“THE GLARE”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18012, 24 November 1926, Page 16

“THE GLARE”

“ STAR’S ” NEW SERIAL immiiiniiiiiiiiniiiiinnnnintmimiiininimmninnniiiimiiinumiiiiiiiiimiiiiimmmmimuniiiiiuniii

By

CARLTON DAWE.

CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.) Where had he gone, that strange, famous man who had treated her so chivalrously? Back to his loneliness, or into the forgetfulness of the Glare? He had called her Cinderella. Was it thus she appeared to him. to them all ? Yet, to pursue the similitude, there was neither shame nor confusion in the thought, for had not the neglected one eventually conquered all along the line? Infinite was the consolation of this knowledge, surpassingly strange. Yet when Denise returned from her continental visit no reference was made to the chivalry of Dudley Whinstone. Possibly an incident so trivial was not worth referring to. Only to him did she whisper, “ I did not tell Denise,” at which he smiled approval. But her conscience troubled her grievously. Doubtless it would not continue to trouble her long. Like a. poor relation, conscience is always amenable to reaDenise was not.’ slow to notice the frequency of Dudley’s visits. “ That fellow here again,” she would say. “ Does he mistake this shop for his club?” At which the culprit would turn away without answering, as though not comprehending the cryptic utterance. But she felt unspeakably mean; knew that as she had lied to her father so was she lying to her sister; wished she had spoken, was resolved to speak; yet held her peace. For she knew why the famous one came; he told her so by many a look and smile; sometimes by a meaning pressure of the hand. Awoke the knowledge that she, too, had the woman's power over man —a startling, rather terrifying, but very wonderful knowledge. Casually Denise mentioned the frequency of those visits to Marshalmead, who smiled in that whimsical, exasperating way of his. ‘‘Our Phil is growing up,” he said. “But you don’t think ” “But I do—that Dudley’s a very plausible fellow, and by way of being something worse if he gets the opportunity.” “I’ll give her a talking to,” said the stern one. Little Phil! It was absurd; awful! Marshalmead smiled. “The days of mothering have passed; the child has become a woman.” “You are horrid ! ” “My dear, isn’t it always so? But I don’t like Dudley Whinstone. as guide, philosopher and friend. We must do something better than that for our little Phil.” One day some flowers came to Albemarle Street addressed to “Miss Phyllis Leighley.” Denise took them to her, very stern of countenance; waited for her to *>pen the box, and might have waited, for Phil rather nervously pushed it on one side. “Well,” said her sister, “aren’t you going to see who they’re from? Or do you know?” “I think I know.” “Think?” “Mayn’t I receive flowers as well as you?” Denise bit her lip. “How long has this been going on?” she asked in a low voice. “I don’t know what you mean.” “You little humbug!" I Phil looked up suddenly, her soft eyes hardening. “You have no right to call me that.” Denise paused for a reply; scarcely knew what reply to make. It was the first time her right had been questioned. A momentous revolt this, full of inconceivable possibility. “Are they from Dudley Whinstone?” “Perhaps; I suppose so.” “Come, my dear, this sort of thing won't, do?” “What sort of thing?” asked obstuv acy. beginning to stiffen. “How long has this been going on?” was the next question. “I don’t see why you should be the only one to receive presents. My life's dull enough, heaven knows. You’ve never considered me in my loneliness.” “I’m considering you now, Phil.” “Well, I don’t want to be considered. I can look after myself. I think you’re horrid.” “Don’t be foolish. We must think of each other, you know. It’s necessary if we’re going to keep our end up.” “All very well for you, out every night, enjoying yourself. Do you ever give a thought to me, and how I must be suffering? No. I’m only Cinderella, the stay-at-home, the drudge. I don’t count.” Her face was now aflame, her eyes on fire. Each unknd word she uttered was like the sharp cut of a whip to Denise, for there was some truth in it. How was she to clean herself of this accusation of selfishness; could she? Cinderella! This was a new and startling development. “I don’t think Dudley Whinstone is the best of friends for you,” she said. “He’s really not nice, Phil. Clever, and all that sort of thing; but men don’t .speak well of him.” “What men?” Rather an awkward question this, best ignored. “He’s not regarded as being quite clean. One knows him, that’s all.”. “Should one know him, if he is what you say?” “My dear, one may occasionally pass through a slum without lingering in it, or being affected by it, but one wouldn't necessarily cultivate the habit. After all, there are broad clean streets, even if they are the longer way round. I’m not denying his success as an author, or the fact that this gives him a certain prominence among a certain set; my Objection is to the man. If I were you I shouldn’t accept any further presents from him.” “Those flowers are the first,” Phil admitted. “Then, my dear, let them be the last.” What would she have said had she known of that quiets dinner at Moroni’s, the wine that ran like molten rubies, the studied compliments? It was the first real taste of pleasure, and it had left an insidious longing for more. It was too bad of Denise to think that she was the only one wtih a prescriptive right to enjoyment; an assumption of utter selfishness, unenable, exasperating. And she didn’t believe a word of the unkind things that were said of Mr Whinstone. Did Denise expect her never to shed the tattered rags of Cinderella? She had spoken of his divorce as being packed with unsavoury details; but lots of divorces were like that these days. At, any rate he was free to marry again, and that was more than could be said of a certain prominent personage. Cinderella’s nerves were becoming almost as tattered as her rags.

Denise was not.’ slow to notice the frequency of Dudley’s visits. “ That fellow here again,” she would say. “ Does he mistake this shop for his club?” At which the culprit would turn away without answering, as though not comprehending the cryptic utterance. But she felt unspeakably mean; knew that as she had lied to her father so was she lying to her sister; wished she had spoken, was resolved to speak; yet held her peace. For she knew why the famous one came; he told her so by many a look and smile; sometimes by a meaning pressure of the hand. Awoke the knowledge that she, too, had the woman's power over man —a startling, rather terrifying, but very wonderful knowledge. Casually Denise mentioned the frequency of those visits to Marshalmead, who smiled in that whimsical, exasperating way of his.

CHAPTER XVI. For the first time in their lives the unpleasant spectre of antagonism rose between the sisters. Small quarrels, petty poutings, indefinite suLkings had been theirs, the portion of all families; but nothing like this had ever happened before. Denise did her best to smooth matters out, to play the part of the mother as she had always played ft; but her* efforts were met with a sullen unresponsiveness which caused her infinite anxiety. Phil obstinately refused to discuss Whinstone, his vices or his merits, and in this refusal began to think many hard things. She was a woman now, and with the first dawning of her power over men a new era had opened up to her. Denise had not thought of this spirit; even now it might be doubted if she grasped its full significance. That one day Phil would grow up and marry was the natural ordering of nature; but that she should develop this obstinacy of mood, this recalcitrant attitude towards affection, was among the surprises of life. Could she possibly be in love with the man; or was she flattered by the attentions of one who was not without a pertain distinction ? Would Whinstone, clothed in the gorgeous mantle of success, appear to her a portent, a prodigy ? Or was it the man himself, the first man who had seriously convinced her of her power?

Poor Denise, reviewing this crisis in the life of one she loved, felt that her own feet were not as firmly 'planted as they might have been, always a disadvantage in combat. No one would know this better than Whinstone, a subtle adversary. Therefore, .it was necessary for her to move with greatest circumspection. He would be polite, of course—the man was not without manner—but she could see the almost imperceptible curl of his lip, catch the thinly veiled tone of his reply. Or he might possibly profess sincerity, and with a breath dissipate her monumental misgivings. It is true that no more flowers were left at Albemarle Street, which possibly made for righteousness; certainly it aroused conjecture, Which was intensified by the fact that the donor seemed also to have forgotten of Denise et Cie. At any ram he paid no more of his casual visits. Denise looked at Phyllis for an answer to the riddle, but found none. Being, exceedingly wrath with the world young obstinacy had withdrawn into her shell. Confidence had vainshed. Even the colonel marked the sullen enmity and strove to assert parental authority, but with little success. He was up against the Leighley spirit, the warrior blood, and appeared to realise it. An obstinate fighting race, likely to inflict as much injury to itself as to an opponent It was a race not much given to cringing to the exalted, hence its lamentable default before the world. The old soldier, reviewing lost opportunities, often wondered if he would act differently were he given another lease of life, but doubted. For there was that in him which scorned the subsidiary part. Though his forbears had never been kings, he was convinced of their kinglike attributes. Indeed, until these evil times had fallen upon him, he had borne himself with much arrogance among men, who were now taking their revenge. Mullivant, the thought of whom brought the red glow to his eyes. Good God, Mullivant was. the son of a solicitor’s clerk who had married a lady’s maid! Now he waited on him, was treated by him with contumely ! Could death be bitterer than this! But the colonel’s protests were gradually weakening; growing very thin on the top,-like his hair. No one had a keener knowledge than he of neglected opportunities, of nights spent in foolish riot, while Old Mull and his kind burnt the midnight oil. It was a further cause of complaint against him that he should have burnt the midnight oil like a beggarly student. Gentlemen in the service didn’t do that sort of thing; it was against all the traditions of their order. Well, well; thank God it would all end . one day, and the sooner the better . " Was Denise growing tired of the Glare? Had it proved the heaven of her passionate dreams? Did she sigh for a solid resting place for her feet? Looking round at the same painted faces, the same tired eyes, the same men swollen with money and good cheer, the same multitude of predatory nondescripts, she often caught herself in a suspicious and doubting mood. Did Prin really like it? She was unconvinced; was sure of moments when he suffered extreme boredom. Fearful thoughts of how long it would last, if he could stay the course, besieged her. . She knew he was worthy of something better than this, and that she too was worthy of something better. Yet what else was left them? Where he ought tp have been he did not go; where she longed to go she could not. And she often caught that weary look in his eyes. Then one night, while she was in some such mood as this, the inevitable Esme entered on the scene. For some time now she had displayed a marked predilection for the society of Madame Denise, or her cavalier. She, with a few other intimates, had formed a little coterie at these social gatherings. They ate, drank, and danced together; wrung the last drop out of life; burnt the candle at both ends, and appeared to forget that when a candle is submitted to such a process its longevity is inevitably shortened. ! Advancing to Denise’s table she flung a searching look round the room. “Where’s the little sister?” she asked. “Soundly sleeping, I hope.” “Then Dudley didn’t bring her along?” Denise frowned. “Bring her along?” she echoed. “They turned up at Moroni’s just as I was leaving for the theatre.” Seeing Denise’s confusion she added with a smile. “Hope I haven’t’ queered the show?” She passed on with her cavalier to the table which had been reserved for her. Marshalmead’s eyes met those of Denise, which were full of new fear. “You heard?” she said. He nodded. “May I have your car?” “Of course; but ” “I must find her, Prin.” “I’m quite ready.” “I think—if you don’t mind—l’d better go alone. I think it would be better, dear.” (To be Continued.)