(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) HIS LAWFUL WIFE.

Rodney and Otamatea Times, Waitemata and Kaipara Gazette, 7 August 1912, Page 2

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) HIS LAWFUL WIFE.

By JEAN MIDDLEMASS, Author of "The Yellow Badge,'* "In Storm and Strife," "Hush Money," "The Case of David Lisle," " A Life's Surrender," &o.

CHAPTER IX.— {Continued.)

Ninette came out into the road to greet them. "Really, you two!" she cried. "You must be fond of walking about country lanes, to go out in this heat! Phil looks quite pale. , How foolish to risk a sunstroke ! Come in to luncheon; it is quite ready."

"In a moment," he answered. "I must just see if there are any messages in the surgery." In reality, he wanted to recover himself somewhat before he sat opposite Ninette, with only a few flowers between his tell-tale face and her inquisitive eyes. :■ . -.

But'did he recover himself? He secerned rather to be giving himself up to another outburst of rage. He stormed up and down th.& little surgery at the risk of breaking several bottles and various medical appliances ; while he vowed in much stronger language than he used to Kitty that he would find out who the man was with whom she was dallying— yes, even if h© died for it.

This resolution served in some degree to quiet him: a state of affairs which was rendered the more compulsory by a second summons to luncheon. A9 he walked across the hall to the dining-room he heard peals of laughter in Kitty's merry tones.

"She is standing on the brink of a precipice," he thought, "yet she only laughs at the rdtea of toppling over!"

CHAPTER X

FERMENT

It was a torrid September. No rain had fallen for weeks, the blossoms hung their heads pantingly, the meadows looked arid, and the burnlets had ceased to ripple. The temperaments of the little knot of people in and in connection with Orchard Cottage had not, however, been subdued by the heightened temperature; on the contrary, those who had eyes to see must have perceived that the social phase was one of ferment. The vicar's face was so anxious, so pale and drawn, and haggard, that even strangers 'who saw him in the pulpit wondered what grievous sin this old man had committed, or what secret trouble thus bowed him down , with its weight. To those who knew him the reason of his present condition was even more of a mystery. " ')■ That their dear old vicar should have a sorrow or a trouble that they were powerless to avert, worried not a few of his congregation; and more than one individual was longing to ask him what it was, but dared not intrude, inferring, as they did, that since he spoke no word of information, all help was unavailing. In fact, the vicar seemed to avoid his old friends and well-loving flock. He took long, daily walks on the boundaries of Burnside, and returned worn out with fatigue—for years1 were already laying their heavy hand ! on him. Then he would throw him- J self on a couch, where for hours he would remain in silence, which even his good, true wife was powerless to break, since she never received more than a monosyllable in answer to her tender, sympathising words. She of course knew what was troubling the vicar; but no one received any communication from her. "It is too hot to go out," she said, and visitors, except Dr. Wrottesley, bad not been admitted for more than a week. Only some of the poorer folk had seen Mrs Jackson, and they fully corroborated the given excuse that she, was ill. Whether Dr. Wrottesley knew the secret or whether he merely went to 'the Vicarage to prescribe, no one could guess. His sphinx-like face had of- late looked even more sphinx- . like than it did when he first came to Burnside. Ever since the day he had surprised Kitty in the wood— more than six weeks ago—Philip Wrottesley had, after a fierce struggle with his feelings, wrapped himself in an impenetrable mantle which seemed to conceal all the secrets and feelings of his'life. He had done this partly because he. was the type of man who was too proud "to wear his heart on his sleeve for daws to peck at." In fact, , so effectually and determinedly did he encase that somewhat rebellious appendage, that even J&itty herself began to think that the protestations of love were merely the result of a little spontaneous excitement, and that they had cooled down »4's quickly as jdnM had arisen?"* In this, how- . f -mistaken. Philip for Kitty burnt as as it had done that day perhaps, because he flames that would, in occasionally blaze Kitty was concerned, his restraint was caused resolute determination to had been her companion his want of success in . him each

Published By Special Arrangement.

day more and more jealous and suspicious. And all this while Kitty laughed, and sang, and talked flip.pant nonsense to amuse Ninette. ,She apparently cared nothing for Philip Wrottesley's moods, even though he had professed to love her; but it might be that in her woman's supposed wisdom anent heart troubles, she thought he would love her better if she were gay and bright. That whatever her conduct was, it made no difference to his present humour, brought an occasional shadow across her brow when she sat by the window in her pretty room and thought of this enigmatical doctor, whom she would have preferred for a lover before every other man on earth, if she had felt that she dared let herself be free; a week ago, that is, Kitty so dreamt. Since then she, too, had changed. The spirit of disquiet, that, notwithstanding the heat and the apparent calm stillness * of the atmosphere, was lurking like storm on the horizon, oppressed her. She had even had one or two private colloquies with the doctor, and judging from . the grave expression of their respective faces, there was but little love-making mixed up in their talk. For more than a few minutes of conversation Dr. Wrottesley had not much time; an epidemic was in the neighbourhood, though Burnside proper had hitherto escaped. "Brought about by the heat," was the popular opinion; "by the odours from an unsavoury pond," was the doctor's verdict; ancr this pond being on the Kelton Estate, he was using his best endeavours with Mrs.' Travers to have it subjected to sanitary improvement.

So engrossed was he in this matter —the subject of microbes and bacilli being dear to his professional mind —that it almost seemed as if Kitty and the stranger in the wood had for the moment been forgotten, and the forewarning of the storm that more than one individual expected would ere long darken the social atmosphere had not reached him.

Yet for coming danger he was fully prepared, and, as far as the stranger was concerned he was closer on the track than he had ever been, if only a keener sense of perception had been given him. No wonder that during all these weeks he had got no nearer the truth. Lionel Travers had left Kelton somewhat suddenly two days after his meeting with Kitty. "Business necessitated his departure," he said; but perhaps discretion had more to do with his going.

Now, however, he had returned. His mother had sent for him about this business of the pond, and interviews with Dr. Wrottesley were, of course, necessary. Not that tiho(y seemed to be in any way disagreeable to either of the men. There was a sort of affinity that seemed rather to draw theim together, and except that Lionel Travers rather dreaded having to act the part of a sham he would have paid frequent visits to Orchard Cottage.

Would these visits have been solely in order to improve his acquaintance with the doctor was a question he did not attempt to ask himself. He must have answered in the negative. Once he had called. The doctor was gone on his rounds, Kitty was shopping in Melcombe, Ninette was at home alone.

The old, old story seemed about to be told once more, for the attraction was mutual.

Her delicate colouring and Dresden china beauty pleased his artistic senses, while her hysterical helplessness appealed to him as no woman had ever appealed before. True, he had kissed Kitty in the wood in a moment of delirium and entrain to which men are prone, but no flesh and blood-woman had ever made his pulses quicken until a creature who was almost too frail and fragile to be alive presented herself in the form of Ninette Wrottesley. Yet he refrained from going to Orchard Cottage, partly because he was scarcely prepared to let himself go, and partly because he did not wish to meet Kitty.

But the day must arrive when the plunge would have to be made, and it came sooner than he expected.

"I should like to ask the Fairy Princess to luncheon, only we should be t obliged to have the other party asjwell," said Di Travers, as she sat perched on a comfortable swing which had been erected between two elms under the; shade of which the family party was resting during the abnormally jiot. hours.

"Who is the Fairy Princess, and who is the other party ?" asked her brother.

Although, he asked the question a certain thud he felt at his heart rendered it quite unnecessary.

, "Ninette, of course," cried Di. "We always call her the Fairy Princess. I hate that other woman."

"Do you?" asked Lionel, quietly, after taking a long whiff at his pipe. "She seema very much like other people.'

"Really, Lionel, I always thought you had penetration." This time it was Mab who spoke. "If you had you could not fail to see that this Mrs. Wheatley is a social fraud." > "Both of you against her? Poor devil !'>' and he laughed. "You do not expect a mere professional, companion to be a Countess in disguise, do you?"

"No, certainly not, but I expect her to be honest, and straightforward/and truthful" "Gracious, Mab! And so she fails to come up to this standard. Give me details."

Mab, however, had nothing against Kitty except an instinctive belief that she was a fraud, so she answered a little ambiguously:

"If you bad the clearness of perception that all men give you credit for, you would see what I mean without asking questions or wanting details."

"It takes sometime to sound the depths of a woman's character," said Lionel. "Perhaps I have nob had sufficient opportunity." "Well, let us ask them to luncheon," said Di, "and then you can talk to the young woman, and if, after a little conversation, you don't agree with us I shan't think much of you in the future, my well-belov-ed brother."

"Shouldn't wonder if I bestowed more attention on the Fairy Princess than on her companoin," said Lionel, shifting his position as though he did i not feel it to be comfortable; in reality in order to keep his face away from the observant eyes of these young ladies who seemed so certain that there was something wrong about Kitty. , "Hurrah!" cried the girls in chorus.

They adored Ninette; thought her so sweet and dainty, such a thorough little gentlewoman, that nothing could please them better than that their brother should do so too. They little suspected, however, that he was already a good way on the road to adoration.

"Why are you so pleased?" he asked, with the tranquillity his pipe helped him to preserve.

"Pleased? Of course we are pleased,"-and Di jumped from the swing and landed herself beside him, a sisterly demonstration of affection with which he could well have dispensed at that moment, especially as she went on: "Look here, Lionel, if you were to marry Ninette it would be the happiest day in life for Mab and me. Wouldn't it, Mab?" "Right you are," said Mab, "and to be practical and bring things about I'll go and write the note telling Ninette she must come. Suppose we send the carriage for her, eh, Di?" "Happy thought, and Lionel in it." The carriage was sent and Ninette and Kitty came to luncheon, but Lionel did not go in it, though his sisters pressed him not a little. He said, however, that "he would go to town if they bothered," so they were compelled to leave him in peace. Nevertheless, this banter had mads him rather shamefaced, and distant with Ninette when she did arrive, a fact which, however, served to render the onlookers thoroughly assured that he was seriously in love. Not so Ninette herself. No girl ever ! regards bashfulness and coldness as! a sign of love. She liked Lionel Travers; he was the sort of man who suited her, but she did not for a moment believe that* he was otherwise than absolutely indifferent to her. j The afternoon passed very quickly. Ninette in pleasant society forgot I her hysterical fancies, and chatted away so naturally that it would have done Philip Wrottesley good to have seen her. Kitty, too, who had at first been a little nervous, became quite at her ease when she found that Lionel Travers took no notice of her except to address her occasionally with unfamiliar politeness. Not till the shadows of evening were creeping up around and the heavy dews on the grass foretold further heat for the morrow, did the carriage come once more to the door to convey the young ladies to the cottage. This time Lionel suggested that he should accompany them and walk back in the cool of the evening; the days were shortening and he would be in time for dinner. While the group was standing at the door and good-byes were being said—both the sisters gushing over Ninette and begging her to come again soon—Kitty had the temerity to whisper to Lionel: "I am so glad. I will help you all I can. You see, I can serve you." He did not answer her, but the hot bood rose to his face. He was intensely angry and felt inclined to have sudden recourse to flight. {To be Continued^) L.W.—9