CHAPTER IV.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 8831, 18 January 1907, Page 4

CHAPTER IV.

Actual tears stood out in. Edith May&adiei v 's eyes as she watched her brother pass up Charles Street. She bit her lips and her shoulders shook, uiil© her breath came in angry, panting gasps. ,The golden door had been opened wide for her io enter: and her brother's broad shoulders kept her back. A chance, which she had never. dared hope for. had come like a thunderbolt. And, there, as a result, stood the golden, door invitingly open; the door to social prominence, to wealth, to luxury, to everything that her heart craved. ' Sh« 6tood on the corner for some minutes, until she realised that such Conduct was unbecoming, tnen walked slowly in. the direction her brother had taken. Not that she intended to have further speech with him on the subject. "While she knew that Reid was kind and gentle, that he considered others •Iways before himself, and might be ] imposed upon daily, she also knew that when he had made up his mind it was beyond any power or hers to change it. For a long time she had feared that Eeid was in love with the pretty milliner at Henley, Barton and Co.'s; and bow ehe knew that his love was a thing aot to be lightly reckoned with. For ft he was willing to sacrifice all else. Her hope had been that Reid would, before long, have an office of his own, nake much more money, and get somewhere on the edge of the charmed circle; but this!— two million five hundred thousand dollars ! — that meant to be in, ib be courted, to- re-establish the aniient glory of the name of Maynadier. There was a combination of characteristics in Edith's make-up which had produced a very shoddy article — the notorious haughtiness and selfishness of the Maynadiers, and the cheap, pinchleuk, envious imitation which had come jrora her mother. Her soul was very little; one to be gratified with knowing that Mrs James Ridgely /Parrondelle would always be "at home" to her; md that whatever she did would appear in the society columns of the newspapers. She had met very few of the women of the set she envied; but the more dissolute of the young idlers of good family had taken her up and made something of her. But she knew that this was no more than they would do with a pretty chorus-girl ; and the acceptance of their homage on such terms was not altogether a pleasant thing for her to remember. And now — when she had the chance to be anything she chose— did Reid Imagine that he could so easily re~ Bounce the good fortune that had come to the family? She set her lips firmly ; snd as she determined that he would marry Alice Fairfax,, her brain, hit upon the only expedient which would bring him to terms. It was nearing the hour for hinch•on; and, with a gleam in her eyes which made them shine like icicles reflecting the moonlight, she crossed through Saratoga Street toward the building of Henley, Barton and Co.', wholesale millinery, where Aileen Henderson was employed. From a clerk on the first floor she inquired as to Miss Henderson's; whereabouts, and, after climbing three 1 flights 'of stairs, found herself on a landing outside the trim-ming-department of which Aileen . was assistant forewoman. . Aileen came out in " answer to. he/, message sent in by one of the boys, and recognised.' Edith. The greeting, that passed between* them was of that effusive sort used by women when each thoroughly dislikes the other. "I want you to come and lunch, with

me. dear," said Edith Maynaaier. ( " I ye something terribly important to say to you. It's nearly time for lunch, isn't it?" - As she spoke, the twelve o clock whistle blew. " It's very kind of you," replied Aileen Henderson, "but l generally eat my lunch here. They send it in, you knew. It's so much better than fixing up to go out, and——" "Do you eat alone?" asked Edith. "Yes/ replied the other girl. " Every one else goes out." Edith smiled triumphantly. 'Then I'll stay with you while you eat, and get my lunch later. I don't feel like eating, anyhow. I'm terribly upset, dear." „ Aileen assumed a look of sympathy which she did not feel. Her detestation of Edith Maynadier was very cordial, and she found difficulty in repressing it. When the other girls had passed by them on their way to lunch, Aileen led the way back into the trim-ming-department, and, threading low rows of tables and chairs, opened the door of her little office, which faced the side street; a pleasant room,, but tiny, garnished with odds and ends which expressed the good taste of its occupant. , , , They had hardly seated themselves before a waiter from a dairy-lunch near-by brought Aileen a tray on which were a bowl of soup, some fricasseed chicken, bread, butter, and milk. Edith refused to join her; and the waiter went away. . Aileen shot an" inquiring g] ance »* her companion as she buttered a bit or bread and began to eat her soup. Edith Maynadier was puzzling as to how to begin. With a woman s roundaboutness, she wished to create an impression and lead, her auditor up to a climax; but somehow things would not systematically arrange themselves " What was it you wanted to tell me?" asked Aileen presently, as she finished the soup. Her manner to the other girl was that of one who endures companionship under sufferance. Edith was keen enough to perceive tlie sting in the remark; and her desire for vengeance was so great that she blurted out the whole thing before she realised it. _, „ " Our uncle's dead, and he's left Reid two million five hundred thousand dollars—two million five hundred thousand !" she paused, gasping; provided he marries our cousin, Alice Fairfax. (It had been one of the small triumphs of Edith's life that she could thus refer to the debutante of two seasons past). ■■" Provided he marries Cousin. Alice, she went on. "If foe doesn't, why -then they've fixed it so that he doesn't^get a cent, unless . he marries her. lou see?" She finished with an eloquent wave of. the hand. ;■ 1 There was silence. Aileen stared out of the window. Presently she turned. "Well?" she asked, ominously quiet in her manner. "I don't see why you should come and tell me. I'h sure I m should come and tell me. I'm sure I m glad that Mr Reid has been so fortunate; but he might have told me' himself, instead of sending you.' Reid's sister shook -her head vehemently. " That's just it, and you know it What's the use of being so stiff about it? You know you're in love with Reid, and that Reid's in love with you. and I know that he's a fool." She paused ; then, realising the context of the last word, amended her utterance. " Not for being in love with you, but. because he won't give you up. He said he wouldn't accept the money, and that he wouldn't marry anybody but you. And, oh, dear! he means it; every - word. And he won't— l know he won't. And so I came to you. You understand." -• / ,v, ; Aileen was > still silent, inscrutable. She watched the antics of two sparrows on a telephone-wire; and began to count in a vague, mechanical sort of a way the number of wires that clus-

tered together at the intersection of the two streets. But somehow she did not seem to be able to speak. She felt that if she did, 6he would scream. "And so, you see," went on Edith Maynadier, " there's nothing left for you to do but to give him vp — that is, if you love him. I know that if I really loved a man, placed «s he is, I would tear him out of my heart — for. his sake, because I loved him. Think 1 * how he's wasting himself, working day and night; and think what he might do. if he had time 'to 'paint and do the things he is able to do, and wants to do, but hasn't the time! And I know he can't bear up. What with me and the two children dependent on him, and little Hugh's spine trouble costing w> fearfully much — why,, he'll break down and die, Reid will, if he tries to keep it up ; and how can he ever marry you ? Why, I was going to try to get on. the stage and relieve him of me, but he wouldn't let me ; said there had to be somebody for the children. And, oh. you must understand that you would be wrecking both your life and his if you didn't give him up." She stopped, gasping. She would indeed have done well on the stage, this girl. Her words rang with sincerity, and there was a touch of pathos in her tones that was • convincing. For she was working for her own selfish gratification ; and all the ability she had was being need to jsrain her point. She stole a glance at Aileen ; and summoned up all her eloquence for her climax. " And think of the children — think of poor little Hugh ! If he could be operated on by one of those great European specialists, and be under his care, he would get well,, maybe, and be like other children. But he will die if he isn't. The doctors say they can't do much for him ; and the ones here are afraid to attempt an operation. They say there's only one man can do anything for him, and he's in Berlin — and so the poor child !" Her silence was more eloquent than any words could have bean. "And what if Reid married you? How could you live? He wouldn't let you keep on at your work; and there's your own mother who has to be supported ; and he'd have to support her, too; and he's gone about as high -as ho can go in the architect's office. You'll ruin his life if you don't let him go." Aileen looked at her with lustreless eyes. "I — will let him go," she said. "Yes, yes," cried Edith impatiently. " But that won't do. He wouldn't let | you go if he thought you were sacrificing yourself for him. Just now he'd rather marry you than have the money. If you merely release him, he'll refuse to accept the rejease. There's only one thing to do— -to write .him a note before he comes for you to-night, and leave it here ; write him a note that you find you're not in love with him, that you care for some other man." Slowly the other girl .turned and stared at her. " You — you " she began. Then very quietly: "You know I can't do that !" Edith folded her hands with a hopeless gesture. " Then it's no use — no use at all. If he thought that you were giving him up because he has this chance, he would never, never take it. You must make him realise it is hopeless — you must — you must ! To know you gave him up would only make him love you the more. You must bo cold, hard-hearted; tell him brutally you've ceased to care for a man who can't make enough to marry, and hint at the possibility of there being another man who can give you tilings — and all that." Suddenly Aileen Henderson sprang I to her feet. "I won't, I won't! You —what a scheming little devil you are! I hate you, and I won't 1 I won't give j him up ! I won't give him up ! He's everything to me. I want to care fox him, and do for him, and " ' She broke down, sobbing. A very

long time passed ; fully five minutes, and still she sobbed. Now the eoba were growing fainter, and she looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. "Yes," she choked. "Yes, you're right. His little brother — I'd forgotten Hugh. And his painting ! Yes, yes, I'd forgotten. But I truly love him, and I don't see how I can live without him, and " " Yes, yes." said the other girl soothingly. "Yea, dear." Aileen shrank away from her touch. "So I'm going to do that. There's pen and paper. You — write the letter. I — c-can't. Then I'll copy it, and go home and leave it for him. I " She hid her face in her hands. Edith, a smile of triumph and relief on her face, was almost sinister with the cold, sinister beauty of a snow-queen. She sat down at the desk, drew some paper toward her, and, after numerous tearing up of sheets, interlining and scratching, sat back, biting at the end of the penholder and looking approvingly on what she had written. "Listen," she said: i "My Dear Reid : I have thought over things since last night, and resolved to write you about what has happened in my mind for some time. lam afraid I have ceased to care for a man who does not seem to be able to advance himself enough to marry the girl he loves. I'm tired of working in a shop, and I naturally crave for luxuries like any other woman. I have had a chance to marry a man who will give me them, and I have accepted his offer. Therefore, you must see that further intercourse between yourself and myself must cease. I hope you will alwaysconsider me your friend, — Aileen Henderson." " Dear God !" breathed the other girl. "Dear God I" and became very still. Edith was wise enough not to break the silence. Presently, without a word, Aileen came over, and motioned for her to rise. She sat down in Edith's place, and began to copy slowly the letter, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. It seemed to Edith that her own breathing was unnecessarily loud during the operation ; and that the flies had an abnormally annoying buzz. She looked up. Aileen was blotting her copy, and addressing an envelope. She folded the paper and put it within, sealing the envelope. Then she arose, got ncr coat, and pinned on her hat. "I think I'll go home," she said, in a very weak voice. "I think I'll go home." Edith followed her down-stairs, and saw her leave the letter with the mail-ing-clerk at the door. They passed out together. '•'lf Reid calls, you won't 6ee him?" \ urged Edith. "No," said Aileen slowly, and then turned on the Maynadier girl; " I don't want you ever to speak to me again — ever, ever, ever!" Edith was still smiling that hard, cruel smile. A little rafter five, when Reid called, the mailing-clerk handed him Miss Henderson's note. • He tore it open, expecting some trivial excuse ; but as his eyes made out the written words, his knees grew weak ; and he hurried out into the street, gasping for air. There, propping himself aga inert a lamp-post, he read it agaiii. "God!" The man who was approaching him to beg a dime shrank away. With hasty strides, Reid crossed the street and boarded a north-bound car, reading the letter again on his way . up. Arriving at North avenue, he walked down the street on which Aileen lived. The little negro servant met him at the door. "Yes sir, she's in" — and the negro hesitated— "but she done tole me perticler she cain't see yo' nohow, Missir Reid; nohowsomever, no, sir." Reid nodded brusquely and made his

way home. When lie reached his own room, he lowereu the window curtains and flung himself full length on the bed. A strong man in agony. When he rose, his face was very still and cold, and the gentleness had gone out of it.