A PLUNGE INTO THE UNKNOWN.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 16609, 5 December 1919, Page 8

A PLUNGE INTO THE UNKNOWN.

FASCINATING STORY OF POPULAR INTEREST

BY CHARLES D. LESLIE.

Author of "A Wild Wager,” ‘‘Loved for Herself,” “The Errington Pearls Mystery,” “The Power of the Purse,’' etc., etc. CHAPTER XXII. IN HIGHGATB. To explain Eva Wantage’s sad 1 “that can never be,” it is necessary to go back twenty -lour hours, to four o'clock, when it will bo remembered she was dressed and ready to receive Arnold Borlyu, though that gentleman was not duo till live.

A little later, at four fifteen, to be precise, tho< door boll tinkled, Mrs. jJowson had nob arrived, so Eva rose to answer it. Sho guessed who rang. How t impatient he must be to seo her again, to come three-quarters of an hour before his time 1 She decided to express, great surprise on seeing him. But mere was no .need to act | surprise. When she opened the door i a gentleman was standing before her ; awaiting admission, but it was not Arnold Berlyn, it was the middle-aged gentleman with the smiling, mobile lace who has already made two brief appearances in this history. Ho it was who, entering the palm court of the Rita the day before, throw Eva into such a panic of apprehension lost lie should see her. She had escaped him only to bo spied by him being put in a taxi by Arnold Berlyn. And now j they were face to face, and the girl, ; white-lipped, drew back. ) “Father,” sho exclaimed, and her j voice expressed an infinity of tragedy, i Next moment she rallied. Now that : the worst had happened, now tnat her rascally cx-convict fathor had run her to earth, the unreasoning fright of the day before turned to a courage born partly of desperation, partly ■ of the knowledge that two years and more had passed since sho left him; that she was a woman of twenty-two, not a girl in her teens. After all he had no legal power over her. “Good afternoon,” said the visitor, smiling paternally, ignoring her look of bitter aversion and disgust. Ho advanced a step to ensure tho door not being shut in his face, and continued blandly. “How handsome you’ve grown, child, and bow smart ■ yon look! You’ve learnt the art of putting on your clothes, I see; It’s ono of the chief feminine arts.” Had Eva been in a complimentary mood, she might have returned the ( flattery. TVith his air of serenity and good breeding be made an attractive, even distinguished figure. Ho wore a bowler bat, a smart summer overcoat, and carried a pair of gloves and a malacca. cane. Tho very look of him inspired trust and confidence to those who did not know him. His appearance was indeed his chief asset. But Era knew him for a thief and a swindler, ft man utterly lacking in the moral sense, unless the last two years had radioallv ehahg’dd him, which-she didn’t believe. “What do von want?” sho said at last. “Why do you pursue mo here?” “My child, my child, I’ve come to SCO you for your own good. For myself I ask nothing, save perhaps a cup of tea. I am rich, at least I will be directly. I have been prospering of late.” “Come in, then,” said tho girl reluctantly, “but if you’ve come to try to persuade me to join you in your swindles you waste your time. I left you two years ago, because I was determined to live honestly ” “Honesty is of course the host policy.” ho agreed, stepping into the hall, hanging his hat on one of the pegs, and proceeding to remove his overcoat (“Are we alone. Eva?) Only unfortunately, honesty has never appealed te me. After all it’s a ridiculously over-rated virtue. This your flat?” . . , t. “No, it belongs to a friend. 1m merely temporary caretaker.” “Honesty then has brought you none of this world’s dross save the clothes you wear?” He deftly caught tho girl’s hands, glanced at them, and dropped them. “Nor a prospective husband, attractive though you look to masculine eyes. That’s what. I’ve come about, Eva. You remember Denison?” . • “Hasn’t he drunk himself to death, or broken his neck yet ?” “No, by tho look of him I’m sure he’ll not last more than five years. He’s not forgotten you, strange to say I ran across him at the Metropole at Brighton. Ho still wants to marry you.” “I would rather sell matenes for a living.” , , , , , “Eva, you’re a fool 1” protested her father, now in the sitting-room. “Denison drinks, of course, but lie’s ono of those men who grow more gentlemanly tho more drunk they are. Five thousand a year, and I swear bo won’t last five years. Of course, I’d see the widow got everything he has to leave. Think it over seriously, “How much has he promised you the day I marry him?” “One thousand pounds,” was the unruffled reply. Eva regarded him steadily. “I wonder how many girls there are cursed with fathers like you ! I don’t believe vou arc my father.” “Well, my dear, as I’m all tho husbands vour' mother over had, it’s a good thing there’s no ono to overhear you.” ~ . “I won’t marry Mr. Denison, or any husband of your choosing. If that’s all you’ve come about you’d bettor go.” Tho visitor peered about tho room with twinkling eyes. “Cakes, an infinity of cakes, two cups and saucers. I’ve been reading Sherlock Holmes, and I deduce that you aro expecting a visitor to tea. Is it masculine or feminine?” “It’s a man.” ■ “And no chaperone—not even a servant on the promises I Fortunately I’m hero to play propriety.”

(Continued daily.)