THE Novelist

Otago Witness, Issue 3942, 1 October 1929, Page 70

THE Novelist

LIFE’S MASQUERADE.

By

OLIVE E. ELLISON.

(Special fok the Otago Witness.)

CHAPTER LIV. Mrs Turner was very worried when she returned from town, to find that instead of being in better spirits after her long sleep, Cara had a splitting headache, and seemed to be depressed. Therefore, soon after lunch, she took the children down on the beach for the afternoon, so that there should be no noise. She had tried to induce the girl to accompany them, thinking the change of scene would rouse her; but as she seemed to prefer to remain at home, she did not worry her by insisting. Cara was lying in a hammock on the lanai, which was enclosed with wire-gauze net to make it mosquito-proof. Except for Naru, who was busy inside the house, she was quite alone. Although she had a book, she had not opened it. The words of the big printed headlines were still pounding through her brain. Over and over again they came, more insistently with each repetition. Being of a reserved nature, she kept her troubles to herself; so had not mentioned the matter to Mrs Turner. Besides, she knew in any case, that it could not alter matters. She had looked for the rest of the paper; but had been unable to find it. Besides, again, what good would it do her to read it ? It would only worry her the more. She closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. She had been dozing for some time, when suddenly she heard a soft foot-step at her side. She looked up to see Nani smiling, and handing her a letter. She took it mechanically. It was addressed in a firm, strong hand, and bore the post-mark Honolulu. Although she had never seen his hand-writing, she felt instinctively that it was from Arlingford. She looked at the signature at once. Her hand trembled, and her heart missed a beat, as she saw his name.

She quickly read it through; then—m utter amazement —she read it through again. Surely she was dreaming! He, Mark Arlingford, had asked her to marry him! So. after all, he loved her! Then quick reaction followed. No, of course he did not love her! He had only asked her because of all that in the papers. If that were not the reason, why had he not asked her before ? Besides, if he had really loved her, he would not have taken a delight in treating her so cruelly. Also, be would not have been content to abide by her decision that their intercourse must cease. And then, on the little island, when fate had thrown them together, his manner towards her had been nothing more than friendly. He had said no word of love; and after—after what he had previously said about teaching her to love if they were alone on a desert island He had appeared quite indifferent to her, in fact, when that time had actually arrived He had not even touched her hand when he had said good night. She remembered •how hurt she had felt when he had abruptly left her, although he knew how frightened and lonely she was. No, of course he did not love her; or he would have told her then. She was such a child in many ways. Little did she realise that it was just because of his love for her that he had refrained from speaking then. And then again, she mused, he had not troubled to inquire for her when she was so ill on the Pacifica—after they had been rescued from the island. And now—even this letter he had written—although it was a proposal of marriage, was it not rather cold, somewhat lacking in ardour? Would it not have held more sentiment if he had really loved her? Was it not more like a mere matter of form that he ■was going through, because he thought it was expected of him ? And besides, she knew he did not wish to marry. Had not Colonel Masefield once told her that during a conversation with Arlingford, he had told him he was never going to marry, as he much preferred his freedom? But even suppose that she married him, he would not be happy. He would always afterwards regret it. So she would write to him and tell him that she would not be his wife. But how hard to refuse, when all the time her heart was erving out to him !

Having come to this decision, she thought she would answer his letter at once. But for some time before begin ning, she hesitated, wavering in her decision How could she let him go ? How could she give up such a chance? He had asked her to be his wife, why should she not accept? It was the primitive woman in her—the passionate longing for her mate—fighting against her spirit of self-sacrifice. And to think that he. who was so idolised by woman, had actually nsked her! Why should she not seize happiness ? Yes, she would marry him. Then came a fierce pang of jealousv It she married him. she would want him to herself—bis undivided attention—she must, have all bis love. She could not share him with another. And wbff if ho should tire of her ? How could she bear it, if

be should fall in love witfi another woman ? She knew that women went crazy over him. What if, after they were married, some other woman should win him from her? How he would chafe for his freedom ! How could she hope to hold him then? What misery it would be for both ! Oh, no, she must not marry him, as he did not really love her. She must crush down all this fierce, wild passion that seemed to overmaster her. And in time she would forget. So she would just write him a simple little note, as short as his to her, refusing his offer. . ° Accordingly she wrote — Dear Mr Arlingford, Although I fully appreciate the honour you have done me in asking me to be your wife, I have decided not to marry you. I would rather, also, that you did'not come to see me, as I don't feel equal to seeing visitors. We are sailing shortly; and in the meantime, I am restin" as much as possible. With kindest regards, Yours sincerely, Cara J. Lethbridge. “ There!” she said, as she affixed the stamp, after having addressed the envelope; ” now to get it posted!” A feeling of diffidence forbade her from asking Mrs Turner to do so. She had the impression that Mrs Turner did not like him. She might wonder why she had written to him; and as it was a matter between no one but herself and Arlingford she did not want to go into explanations She would ask Naru to run out and post it. Having despatched her on her errand, she returned to the lanai. To her surprise. instead of feeling tired, she felt considerably brighter, in fact, almost elated. Arlingford’s proposal, although she had refused it, put matters on quite a different footing. It had, as it were, reinstated him in her estimation. No matter how he had acted previously, he had, at any rate, now acted honourably. It had also had the effect of restoring her own confidence in herself, and of healing the hurt to her pride. She need no longer feel that she had been slighted Her more cheerful outlook acted like magic on her spirits. Mrs Turner was delighted, when she returned from the beach, to see the girl so bright and cheerful.

CHAPTER LV. Cara, said Mrs Turner, bringing in her breakfast-tray, “ I have a surprise for you ! I’ve engaged a taxi for the day; and we’re all going out to the Pali. I've given Naru a holiday to go to a Japanese fete; so instead of getting lunch at home, we 11 shut up the house, and have a picnic. I ve rung up little Miss Macgregor, and asked her to come with us. You don't think it will tire you; do you, dear?” Oh no!” exclaimed Cara, with animation. I’m feeling ever so much better. It was awfully nice of you to think of it.” “ The truth is,” said Mrs Turner. “ I thought it would be the easiest wav to keep the children occupied. What do you think I found them doing, a little while ago ? They had climbed up the jacaranda tree, and were pulling up a poor cat by a rope, which they had tied round its body. The poor thing was simply terrified. See how it scratched my arm, when I went to its rescue! There, now I must run ; or we won't be ready by file time the car comes.” So it happened that, when, a little while later. Arlingford called at the Turners’ shack, he found it all shut up: and received no response to his repeated knocks and rings. He strode away indignantly. swishing angrily with his cane at an unoffending flower, and striking off its head So she was out, was she! Yet had she not told him in her letter that she was resting as much as possible ? So this was how she rested, gadding off at this early hour of the morning! And vet she was not equal to seeing visitors! She was evidently well enough to see him. if she had wanted to. It just showed she wanted to avoid him. On receipt of her letter by the mail a short time previously, he had determined to cal] at the house, and make another attempt to see her. He felt convinced that. Iwd lie soon her personally, instead of writing to her. he would have won the dav. How he had bungled his affairs! Although he could grip his readers’ attention with the love-scenes in his books, he had made a muddle of things when it came to his own in real life; just as an actor may make love dramatically on the stage, and vet be quite at a loss what to sav. when approaching the lady of his choice. The difficulty’ is—that in real life—one can never be quite certain how the other person is going to act. and how one's advances will be met.

Well he mused, he had never yet been benten in gaining anything in life on which he had set his heart; and her refusal of his offer only made him more Jofornnnod TTis nugnarinns iaw set in a more formidable line than ever.

! Had she been an accomplished flirt, well-versed in the art of conquest, she could not have chosen a surer way to make him keener than before. But his pride had been sorely hurt. It was the first time in his life that he had asked a woman to marry him; and she had cahn!y refused his offer. Then as his anger cooled, he saw himself, as no doubt, he appeared to her. inconstant, unreliable, untrustworthy, stained with sin. So, after all, was it very surprising that she did not wish to marry him, that she did not wish to link her life to such a man as he? Why should he force bis attentions on her, against her expressed wish ? Vainly he wished that he could live the past again, and live it differently. What would he not have given for the wasted years! As he strolled along abstractedly, feeling utterly depressed, his thoughts recurred to that morning when he had walked with Cara along that very road. He recalled their conversation—their discussion on man-made laws and convention He remembered he had upheld the view that man should have the right to live his life, untrammelled and unfettered, without being restricted in any way by the tyranny of convention. He had sneered at the right and good, considering them traits of weakness, instead of strength, in a person's character. And now, was he not actually regretting the course he had pursued in life! Was he not realising that it needed far greater strength of character to esist, than to yield ! He remembered he had said to her that, although their views on the subject were as far apart as the poles, perhaps, some time they might meet, at the Equator, as it were. He had then felt fully confident that it would be she, not he, -whose views would undergo a change. Feeling too restless to settle down to his writing, he decided to go for a swim Perhaps they were somewhere on the beach. Why had he not thought of that before ? But although there were many who hailed his arrival with delight, he sought in vain for the one he wished to see. Meanwhile, up on the Pali, Cara lay on the soft grass, with her chin cupped in her hands. Although her gaze rested on the enchanting view spread beneath her, she gazed at it abstractedly, being occupied with her thoughts. By now, she mused, Arlingford would have had her letter. What would he think when he received it ? No doubt he would be greatly relieved that she had refused his offer. Yes, it was far better to have refused him. She was sure she had done right to do so. And yet, she was conscious of a sense of restlessness, a vague feeling of regret that she had acted so hastily in making her decision, a passionate desire that the choice still lay open to her. If only she had delayed a little before giving him her answer, had allowed him to call on her, so that she might decide his real attitude towards her. If only she had parried to gain more time, while she still thought the matter over. But now she had burnt her bridges. It was too ’ate to reconsider her decision. Besides, why should she wish to do so ? Would she want to marry him, unless he really loved her ? Her elation of the previous day had reacted in a feeling of despondency. She felt dull and stale, flat, like a blown-out tyre. Had it not been for the necessity of keeping up before the others, she would have found relief in healing tears. How afraid we are to let others see | our hurts and sorrows ! So we wear our maskSj and hide our real selves from view.

CHAPTER LVT. On the wide lanai of the Royal Hawaiian the native orchestra was playing a haunting melody, one of those sad, sweet strains that seems typical of Hawaiian music. The rhythmic thrumming of the steel guitars, and the plaintive wailing of the ukuleles rose and fell upon the air; and now and then the native players joined in the refrain, singing without words, in an undertone,, with that pecular nasal sound which, produces a vocal accompaniment, resembling another instrument, rather than the human voice. Their dark, smiling faces showed up even darker in contrast to the whiteness of their uniforms; and the purple velvet scarf-like belts, fringed at the ends, and knotted loosely at their sides, together with, the orangecoloured leis, which they all wore round their necks, made a vivid splash of colour. The background of plumy palms, silhouetted against the moonlit sea, completed a picture typically Hawaiian, and with which one always associates love and romance. There were many people dancing—the same gay’ throng, yet always different, coming and going from every corner of the globe, there a little while, touching, 'then passing on again, while others quickly fill their places. Arlingford, who had casually drifted in, stood and watched the scene, and from force of habit mentally registered his impressions—music, moonlight, meetings, partings, and then, for ever after wards, haunting memories of glad remembrance or vain regret. And all the time, seemingly without cessation, the plaintive music wails its passionate accompaniment to the happiness or sorrow in the human hearts.

Yet, though he watched the d-itieing. he had no desire to participate. He was feeling restless, unable to settle down to anything. He had tried to write, but his thoughts seemed to wander. He could not concentrate. A woman wearing a Parisian frock of tangerine, completely covered with glittering spangles which flickered as she moved, like iridescent fire, and which revealed rather than concealed her

figure, stopped in front of him, and smiled straight into his eyes. Her look was an invitation, and her lips provocative. He remembered a hectic period spent in her company in Paris, in the old gay days. “ Well, mon cher!” she said, smiling at him archly; “and so you have come back from ‘the Modern Eden’! But what have you done with Eve? Is the apple finished yet?” She laughed harshly’ and discordantly at the sublety of her wit; but as he did not answer, she watched him narrowly. She realised her mistake at once, when she saw his angry look and tried to cover it, by saving— Pardonncz-inoi, mon" ami! Is it really serious this time? Are you contemplating matrimony’—Mephistopheles, of all people? May I offer you felicitations?” After a curt word or two lie excused himself and left her. How it sickened him, all this show and glitter, and the xenomed darts of spite and jealousv! \\ hat insincerity and hypocrisy behind convention’s smiling masks! He had never cared before what was said about him, in fact, it rather flattered him to be talked about. The world is lenient to a man. His reputation does not suffer. Society still welcomes him, smiling tolerantly. So although he knew that all his previous “affairs de coeur ” had been publiclytalked about, the fact had never worried him; for it acted as a good advertisement, and increased the sales of his books. He was always in the limelight, his name being coupled with many women in succession. He knew how people whispered, and shrugged expressively when his name was mentioned in conjunction with a woman’s.

But now it seemed to him quite a different matter, to cast a slur on Cara’s name with their vile insinuations; nothing exactly said, perhaps, only just implied, and left to the imagination. Lighting a cigar, he turned his back on the scene, and strode off into the night. How refreshing it was to feel the cool wind on his face—to have escaped from that atmosphere which seemed poisoned with cruel and evil thoughts. What a totally different type was Cara from that other woman whom he had just left! Mentally he compared them—the one as fresh and sweet as a mountain daisy’ growing on the heights, in the open air and sunlight, unsullied and uncontaminated—the other, a smoke-grimed weed, foul and evil, growing in the slush and slime of an evil-smelling sewer! And vet, he himself, had at one time actually preferred the sewer to the invigorating mountain heights!

He had known passion, and its satisfaction; but it had not brought him happiness. He now craved for the real and true, not the shams and counterfeit. Instead of the devasting fires of lust, he now longed for the peace and contentment of a pure, abiding love. He felt tired and lonely, and craved for sympathy and rest. He, who had always boasted that 'he would never tie himself by marriage, now wanted above all things, a home, a wife, and little children of his own. And the only woman in the world, whom he had asked to marry' him, had said she would not be his wife! hat a fool he was to have thrown away his happiness, when it had been practically within his grasp, for by his cruel treatment of her, he had killed her love, just when it was blooming. And yet, he felt convinced that he could win her still, if he could but see her. But iiow was he to do so? Of course he could not force an interview. But having made up his mind to see her, he would find a way. She had said in her letter that she was shortly leaving Honolulu. Well, between this and then, she would be his wife, or, at any rate, engaged to him. Havhig come to this decision, his restlessness gave place to peace ami serenity. Arriving at his cottage, he felt a new force and power urging him to write, so at once set to "work on his book, from where he had revised it. How great had been the change in him since he had begun it! It had then been his intention to bend the woman to his will; and by the compelling force of sex-attraction to break down her high resolves, conquer her, and master her, till, in meek submission, she came creeping to his feet. But now, it was not the man but the woman, who had won. . Instead of breaking her, he was kneeling at her feet, in reverence and humility, looking up to her because she had withstood him, and had kept her purity' unblemished through the fierce battle of' temptation. And he knew that in surrender the man’s character had not weakened, but had gained in strength.

And as Arlingford continued writing far on into the night, Cara, who had kept up bravely all the .lay, had at last thrown off her mask in the seclusion and darkness of her room, and was weeping bitterly. M li.it had she gained, she wondered by following the Right? She had fought down her love, and had sacrificed herself ——but what had she gained to compare with what she had given up? What satisfaction was the knowledge that she had acted for the best, compared with the happiness that she had thereby thrown aside? Of course she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had been true to her conscience-. But she wanted not only the abstract happiness that comes from unselfishness, but happiness, real and tangible, that she could lay hold on. She wanted to be loved, and to be able to expend her love—to give out all that force that was pent up, lying dormant. She wanted life,

and its fulfilment, love, and its completion—the crown of motherhood! Yet had it not been offered her, and in a spiiit of self-renunciation she had refused it! Why? Because according to her principles, there was no real marriage without love; and children must be born of love. It is their rightful heritage—without which, in fact, they should not have been brought into existence, —the mutual love of their parents. Otherwise, marriage was but a mockery, legalised adultery. Were not those who married without love on the side of each contracting party guilty of transgressing against God’s law, even to a greater extent than those who mated in love, without the bond of marriage?

■Why did fate so mix things up, shq wondered. It would be just as wrong, in her eyes, for her to marry' Arlingford,’ unless he really loved her," as it would have been to have married Peter, when she did not love him.

And as she wrestled with the problem, little did she know that just because she had been true to her ideals, she had been the inspiration to spur Arlingford on to reach greater heights in his work than he had ever previously attained. (To be continued.)