Takne Unawares

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 884, 9 December 1916, Page 3

Takne Unawares

[All Rights Reserved]

CHAPTER XV. "There's a lady to see you, sir; says ho won't give, her name; says you now her too well for that, sir." Too well for that! Humphrey lifted is head sharply and steadied his hand pon his desk. A woman! ••What is she like, Cole?" ''A fair lady, sir; remarkably pretty -a beauty, if you'll excuse me, sir." A beauty! Who but Terry could be beauty? No other to Humphrey.

"Show her in," he said. And Cole •tired, curiously surprised, for many 'beauties" had shown themselves in he.se chambers before now, but never ne had roused Humphrey Hindoo's in?rest.

A moment later, as he closed the door again, Humphrey looked up, and then gave a sudden start. "You!" he cried. "You!"

Unabashed, Mrs Stevenish put down her umbrella and pushed baok her furs. Ami ten years seemed to pass sharply from Humphrey as a curtain passes from a scene in a play; and for just a moment he stood face to face with something he had thought dead, that seemed now to he cruelly active and awake. "You!'' he repeated. She stood before him as he had seen Tier years before, and the darkening afternoon, throwing shadows upon her face, hid and softened all the hard lines that iiad grown upon it, showed her to him suddenly, cruelly as the woman he had loved ami lost —the woman, not a day older, whom he had set up in a shrine and who had betrayed him. He stood stiff—motionless as he had risen, taken aback, the old pain, so long dead as he thought, throbbing at his heart.

Years ago what, had he dreamt? Years ago what had he hoped? All that a man longs for, all that makes for life. He had given this woman a halo and set her up as his standard, and he had thought, of her and dreamt of her and filled his life with her; and it had all turned out to be the veriest dross. And now the memory of her, combined with the memory of the summer, and of the ciay when he had married Terry, and ■with the failure of his life threatened to undo him. He mastered himself and faced her with hard eyes, surprise in his cold glance, and an air, which Vi Stevenish atferwards said made cold water run down her back.

"You don 't «eem pleased to see me," she said, !if' : ng her eyes to his face, "and yon can't say I have bothered you, can you? Ami you say I haven't been modes' and forbearing and forgiving—in fact, I've been most angelic. I don 't hesitate to lay claim to these virtues. I never was shy of taking my due, was I, Humphrey ? But I really do deserve a little better reception than this. Aren't you going to shake hands with me? Aren't you ever going to offer me a seat? Oh, Humphrey; After I have borne your snubbings so well! "

She looked at him from under her lowered brows, her eyes blinking at his without moving, in her own curious manner, and her lips smiling. But under it all lay something else —something indefinite that he could not grip, a certain seriousness that vaguely alarmed lim. "I—you have surprised me," he stammered. '' Of course I have. I don't suppose you over expected to see me again, did you ? You thought too badly of me. But von can't say I haven't behaved well?" He drew himself up. Before this woman, whom once he had loved, he felt strangely slow and stupid. But perhaps it was only part of the apathy and weariness that had been creeping upon him of late. lie stirred himself. "I don't understand what you mean," he said. "I doVt know that I liave reason to —to know anything of your behav.'our. Your life is so far removed from mine now—it doesn't concern me." She arched her brows sharply. "Humphrey!" she exclaimed. "How can you? And I've been such a good friend to Terry. You 're absolutely brutal. But perhaps you don't know?" '' Know what? '' "Perhaps she hasn't told you?" "Terry has told me everything." She stood hesitating for a moment, us if at a loss what to do. "Then I don't understand," she said, "unless you are pretending. Rut you might know you needn't act a part with me. anil things are too serious—at least, I feel they are —and that is why I came today to see you, and not Terry. I've talked to her and warned her, and it is no use. She will have her own wav. I suppose you have found that out," too, by now. that she is impossible to control; but Humphrey, she's going too far, she really is, and I could not sit still doing nothing any longer. I had to come to you and see you about it." About what? The question and a fear shot through his brain; fear for Terry, fear of he scarcely knew what, but lie showed nothing. He drew himself up coldly. His face stiffened and hardened. From his full height he looked down at her, ice in his eyes and ice in his heart, ami if looks could annihilate a person, that person should have been Mrs Stevcnish at that moment. He looked at her as though she was of no account —the creature he knew her to be, an unscrupulous adventuress, a. third-rate actress, and one not fit to breathe Terry's name. " Your visit is quite unncessary,'' he said coldly. "If you have nothing else to see me about I. will wish you goodmorning. I am very busy." "There is something else, Humphrey," she said breathlessly, and a mixture of feelings burning in her heart; spurred the desire to see him suffer. He should know that he could not insult her with impunity. Ho should know that he had yet to reckon with her, that his honour, that was move to him than his life, was in her hands. She rose. "Humphrey, you don't know," she said, "or else you are wilfully blind. And it was only out of good-nature that I came, Humphrey. You must believe that? And I suppose you will hate me for telling you, but I must, for you can't know. Humphrey, don't you really suspect it? Don'"t you realise? Your wife is a gambler!"

By ANNIE O. TIBBITS jJßajiiijgijj Author of 't^mzmeg " The Threads of Deatiny," " Li f e's Revenge," etc..

' To bo continued

He flinched sharply, catching his breath like a swimmer striking water. He started back ami put out a hand, gripped the back of a chair, as though ho would grind it to powder, and across his desk their eyes Diet —his dark and stern, denying the accusation, denying the doubt that rose in his heart, hers bold with knowledge. "It's a lie!" lie said roughly. But his face fell. Thoughts, doubts —sharp, insistent, little memories sprang and pricked and stabbed. All ! e knew and feared, all he thought and felt, seemed to rush now into that moment.

Terry! Good God, what did it mean?

He thrust back all doubt. Not to this woman would he show fear! Not to her would he admit a suspicion. He held up his head. "It isn't a lie," Vi said calmly, ' 'and you know it.''

He stood, for a breathless instant, silent, with his familiar room laden with his briefs and boxes and safes reeling round him. But there was no change in his face, no sign visible to the woman who watched him. "I don't know what you are talking about, Mrs Stevenish," he said. "If you have been hearing malicious stories I don 't wish to have them repeated to me. And if there is nothing else, perhaps you will leave me." He took a step towards the door. She checked him.

"There is something else," she said, '' a lot else.'' There was a gleam of venom in her eyes, and, watching him closely, she saw under the staunch outward look of him a slow growth of white spreading at his lips and mounting to his nostrils.

"I came out of friendship, Humphrey," she went on, lying glibly, '' and T can tell you it was only something I felt to be very bad that led me to come to you here, now, like this. Not for worlds would I have faced you again here, and you know it, even though we were outwardly friendly at. Brancaster last summer. " But, Humphrey, knowing what I do, and feeling towards you what I do, I couldn't sit still and not help you, Humphrey." She came closer to him watching, carefully calculating. How much could she say? How far could she go! How much of her old power would it be possible to get over him! Strange, extraordinary emotions rose in her heart. She hated him, she loved him. She wanted to see biui sir. er, she wanted him at her feet again, happy, as he used to be years ago. She wanted to wound, and she wanted to heal. And with the weapon in her hands, she was calculating carefully how best to plant the cruellest stab, and how her revenge could best revolve to her own advantage. "It is because I loved you so years ago," she said suddenly, "that I "have come now. You can scoff, disbelieve, but it's true. Do you think I haven't regretted and repented? Oh, Humphrey, a thousand times—oh, Humphrey, I suffered for all I did to J'OH." He stirred uneasily. "It is no use thinking of that," he said hoarsely, "and for the rest I would rather not hear.''

"Humphrey," she broke in. ''Don't be unkind. I came for your good, because you once loved me" too well.'You must believe that. Don't be impatient. Hear me, for the sake of what I was once to you; try and believe in me for this one hour. I've come to help you. I only hope I am not too late; but Humphrey, something must be done, and soon. For weeks I've been undecided how to act—weeks, months ago I began to be afraid, but I dared not come to you Humphrey; and even now if it hadn't been for last night, when Terry played so high a game, I don't think I should have had the courage." She broke off for a moment, and something held him silent. "Humphrey, it's Terry, your wife, a gambler—and worse." He roused. "As I have already told you, I would rather you did not mention her name," he said. S "I must." "She is nothing to do with you." "She is a friend of mine." "Yes, she was; but that is all past. I am sorry to say so, but it was only a friendship of a, few week's standing last summer; her life is altogether different from yours now " Vi bent forward sharply, her eyes raised to his face, a little cry broke from her lips. "What? A few weeks' standing. And last summer. Good heavens, Humphrey, you don't know. I thought as much. I thought it was bad—you don 't know." lie stared for a moment, then laughed. And there was a bitterness in his laughter that did not escape her, "Surely a man knows something a!tout his wife?" "I don't think you know much about Terry," she retorted. "I think you know very little of her. Oh, Humphrey there's a bitter awakening for you I'm afraid—unless yoj will be warned and look alter her. You ought to stop her afternoon bridge parties, and you ought to forbid her to go to Mrs Caley's -" "Bridge parties!" ho interrupted! sharply; then, with sudden thought he I steadied himself. He must not give way before Mrs Stevenish; he must not be taken by surprise. Not to her would he reveal the true utate of things between him and Terry. He must hold! Ins own, fight for his own, and defend ! Terry as best he eoald. He must admit! nothing.

His [iride rose, firm, stromr "Mrs Stovenish," he said*'"you are making mountains out of molehills I haven't the slightest objection to Tomgoing to afternoon bridge parties- theV are harmless enough. If you think you are injuring Terry by this nonsense or il you think I don't know, you are mistaken; 1 have implicit faith tu my wife.