When a Woman Dreams

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 229, 31 October 1914, Page 4

When a Woman Dreams

; KEW StOVEL ,

BY MME. ALBANESI Authar of "Envious Slixa," " The plunder of an Innocent," &c. t &e. [COPYRIGHT.] ■i: : 1

CHAPTER XV. If she wanted to help this other "woman or be of any use-to her at all, she quickly saw that she must not let J&ivers imagine that had guessed anything was wrong. For the rest of the evening, therefore} she was brighter than usual; everyone envied Nigel Bivers *s good fortune, and even Nigel surpassed hiihself in "gaiety and lightness of heart. He might not have felt so secure if lie had seen Mary's face that night as, ■wrapped in a big, warm dressing gown, she sat before the fire in her own bedroom. '' I mean to get to the bottom of things," she determined, as she stared into the fire. '' I shall not rest until I find out what-weapon he holds against Irene, and then—then- " Not even to herself did she finish the sentence, but if Rivers could have seen the look in her eyes it is likely that he Would not have Congratulated himself so thoroughly on his wisdom in dealing with Irene Newtrie in the way he had done! Everyone—that is, everyone in that section of society which had in so incredibly short a space of time become Mary Trentham's proper place, professed themselves delighted at the news of her engagement. To all outward appearances life wqj'C its rosiest hue for the young couple. Rivers certainly proved himself a delightful and attentive companion; yet Mary found herself struggling against a feeling that was fast gaining ground in her heart that she had made a most serious mistake in becoming engaged to him. She had insisted that nothing was to be settled indefinitely about the wedding till after the New Year, and for a. time Nigel had agreed. But after that he became persistent in his attempts to fix matters. The most, however, he ' could achieve was to bring Mary reluctantly to say that she would agree to be married immediately after Easter, and with this - arrangement Nigel had to be content, though it was all against his wish. He was just a little afraid that in the space of four months and more Mary might change her mind. On the other hand, he had far too good an opinion of himself to imagine that any •woman would want to change her mind where he was concerned. Although she liad declared she did not love him he told himself there was little real danger of losing Mary. What did matter considerably more than any question of Mary's love was the assured future he would enjoy as her husband. - During the first weeks of her ment Mary saw very little of the Newtries. Since the dinner party Irene had given for them they had not met, though

1 . r-zj\ Mary had tried once" or twice to find Lady Newtrie at home. It struck the girl at last that, for some reason Sir Francis's wife was avoiding her. "From others, however, she heard rumours about both Irene and Sir Francis. It was whispered very generally that Lady Newtrie and her husband were no longer on such good terms as formerly. The world shook its head and declared, of course, that this was just what might hstve been expected! Such an unsuitable marriage! The difference in years had been too great! A marriage of this kind was almost bound to turn out a failure! Mary listened to these, rumours with a pang at her heart; she felt that she was a good deal to blame in the matter, and had helped, in no small manner to widen the breach between Irene Newtrie and her husband. Mary had drifted very far from those feelings which had urged her to consent to remain in the house just because she felt she was unwelcome there by Lady Newtrie and because she resolved deliberately to bring unhappiness as a just retribution upon Sir Francis for all the misery she and her mother had suffered. Now, if rumour did not altogether lie, if her own eyes could be relied upon, it was plainly evident that she had gained her point. And now she experienced no sense of triumph, rather was she filled with sharp dismay and horror of her own actions. As her self-imposed guardian, Sir Francis had of course, spoken to her on the subject of her engagement with Nigel Rivers. He had sent for her to ceme to see him in a spare moment of his busy days, and had been very kind. With a remorse that was new to ? her, Mary realised now- there were new lines upon his face; his hair seemed much greyer, almost white; in the strong light he appeared much older. That there must be a great deal of truth in the rumour that he and Irene were no longer the devoted couple they had once been was confirmed by the look on the man's face, and a deep sense of shame began to creep across Mary. "Of course, if you care for Rivers," he was saying, even as she scanned his altered face sharply, "I can say nothing. You are able to choose whom you will for your husband. I am, after all, only your guardian by my own free will, legally I could not interfere, even if I wanted to." Mary flushed hotly, a little of her former spirit shone in her eyes as she answered, quickly "Which means that if you could prevent my marriage with Nigel Rivers you would! I wonder why?" Sir Francis did not answer at once, only looked at her earnestly, and she wondered what brought the look of regret to his eyes. He was standing be-

fore the fireplace in his study; Mary sat very erect and unyielding outwardly, fox all that sense of remorse, in a chair before him. -- It was a bitterly cold day. A sharp, snow-laden wind whistled through the streets, and though she had come in a closed motor, and was well wrapped up in furs, Mary had shivered repeatedly until she found herself within the warm splendour of the Newtries' comfortable house. She had loosened the soft black furs from about her throat, her big muff of the same fur was still in her hands, held loosely upon her knee. She wore a snfSll black beaver hat, which was very becoming, and Sir Francis'thought lie had never seen her look prettier. Once again the sharp contrast between what she was that day and what she had been struck him forcibly. He gave a shorp, suppressed sigh-before he spoke. There had com 6 to his memory a thought of someone curiously forgotten in these times except by his father. Poor Roger! He hated to own, even to himself, that Mary Trentham's marriage with another man would be a blow to his wellloved son. "No," he said at last, slowly. "I would prevent no marriage, no matter how- unsuitable it might seem, if love —deep, true, sincere iove—inspired it.'' His voice was very grave, and Mary, watching him curiously, wondered if he was thinking of Irene. "But, somehow," lie went on, <2 "Rivers is not the sort of man I should have thought would have attracted you." " What do you mean?" She shot the queston at him with unexpected sharpness, and Sir Francis looked at her narrowly as he replied:— '' Well, if you want me to be quite candid with you, Rivers is an idler- —a flaneur—he does hot take life seriously. " '' And you think that he is not the style of man I should care about? Pray what sort of man do you consider would appeal to me?" Her voice quivered with a faint sarcasm. A worker! " he said, quietly. " You are not like one of these society butterflies that flit in and out of this house. You have lived no longer than many of them, I know, but you have lived more deeply, you know more of life, even if it has been the sadder side of life, its trials and, its struggles. I know, too, though you might deny it, that you think more, see more, know more than most women of to-day. You yourself have been a worker " He paused, and a faint flicker of scarlet flamed across her face. She opened her lips to retort sharply, but something in Sir Francis's grey, tired face held her silent. Was he thinking only of her? she wondered. Was there no thought of any other when he spoke of workers? Was he himself not one of these same workers, and was not the wife he had married a butterfly? She said nothing for a moment, then rose and faced him, speaking quietly, almost gently:— "Sir Francis, I am sorry to disappoint you, but, you see, no worker has presented himself, and the idler has. I hope that nothing in the future will cause you to have more than a vague regret regarding my inarriage with Nigel." Pity for the man was slowly stirring at the bottom of her heart. It made

lief wince even to imagine that she had had a great share in causing that look of sadness, of making him realise the failure his own marriage had been. That had been the only interview she had had with Sir Francis on the subject of her forthcoming marriage. A few nights later had followed the dinner party, and after that event she had seen neither of the Newtries, and Christmas was nearly at hand. But if she did not see them they were rarely out of her thoughts. Ever since she had caught that expression of intense fear in Lady Newtire's eyes as she looked for a brief instant at Rivers across her own dinner table, Mary had puzzled ovei* what the reason might be. Why did Irene so fear her cousin? At last she realised that it was not love that had held Lady Newtrie to Rivers, it had been fear! Why there should be fear the girl could-not even guess, but she determined to ask Nigel Rivers a few -questions on\the matter. Possibly he would not tell her the truth, but he would not be able to conceal from her that he was lying, and she felt it would be just as well to know the worst of him. An opportunity of testing him soon presented itself. All one afternoon she had been busily engaged in addressing Christmas cards. "I hate tlie things, really," she explained, candidly, to Mrs Seymour, " but everyone else seems to be doing the same thing, so I suppose I ought to be Like the rest of the world!'' She said this , with a smile. "Anyway, I have now quite a lot of frieihds, apparently. Before " Her eyes grew misty, her mouth dropped—"well, you see, there was only one, and I had no money then, not even a penny to buy her a Christmas card." Mrs Seymour laid a kind hand on the girl's shoulder. She was an elderly woman, who had known much sorrow in her life, and in consequence it was her inestimable privilege to understand and sympathise with the sorrow of others. '' My dear,'' she said, '' at least, with all the sad memories, remember that you have made, among many acquaintances, one or two real friends, and there's one who at any time will gladly serve you.'' Mary turned quickly and kissed tile kind hand still resting on her shoulder. "Yes, I will always be glad that money came to me, because without it I would never have known you! The other people have just somehow tumbled into my life, but I believe you were led to me." Mrs Seymour kissed her in return, and smiled through the quick tears that had .gathered. Then she said: — "Why, my dear child, you have forgotten Mr Rivers. Surely he did not just tumble into your life to make its happiness; he, too, must have been led." Mary did not answer at once, but turning to the writing-table at. which she~ had been sitting she picked up a sheet of paper. ' 1 See,'' she said, '' I made a most careful list of people to whom to send Christmas cards, beginning with my friends and ending with acquaintances.' ' She held out the paper to Mrs Seymour with a smile, and the old woman saw that the name she was pointing to at the head of the list was her own! They

had only been together three months, and yet it gave her a thrill of Teal gladness to know that Mary, Trentham realised that in her she had found a true friend. At that moment Nigel Rivers was'announced, and Mrs Seymour at once recollected that she had promised to go and sit with an invalid friend that afternoon. It was only after she was loyally drudging along wet, slushy streets-that she recalled how Mary had declined to discuss the man she had promised to marry. "I don't believe Mary cares a straw for him," she mused, "and even though his father does happen to be a distant cousin of my own I can't help wishing that sKe had never met him." It was a well-known fact among those •who knew her well that Mrs Seymour had never liked Nigel. Once, indeed, she had been known to go so far as to say that she did not like any of the Rivers family, and that Nigel was more objectionable than most of them. . • "I wonder if there, can be anybody else?" the old lady mused, still busy with Mary's welfare. She reviewed all the men the girl had met since she had been with "her, and ended by shaking her head. ! No; there did not seem among the number anyone more likely than Nigel Rivers, and so she gave up the matter for the moment without arriving at any very satisfactory conclusion. In the meanwhile Nigel was playing the lover with his customary success. He had the trick of saying pleasant and 'delightful things. "Mary, you are charming this afternoon," he said, at one moment. "As a rule black does not suit dark people, but then, though your hair is not fair, it has golden lights in it, and your skin is adorable — like the heart of a beautiful rose." Mary laughed. i ' My dear Nigel,, you will make me dreadfully conceited. Golden lights in my hair, and a complexion like a rose! You are wise, all the same, for you don't mention what kind of rose. There are such things as yellow roses, you know!" Then suddenly the laughter faded out, and she sat up in her chair briskly, and with set purpose written on her face." "I am going to ask you a question." "Ask away, dearest," he answered, promptly, though his face changed. Mary looked at him. "I want to know why Irene New trie hates and fears you so much!" "Irene hate and. fear me!" He opened his eyes with innocent surprise. "Good heavens! Does she hate me and f Cell* 1110 ' "Yes," said Mary, quietly, "ami 1 think' you know this. Anyhow, it is quite easy to see, and I wish I knew why. You see, you and Irene used to be such good friends." He nodded slowly. "You make it rather awkward for a fellow, Marv, but you see, dear child, that is just the; p oint _" He broke off here in an effective manner. . m j "What point?" queried Miss Iren- i tham, bluntly. ! (To be continued.) ■■ ■ i