“THE GLARE”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18010, 22 November 1926, Page 16

“THE GLARE”

“STAR’S” NEW SERIAL

By

CARLTON DAWE.

'CHAPTER Xlll.—(Continued.) “But don’t you realise that you can’t be left alone? Since you either don’t or won’t understand, you force me to speak plainly. Lord Marshalmead is no friend for a girl like you; he is no friend for any woman who respects her good name. Your name coupled with his means only one thing in the eyes of the world. These people with whom he has brought you in contact—the man Whinstone, the woman Dundas! Had he the slightest respect for you he would never introduce you to such a worthless set of degenerates.” “You lie,” she said, “lie, lie! He does care for me and I for him. But I am not his mistress as you seem to imagine. You appeal to my understanding, yet make no effort of your own. No one believes, you will say: let them disbelieve. I don’t care; I tell you.l don’t care.” “But you do care.” “I don’t,.l don’t!” she reiterated furiously. “And even if I did I should still go my own way. To hell, you think? Perhaps; but that's preferable to going to heaven in some people’s' company. Now I wish you would leave me, Mr Cargrave; and never speak to me again, never, never! ~ I tell you I will not permit this spj’ing on me, this contemptible spreading of scandal. My life is my own and I’ll do what I like with it, and when my reputation needs defending I’ll choose my own defender.” Very terrible she seemed to him in her rage, desperately reckless, ready to burst every restraining bond. He trembled for her, seeing incalculable danger in this attitude; was not also without personal apprehension. Was he helping forward the' catastrophe it was his one desire to avert? This, and one other thought, beat on his mind with deadly insistence. She had passed from him; there was here no shadow of hope. Friendship was turned to angry contempt; he had become the enemy. And the cause of the metamorphosis was a man whom he had not considered worthy to tie her shoes. Here was something to set the brain throbbing; that brought anger, primitive anger, to the surface. Who could account for the way of a woman ? This man: surely she was above succumbing to the mere glamour of his title, his riches? The thought was contemptible, unworthy of him, of her. Yet she knew what association meant, and almost seemed to glory in the obloquy attached to it. “This is not you,” he said, “but some strange woman who had taken your place. If Lord Marshalmead has already brought you to this, where is he likely to lead you?” Then she flamed out once more in a defence that was amost an accusation. He had never seen her like this, had never conceived of a like passion. The cold, calm, scornful Denise! No, this was not Denise, but some fury who had entered into her. Was it love or passion that caused this violent outburst? He reeled beneath the battery of her words; was almost blinded by the flashings of her eyes, flashings of scorn, of contempt, of positive detestation. Reason grew confused in a vain attempt to comprehend it all. And then, in the door, stood the old soldier, pallid of face, with lips quivering. CHAPTER XIV. Straight, head up, chin out, singularly like his daughter now, Francis Leighley advanced towards them. How long he had been there, or how much he had heard, neither of them knew; but from the sternness of his attitude it was clearly evident that he had heard enough to justify the explanation which was instantly demanded. Denise coldly turned to Cargrave. “This is a matter,” she said, “which I prefer to discuss with my father—alone.” Helplessly Wally turned to the col onel, who stood as stiff as a soldier on parade. His mute appeal for consideration was met by an unresponsive glare that failed to hide the perturbation from which the old gentleman was suffering. He flung a last appealing glance at Denise, and met a look of cold disdaim Then like one with defective sight he gropod his way from the room. Outside on the landing he encountered Phyllis, frightened, questioning. “What has happened, Wally?"” “Nothing very much, kiddy; just a misunderstanding with Denise.” “What about?” “Oh, lots of things.’ ’ “My dear,” she said. He caught the extended hand and patted it gently. “Anyway, we’re friends, Phil?” “ Always. But Denise—l don’t understand.” “ I’m afraid she’s very angry with me.” “ Father was listening at the door. Wally, I’m worried—l’m afraid.” By this time they had reached the hall, her hand still in his. “ I’m not to come here again,” he said; “ Denise has forbidden it.” “Is Denise everything; father and I nothing?” “No, no; but don’t you understand —I had dreams.” “ Denise is mad,” she said; “ she always was. This life she leads. . . . Wally, I’m afraid for her. She’s changed; is changing every day. Once we were so near to each other; now we’re worlds apart. She seems to have gone by me; left me terribly alone.”

“ Perhaps she has gone by us all, for which we may be principally to blame Be sweet to her, Phil, sweeter than you have ever been. One never knows; she may be lonelier than we think.”

“ Sometimes I think she is very lonely.” He could not tell her what he thought; but a vision of Denise and her new friends flashed before him. A riot of light, the clinking of glasses, the atmosphere heavy and languorous! Did all this make for loneliness? Perhaps. At the back of the laughter there might be tears; the smile may have masked a whimper. Meanwhile* the colonel was speaking to his elder daughter. “ I overheard so much,” he said,

“ that I am anxious to hear more. What is the meaning of this quarrel with Wally, that reference to Lord Marshalmead? What has he brought you to; where is he leading ydu?” “ Mr Cargrave is about' as charitable as the rest of the world.”

** The lad’s fond of you, devilish fond of you, and I approve.” “ But I don’t, and I’m the one who matters.” “ This attitude docs not become a daughter of mine,” the old soldier retorted with dignity. “ Wally Cargrave is a decent young fellow not given to the propagation of scandal.” “ Oh.” she answered wearily, “ I am tired of him and his virtues.” Her father looked at her, and in that look she caught a glimpse of what he had been in other and prouder days. “ You are trifling with me, Denise.” “ I am in no mood to trifle with any one.” “ Equivocating.” “ If you will have it so.” This father, for whom, unhappily, all filial respect had long since vanished! llow was she to endure this lamentable assumption of dignity? “ What is Lord Marshalmead to you?’’ he asked. “ A friend.” “ But that hardly explains Wally’s reference.” “ Explanations may sometimes prove a source of peculiar embarrassment.” “ Not if they are honest, if the subject they explain is honest.” “ Honesty, or the face of it, is n quality to be estimated with suspicion. Real honest}', the genuine article, is an attribute of the angels. Men only hear rumours of it.” “And woman?” “ I think I would rather answer fomen.” “ Yet the Leighley women have always been honest,” he said. Her lips tightened; then the faint shadow of a mocking smile broke over them. “ Then I must be nearer the angels than I imagined.” The old man puffed up and down the room curiously sensible of a singular loss of what should have been his inalienable right. He who had commanded men, who had passed through battles, plagues, pestilences, to be forced to restrain the just indignation of a super-sensitive spirit! Woe to the parent who is dependent on a selfish and ungrateful child. “Of course,” she said, “ Wally Cargrave meant something, and if he, why not others? Your long and varied experience of life must have taught you that no man believes in any man’s honesty but his own, and I should say he is extremely dubious of that at times. This shop of mine—how could it possibly be come bv honestly? What man ever interested himgelf in a woman without an ulterior motive? My dear father, you have often boasted of dowering your daughters with intelligence, yet expect them to act unintelligently. Consider for one moment; a depleted wardrobe and a depleted exchequer; tradesmen importunate, all the world looking devilishly threatening. And, most important of all, your club subscription in arrears, and no one to borrow from.” “I never borrowed in my life,” he protested indignantly. “Now," she continued, ignoring his protest, “assuming my possession of a tenth part of that intelligence with which you have so generously dowered me, am I to go under like a coward, or make a fight for it like a soldier’s daughter?” “You are mocking me,” he said. ‘Then God forgive me. But let us be honest with each other even if we find it difficult with strangers. You know that Lord Marshalmead is the foundation of Denise and Co.; as a man of the world you must know that he would not have backed it had he not been interested.”

“Then what is he to you?” “Not that—at least not yet. You sec, not being among the most fortunate of individuals, we can’t carry our heads in the clouds. There arc times, bitter times, when we must descend very near to the earth. I’m not blaming you~for this; it’s just the luck of things. But should I not be mad if I were afraid of a few evil whisperings? Let them whisper. One dav those whisperings may be turned to fulsome congratulations.” “What do you mean?” he asked, hope stirring on the instant. M “I am your daughter,” she answered, "and you have dowered me with intelligence.” But was there indubitable proof of this? lie knew he would have been satisfied with a tithe of the confidence which appeared to animate her. Besides, this reiteration of the word “intelligence” was becoming decidedly obnoxious. If she meant to make it offensive she was succeeding admirably. It was like a. whip manufactured by him for his own shoulders. He could have commented very learnedly on the uses and abuses of that quality of intelligence, with singular application to the point at issue; but just then he felt as though he never wished to hear the hateful word again, wished that he had never heard it. Yet gazing at the descent from a perilous height he found the prospect particularly uninviting. He said: “We arc all ready to admit the uncharitable misinterpretation of the obvious; consequently our conduct should be the more irreproachable. There are’ some to whom the opinion of the world matters little or nothing; others again to whom it means everything.” “I wonder?” “It is not a matter for wonder or conjecture; i|’s a plain, irrefragable fact, which we who move midway between the high and the low must never forget. Thank God, my children have been dowered with”—he was going to use the awful word but hesitated—“with a true sense of the knowledge of life.” Poor father! No longer his own man, he might have wept for himself had he been of the weeping kind. To come to this; a careful choice of words, a check to natural feeling in admonishing his own child. Fate bitter as death! Truly this was the occasion to open and shut those ledgers for the last time. The new generation, noisily asserting itself, knew neither pity nor mercy. With a rude hand it swept aside the old and the feeble. Fathers and mothers were nothing but cumberers of the earth. If they had something to leave they clung too long to life: if they had nothing they became a burden. (To be Continued.)