“THE BOLTED DOOR.”

Thames Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 17570, 8 March 1929, Page 3

“THE BOLTED DOOR.”

By GEORGE GIBBS

CHAPTER 111. THE LADY IN THE LIMOUSINE. Suppose.” ventured Harriott, “1 should be willing to do it—what can you promise for Her?” Mrs. Kempton shrugged: her pretty shoulders. “Nothing, unfortunately, But then I have hopes. Are you really serious ? I never seem to know when vou are in earnest.” ' “I am.” said Garriott. “They say fortune favours the fool. That’s nature’s compensation for the feebleminded. I’ll marry her to-morrow, it she’V- have me." “You think ishe won’t agree. Will you let me see ivlmt I can do? It you’ll dine with us to-night, Fl<! promise to have her there. Will you? ’ “Yes. If I die for it.” “Not. Live for it. That will be my reward.” Garriott found that Mrs. Kempton s eyes were hazel. He had thought they were brown’. CHAPTER. IV. THE GODDESS FROM THE s MACHINE. De Chainbord, who didn’t understand Mrs. Kempton, had once said that her household was more ol a manege than a menage. The house was filled from top to bottom with titopliies won by the Kempton stables. Cups, large and small, gleamed from shelf and mantel, and in the cupboards were enough blue,' reel, and yellow rosettes to decorate the year’s winners at the Garden. There were collections of bits, spurs, and impedimenta of harness from every part of the world. The sporting prints on the walls ol the library and dining-room were in better taste than the paintings in the drawing-room anti hallway, which Kempton pore had bought during the early days of the “Hudson River School.” The dogs were everywhere, under furniture and on it —two spaniels, a French bub, and a Russian greyhound. To the little marquis, who did not care for dogs, the afternoon call at tea-time had many of the characteristics of the hippodrome. To love Mrs. Kempton, he discovered, one must love and be loved by Mrs. Kempton’s dogs. The furniture, like the staunch brown-stone mansion in which it was housed, was built for service, and, it ono didn’t mind dog hairs on one s trousers, it was easier to be comfortable there than in any house in New York. Smoking was permitted everywhere, and one had only to turn at one’s elbow to discover the materials for its enjoyment. Tommy McCall called it “The House ol the Gilded Ash-tray.” Jack Kempton liked the house full, and there were few weeks in the season which did not find his spare rooms occupied. It pleased him tb have the house called Liberty Hall. It was not unusual for him to wander into the midst of a fonnaj dinner party at his own board, soiled and travel-stained, arrayed in dust-ooat and goggles. Jibby Kempton didn’t mind. Like other New York women, she preferred to go her own way, and realised that incuriosity was a small prico tb pay for her own immunity. A superficial critic would, not- have called them unhappy, or even uncongenial, in the modern sense. Kempton admired his wife extravagantly. They were good pals, he. boasted. Her judgment in horseflesli was infallible. She rode straight to the hounds, beat him shamelessly at tennis, and drove his roadster as well as he himself could.

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A triflle dull, the quickness of her wit put hint at. a loss, which she was' not slow to use to her own advantage. But, as Mrs. Kempton had told Miss Judson, she was really “awf’ly fond of him.” Wlxat lie most wondered at perhaps, was her success in getting whatever she wanted. She had a way of achieving the impossible. And it was Miss Natalie Judson who, at the end of a trying morning with her friend, at last tossed her hands almost with an air of fatalism as she said: “Oh, well, Abby, of course, you’ll 'have your own ivay. I consent. I've only let you talk so that I'could weigh your arguments with my own. Mr. Northrop half convinced me. I’ve been very rude to Mr. Harriott. I was wrong. I'm sorry now.” Mrs. Kempton was wise enough to conceal her triumph untfl she got home, where she sat down at her desk and wrote a brief note to Brooke Garriott. 1 ■ .

£i l have had a serious morning with Natalie—and am exhausted with the effort, but she’s coming to-night, so do not fail. We dine at eight, but come at seven. I want .to talk to you,” The note lay on Garriott’s dressingtable before him as he struggled with his white cravat. But as he went up the avenue in a handsom, he found himself in some doubt as to the wisdom of his decision. After all Mrs. Kempton was scarcely more than a stranger, and he had a definite impression that he was delivering himself into the hands of an enemy.

The cordiality of her reception put him again at his ease. He found her enthroned’ on a saffron-coloured divan, from which, after a noisy interlude, the dogs we're banished. Harriott noted that the tints 'of her drawing-room were planned to harmonise with her type of beauty. But her ruddy colour seemed to belong to the open air, and removed the impression he had previously formed, that all New York* women of society were exotics. It was when she smiled that, she was most handsome.

“Match-making is a little out of my line, Mr. Garriott. I’d rather break a colt, I think. She's, going to be polite, of course—frigidly so.” “I can stand anything. I’m going to offer mv, other cheek, Mrs. Kempton. Do you think I’d better propose between soup and fish, or put it off until the roast?”

“I’m not going to give you a chance. That’s why I asked you to come in early. You!re to flirt with me. Kempton won’t mind. He’s used to that. Besides, I told him I expected you to.” “That I- !” Garriott paused. “Of course. Don’t you like the idea?”

Mrs. Kempton drew away, and examined him from under hall-closed lids. Mr,. Garriott realised that his education was proceeding rapidly. “Yes. I’m delighted. But I’d rather you flirted with me because you wanted to.” lie protested. “Suppose I forgot it was ’only make-believe?” _ “Perhaps I’m secretly hoping you might.”

"With your husband secretly hoping 1 won’t?” ‘‘Jack! Oh, Jack is beautifully trained. To niy husband anything I do is an act- of providence. He would no more think of interfering with my plans than he would interfere with the coming of winter or the approach of spring. He’s a heavenly husband!” “But I don’t understand ” ‘‘l didn’t expect you to understand. You’re only a man. ( You must let me manage your affair or I’ll give' it up. Natalie isn’t stupid, either. She may see through it all. That would be fatal. So please devote yourself to me. All is fair in love and war.’” Harriott shrugged his shoulders in token of complete surrender. She now leaned forward a little, so that she could, better observe him. He wasn't certain whether she was smiling at, or with, him. “Why did you consent to come here ?” she suddenly asked. Harriott took up the Japanese ashtray beside him, and examined it deliberately before he replied. , “Isn’t it enough to say that I wanted to see you again?” This time she tossed her head back and laughed with genuine enjoyment. “That is polite, Mr. Harriott. But yfou don’t deceive anybody —not even yourself. I know why you came. Natalie •hurt your pride. I think you’d be willing to starve for the rest of your life if you could make her consent to marry you.” 1 (To be continued.)