The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 336, 23 April 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

By

OTTWELL BINNS

CHAPTER VIII. —Continued. Jocelyn Ambrose did not smile. The ban by her side, the man who had saved her life and knew all about her Humiliating experience of that afternoon, was much too grave and earnest to permit of her doing that. As he resumed, her own beautiful face grew grave and thoughtful. “You will wonder what reasons I Have for saying that, but a moment's thought will reveal them to you, if you will recall the circumstances of our first meeting, and again the circumstances of this afternoon. In both cases they are a little extraordinary. In the first you were saved from death and in the second from a marriage that you were reluctant to make; and both occasions I —a complete stranger—have been at hand to offer Help. But there is a further reason, °ne that is of far more weight with me —as I hope it may prove to be w Uh you—than these indications of fated meetings.”

“What is that?” asked Jocelyn. “It is that I love you! You may to surprised, but why should you be? may urge against that plea that 'his is only our second meeting, but "hat of that? Love between a man and* a woman, does not require years for its growth. It- is born in a foment, and it is the simple truth l hat on that night when in,the wrecked carriage you told me to help your aunt first, love for you sprang in my heart, a hd I have thought of you every day since, and I have been very sure that ultimately Fate would bring us together again.” ‘‘Fate has chosen an odd moment i°r her work,” said Jocelyn with a *ry smile. “There could have been no earlier foment. Miss Ambrose. Till an hour , a S° you would have held yourself Hound, would you not? But now you are free to accept my offer, to let my ! ov © plead for me. Will you not let 11 do so? Will you not recognise ‘the [iivinity that shapes our ends, roughnew them how we will?’ ” For a moment or two the girl was fdent, and he flashed her an anxious took. Then she spoke. “I cannot answer now, Mr. Lancaster. After what has happened this afternoon I feel that it would not be fair to you to do so, and if I were to a jp’ ee to your wishes immediately 1 should feel that I was taking advantage of your affection. “Any port in a storm,’ you know. I should be afraid of that feeling—afterwards, and having made a mistake once, I must oe very careful lest I do so a second tlr he. Believe me, I feel deeply honoured by your offer. It is a real saV~ the humiliation I have endured this afternoon; but I feel that I must hot—dare not—hurry over my decision. i hope you do not feel hurt — “ a t you understand.”

"Yes,” he answered slowly. “I understand and I am content to wait. But one privilege X claim, Miss Ambrose; I should like to be allowed to call on you and your aunt.” Jocelyn Ambrose gave vent to a little laugh of amusement. “You do not know my aunt,” she said, "or you would never ask. She w.ould not forgive me if she knew I had denied her the pleasure. She is 2 hero-worshipper, and can find a good word for millionaires.” “Then I shall call to-morrow,” he answered cheerfully, and thereafter turned the question to less vital things. It was the day following, and John Lancaster, having made his bow to Jocelyn’s aunt, and made light of the service he had rendered, was talking to the two ladies, and endeavouring to make himself interesting. “Did I understand you to say you have been in a previous railway accident?” asked Jocelyn’s aunt, in response to something he had said. “I have been in two previously,” he answered with a smile. “One was in America, and like everything American it was on a colossal scale. The wrecked coaches were burned and I can assure you it was a terrible business. It was my experience in that affair that made me take charge on the night of the disaster to the Flying Highlander, that and the knowledge that if somebody takes control and speaks with authority in a moment of stress the worst panic may usually be avoided. There are plenty of men without personal initiative in this world who will do what they are told in trying moments, but who otherwise would run about wringing their hands helplessly.” “It is then that the really strong man proves himself,’ said the elder of the two ladies. John Lancaster laughed at the implied compliment. "Oh, as to that,” he, said, "when a man has been in fight places previously it comes natural to do what is necessary, quickly. It is merely , instinctive action. On the second occasion there wasn’t much need to do anything except pick one’s self out of the wreckage.” “Where was that?” asked Jocelyn. “It was up in Africa, at a place called Umpago, and it happened in the early days of the TJganda Railway. The last coach broke from its couplings as the train climb%d an incline, and, running back, toppled over an embankment, which, fortunately, was not very steep. There were half a dozen of us in the coach, and we were all bruised and battered, without being seriously injured. The nuisance of it j was that the driver of the engine went ; on in blissful unconsciousness and we

had to tramp to Umpago under a blazing sun.” “Umpago!” said Miss Ambrose. “Jocelyn, isn’t that the place where Pat was in the spring?” “Yes,” auntie,” answered the girl, and then explained to Lancaster. “Pat is my twin brother.” “Indeed,” said the niillionaire quickly. “I did not know you had a brother.” Jocelyn laughed. “He pursues vain Fortune with the devotion of a lover, and he thinks that Africa is her hiding place. That is his photograph on the table at your elbow.” John Lancaster turned to look at the photograph, and as his eyes fell on it, a swift gleam of interest shot in them He picked the portrait up and stared at it deliberately. There was an odd intentuess in his gaze which struck Jocelyn, but which she accounted lor by Pat’s relationship to herself. After a little time the millionaire looked up. “There is a quite remarkable likeness between your brother and yourself, Miss Jocelyn.” Jocelyn smiled. “That is. but natural under the circumstances, Mr. Lancaster.” “Yes,” he answered, abruptly. He ■was not thinking of the likeness. He was thinking of an occasion when the young man in the photograph and himself had encountered each other, and as that remembrance was a very disquieting one, he was trying to assure himself that he was mistaken, that a chance likeness, was misleading him. He failed to do so, however. He had not the slightest doubt that he was right, that he had met Pat Ambrose in the flesh, and the remembrance of the circumstances of that meeting filled him with concern. He hid his

feelings, however, and with an interest that- was apparently merely: polite inquired: “Where is he now? In Africa?” “Oh, no! He came back a fortnight ago, but the day after lie went to Paris, and has not yet returned. He appears to be moving about, and we have to send letters Poste Restante.” Lancaster nodded, and set the photograph back in its place. Though he was perturbed in mind, he replied gaily enough. “That is the way with youth. Movement is the essence of life.” The conversation drifted in other channels, and the minutes passed so quickly that when Lancaster rose to go Miss Ambrose, glancing at the clock, was astonished at the time it recorded. “I hope, Mr. Lancaster, we may see you again, shortly. An acquaintance begun like ours should not be merely a polite one.” The millionaire smiled. “I shall be delighted; but I cannot allow the matter to be one-sided. When you spoke I was wondering if I' could persuade you and Miss Jocelyn to dfne with me at the Cecil, and then go on to see ’The Mississippi Miss.’ I have a box engaged for Friday, and I should be delighted if you would come.” Miss Ambrose looked at her niece, and Lancaster also looked at her. Their eyes met, and to the girl the man’s eyes seemed full of appeal. She remembered all that she owed to him, and she smiled. “Auntie is devoted to comic opera, Mr. Lancaster. It is the one frivolity she indulges in, and for her sake I think, we must accept your invitation.” Lancaster smiled. “Then I shall look for you and live for that evening.’! : He spoke gaily, but Jocelyn knew that he was in earnest, and even Miss i Ambrose caught the undertone of ! meaning in the words so lightly i spoken. When he had gone she | turned to her niece. ! “Jocelyn,” she said, “that man is | in love with you.” ! The girl’s face flushed a little. “Yes, | I know’ it, auntie. He told me so.”

“He told you so!” Miss Ambrose’s face was a study. “But I thought that yesterday was the first occasion on which you had met him since he saved our lives.” “Yes, that is so; Mr. Lancaster believes in love at first sight, and in a declaration at second sight. He even asked me to marry him.” “He asked you ” Miss Ambrose broke off in astonishment, then with a gasp she began afresh. “Jocelyn, you are not jesting, are you?” “No, auntie, I am telling you the simple truth. Mr. Lancaster told me that he loved me, and asked me to be his wife.” “And what did you answer?” asked her aunt quickly. “I hope you did not refuse him; He is one of the richest men in London.” “No, auntie, I did not refuse. I left him without any definite answer, because I do not feel that I know my own mind.” “You would have a great position, Jocelyn. John Lancaster is very rich, and it is not an accident that he is so. Force of character is written all over him, and he is a brave man. He saved your life and mine. Of such a mail for her husband any girl might be proud.” “I know it, auntie.” “Then, my dear ” “Auntie, don’t! I don’t want to make a mistake. I wouldn’t marry John Lancaster for all his wealth. If I marry him it will be because he is the man he is, because I —l ” Her voice failed, and her aunt nodded her head sympathetically. “I understand, Jocelyn, dear. And I daresay you are quite right. Marriage for love is the best; but, my dear, I don’t believe that there are five g.rls in London who would even hesitate where John Lancaster was concerned.” “All the more reason why I should maintain the honour of the five wise j virgins, auntie,” replied Jocelyn with

a little laugh, and then left the room humming gaily to herself. Her aunt caught the song, ana, smiling, nodded her head. After all, Jocelyn was not a fool. The dinner had been quite a successful one, and the party of thiee in the stage box was as merry a one as any in the theatre. Jocelyn's aunt was absorbed in the vagaries of the Mississippi Miss, a young lady whom that sprightly comedy actress, Miss Vera Vanity, was making the rage of a season. The play itself differed little from half the musical comedies that have had their day and ceased to be; but Vera Vanity, as a coquettish quadroon girl, in a Quaker setting in New England, was certainly

| an entertaining personage, mirthI provoking and amazingly clever. Her I gaiety ran like an infection through j the crowded audience, and in laughter even Jocelyn forgot the glasses i levelled at the stage box, which on j their first appearance had been some- | what of an embarrassment to her. ! “Isn’t she splendid?” she cried in I one of the furores that the actress’s j art called forth. John Lancaster stalled. “Vera | Vanity is always splendid, both on the ! stage and off.” [ “You know her?” she asked, a little j note of surprise in her voice. “Yes,” answered the millionaire frankly, “I have known her these seven years. She is quite an old friend of mine.” Jocelyn was a little chilled. There j was a warmth in his tones which she | did not like, and when next she spoke

there was a note of prejudice, in her I voice. ! “I always thought that one dirl not count such people as one’s friends. ' ' “Many people don’t,”' answered the millionaire carelessly, “in spite of the peerage seeking countesses from their ranks. Rut Vera Vanity is the right sort —and I happen to know that four years ago she refused the heir to one of the oldest baronetcies in England ” I “Indeed. Did she tell you?” “She asked my advice.” j “And you gave it?” “Yes. I advised her to follow her heart, which she did, with the result that she is still Miss Vera Vanity, of the musical comedy stage. That it- ; self, in these days, should be an unimpeachable certificate of character.” (To be continued!.