“VERE"

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16470, 5 July 1921, Page 2

“VERE"

OUR SERIAL.

By

L. G. MOBERLY,

CHAPTER XVlJ.—Continued. ‘CI ‘don t want to know,'’* she said rather piteously. ‘ Can’t we just forget what has happened and—and start fresh?” -

“ Exactly what J should like to do,” was the triumphant response. “ I say, I know I was a beast to show* you what L couldn't help showing you.” Ho came nearer to her in his eagerness, and she shram.; away. “You needn’t look as if you were afraid of me. I fehan’.t hurt you,” he said, “and I grant that whilst I was engaged to Hilda I hadn’t any right to let vou see what a. fearful lot I admired you. But E couldn't help it. I never set eyes on anybody like you before. You’re so lovely and so different from other girls. * ’ The words poured out in such a torrent that Vere could not stop them or get in a syllable, but w.en at last ne pa used, &h o sa id qnick ly : “ L would much rather you didn't talk to me like this. Please let us forget all about it.” “Forget!” he exclaimed, “as if anybody who had Once seen you could ever forget you. T am reaay to otvn I was a brute to have let Hilda see boW you bowled me over. But I couldn’t help being bowled ovrir.” hb addrid With boyish earnestness. “and surely now there’s no harm in telling you the truth. Hilda’s married, and I—-- f* “But don’t you know——you riinfct have heard,” Vere began confusedly, “ Ba-bs must have told vou

I don’t know what you are talking about, but I haven't seeu any of the Carstairs lately. I suppose we didn’t any of us feel like seeing each other: so I don’t know what you mean.” “ I mean that Tam already engaged to somebody elfce,’ Vere said, “ even if I— : if you—even if 1 could hare felt quite differently about you from what T do feel,” she added desperatelv, “ still I am bound to somebody else.”

“You mean you are engaged, actually engaged?” Vere nodded. “ 1 know it’s no business of mine,” Mordaunt said gloomily. “ but is it boastly of me to ask who it is?” ” I am engaged to Air Trenton,” Vere answered, and she was prepared for the flash of surprise and disapproval in the young man’s eyes. She had dimly expected thrini, arid the note of disapproval in Harry’s voice gave her no more surprise than the look in his eyes.

“ Air Trenton,” he echoed, “ but he is much too old for you.” It was Dan Buraard s obje<Aion over again. Dan’s blue eyes, with something of reproach in them came between her and Harry Mordaunt s dark face. “ much too old and much too serious,” Harry wont on with emphasis, “ why on earth does ho want to come and spoil your life?” “He is not spoiling my life. He has been so good to me—a wavs so good to me.” 'io the girl herself the words suddenly sounded like a parrot cry, ”if I can make him happv, I am glad.”

\ou are marrying him for his sake, not for your own,” Harry pounced on her wrods. “the marriage is for his not for yours 1” “I, don’t think my reasons for mv marriage are any concern of yours.” Vere said with spirit, feeling as if she dould bear no more comments upon her engagements “please don’t keep me any more. I must really go on.” You’ve seen the worst side of me. a low down side,” the young man said humbly as he turned and walked with her towards the park gates, “and l don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I tell you you’ve been an inspiration to me.“ “ But I’ve done nothing.” feme looked at him with unfeigned amazement.

“It isn’t only what people do that makes them influence other people,” Mordaunt answered, propounding a deeper truth than he realised, “ thOre’s something in v ou. some sorb of atmosphere you take about with you that * makes one feel—makes one feel- ’* ho stumbled over his effort at expression, “ you make a fellow w ant to be always at hie best. You seem to be standing on a hill-top and beckoning me up to stand there too.” “ I didn’t know I had doue anything.” Vere faltered, and he answered quickly. It is not what you do or say. It is just you yourself—what vOu are. I have never known anybody else like you l” CHAPTER XVIIT. C ‘ I Ail CJO*NO TO STR.4JtfSI.ET.” Mis? Fortescue sat in her email sit-ting-room ostensibly adding, up Mrs Greyson’s weekly books, actually looking out of the window at the silver scA that stretched to the rim of the horizon. And it would have been quite evident to an onlooker, had one been present, that her thoughts were very far away. *3lie had just been through a more than usually trying hour with her employer who at the best of times was neither an easy or agreeable mistress; she was seriously considering whether she should continue to endure all that she bad to endure at Mrs G rev son’s exacting hands, or whether she would try fresh fields and pastures new, when the door opened slowly and the subject of her meditations entered. In spite of the warmth of the May afternoon a fleecy shawl was wrapped round her shoulders, and on catching sight of the open window she drew it closer round them with a pettish movement. “ You seem to like to live in a. sort of palace of the winds,” she said in her plaintive voice. “ Why I hare not long ago died of pneumonia, t earinot imagine Oh! no, don’t trouble to shut the window,’’ she weiit on with a martyr-like air, as her nurse rose with the evident intention of doing so. “I suppose you would fancy you werd suffocating if the windows were shut. Keep them as wide open as you like—don’t thins: of me I have only come in for a moment, if T may venture to disturb you,” she added ironically. “I am only going through vour house hooks, you are not disturbing me ’ was the reply, a reply spoken with, more curtness than Mrs Greyson’s long-suffering nurse usually allowed herself. “ Perhaps you wanted me for something else? ” “ ! don’t imagine it would matter to you if I did,’ was the ungracious response, accompanied by a melancholy sigh. “I am only too painfullv aware that my wishes, my needs, are the last things considered by you, or bv any one in my house. T often feel that \ am a mere cypher under my own roof.” “ A very active cypher,” the thought flashed through her listener’s mind, whilst Mrs Greyson’s plaintive voice continued. “ By the second post I have just received a letter which may upset all my plans for the summer; and I so dislike my arrangement* upset. My nerves are not really strorig enough to stand sudden alterations of plans. Will you come and discuss the question in the drawing-room? X really cannot stand the open window.” (To be con tinned,) j