“VERE”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16454, 16 June 1921, Page 2

“VERE”

f Oiiß SERIAL,

By

L. G. MOBERLY.

CHAPTER Xl.—Continued. •* You remind me of an old chestnut of my father’isr—the rejoinder made b.y a Quaker to a remark pul just iu. that , way, ‘ Friend, thee first tellest a he, and then thee askest a question!’ Yes I am a nurse. But my old lady has a rooted objection to uniform. Consequently 1 wear what in hospital we used to call ‘ worldly clothes.’ I am really a kind of permanent nurse to Airs Grey soll.” “ Aunt Maisie knows Mrs Greyson,” Babs put in, ' 1 she said yesterday that Mrs Grayson belonged to the old school of true gentlewomen who were fast dying out.” * Are you Miss Somers’s niece?” exclaimed Miss Fortescue, ‘‘she often comes to see Mrs Greyson. They arc kindred spirits. Perhaps you will come too.” “ Mrs Greyson ■won’t approve of Theo and me.” Babs’ eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘ Aunt Music finds us almost more than she can hear. At l»ast I am all that a young lady should never he- Tftoo is not such a lump of modernity. AVe haven't told you our names.” sue went on. briskly, ‘‘ I am Barbara Corstairs, and Theo is called Theo Smith, because the poor darling lias temporarily mislaid her own name!” Explanations followed, and the girls’ new friend looked with new interest and a great deal of sympathy into Theo’s beautiful face. ■’What a curious .tragedy,” she artid, but 7 am sure it will all come right in the long run. Probably something or someone will awaken in you all tuc slumber.ng train of memories. Meanwhile— —” ” Meanwhile Theo takes it all like the augol sho is.” her small friend cried enthusiastically, ” and anyhow I am the gainer- I never had a friend like Theo before, and selfishly speaking it will bo a horrid bore for me when she finds out who she is. and gets spirited away by some long-lost mother. or sorrowing brothers and sisters.” They won't make me less your friend,” Theo said quickly, ‘ and even if it is rather a tragedy to lose one's identity, think how many friends 7 have foiuid! Tt has been gain as well as loss.” After that first meeting the two girls often met. Miss Fortescue, and went more than once to tea in Mrs Grayson’s large, pretentious-looking bouse on the front. Their first visit was a state call in Miss. Somers’s company, and their new friend ensconced behind the tea-table was too much occupied in pouring out tea and attending to the apparently endless needs of her exacting employer to be able to give thorn much of her attention. But on other occasions she re-

ceived them iu her own tiny sittingroom, and hero they found an invariable welcome.

*• And you have carried out completely wbat I told Theo every woman should carry out if she doesn’t moan to be a depressed old maid,” Babs remarked one day with her customary outspokenness, ‘‘ you have stayed young. You are still as much in touch with us as if you were our age.” Babs, curled up in a comfortable arm-chair, nodded wisely, and her eyes dwelt with earnest scrutiny upon her hostess's face. ‘‘ 1 don’t suppose you will ever get old and hidebound and set in your ways like Auut Maisie and her friends.”

•• What a. gigantic compliment.” A little colour Hashed into the older woman’s face. ” l have always wanted and meant to bold last to the spirit of youth. Mo one need grow old in heart unless they choose.” “You never will.” Babs asserted with confidence, “ and you and Aunt Maisie arc like the reverse ways of a spoon. She is so anxious to make <?ver3'body understand how old and experienced and stereotyped she is, and how she has learnt all there is to be learnt, and can spend her time now in training unregeucrate youth. And you—” she paused and looked reflectively at Miss Fortescue, ‘‘you are not in a groove, at ail. You seem to want to go on with the times, and learn the newest views, and see everything in che freshest way. You almost seem to want to learn something from the young generation.”

"Quite true 7 do” The speaker smiled. “ The now generation is the future ; 7 should like to understand

its views and methods. 7 believe it can teach me os much as it can. learn from me! It stands for the next lap ;n the upward progress of the race.” " Aunt Maisie would liave a fit of

apoplexy and expire at once if she heard 3 011.” Babs said emphatically ; •• she would scout the notion of learning anything from the young! She thinks we ought merely to be taught our places; and our place is to crawl round on our hands and knees, and pick up crumbs of instruction from our elders. She shudders at the new progress. She would like us to bo exact imitations of our elders. She says what wa* good enough for her mother and father is good enough for her—and for us.”

" Dear rue,” Miss Fortescue exclaimed brightly. “if our remote ancestors had acted upon that doctrine, we should all still be cave-dwellers! What was good enough for our parents is not good enough for us. Each generation must climb u step higher than the one before* MY© have to pass up and ou. A sour-faced maid at this moment appeared at til© door. ** Mrs Greyson is afraid on© of her attacks coming on,” she said acidly, “ and will you please to go to her at once.”

‘'Directly, Shaw,” and saying a hurried good-bye to her guests, she went down a long passage and into a big luxurious bedroom facing the sea. An elderlv ladv lying limply on the couch hv the window greeted her querulously. ” I thought you were never coming, 2nd T know I shall die in one of my attacks—die alone, without a soul near me.” ‘‘l don’t think we will lei you do

that!” The tall nurse looked down into the lined and fretful face resting against a rose-coloured cushion. “ iou will be better directly you have . taken jour drops,” and she proceeded to pour these out from a. bottle on the washstand, while the invalid continued her peevish grumblings. “It is always the way,” she complained, “ when one has no one of one’s own near, when 011 c is. left to hirelings—it is always the same story. Nobody cares what becomes of a pool sick old woman. What docs it matter to a soul in this bouse whether I live or die? I am nothing to anybody—simply nothing.” And with this judicious exercise of self-pity 7, she pumped two large tears into her eyes, and they trickled forlornly down her nose. The sight of them increased Tier pity 7 for herself to such an extent that more tears followed, and in two minutes she was weeping hysterically. ” Now 7. Airs Greyson, you know quite well you are talking nonsense,” her nurse said firmly, “ wo all want to do our best to help you to get better; and this attack is very sligVd. Tf you will stop crying you will soon feel quite cheery again.” ‘‘Heartless! ” moaned the invalid, “ heartless and cold as all nurses are. Their finer sensibilities are blunted by their work. Tlio constant sight- of suffering makes them utterly callous. Tf you had ever gono through seas of trouble yourself you would understand better what I endure.” Tf her listener i winced the speaker was too self-absorb-ed to observe the fact; and the tall 1 nurse's smile showed no trace of what lay 7 below the surface. “ I hope I am not quite heartless,” she said, in even, kindly tones, “but lam an incurable optimist. I. always believe wo make ourselves feel worse, if wo look on the blackest side of our pictures.” “ Mv pictures have no other sides,” Mrs Greyson sobbed dismally, ‘‘ think of my position—my loneliness—a widow, childless, left to face the world without any belongings of my own— T, who have always clung so to those 1 l-oved : T who am so unfitted to live a lonely life.” During this mournful outpouring Miss Fortescue had been arranging the invalid’s cushions, putting can d© cologne upon her handkerchief, and generally attending to her comfort, but when _ the outpouring ended on a note obviously demanding a reply, and Airs Greyson looked at her with tearful and reproachful eyes, she smiled a smile that would have brought heartening and courage to a less selfcentred individual. (To be continued.)