LOVE AND A SHOP GIRL.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 144351, 16 March 1914, Page 5

LOVE AND A SHOP GIRL.

ATTRACTIVE LOVE STORY OF DOMESTIC INTEREST.

By M. C. K. BAKER, Author of “The Sin of Carine,” “One Guilty Deed,” “The Wooing of Wendy,” “The Power of Love,’ “Sir Geoffrey Dacre,” etc. etc.

CHAPTER XSIX. BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS. Sir dire Dormer blinked in bewildered fashion at the counterpane on bis bed. Why on earth bad his red eiderdown quilt become suddenly pale yellow. Raising his hand to rub his eyes, he felt the bandage on his head, and in that instant his mind flashed back to bis last conscious moments.

There was a little boll on the table by the side of his bed. He rang it orously, and wondered why one of his legs felt so funny and numb.

Farmer Corfield appeared in response to the summons. In a few words he acquainted the young baronet with the incident that had happened, and with the extent of the damage lie had sustained. He was about to proceed with a detailed list of injuries to the car when Sir Clive interrupted him.

“Oh, blow the car! How about the young lady? You say she only sprained her wrist. Is she awake yet?” “Awake—lor’ bless ycr life, she’s gone. Went back to Lunnon four or fjvo hours agone by the first moruin train. All on pins and needles to get off sho was, seemed scared to death of something.” Sir Clive made an effort to rise.

“Sorry, sir, but doctor's strict orders was von wasn’t to stir an inch. E didn’t have time to put the plaster ot Paris on last night. He’s coming to do it to-day, and when it s set he s going to have you taken off in an ambulance.” , . . “Oh, there’s been a doctor here, then? Did the young lady gel proper attention to her wrist.'” “Yes, sir. Properly bandaged it was before she went off.” Mrs. Corfield now appeared with tea and toast for the invalid. Sir Clive would have struggled to sit up, tor he was feeling hungry and quite ready for his breakfast. But, reminded of the doctor’s injunctions, he permitted himself to be nursed by the motherly old dame, who raised his head and give him tea sip by sip. It was m the middle of this interesting operation that Jim ushered in another visitor. Dr. Sirangways advanced to the bedside at once, trusting to his professional manner to conceal the resentment that had already been expressed in a letter which he had posted before retiring to bed on the previous night. “Hullo! I know your face. Met you at the Mallistcrs, didn't 1? Ah, I remember. Sirangways—you're the doctor, of course!” . Cyril StrangTrays returned the faint* est smile to this cheerful greeting. He was not to be disarmed by such childish subterfuge. . ‘Til get to work on your leg at once, if you’re ready,” he replied, curtly. “As soon as it’s set, arrangements call be made for getting you home.” “Is it going to be a long job, doctor?” “A month on your back and two or three weeks on crutches, I should say. “Was Miss Templeton’s wrist badly damaged?” Not the slightest attempt to conceal her name—shameful, thought Cyril Strangways. . “Only a sprain. It will bo all right in a day or two,” he answered, and the sigh of relief that greeted his utterance only incensed him the more. Setting to work without further parley, ho encased the injured limb in the plastic plaster of Paris, and, whilst waiting for it to set, took Sir Clive’s instructions about getting him back to his rooms in London. The young baronet would not hoar of going to an hospital. Throughout the interview Dr. Strangways maintained a strictly professional attitude. Ho made no further allusion to the accident nor to the circumstances in which it had occurred. Every moment, however, ho expected his patient to make some observation—to implore him to say nothing to May Mallistor about the presence of his companion in the accident. As the minutes sped by and still Sir Clive said nothing of the sort, nor even referred to the girl, Cyril Strangways became more and more convinced that he had done the right thing in writing to May Mailister as ho had. As soon as he had got Sir Clive off his hands, he proposed to run up to town himself and explain things more fully than he had been able to do in a letter. “By the way, have you seen the Mallistcrs lately?’ How are they?” At last! The young doctor made sure that Sir Clive was working round to the subject nearest to- his heart. “No, I haven’t seen anything of them for a long time. But—l should have thought you were in tho best position to answer that question.” Something in tho doctor’s strained manner caused Sir Clive to dart a keen glance at him. “Why do you say that? Why should I see more of them than anyone else? I don’t understand!” " “Of course, I may he mistaken, but rumour has been very persistent.”

‘■Rumour —what rumour?” “That Miss Mallister is to bo your wife.” “My dear doctor, your surprise me. This is the very first I have heard of it. I flatter myself that Miss Mallister and I are good friends—but I can't remember any action of mine to support the rumour you speak of.” “Oh, if you repudiate it I have nothing more to say. I have your permission to repeat your repudiation if X hear anything more of this rumour, I take “Certainly you bare. It’s simply abominable the way people gossip nowadays, doctor. Just because a fellow happens to have a title and a little money, he can’t talk half-a-dozen words to a girl without some busybody starting to make mischief of this sort.” 'lt was surprising how quickly Cyril Strangwavs seemed to unbend now. He became almost genial, and insisted on taking charge of the damaged motorcar, and seeing it safely dispatched for repairs. For there could be no mistaking the import of the denial uttered by the man he had believed to be his rival. Sir Clive had never even proposed to May, and obviously did not intend to. He rose quite briskly when the plaster casing was set, and strode to the door whistling. “I’ll have the ambulance sent up from the cottage hospital, and you can catch the 2.15 this afternoon. Goodbye for the present!” “One moment, doctor! Can I write a letter now?” asked Sir Clive. “Better not; might strain you to sit

up. Wait till you get a nurso to do it for you.” With this Doctor Strangways left the room. . '

After all, what was the use of writing, thought Sir Clive, as his eyes followed the retreating figure of the medical man. He would soon be back in London *, be could get one of the nurses to bring her to see him. And he smiled bis old bright smile at the thought of her and all that she meant to him now.

£To be continued.)