“THE GLARE”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18015, 27 November 1926, Page 29

“THE GLARE”

“STAR’S” NEW SERIAL imimiiiuimummiunnnimniuimimmiiuininnniminimminmmiiiimriiiimiiiiiummimiimniiM!!

By

CARLTON DAWE.

CHAPTER XVll.—(Continued.) “ I regret that you should assume this uncompromising attitude, as I imagined that you of all people would be the first to understand.” “ Why me?” She flashed at him a quick look of antagonism, her body stiffening like one ready to attack. “ A woman of the world,” he answered suavely. “ Mr Whinstone,” she said, “ I must ask you to go. Our acquaintance ceases from this moment.” He bowed with admirable grace. 44 The loss is mine, madame.” 44 And I must further request you not to pester my sister again.” It was on such occasions that Dudley’s hide proved invaluable. This woman to pose as a moral paragon! She might almost have stepped out of one of his plays. One or two trenchant phrases formed on his tongue. The intimate friend of the immaculate Marshalmead chastely indignant! Lord, how it would have tickled the stalls! Inwardly he was simmering with merriment, though that word 44 pester ” did not well consort with his sense of dignity. It was a term usually employed towards an inferior, and he was just a little uncertain whether to resent it or laugh it way. However, he repeated it with an assumed air of mystification.

“ Really,” she asked, “is 'there anything more to be said?” What was the man made of? By right he should have crept a>ay with his tail between his legs. But Dudley was not that sort of dog; far from it. 44 Ever so much.”

He was smiling now, and in a peculiarly provocative manner. There was no piercing his casing of triple brass. Her blows fell impotently upon it; produced not even a spark of fire, rang dully. She felt that the battle was going all awry, the chances of victory slipping bej-ond her. In this man's eyes, tone, manner, was an assurance of success which weakened the attack, an insolence which aggravated the assault. He was telling her, plainly telling her, that to fight the good fight worthily one should first be good. The loathsome creature! Never had she so despised and hated a man. It was here, when moral effort weakened, that she yearned for the physical. Kickings, and still more kickings, have also a moral value in this world which are not to be despised.

“ I don't deny,” he continued with that air of gravity which he exploited so admirably upon occasion, “ that on the face of things you may have some cause to complain, but I do emphatically deny justification. I regret exceedingly that you should misconstrue my motives, or deny me the opportunity of explaining. Yet in your more amenable moments I feel sure your sense of justice will acquit me of any intention of wrong, even if you should not take an entirely charitable view of my apparent shortcomings.” I hope it may be so,” she answered coldly, though not convinced. His manner was too like that of Dudley the playwright, the man who loved to juggle with words, who could not say a « trai e ht thing or do one. “As for Cinderella,”—he flashed a quick glance towards the door— ‘‘even you must realise that such a charming princess cannot be for ever immured in a kitchen.”

_ And s o he vanished. Albemarle bt-rcet received him, doubtless with much honour, likewise St James's, and

a certain adjacent club, extremely select. But to Denise he seemed to leave a blight which needed a sharp north-easter to disperse. Mechanically she turned to her work feeling very much alone. Here was where she needed help, sympathy, the presence of one to whom she could turn for support, and be sure of finding it. All the glories of Denise et Cie seemed suddenly to vanish; she was as shoddy as her wares. Hatred of it, of the beast of a world that was eternally snarling at her. rose up, a veritable tumult. How much longer could she endure the strain? Wasn’t it better to burn boats, destroy bridges, step out into the enemy’s country and take the chances as they came?

It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when Phyllis stepped out, from that little room at. the bark, the door of which had itot been closed. Denise turned on her a quick, searching glance. Had she beard anything, had she known of the visit? It was on the tip of her tongue to question; but Phil, who carried on her arm a coupie of costumes, asked concerning them. Evidently she had not suspected. Then why speak? Cinderella: the charming princess: immured in a kitchen! There was here much food for reflection; something that could no longer be brushed aside, that must be tackled with courage, infinite resolution. CHAPTER XVIII. On a Sunday night, some ten days later, Esme gave a party at her house in Regent's Park. It was a charming house, charmingly furnished with a taste to which she could lay no claim, though she was wise enough never to proclaim how the miracle had been wrought. Upper Bohemia was, as usual, well to the fore. There were painters, poets, actors of eminence; a rising politician, and a lawyer or two notorious as theatrical hangers-on. Of course the nobility was represented; likewise there were others of whom one knew nothing and cared less. But there was no Mr Esme. Once there had been such a person, but she had rid herself of him, via the divorce court, threeyears previously. It had been one of those marriages which the newspapers label a “ theatrical romance.” lie was a younger son of an obscure peer, with a possibility of one day succeeding to the title. But that day appeared to be so far off that Esme had refused to wait, especially as she soon discovered that the only glory she got out of the connection was the doubtful privilege of keeping her husband in idleness and paying his multifarious debts. Needless to say, Lord Marshalmead received an invitation, which naturally included Miss Denise Leighley, who positively refused to go where she was likely to meet the unspeakable Whinstone. Marshalmead, agreeing with her. accordingly dispatched a polite refusal, which Esme no sooner received than she rung him up in much perturbation of spirit. Not being accustomed to mince matters, be frankly explained the reason. She assured him that the objectionable one should not be asked; indeed, she had never really thought of inviting him. Denise, remembering what Whinstone had said of Cinderella and the kitchen, decided that Phil should make one of t.he party. The thought that the little sister might have been neglected, that she herself might have been incredibly selfish, had rankled deeply. On the face of it there was a good deal of truth in the accusation. Why should Phil be less human than the rest of the species? If all the world, plunging into that insidious Glare, were dancing to the devil, there must be something rather miraculous in it to make such a universal appeal. How, then, could one escape the fate of all? Conscious that she had no wish to see her sister flaunting with the doomed, instinct, a deep affection, warned her of the necessity to preserve. One out of two was enough. Doubtless she would have to pay the price, but it must be sufficient for both.

Vet to her amazement Phil resolutely declined to accept, nor could persuasion prevail on her to change her mind. She began by emphasising the fact that she had not been invited, and when this objection was more or less overruled she obstinately declared that she had no wish to go. This growing phase of her character, this attitude of semi-indepcndencc. had not been unmarked by the elder sister, though she

consistently endeavoured to blind herself to it. But the truth is that ever since that memorable adventure with Dudley Whinstone a change had come sweet, agreeable gentleness had vanished. She spoke less, laughed rarest over Phyllis. Most, if not all, of seemed curiously conscious of a new personality; was in a way insensibly developing a strong family characteristic. And it was because of this that DenSse experienced much acute misgiving. It was she who now complained of lack of confidence. What had seemed natural enough in her was unaccountable in her sister.

How much had really happened that dreadful night? This wrg a question she often put to herself, Eroding little consolation in conjecture. Phil’s first outburst of contrition, remorse, had been indubitably genuine; of this she had never a doubt. But that, relapse into silence, suilenness, what was exactly the meaning of it? Had Whinstone, pouring the poison of discontent into her ear, affected her brain, distorted her mental outlook? She gave Phil every opportunity to speak, to restore that confidence which, if not. dead, was dying; but advantage was never taken of it. Some thing had come between, something vast, impalpable, insurm oun table.

Once she asked her of Wally Car grave, for now that her own indignation had subsided she owned to moments of regret, deeming that she might have been unfair to him. But in him Phil was apparently no longer interested. Yes. she had seen him once or twice. He was the same old Wally, always a dear, and. by the way. had said something about clearing out to one of the Dominions. Not much hope for him in this, or for that thought which had simmered for a moment in Denise's brain.