Love's Reward.

Thames Star, Volume LVII, Issue 15119, 4 January 1922, Page 7

Love's Reward.

Rights Reserved.! /

By PAUL DRQUHART, Author of" The Web,” “ The Eagles “ The Shadow” u The Blackmailer“ The Sign of the Good Intent /' 6v.

' PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

C H APT HR. V 1 - fi/ Tf you won’t make the effort eioser to her. “I have come, Iris, to ask you again to be my wife. You may think me a hard man: You may think I behaved harshiy to your father and mother. But, believe me, Mr. Burnaby incurred nis losses throughMiis own folly. In taking Dainton Court from him in settlement of the debt he owed me, I was a heavy loser. I did the best I could for him, I gave him a house and a shelter in which he could have passed his life. He could have “stayed there Willingly for my part, had not that unfortunate misunderstanding arisen between us. I admit I acted wrongly, perhaps’ brutally, that morning. But, remember, I love you, and I was driven almost mad by my passion. I love you, Iris. • I want you to be my wife. Ycu will return to your old home. I will give you everything you desire. I am a rich man, and it will be the one object of my life to gratify your smallest wish. Give me your answer.” Her amazement ah the man’s insolent coolness and specious pleading enabled Iris to find her tongue. “Your insolence is unbearable. You may find it easy to excuse your conduct. I do not. If you haye any of the instincts of a gentleman leave me.” Sir John did not move. The -pinkness of his~ complexion flushed into a deeper [hue. “I am indeed sorry to trouble you, "hut I require an answer. Will you marry me?” She opened her lips as if to speak, but he interrupted her quickly. “Think well before you Your answer may be fraught with more disagreeable consequences than you imagine.” “If my answer was *yesl can welTimagine that the consequences would be disagreeable,” she retorted; quickly, with some touch of spirit. “I -want 'yes’ or ‘no’,” he said, angrily. “You may think yourself very witty, my young lady, but I’m not a man who threatens unless I am able to carry my threat into execution.”

She suddenly went very pale. “My answer is, of course, 'no,’ ” she replied, struggling bravely to still the fear that had sprung up in her mind. “Your threat I don’t understand, and care nothing about. I should be glad'if you would go and allow me to continue my walk alone.” “Oh,”' you would, would you? You don’t care about my threats, eh? And you won’t marry me? But just listen to this, my fine lady, before you deckle.” He looked down at her, his head protruded forward from his shoulders. “That story of yours about an old lady, Mrs. Wrangham, leaving you a lot of money—a pretty sort of yarn in its way, wasn’t it? But I have made inquiries at Somerset House—that’s where they keep a copy of all wills, my> dear; you forget that —and there isn’t a will of any person called Wrangham who died within the last three months who left you any money. Nice for you, won’t it be, if that gets round? People will ask why you invented such a yarn. They will ask where you. got your money from, how it was you went to London without a penny and returned with an handsome income and a pretty little story about a nice old lady. You know what they’ll say, and unless you marry me that story will be in everybody’s mouth. Now, what do you say?” He squared his shoulders and stood erect, with the air of a man who lias brought off a coup.

disappeared, and then, turning round, she buried her face in her hands and burst into a flood of'•unrestrained tears. CHAPTER VIII. 1 Sir John Fothersgill was a man of. his word where his own interests were concerned. As he himself said, lie never threatened to threaten in vain. The girl had defied him, and she should suffer. He had broken many an influential determined man on the wheel of his ambition, and he did not expect to be thwarted by a woman of twen-ty-five. Had he been given to introspection it might have struck him as somewhat curious that he should seek to blacken the character of the girl he professed to love, and quite honestly wished to make his wife. But he rarely, if ever, took the trouble to analyse his feelings and emotions. He was a man constitutionally incapable of looking at a problem from more than one point of view. > He had fallen in love with the beauty of Iris’s face, and. he determined to marry her. That was the goai’ he had set before himself —the goal he determined to attain. Considerations as to whether the girl loved him, as to whether he eoqld ever win her affection,.or could live happily with her when married, never weighed with him in the slightest. * She was not willing to accept his proposal,, and therefore he must bend her to his will Though puzzled to discover how -Iris had suddenly returned to Dainton with a fortune of one thousand a yea?,' he placed no credence in the story which he deliberately set out to circulate. That the girl he loved in his own selfish fashion and proposed to make Lady Pothersgill had ever made money dishonourably was incredible. But it was a useful lever in his hands with which he was satisfied he could upset the girl’s* determination. • . He found no difficulty in setting the scandal afloat- The afternoon following his interview with Iris the Glendinnings gave a large At Home at Musgrave House. Sir John, who usually avoided the social amusements that the society of Torquay afforded, finding little to amuse him in the talk of elderly retired officers, bored curates, and hopeful doctors, made a point of being present.: The people he met were most of them acquainted with the Burnabys, and the arrival of the Squire and his wife gave him a pretext for introducing the subject of Iris. “Mr. Heathercote Burnaby doesn’t seem to take his daughter about with him much,” he remarked to the elderly lady by whose side he was seated.

Iris, gripping the rougn ntones of the wall with both hands, looked at him with a face from which every trace of colour had fled. Her diroat worked convulsively. Great tears sprang up into her eyes. “You cur!” she gasped. “I would sooner die than be married to a cowardly bully like you.” Sir John Fothersgill stood Tor a moment irresolute. “Fine words, \oung lady, but I won’t take that answer from you. Perhaps in a month’® time you will think dif'erently. You won’t have quite the same point of view, when you are cut by every person you know, and every woman shrinks from 1 on as something vile and un- • can. I’ll wait till then. For the •■••esent, good-bye.” He raised his hat, and strode uay up the hill towards the wn. Iru watched his figure until it

“No, poor girl, she doesn’t seem to care to go out. She had a terrible struggle to her father and mother last year, I believe, and the strain told upon her. She seems to shun everybody. When she first came here she was bright and chatty, but Torquay, I am afraid, is no place for a young girl. She has grown so depressed. Her mother is very much concerned about her, and is most anxious that she should see a doctor. But she persistently refuses. I am afraid she is developing melancholia —so many young girls have it nowadays. It is so very sad to think that she should suffer! like this after all she has gone through. If she can’t enjoy the legacy she was so fortunately left, what is the good of it to her, I say?” Sir John’s companion had philosophical aspirations. /“Do you know, I can’t quite believe that story of the legacy, ’ ’ said Sir John, confidentially. “No one seems to have known this Mrs. Wrangham who so opportunely died, leaving her companion, after a short acquaintance, such a large sum of money. I have been long interested in the Burnabys, and I felt it my duty to' make inquiries, and—well, those inquiries have been hardly satisfactory-” The elderly lady became greatly interested. A real life scandal was a thing she adored. The somnolent society of Torquay afforded little that was worth talking about. She was quite willing to let virtue have its reward in the next: world, as long ,as she could have a hand in dispensing "tie rewards of . vice in this. She wou-ld never have talked evil about the dead, but to talk it about the living was a luxury she was not prepared to deny herself. Besides, after a monotonous round of bridge parties and at homes, a scandal was a pleasant distraction.

“Dear me!” she excaimed, bending her head closer to Sir John, as if with the desire to miss nothin®.

“Do I understand you to mean that Miss Burnaby has received no such legacy ? ” “You understand correctly. No will drawn uffYiy anyone of the name of Wrangham !>as been made within the last three or four months leaving anyone-of [he name of Iris Burnaby the sum of a thousand a year.” “But there can be no dmibf'lh"* the young lady has received some money. I was told that her fa! km and mother were absolutely des-i

tutc, living in a small cottage on their old estates on cliarit.y You must be mistaken, surely, Sir John. Where could she have got the money from?” “My dear lady, you can rest quite satisfied that I am not mistaken. As to where she can have got the money from is a different matter. One hardly likes to talk about these things, and perhaps it is best to leave it alone. After all,-it is no affair of mine.” Sir John knew well enough tli"' his companion would not be baulked of the full account of his su:. picions.

“I have no wish to press you P disclose anything you think besf kept to yourself. But if, as I judge from your remarks, you think something is amiss, I think you should tell me. Remember, Sir John, I have daughters-” “As I tell you, I don’t like to say anything. But London is an evil place. Miss Burnaby was there for a year. She is a pretty girl, and she acquired wealth with a rapidity wliich her commercial qualifications hardly explain. I need say nothing more, I think.” Sir John was quite right. Ho had fulfilled his object, and there was no necessity to add another word. Before the assembled guests at Musgrave House hade farewell to their hostess the story of Iris Burnaby had been -discussed by, or reached the ears of, nearly everybody present. Tlie following morning Iris, walking down the Strand to do some shopping for her mother, was cut by everyone of her acquaintances! From many a dull but respectable home the order; of ostracism had gone forth against Iris Burnaby. Infuriated matrons indulged themselves in hitter vituperation of the unfortunate girl. Those of the doctors who had to make a living in Torquay by encouraging the imaginations of elderly women, pretended to he appalled. The clergy followed suit. No lettre eachet issued by the grand Monarch was more effective than, the unwritten, order issued in the. name- of Propriety. Pnggishness, and Prudishness. Iris wao outside the social pale. She returned from that walk bitterly aware that Sir John Fothersgill had not threatened in vain There was no mistaking the attitude of the people towards her. They either passed her with eyes icily averted, or with a quick glance of disgust written on their faces drew away from her disdainfully - The fact that Sir John had told her nis plans beforehand, and that as a consequence she knew why she was treated so, gave her'a lock of self-consciousness that in the eyes of those who thought ill of her appeared to enhance her guilt. Martha found her in her bedroom crying as if her heart would break. “Oh, miss, what is the matter with you? I can’t a-bear to see you taking on like this-” Iris raised a pale, tear-stained face. “I wish, Martha, J. had no ver consented to Mr. "Wrangham” proposal. That story I told father and mother about inheriting a fortune from an old lady—Sit John Fothersgill has found i 1 isn’t true, and lias told everybody, and they think —oh! I can’t say it. Everybody has cut me. Pm not fit to know anybody.,Oh! I wish we’d stayed, together in the kitchen at Arncliffe.”

“I don’t, miss, that’s flat,” said Martha, bluntly. ‘ ‘lt’s much nicei looking after you and the Squire and my lady. Let them cut you What’s the good of friends if they can’t • stand by you. You can easily give them one by showing them that you’re married. Write, to Mr, Wrangham, saying you wanl to let them know. Ain’t you his wife? It’s his duty, to look after you, not to be sitting up there making his nasty dirty engines.” “I couldn’t, Martha—-I couldn’t. I only took his name to help him out of a difficulty and to secure comfort for my father and mother I don’t mean that I wasn’t think ing of myself as well. I was tired of being a servant, and this temp, tation came and I fell. have been properly punished.”

To be Continued . L.R. 7-