“THE GLARE”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18009, 20 November 1926, Page 22

“THE GLARE”

“STAR’S” NEW SERIAL niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiniiiimnniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHuiiuiiiiii

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii By

CARLTON DAWE.

CHAPTER XIII. Of the many difficult problems Wallis Cargrave had tackled there was none that had caused such confusion of mind as this of Denise. Seeing her at that cabaret, the companion of such a man. the friend of such people, he feared that only one conclusion could be drawn. If she were not already lost, then she was undoubtedly hurrying down the road to destruction. Tie knew no good of Marshalmead: men spoke openly of him with more or less contempt. If there were any merit in the man it was carefully hidden from the public gaze. Women and horses; noble creatures both, but degraded out of all reason bv man. Desperately he looked round within the circumscription of his own mind. If she were to be saved who was there to save her? Clearly not herself; equally as clearly not Lord Marshalmead. lie was not renowned for the saving of women. Perhaps he thought that they had no wish to be saved; perhaps he had found them turn a dull eye to salvation. To some the generosity of life is unbounded. There is much sound advice in the form of proverbs which a man, anxious to make the best of opportunity, may take to heart. Probably he gave them cordial welcome. Assuming that Denise needed help, which might be doubtful, where was she to turn for it in an emergency of this kind? The old soldier, vain and valiant even in defeat, for ever pushing himself in the limelight, of what possible use was he to her, he who had been of so little use to himself? Indeed thought suggested that he might be worse than useless; might even prove inimical. Cargrave had no use for selfish old men who, having made a wreck of their own lives, prepared with unparalleled equanimity to wreck the lives of others. Unless Francis Leighley were utterly devoid of sensibility he must blush furiously and often in contemplating his own defection. From him Wally feared little was to be expected. Moreover, how was he to remove the bandage from such eyes, show that which it were charity to hide? There was Phil! But, she apparently, lived in a state of perpetual adoration. In her eyes there never was anyone, never could be anyone, like Denise, who was as divinely marvellous as she was divinely beautiful. Even to suggest the possibility of human weakness in so perfect and finished a work left him quivering with apprehension; would have appeared in her eyes the utmost limit of disloyalty. No, Phil was clearly not to be thought of. Who then ? They had called him the big brojriier, and he had felt honoured; but the brotherly relationship once outgrown he found little satisfaction in filling the role. - Yet, even if he were to be nothing but big brother, the part was full of responsibility. Ought he not to put his best into it, play it for all he was worth? There was no one else,. A sister stumbling on the edge of the precipice. What brother could watch this nor stretch out a hand?

It was here , that he who had given so much advice now felt a cruel necessity for it. But there was no one to advise, no one to whom he could voice his plaint. He had to think it all out in the solitude of his own thoughts, weight argument for and against, take counsel’s opinion of himself. And just then he was not enamoured of the task or • the coun-

sel; doubted much of the benefit to be derived from such action. She would resent it, hotly, cruelly; would probably make him wish he had never been born.

Could he, dare he risk so much ? Was there hope for him in interference, or without? Yet the way she was going: there was a shadow of hope in this? Was this ji time for diffidence or delicacy, the saving of his own skin? Duty! Here was a point open to argument, and there was no one with whom he could argue it but himself, a facile, too plastic opponent. Yet with him was the ever-insistent consciousness of peril to one who was near and dear. She was too fine a work to be destroyed. That a callous world would view such destruction with equanimity added no strength to the argument. lie was regarding the situation from his own point of view; saw that which might have been hidden from less thoughful eyes.

Lord Marshalmead received him with characteristic graciousness. Though he had hesitated for a moment or so when Cargrave’s name was brought to him, the visit was not altogether unexpected. It was just possible that were he similarly placed he might have acted in precisely the same manner. Moreover, that meeting at the cabaret had prepared him for this. From her he had learnt a good deal of Wallis Cargrave; from his behaviour that night he had acquired a still deeper knowledge. In a way he rather admired the devotion; there was a possible development of admiration. Much would be depend on circumstance.

Marshalmead occupied a suite of rooms in C-larges Street, an amicable arrangement with his lady apportioning her the Grosvenor Street residence. In this manner he salved his conscience and secured his freedom. Here, with his much-devoted man Minson, who had gone through the war with him, he endeavoured to console him-

self for the loss of connubial joys. If rumour is to be credited. a fair amount of success attended his efforts. Neither man offered to shake hands. Cargrave’s attitude, stiff, formal, uncompromising. was in direct contrast to the easy nonchalance of his host. The one had come plainly intent on battle, the other, not adverse, was just a little intrigued as to its possible course of development. “You probably guess the cause of this visit. Lord Marshalmead ?” “I am delighed to see you, Mr Cargrave. But won’t you sit down?" Wally hesitated a moment, then seated himself, perhaps with a not too admirable grace. “You will smoke?" “No, thanks." Marshalmead lit a cigarette, eyeing his

visitor through a thin gauze of blue vapour. “It's concerning Miss Leighley." Wally blurted out. “Miss Leighley sent you?” “No; she knows nothing of my com ing." “Then pardon me; are we at liberty to discuss her?" “I think ceremony may be excused. in the circumstance.” “I am not sure I share that opin“This lady is a very dear friend of mine." “Let us say, of ours, though that scarcely warrants the necessity of this." "I freely admit the apparent presumption, and the effort it has cost; but as an old friend of the family—the only friend, I might say ” “I must question that.” “None the less, I conceive it my duty " “Not to insinuate unjustly, I hope? Mr Cargrave, I should be extremely dense if I failed to appreciate the meaning of this visit, but until you re ceive permission to plead I regret 1 shall not be at liberty to listen." Wally sprang abruptly to his feet, eyes instantly aflame, jaw aggressive. The insolent and measured tones of this man stung him furiously. But with an effort he restrained the primitive desire for combat, the man’s ease, self-possession, producing a marked effect on his more irruptive nature. At a glance he saw the disadvantage in which anger would place him. He asked, in a tone no less cool and collected than that of the man before him: “Is there the slightest occasion for us to indulge in equivocation?" “None whatever—or anything else that 1 can see/’ Wally’s lips tightened; again the deep-set eyes began to gleam. “Yet you know what I mean, why I’m here. There is no one else who could come.” “Are you sure of that. assuming that such coming were necessary?” “Who seems to me the only one possessing that right you appear to claim." “Colonel Leighley doesn't dream—” “Then why should you, or anyone?" Both men were standing now close to each other: stern eyes were looking into stern eyes. Wally, searching for doubt or trepidation, found none. Whatever else he might be, this was no mean opponent. There was no attempt at evading the question at issue, no sign of faltering. Indeed there was something more than a suggestion of firm ground beneath firm feet. “I honour this lady above all women,” he said, his own footing not too secure. “And I." “You! ” “1 have said so." “One might not imagine this. ’ “You strain my patience, Mr Cargrave. Yet. appreciating the impulse that brought you here, however misguided, I will quite frankly admit that were I a free man Miss Leighley would now be my wife instead of what you so erroneouslv imagine." “But you are not a free man.” • “Unhappily.” “And because of that you are iniuring instead of honouring her. People are beginning to sneer, to make scurrilous jests. What defence has she against this? It’s not plaj'ing the game, and you know it.” “I think you entirely misapprehend the situation, especially in regard to this lady, whom we appear to be discussing with unwarranted freedom You mu£t pardon me if I regretfully terminate this interview.” All the fierce things Wallis Cargrave

had come to say trembled on his lips, but did not pass them. Supremely conscious of his untenable position, confusion, shame, annoyance, overwhelmed him. He, with no more justification than that supplied by evil rumour, was thinking ill of her. Outrageous thought! What right had he to think ill of her? Was this the quality of love or friendship? Association with an acknowledged libertine! But did this sufficiently excuse his own furiouand ill-digested conclusions? Was he not shaming her whom he sought to defend? Had he found Marshalmead different —contemptuous, provocative, offensive —his task had beerf a eomparatively easy one. But how overcome that dig nified urbanity, how even launch a shaft at it? Every step he took seemed to weaken his position, shake that sublime confidence in himself so necessary at this juncture. Intuitively he felt that every moment this man was rising, if not his superior, at least to a more exalted height then he had attained, or felt equal to attaining. Those level tones, that unobtrusive dignity: how were these to be ignored or made light of? Truth to tell he had no doubt of the failure of his mission. He knew it as he stood there looking into Marshalmeda’s eyes; felt it still more acutely when he once more found himself out in the street. Though not desirous of proving it, he was conscious of blundering in a manner singularly suggestive of folly. He realised now the blind nature of an attack which was doomed to defeat Had the enemy acted differently there might have been a chance for him, but maintaining his position behind a network of impregnable fortifications he easily repulsed all efforts to dislodge him. Here once again was displayed the futility of anger in a cause which should have been governed by reason. When next he saw Denise she met him with a stormy brow and angry eves. In a way he was prepared for this; in fact, he knew it had to come, and knowing did not shirk the encounter. Rather sought it as something that had to be. Between doubt and hope the strain was fast becoming intolerable. It was one of those situations which had to be mended or ended. There was no middle course. A cold reception indeed; not even the usual formal or perfunctory greeting. She was over again the window of the sitting-room, and as he entered he saw her head go up, her body stiffen. “I'm glad you've come,” she said. “I wanted very much to see you." “I thought, and hoped, I might find you in.” In fact he had chosen his hour, the hour when Madame Denise usually returned from her labours. “Do you realise.” she said, in a hard, uncompromising tone, “that you have been guilty of a gross impertinence?” “You are referring to a certain visit?” “I am referring to your unpardonable interference in matters which do not concern you.” “Had I thought so I should not have interfered.” “You had no right to think so. Who gave you that right?” “I took it, Denise. Who else was there to defend you?” “Had I wished for your defence I should have asked for it.” “Remembering what you are to me, how could I do less?” “What I am to you! What am I to you?” she asked indignantly. “At least a friend.” “Not from today. 1 never wish to see you again. Our friendship is finished.”

“But you don't mean that?” "Every word of it.” “Yet I had no other desire than to “By insinuating ill of me? I have no use for such friendship, and I prefer the open to the secret enemy.” “It was to stop, if possible, this insinuation of ill that I ventured to take so much on myself. Probably I was mistaken; it seems that I was. Yet, loving you ” “Loving me! ” she interjected sharply “How could I do less? Your name, coupled with his—Denise, don't you understand? The anguish, the agony of it! I'm a man, you know, with a man’s feelings. I couldn't bear to hear them say light things of you.” “What do I care what they say?” she flamed out. “You must care. Denise; you do care It wouldn't lie you if you didn’t. That night at the cabaret! I never felt so like kicking a man. He did not know I was your friend. My dear, for God's sake try to understand.” But anger, furiously flaming, refused the appeal to reason; saw in it equivocation, subterfuge, every mean and contemptible effort at evasion. “What would you have me understand; that I have become the subject of coarse jests for you and your friends? I'm much obliged to you and them. If I thought it worth while I might defend myself, but I don't. Let them say what they like; I .only ask to be left alone.” (To be Continued l