THE SECOND HONEYMOON

Sun (Christchurch), Volume IV, Issue 1231, 22 January 1918, Page 8

THE SECOND HONEYMOON

IBy RUBY M. AYRES, author of "Richard Chatterton, V.C.," "Richard and Sonla," "A Man of His Word."l [Copyright.! CHAPTER XXIV— KETTERING HEARS SOMETHING. "I shall never be able to manage it if I live to bo a hundred," said Christine despairingly. Sho leaned back in the padded sent of Kettering's big car and looked up into his face with laughing eyes. She had been trying to drive; she had driven the car at a snail's pace the length of the drive leading to Upton House, and tried to turn out of the open carriage gate into the road. "If you hadn't been here we should have gone into the wall, shouldn't we?" she demanded. Kettering laughed. "I'm very much afraid we should," lie said. "But that's nothing. I did all manner of weird things when I first started to drive. Take the wheel again and have another try." But Christine refused. "I might smash the car, and that •would be awful. You'd never forgive me." "Should I not!" His grave eyes searched her pretty face. "I don't think you no d bo very alarmed about that/ he said. "However, if you insist " He changed places with her and took the wheel himself. It was early morning,' and fresh and sunny. Christine was flushed and smiling, for the moment at least there were no shadows in her eyes; she looked more like the girl who had smiled up from the stalls in the theatre to where Jimmy Challoner eat alone in his box that night of thair meeting. Jimmy had never onco been mentioned between herself and this man since that first afternoon. Save for the fact that Kettering called her "Mrs Challoner." Christine might have been unmarried —still free. "Gladys will think we have run away," she told him presently with a little laugh. "I told her we should be on'y half an hour." "Have we been longer!" he asked surprised. Christine looked at her watch. "Nearly an hour," she said. "We were muddling about in the drive for ever so long, you know; and I really think Wo ought to go back." "If you really think so " He , turned " the car reluctantly. '' I suppose you wouldn't care for a little run after lunch?" he asked carelessly. ■"l've got to go over to Heston. I should be delighted to take you." "I should love it—if I can bring / Gladys." y He did not answer for a moment, then: "Oh, bring Gladys by all means," he :said rather drvly. "What time'?'" "I'll call for vou at 2—if that will

do." They had reached the house again now; Christine got out of the car and stood for a moment with one foot on the step looking up at Kettering. There was a little silence. "How long have we known each •other?" he asked suddenly. She looked up startled —she made a Yap ; calculation. "Nearly three weeks, isn't it?" she said then. He laughed. "It seems longer; it seems as if I must have known you all my life." The words were ordinary enough, but the 100 1 1: in his eyes brought the swift colour to Christine's cheeks—her eves fell. "Is that a compliment?" she asked, trying to speak naturally. "I hope so; I meant it to be." Her hand was resting on the open ' door of the car; for an instant he laid his own above it; Christine drew hers quickly away. "Well, .we'll be ready at two, then," she said. She turned to the house. Kettering drove slowly down the drive. He was a very fine-looking man, Christine thought with sudden wistfulness; he had been so kind to her—kinder than anyone she had ever known. She was glad he was going to have Upton House, as it had got to be sold. He had promised her to look after it, and not have any of the trees in the garden out down. "It shall all be left just as it is now," he told her. "Perhaps some day you'll marry, find your wife will want it altered," she said sadly. "I shall never get married," he had answered quickly. She had been glad to hear him say that; he was so nice as a friend, somehow she did not want anyone to come •along and change him. She went into the house and called to Gladys. "I thought you would think we were lost perhaps," she said laughingly, as she thrust her head into the moruingxoom where Gladys was sitting. Tl.o elder girl looked up; her voice was rather drv wh?n she answered: "No, I did not'tVirfik that." Christine threw her hat aside. "I can't drive a bit," sho said petulantly. "I'm so silly! I nearly ran into the wall at the gate." "Did you?" "Yes. Gladys, we're going over to Heston at two o'clock with Mr Kettering." Gladys looked up. "We! Who do you mean by we?" "You and I, of course." "Oh!"—there was a momentary silence, then: "There's a letter for you on the table," said Gladys. Christine turned slowly, a little flush of colour rushing to her cheeks. She glanced apprehensively at the envelope lying face upwards, then she drew a quick breath, almost of relief it seemed. Sho picked the letter up indifferently and broke open the flap. There was a moment of silence; Gladys glanced up. "What's the matter?" sho asked. Christine was staring out of the window, the letter lay on the floor at her et. "Jimmy's ill," she said listlessly. "111!" Gladys laid down her pen, and swung round in the chair. "What's the matter with him'" sho asked rather sceptically. "I don't know. You can read the letter, it's from Mr Sangster—Jimmy's great friend." She handed the letter over. Gladys read it through and gave it back. "Humph!" she said with a little inelegant sniff; she looked at her friend. "Are you going?" she asked bluntly. (To be continued.)