Dolly did not think it was a gem. Her tastes in art were essentially modern ; but she had to make conventional conversation. At ail hazards she must carry this unfortunate contretempts off with pluck and assurance.

I ni gladyou liked the little lady with the guitar,” he said. “I bought it specially for you.” “Jack says it’s wonderful,” she added perhaps a little thoughtlessly. It really was not necessary to mention Jack at ail. And the name produced a sudden change in the man. She saw it in his sallow, saturnine face, in his spoiled, selfish, vicious-eyes; she felt it in her blood. He looked as he had looked when she last saw him, when he left her with a curse .and said ; “I will not be robbed of you. One day, sooner or later ”

Of course, he was not himself at that time, but the thing had been none the less very disturbing. [She was thinking of it now, a little terrined. She commenced to chatter oil gaily. She asked him what he had been doing lately and how soon he was going to be Home Secretary or Chancellor of the Exchequer ; and she laughingly taunted him with his seriousness. It was a gallant attempt, but it was no good. The man was not to be placated. “Look here,” he said in a voice thick and husky with emotion. “I have been up to the Meat House to see you. They told me where you were. So I went to find you. I had to see you. I must see you alone. I am not going to let you marry this man. You shall not do it. I have been mad to let it go on so far, Dolly.*'

“Mr Stanford, please—please remember,” she cried, as he made an impulsive step towards her. Dolly was. frightened. Stanford had always frightened her. He was so violent and crude. He left so little to the imagination. His love-making at the very beginning always terrified her. He swung from one emotion to another. He loved her one moment with the fervour of a Parseval, noble, unselfish, self-sacrificing-; the next he hated her for her ce-llonis disregard with the venom of a tiger robbed of food. He could kill her. And a moment- afterwards he was humble and would kiss her feet in self-abasement. Like a pendulum, like a compass gone mad. he ran the gamut of emotion. He laid himself out skilfully and scientifically to win Dolly. Dolly ho meant to have by storm or stealth. He soon found that it was no good appealing to Dolly’s brain, because Dolly was not intellectual in the ordinary sense of the word ; she was just all heart and goodness. In short sbe was a dear, sweet English girl of the old-fashioned sort, and before you shall have read much more of this narrative von will be as much in love with her as every other man who had met her in real life. Stanford was modern to his finger tips ; but he was not the man who would go to the stake for his ideals either in art or politics or love. He was just an incarnate Pose. But. there was one thing in life about which he was in deadly earnest, and that was Dolly. To her his quickly varying moods reminded her of a Wagner Overture. He wa.s a kind of living orchestra of feeling piaffing with sinister design upon her emotions. But Dollv had remained untouched and unmoved. It was onlv when this curiously exotic lover became the Cave, man that, she became rea.llv frightened. Physical violence was abhorrent to her. She could repel him in his emotional moods : she could stand her own in his wildest flights of amorous histrionics : but when he became Simian she quailed. She was not sure of herself because she was fearful. “I have purposely kept away from you,” he said fiercely, staring at her in

that wild manner that so much alarmed her. “I have obliterated mvself. 1 have obliterated you—or thought I had. Ever since you decided to marry that fellow Vicars”—he spat the name out—“l have done my best to blot you out of my memory. 1 have done my best to regard you as dead. For the last six months I have lived in hell.”

Mr Stanford,” she protested weakly, “please do not talk to me like this. You have no right to say these tilings to me.” ‘No light? Why have I no right? I have the right of every man who love? a woman. I knew you long before he knew you. I loved you -long before you ever met him. I tell vou so.”

“And 1 told you it was impossible. Please spare me this humiliation.” She made as if to pass on, lut he interrupted her.

Aon are not married to him yet,” he said, his velvet-brown eyes that every now and then lit up with blood-red like a spaniel s, held her as a snake might hold a rabbit. “I ask you again. I beg of you for my very life: give this man up. It is not too late.”

"Are you mad?” she gasped, and she really thought he was. “No,” he answered. “I am deadlv

serious. 1 want you more than anything m the world. j am not like ordinary men. When I want a thing I get it—by fair means or foul. I want vou to bo my r r e. Do you understand! You can stojf all this business. You can exercise your woman’s privilege of changing your mind. Who can prevent you? No one, What can this man give vou i A dreamer, a book-worm, a cold-blooded student! He d forget all about you for a mosaic pavement or a Celtic fibula or anvthing else he digs up. lie’s a mole, an earthworm. \on are made for me, I tell you. Dolly, be brave, be true to vour real self. You must be with me, side by side. 1 am going to do great things in life. You and I must share it all.”

He seized her hands, and she tore them from him.

“Mr she said, quivering with alarm, indignation, and fear, “you ought to be ashamed of Let me no 1 Please never, never*"speak to me again ” Her brain was in a whirl and her soul cried out for Jack—Jack or Tony. Somehow or other the thought of Tony came to her just then. Tony with his merry smile arid jest, and jiis great, broad, heaving shoulders. She felt that Tony would understand better than Jack.

Stanford stood hack and laughed at her. “All right,’’ lie said, “go your own way; but I warn you. I am not beaten. Sooner or later—l will have vou—sooner or later.”

She turned and without a word fled down the road towards the Moat House. She retained in her mind the picture of him and the sound of his pagan laughter. He was like a satyr watching a fleeing nymph, grinning with the sure knowledge that he could well afford to give her ample law. CHAPTER 111. It is not to be wondered at that such a painful scene, especially at such a time, should have played havoc with Dolly's nerves. When she reached home, which just now was a maelstrom of activity in preparation for the morrow, everyone, from pretty busy motherto Baby Bunting, Sister Gwen, aged six, who was to be her youngest bridesmaid, remarked on her appearance. How pale she looked. Was she ill ? My dear child, what lias happened ? Poor Dolly underwent a very trying ordeal. Father was the most helpful. He too looked pale and harassed. This was his wedding as a parent and mentally he swore it should be the last. Lillie, Vera, and Given should die old maids before an upheaval of this sort should again disturb tiie even tenor of his way. Father was sympathetic. He said he did not wonder at all that she looked ill and fagged. He wondered, indeed, that she had stood up against all the fuss and commotion so long. Personally he felt that after to-morrow he himself should have a nervous breakdown and require a long holiday in the High Alps. He advised Dolly to go and lie down and rest a hit. He only wished he could. But mother went deeper into things. She took Dolly aside and was 'mite firm and not at all frivolous like father, who was ncicr really serious outside the Court of Chancery. “What’s happened, dear?” she asked. “Nothing, mummy. I’m a oit fagged, that’s* all. Tt's insufferably hot. Don’t you think so?” ‘‘Don’t be silly, darling,” persisted her mother. “I insist on knowing what it means.” They were quite alone in a shady part of the old garden. “Well, then, if you must know,” Dolly burst out, “I’ve just met that odious cad, Stanford.” ‘My dear, you mustn’t talk like that of Brian.” protested mother. “Tell me—what has happened?’’ And then Dolly burst into tears -and told her mother everything. As a result she felt much better, and when later on, Jack and Mr Rawson came to dinner she was her old joyous, radiant self again, and nothing more was said of the incident. Only mother—the beautiful Diana Cbampnevs—was just a little grave. There was a troubled, apprehensive look in her great violet eyes, which travelled furtively from Dolly to Jack so often during that morrv dinner partv assembled at the old Moat House —the last dinner thaf Dollv was to eat as Dollv Champnevs. To-morrow—to-morrow was another day, another epoch. As Mr Champneys remarked to Jack Vicars: “This time to-morrow night you will be eating asperses d’Arunjuez a,nd sauce Andalouse in Paris and drinking ’69 Chateau Yquem—at least I should if T were in your shoes. But I suppose Dolly will insist on champagne. Beastly fizzy stuff! However Mr Champneys sighed reminiscently. He was bv way of being something of a connoisseur in wines. Thev were all very merry—perhaps a little too merry.. It was as if everyone had conspired to hide his real feelings. It

was really a farewell to Dolly and no one quite wanted to bid farewell to- Dolly. It was all rather like singing Christmas carols at a funeral. Only Dolly and Jack were not thinking of funerals. They had reached the sweets and the three bridesmaids of the morrow were graciously permitted to join their sister in the dining room when Jack casually remarked to Mrs Champneys that he had met Brian Stanford in Holtinge, and he had told him he would look in at the Moat House to-night. Dolly flushed hotly and Mrs Champneys frowned. Then a servant came into the dining Toom. “Mr Stanford has called, sir,” she said. “He is in the study. Would you like me to ask him in here?” , . “Certainly,” said Mr Champneys, rising, “bring him in here, Mary.” (To be Continued.)