CHAPTER XV.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9214, 18 April 1908, Page 1

CHAPTER XV.

DOROTHY GILBERT OF NEWCASTEB.

Mns Vernon was standing \ looking out on to the lawn, pinning some flowers in. her blouse. Her daughter, coming on her from behind, laid her hands upon her shoulders, and then her cheek against her mother's. The mother, continuing to arrange her flowers, suffered the soft cheek to remain against her own for some seconds m silence. " Well, are we ready? { The people will be coming directly ; we told them four. Some of Jim's friends appear to have come early, judging from the group of what seem to be boys he has with him at end of the lawn." "So I see. Jim's friends have hours of their own; they don't care what time people put on cards. 'Mother, I'm worried about Dorothy." " Doesn't the dress fit?" "Perfectly — and the hat and the hair dressing is a complete success. She looks lovely, as I told her she would do; she's certain to cut me out." "I don't think you're afraid of that," Frances sighed. "I'm not, if only for the simple xeason that she won't even try." il Doesn't she want to come downP" "It's so provoking ; she's not a bit like my Dorothy, at least, in a way she isn't. I can't think what's the matter with her. She seems to be a bundle of nerves. I hardly dare open my mouth for fear of saying something which will make her jump. " She does seem to be moTe sensitive than, from your description of her, I expected; I've noticed it myself. " My darling Mumkins. she's not the same girl. Something s wrong with her — I can't think what — and I daren't ask." "She doesn't seem to be an easy person to ask questions of." " She used .to be. We used to tell each other every single thing ; we used to delight- in answering each other's questions; but now — I believe she's bewitched, I really dol" " What do you mean by 'saying she's bewitched?" "Why, she's — she's bo strange; she gives me the feeling that only heT body's here, while she is somewhere else. It — it really is uncanny. She never speaks unless you speak to her, and when you speak to her she doesn't listen. You can see Bhe tries to listen, then when you're in the middle of a sentence you find that she's paying not the slightest attention to you, and that she's staring at something in such a way that you turn, with a start, to see whatever it can be, and you have quite an uncomfortable feeling when you discover that whatever it is she's looking at, it's something which you can't see." . "Did you Bay she doesn't want to { come down?" 1 "I didn't say so, but she doesn't. She makes me really cross, it is so annoying! There she is, looking a perfect picture. She has only to show herself to take the people by storm. I had no idea' she was so pretty, and ehe says she would rather stay indoors after all the trouble I have taken with her, because 6he doesn't feel like seeing anyone." "My dear Frances, she is your guest; it is her feelings you must consult, not yours." "Of coarse. All the same, if we were at the convent I should pick her up and plank her down right in the very middle of the lawn. I shouldn't care for her tantrums; she'd get the fresh air if she got nothing else. As it is, I don't mean to let her have all her own way. if I can help it." "I don't doubt that, or it wouldn't be you." ""W«H> smother. I beiheva that, at

the bottom, it's just shyness; she's ridiculously afraid of meeting strangers; after the first plunge she'll be cared. So, after a while, I'm going up to see how she is, and to ask if she wouldn*t like to come down, and I'm going to keep on asking if she wouldn't like to come down till she comes, then you'll see if she'll be any the, worse for coming." . On this programme Miss Vernon acted. But the people, when they did begin to appear, arrived so fast, by land and water, and occupied, her so completely, that it was some time before she was able to pay a first visit to her friend; and then, so far as inducing her to put in an appearance on the lawn was concerned, it was pain in, vain. A second and a third time she tried t but it was only on the fourth occasion she prevailed — then the girl yielded less to her importunity than to her assurance that many of the people had already gone, and the rest were presently going. The consciousness of the false position she was in weighed on Dorothy so heavily that again and again that afternoon she had wished with all her heart that she had never allowed the individual she had known as Eric Frazer to inflict her on these good people. If she had held out against him, as sue ought to have done, he never could have brought her there. But she had not understood; it seemed to her that he had taken advantage of her ignorance. i The worst of it was she did not understand yet 5 exactly now false her position was still she did not know. For instance, was he really the Earl of Strathmoira? Her simplicity, on such points, was pristine. To her, an earl was a person so far above her that he was practically' a being of a superior world. If he was such an effulgent creature, why had he passed himself off to her as a common man? a plain mister? Why had he condescended to notice her at ■ all— to give her shelter — to feign, interest in her eordi4 story? — it could only have been feigned. Why had he lied and played the trickster to save such a one as she from the fate which he, so superior a being, must have known that she deeervedr Hia whole attitude in the matter was incomprehensible to her ; it added to that confusion of her mental faculties which had been great enough before. It would have been something if she had been able to ask questions: to glean information from those who knew nim so much better than she did— if she could have gajined some insight into the kind of man he actually was. But she dare not ask a question. One thing she. did see clearly — too clearly — and that was the impression she had made upon the Vernons Jby what had struck them as her amazing statement that she had only known him as Mr Eric Frazer. Another word or. two and, for all she could tell, she would have done what h« had warned her not to do —

she would have played him false. That he had played her false, in a sense, seemed true ; but then, what he had done he had done for her; it behoved her to be careful that what she did was done for him. So it came about that, for his sake, she was tongue-tied. Wholly in the dark as to his actual identity, as to the real part which he was playing, not knowing even what was the story he had told on her account, she had to walk warily lest, by some chance expression, she should do him a disservice.' This was one of those girls who, when forced by circumstances into situations of the most extreme discomfort, are indifferent' for themselves, and anxious only for others. She had taken that diamond ring off her engagement finger, but there was a tingling feeling, where it had been, as if it still was there, and that tingling caused her now and then, as it were, against her will, to glance at it; and as she glanced all that the ring stood for her came back to her — she saw it all. She saw the room in "The Bolton Arms," in the light and in the dark; and, in. x the dark, what was on the table. Sheysaw herself, the coward, behind the curtain, with quivering flesh, as that grisly something glowered at her through the silence of the darkened room. She heard the awful sound in the pitch darkness, and she fled headlong through the window like a thing possessed,! and dropped through the unknown depths below ; she had only to shut her eyes to feel herself dropping. She saw people looking for her — everywhere she saw them looking; and when she saw what was in, their eyes, that was the worst of it all — she was as one frozen with fear. Could Dorothy have had her way, she would have gone straight off and given herself up to those who sought her, to let them do with her as they would, because she was afraid of what would come of her not doing co, to others — to him whom she had known as Eric Fraaer; to the good people of this house. That would be the one drop of bitterness in her bitter cup, if hurt came to others because of her. She had a feeling that at that moment the owner of the caTavan, whatever his name might be, was plunging deeper and deeper into the mire, in a frantic, hopeless effort to get her clear of it; if he were to get in so deep that there would be no getting out of it again, for him ; so that they were both of them engulfed in it for ever? and these VernonsP What right had she to bring her sordid story into their pleasant lives? Would they not suffer when it became known that they had harboured, though unwittingly, one on whose head was set the price of blood P What would be their judgment on her when they knew P These were the thoughts which racked her, as, in the pink room, she sat, burning with shame, in her pretty frock and hat which Mrs Vernon had bought her with money which she bad supposed to be Dorothy's, but which Dorothy her- j self knew was Mr Frazer's. Yesterday j he himself had bought her clothes acrcss ; the counter ;• to-day he had done it by ; deputy. Yet she had not dared to tell his deputy the truth, lest she should play him false. Looked at from any ; point of view, could anything be more I hideously false than her position? And without, in the sunshine, on the grass, amid the flowers, were crowds of happy ' people, with light hearts, clear consciences, who could look^ the whole world in the face, knowing they had done no wrong ; and Frances, th c friend whom 6be was using so ill, wanted to take her — a leper !— into that unsuspecting throng. And in the end >sbe yielded, and went, because that seemed to her to be the lesser evil. Frances made it so clear that if she did not go ! she should think that Dorothy no longer j looked upon her as a friend. Rather | than she should think that, since many of the people had gone, and the. rest were about to go, with a sigh, whose meaning Frances -wholly misunderstood, against her better judgment, she suffered herself to be persuaded to show herself outside. . "All I wantv you to do," Frances had reiterated over and over .again, " is just to show yourself, if you love me, dear. No harm oan possibly come ; of that." v ; Which was all she knew. Dorothy : was to/learn that, in suffering' herself j to be persuaded, because she loved, she ,

had played the coward again Mora harm was to come to her just showing herself than sß© might ever be able to undo. ( . Before quitting the pink room. Frances looked her over, as if she haa been a picture, and, as an artist might have done, gave her here and there a finishing touch, expressing herself \f\aM only half satisfied with the ttltifcfrta

result. v, " I've half a mind, you know, young woman, to put a touch of colonr «i your cheeks— a dab on. each of them, because, though I won't deny that pallor suits you, and even makes jott fascinatingly interesting, I don t want folks to think that you ye met with » tragic fate beneath this roof: or I shall have them nudging each other in the side, and wondering .what cruel treatment, you've bepri. subjected to, ana eyeing me askance as if I ' must v* the wretch . Don't you think you might manage to wear, When you noticfe tost X>eople are looking at you, what-1 b£t© seen described in print »■■ the ghost of a smile P It will anyhow let them know that you've as much as the ghost of ai smile left in you." It was with curious sensations : that Dorothy found herself in what sh<B ielt were borrowed plumes, moving, von Frances's arm, amid a gaily-attirea crowd of persons, not one, of whom. seemed to have a care in the world. If, as Frances had said, many had, already gone, then the lawns must hay© been inconveniently thronged, for certainly enough people for comfort Btfli remained ; and if, as Frances had also said, those who stayed proposed immediately to depart, then they managed to mask their intentions with oonsKtarable skill. It seemed to Dorothy that not only had many of them no present intention of leaving, but that they intended to stop where they wore as long as they possibly could. As the two girls passed together, arm in arm, across the lawns, they were the subjects of general attention. \Ab Frances had prophesied, Dorothy made a sensation. People asked each other who she was, giving to their inquinea different forms ; one wondering who ma "curious looking" and another WM> the " striking looking " girl might^be. A lady who was standing by Mrs Vernon gave her question a shape whioh was still more flattering to its object. "My dear," she exclaimed, " who iff that lovely girl with Frances " . "What lovely girl?" Up to thfct moment Mrs V^mon had been ttnawar* that her pertinacious daughter had, at last, succeeded in her avowed design ; and when, on turning, she beheldproof of the fact, she smiled. She replied to the question with another, Do jou think she's lovely?" , ■ . 1 "Don't you? My dear, she's amen Zood style!" "Yes she is good style; •»<*, aow,

sue <iocs iook lowy"Why do you say 'now' in that tone?" Mrs Vefnon was thinfring what a difference the frock made, and the artist's hand in the treatment of the hair, and suffered the words to. go unheeded- speaker pressed her formerquery, "Who is she?" > . " She's a school- friend of my daughter's." The girls came towards them. Mrs Vernon spoke to Dorothy. ''I- am glad to see that this insistent child of mine has managed to persuade yon to come among us. In such weather L as this it seems almost wicked to stay vtdoors, even if one's head is bad. . I think : that-*er^,-lals(i>,-JB>ißomeone wito is glad to see you." She referred, smilingly, to thejjs4jr who waa standing by her, who saw: " One always does like to see decentlooking people; but I especially like to see pretty girls at such times as j these, if only because they fit in with. I the sunshine, and the flowers, and the decorations. • I was asking Mrs Vermm who you were, but she hasn't told me." .... . V The hostess went through the ceremony of introduction, with mook formality. "Mrs Purchas, permit me to hare the honour to present you to Miss Gilbert." . . ■'■ ■ = Falling into Mrs Vernon*s vein, Mrs Purchas favoured Dorothy with an exaggerated curtsy. i ( "Delighted to have the pleasure, Miss Gilbert. No connection, Ip^ sume, of Miss Dorothy Gilbert, of Newcaster, are you?" Dorothy had flushed a little at iba compliment which Mrs Purchas had paid her; she even showed some faint sign of being amused at her laughing pretence of treating her as if ehe were a person of importance; but when she asked her that last question all signs !of amusement faded. Was she connected with Dorothy Gilbert of New- ' caster? No doubt the question was asked in jest, though, as a jest, it was scarcely in/ the very best taste ; it struck Dorothy dumb. It was such * bolt out of the blue; so unexpected' that, for the moment, she did not clearly realise what it meant; but, when she did, any humour which the thing might have had was lost on her. In I that first moment of shock she- could , 1 not have spoken to save her life. And, ' when the first force of the blow— for it was as if she had been struck a Wow — had begun to pass, and the signing cance of the lightly uttered words (commenced to dawn on her, she would have liked to have been able to sink into the ground, if only to escape th« woman's eyes. That the singularity of her bearing had impressed those about her waa plain. Mrs Vernon and her daughter had already grown accustomed, in a measure, to the strange effect cbanoa words were apt to have upon iheir their guest; so that they were not altogether taken by surprise as was the ; unintentional cause of the girl's visible . ; emotion. Her amazement was not ■ mirrored in Mrs Purohas's face ; it was in her bungling attempt to offer an. apology for having done she knew not what, "I-^-I'm sure, my dear, I— l beg your pardon." The girl looked so teiry queer that the lady burst out in sudden alarm, "My dearl What have I done?" V •/■■■'.' Frances came to the rescue; "It's all right, Mrs Purchas; Mies Gilbert is not very well; itfo my fault for making her come out." She drew the girl away, intending to lead her back to the house, which. she inwardly realised that she had been foolish to induce her to leave. Dorothy certainly was exasperatingly trying, But there was worse to follow j they . were waylaid on the road, this time by Mr Jim Vernon, who escorted a masculine acquaintance, the tale of whose years was eloquently suggested by a question which he addressed to Jim. •' I say, Jim, who's that rippinglooking girl who's with your sisteTP" And Jim had responded. "She's a topper, my boy, a fair topper. But, as I'm in a generous mood, if you'll come along with me I'll do tho needful." So they went along together ; and they came to Miss Vernoa and her friend ; and Jim immediately observedj in that free and easy way which is popular with latter-day youth, " Awfully glad to see you, Miss Gilbert * s frightful blow when I was ***<

you weren't showing. Mr Denman — Miss Gilbert." Mr Denman acknowledged the introduction with the remark, "Gilbert! That name's rather in the air just now. Ever been to New<*rt-«- Mi^s Gilbert?" ''"Why Newcaster?" " Wby, old chap, haven't yon seen the i ,- i -....-." > i n^^ct Mies Gilbert ha 6; , there's a lot in them about the doings of Dorothy Gilbert at Newcaster ; ib £het© a Dorothy in your family, Miss Gilbert?" It seemed that Mr Denman was a humorist of Mrs Purchas's type, only more fio, with the bump of obtuseness ■ unduly developed. Had he fired a revolver at the girl he could hardly have produced a greater effect; oommg after the question which she had just had aimed at her every word he uttered eeemed to hit her on a tender lpos. Frances could feel her trembling] she flared up in the astonished young gentleman's face. ' ** Boys, nowadays, are the stupidest and "rudest creatures; or else/ Jim has Same unfortunate, specimens of them among hi» acquaintance." Before- either Mr Denman or her brother could get out a word in excuse «r eelMef enoa she was bearing Dorothy /Oilbertf 4ff as fast ac she could induce hereto ; < move. In her heart she was fearfuUiJest Dorothy should collapse, or do something undesirable in the way of making a scene upon the lawn; she Was only too painfully conscious of how incapable the girl eeemed to be to. keep tewe^ffrom shivering; but Dorothy J still Ha^t Sufficient control over herselt to WWbUF'-to reach the house without making of herself a public exhibition. Frances accompanied her up to ncr room; but at the door the girl said, speaking with an effort which it was painful *» witness: me; please do— ao leave toel" v - - r; ■ • . -, _l • JVances left her, going downstairs with a fixed determination in her " Now where's to-day^s paper P I a>n't oare; it isn't often that I, do loofe at a newspaper; there's so seldom anything in a newspaper to interest SZ'tmrt it's not generally necessary for dad to forbid me to look at one; but I am going to «c what .there is fa to-day's paper about Dorothy Gilbert, . *>f Newcaster.*' ; (To be continued.)