HE HALF OF HIS KINGDOM

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 762, 20 July 1916, Page 12

HE HALF OF HIS KINGDOM

CHAPTER XXV REJECTION.

"Lady Hooston has telephoned, my lord, to know if you would take diuner with her, and go to the theatre. Dinner was to be at t : at her ladyship's house." So spoke Stevens to his master, standing in the square tesselated hall, and speaking with ,i certain diffidenco born of something inapproachable about the * young man which had grown on him since his trip abroad. What it whs they none of them could quite tell, but it was no longer an easy matter even to deliver a-message." '' Tell her ladyship I'm engaged,'' he said shortly, passing on. '' Excuse me, my lord, but Lady Mary hoped you'd ring her up; her ladyship wanted to say a word, and Miss Tremayne was on the telephone this morning, but I told her you wouldn't be in to lunch. Oh, and Sir John Fairfax wanted to know if you'd meet him at Pratt's, if you were not dining out anywhere, and I was to telephone as soon as you came in." St. Osryth sighed with a weary impatience of the trivial round, that had been growing on him since his friends had welcomed him back to their midst. Yet. what could he do? The old life with its conventions demanded that he should take his place as usual, unless he could show good reason to the contrary. For society never relaxes its grip on its victims save for certain allowable causes, such as birth, death, and marriage. Why couldn't they leave him alone? Couldn't they see that if he didn't ring them up it was because he did not wish to? Was he not able even to call his soul his own? And if he did tell them, he laughed at the thought of the amazement and Indignation that even the merest scrap of the truth would cause them-—the truth that he was unable to go anywhere, or do anything, * even to hear the sound of a friend's voice, or eat a meal in company, because he was so madly in love with the daughter of the man who had tried to take his heritage. Rising slowly, he went to the telephone, and presently heard, the small, clear voice that brought back a remembrance, of other days and other feelings. • "My mother told me to ring you np," she said, and he smiled to himself, for the simple sincerity of the words was so like Lady Mary. "Or you wouldn't have done it, I suppose?" he asked; trying "vainly to adopt the old gay tones. i "Yes, of course, what nonsense; but mother thought—we thought—we thought—you had forgotten us." "Not at all, not at all; but. I've been so busy, you know, with all this case." "Yes, I know. The clear cold tones were softer now, as if trembling with shy sympathy. "We have been so sorry about it all." .■ "Yes, it; was a bother, 'wasn't it?" "Yes, it was too bad," said her voice; ■"and we are so glad—all of us—that it's ended so. well. What perfectly detestable people they must have been." "Oh, I don't know! How are you—quite well?" She took the hint.! "Splendid, thank you. But, won't you let us congratulate you? Letticc is dining to-night, and her brother. Tommy Tremayne—and we thought of going to 'Flashlights.' Mrs Montague will chaperon us, and it would be so nice if you . could come.'' "Thanks awfully. If I went anywhere, T'd love to come to you, but I'm not going anywhere just now; I've got a fit of the blues, so I sit and sulk at home." "But why? What nonsense! Oh, you really must come!" "No, thanks; I'm afraid I can't. I should only spoil the whole party." "We'll run the risk of that," she said eagerly. "Oh, do come!" "It's so nice of you, but I'm afraid you must let me off. I haven't been anywhere, and I should feel as if everyone was staring at me.'' "Oh, what nonsense! But just as you like, of course." He could hear the disappointment in her voice, or was it the fear of having to take back an unfavourable report to her mother? "Well, we won't ask anyone till 6 o'clock, so if you change your mind, you know you've only to ring up." A few more expressions of regret, more and more perfunctory, and then the good-bye, when he hung up the telephone with a sigh of relief. "I'm not at home to anyone, but bring in the letters, if there are any." "I think I've just heard the postman, my lord. I'll bring them in, and then see that your lordship is not disturbed." St. Osryth flung himself into a deep chair and lit a cigarette, his eyes fixed gloomily on the empty grate', until he heard the sound of returning footsteps, and saw a pile of letters on a silver sal--»»ver being handed to him.

Taking them, he looked up, refusing to let his eyes fall on them till he was alone. "That will do, Stevens. Don't come Tin less I ring." "Very good, my lord." Left alone, he sorted them out. trying to guess by their outsides his chances of success —a difficult task, since he had hardly seen her handwriting, and did not remember but the brief glimpses he might have had; but one letter with a big seal attracted his attention, and he let the others fall as he gazed at it. > Yes, it might very well be her handwriting—a big, round hand, with curly y's and twisted capitals—the hand of a schoolgirl, with big, unnecessary flourishes. He tore it open. Yes, it was from her. At last he had forced her hand! This was the only thought that had come into his mind, and after the first few words it became a blank, for lie could hardly take in its exquisite cruelty. Dear Lord St. Osrytli,—l must ask you, if you are a gentleman—which I am sometimes inclined to doubt—to stop this senseless persecution of me, for you can hardly suppose that the deep injury you have done us can give me any

By LADY TROUBRIDGE, Author of "A Marriage of Blackmail," "A House of Cards," etc.

feeling but one of loathing for a man who could stoop to such actions. I never wish to see you again; and if you write to me any more I shall give your letter to my father, who will take steps to protect me from any further insult of the kind. This is really final on my part, for I look upon your proposals as a mockery, as they must appear to anyone but yoursef.—Believe me, yours truly, Daphne Parsons.

It was the bitterest blow that so far life had given him, and his first feeling was of thankfulnes that he wa3 alone, of unutterable gratitude that no one but himself saw the scalding tears that, for the first time in his history, a woman had been able to make him shed.

Anything but this he could have borne—a coldness that needed to be fanned into warmth, a sense of injury that did not forbid penitence and atonement —conditions however hard and difficult, so long as there was something in the letter that seemed to come from her to him.

But this production left him spellbound, and if he had not seen it with his own eyes he knew that he would never have believed it, just as he knew that her very cruelty would be his salvation. No man could stand such a letter and feel the same to the woman who wrote it. She herself had done the impossible, and had killed his love, for it was its death-pang that he felt now. This was her last chance of wounding him; let her profit to the full in her malignant and complete triumph; henceforth he would be free.

He thought he sat there only a short I time, but in reality nearly two hours passed before he felt anything like returning life come to his numbed senses. Then a reaction, almost as painful in its own, made him spring to his feet and go to the telephone. Simple as the action was, it.was the sign manual of freedom, the casting off of fetters by the slave, the return to the fold of the lost sheep. "Are you 900 Mayfair? ... Is Lady Mary King at home? . . . Yes; then ask her to come to the telephone to speak to Lord St. Osryth—Lord St. Osryth. Thank you." Then, after a pause: "Is that you, Lady Mary? . . . Yes, it's' St. Osryth. . . . Should you think me an awful fool if I altered my mind. . . . You don't? How nice of you! . . . Yes, I should love to come. . . . Yes, I'm sure it'll do me good. ... I quite agree with you; it's no good worrying about anything, is it? . . . Well, you must promise to sit by me; yes, you must, or I shan't come. . . . Very well, then, that's splendid." He hung up the receiver, and then sat staring in front of him, with a white, set face. By heavens, she should not have to complain of further persecution! And if it had not been for one teasing thought that twisted in his brain like an adder, he could have found the strength joyfully to forget her for ever. But could he be sure that she had written that letter of her own free will?

It never occurred to him to doubt the handwriting. Jt was so like her — or what he had fancied hers would be. But had she been intimidated, cajoled, even forced into writing it?

One day, he knew he must find that out; not that he expected any comfort to come from the investigation, but simply that with a free spirit he might dig the grave of the past; and he did not even intend to make the opportunity of seeing her, even if it had been possible. Some day it might come of itself, and then the final word would be spoken between them. Meanwhile forgetfulness, and the old life, and the old friends; for, after all, it had not been so much her beauty, for he was surfeited with the sight of beautiful women. It had been something sweet, intangible, gentle, wistful, and ardent about her, something that had been an entire sham, and could never have existed save in his brain. Having settled this point he was ready for life, and did not resent the tinkle of the telephone bell at his ear. "Yes, what is it?" he asked, after lifting the receiver and putting it to his ear. "I'm Armstrong speaking. Can I expect you to-morrow?" "Thank you so much, but I don't think I'll trouble you now. I've got into communication with Miss Parsons, so that simplifies matters." • '' I hope she's told you what you wanted to hear?" "Yes, thanks; I've all the necessary information." '' Well, that ?s all the better. I don't believe in intermediaries when the principals can have a word together. Oh, there's just one other thing I wanted to tell you! " "Yes?" said St. Osryth, in the same cold, level tone of indifferent civility, so altered, as Armstrong reflected, from the eager tremulous tones he had heard before. "I only wanted to tell you that Parsons accepts the money." "Ah! very good." He hung up the receiver. "Parsons accepts the money!" he repeated. "Fifty thousand pounds ,and in return an insulting letter. Well, it was good enough exchange for a fool!" Throwing back his head he laughed bitterly.

(To be continued.)