“THE GLARE”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18016, 29 November 1926, Page 16

“THE GLARE”

“ STAR’S ” NEW SERIAL

CARLTON DAWE.

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CHARTER XVm.—(Continues.) When she and Marshalmead appeared in the drawing-room at Regent’s. Park she. was conscious, of a sudden stoppage in the buzz of ; conversation, of many curious looks; but' Esme, glowing, came forward to. receive them. Very attractive she .looked in one of Duroche’s creations;..which was-a great relief to Madame Denise, .who feare’d that Esme'might appear in something from Albemarle Street, Presentations followed, but ';only' to tho,se who . were deemed worthy of the honour. The gathering assorted itself into, two sectionp: those who counted, and the others. There was a . little singing, .a recitation or two, refreshments—-and dancing to. a gramophone: Just a jolly, sociable,- home-like affair. .Esme danced with Marshalmead, Denise-with one of the, legal hangers on to the theatrical skirt; a most portentous fellow in.the law courts,' who could -so torture an erring Woman as to make her wish she had-never been born.. Probably oiie of the most consummate hypocrites in existence, his eloquence in the cause of public morality would have gladdened the heart, or, shocked the soul, of a Salvation Army Captain. His name was Landerson, and .if you want to know all about him, you must ask Cargrave’s friend Wrexenfiaxn, whom you - would probably find' most foupdlv interesting on the subject. Denise found him palpably insincere but 'charming. Extremely good-looking, but with'a tired, dissipated air, he reeked of vanity like - a pretty girl of eighteen. A woman's man, a reputed conqueror of the sex, lie looked into Denise's eyes as. though they were the only eyes he had ever seen in his life. Ifis own were - rather fine-—they had been finer—-but were now just a little tired, the lids heavy and inclined .to crinkle. But his figure was still slim, and if lfis knees occasionally twinged and creaked no one knew it but himself. He • entertained her with alb sorts of gossip, good-humoured, of course, with here and there a tinge of viciousness which ad,ded savour to the diph. Almost every one present he knew, and of each he had some amiably unpleasant thing to. say, reminding her in this. of the unspeakable Whinstone. Of one chinless effeminate young man in particular, who was supposed to be connected with some highbrow Sunday play-producing society—One “of those associations which further drains atic culture and exalt the theatre by delving in the filth of by-gone generations—he had much to sav. The cfiiriless one, tvho danced with a dark lanky girl in green, was a designer of stage costumes, an idolizer of the Russian Ballet, a poet who sought and found his inspiration where no other poet had ever thought of looking for it. Hence an original.

Occasionally she caught a glance from Marshalmead, whimsical as ever, but with an under-suggestion of boredom. She fvas' inconceivably proud of him; thought, he stood out from the other men as eminently distinguished; was.’ sure, he was fax and away the handsomest man in the room. And mingled with her pride was a strange feeling of-regret. For she knew that this was not the life for him; that he was worthy of something infinitely better; feared that in .some' way she might be helping to keep him down. Was it for her sake he suffered this dubious environment, he who should have been among the best, the greatest? Probably, had those present been able" to read her thoughts,, they would have laughed consumedly at her fears, or- pertinently what lie . had done with his many chances; which, though it might have embarrassed her to'answer, would not have shaken her conviction that her estimate of him was accurate.

And so the foolish. riot .went on, no one apparently being conridous of the folly, or not wishing .to be conscious of it. Probably it was all very amusing, but in her it left a strange void, a curious sense- of unfulfilment. On every hand was the same smirking insincerity. No one took a serious view of life. .It was as though pleasure were the only good, and that*, the world revolved merely to bring a new night and a new sensation. Everything of real interest in life was taboo; insincerity and triviality ruled of undivine right. • t. - But later in, the evening she received a grievous-shock, a most unpleasant jolt, and trviality vanished in an inarticulate sob. . Landerson had been most attentive, had -stolen to-her side-at every , opportunity, and after their last dance had led her to a secluded seat beneath some palms which shrouded the entrance to a small conservatory. But they had scarcely seated themselves before a \-oice reached them from the other side of the palms.. . _ “Our Esme’s in great form to-night,’’ is said with a low self-satisfied chuckle. “She'll nab him yet if he’s not careful.” Landerson looked at Denise and smiled. We all like to hear nice things of our friends. The voice was affected arid effeminate; the one that replied- decidedly feminine but equally affected. “Oh, do you think so? But isn’t he still devoted ? r ’ The effeminate voice chuckled. “We know all -about his devotion/’ . “They say he was seen with, her in Paris. ’’ “Probably. I wonder what has happened to poor old Billie Penton?” “I think Esme might have considered us a little more. A milliner!” There was much contempt in the tone. “Esme knows what she’s doing. No milliner—no earl.” Denise turned hot and cold by turns; was on the point of rising indignantly when .a movement on the other side of the palms restrained her. Then she saw that the two gossipers were the chinless costume designer and the lanky girl in green. Landerson behaved remarkably well in this crisis. One might have thought that he had not heard, or understood. He did not even look at her as they rose together. Had he done so he would have seen two desperate eyes set in a flaming face. 1 So - this was how they thought of her, spoke of her. To every one present she was Marshal mead’s mistress, tolerated because of him. She herself was the nondescript milliner, a woman of no reputation whom Esme Duffdas should have hesitated to invite!

Though bitterly, furiously indignant, she was wise enough to know that this was what she had to expect. None the less this brutal driving home of the truth struck at her cruelly, tortured every nerve, made her .feel indescribably despicable. Of a sudden every

eye seemed to accuse; her! every voice to level a taunj. Among a fold of black sheep' she had ‘become the blackest. And then came another feeling, one that for the moment, banished her own sense of wrong. What truth was there in the gibe, of Esme'e personal interest in Prin? Never jealous before, a sudden wave , of jealousy swept over her. “No milliner —-no; earl.” that chinless _ wretch had-chuckled- A thousand forgotten incidents were suddenly revived; little things once, blit rather im-portant-now. Those meetings at clubs, cabarets, the eatings, drinkings, dancings! So sure of; his love had she been that ne-tfer a doubt o/ him had crossed her mind. And now she was thinking all mariner of things. Of Billie Penton for. one; brave Billie Penton who had gone down with a smile. If Esme E>undas*s ■ -artifice were so . palpable to 'others there must be ; something in -it. And only she had never feared it; never even' seen it. Bilt She was seeing things. now 7 probably many more than were there; conjuring up all sorts of phantoms, most horrid spectres. Esrae’s greetings that night, the beaming face, the sparkling eyes; the unblushing way she had laid hold of him and kept him. Denise had smiled quietly to herself. Of course Esme was nothing more than a little sribb. Since her elevation to the dramatic peerage she had forgotten ' all about Brixton-and Balham. - Well, she would show her poifref; let them all see who was the greater--tlie milliner froni Albemarle Street or the theatrical star. Like every true women, she was ready to fight for her man; was rather inclined to urge the battle now that the' scene was set. Looking round she caught his eye and he came across to her. Landerson bowed and moved off. Marshalmead foll°wed him with an amused look. “ You have found the eminent K.C. entertaining?” She smiled, “My dear, I’m very tired. Do you think you could tear yourself away?” Thank he said under his breath. “ I’ve been wondering how much more of it }’ou could stand.” “ I hate it!” “Then let’s clear out.* Esme came towards them, a deep suspicion in her eyes. “ Miss Leighley’s not feeling quite up to the mark,” he began. “ Sorr\\ my dear. What you need 18 .f - °f bubbly. Come with.me.” I iff afraid have to excuse me, Esme,” fie said. “Excuse you!” “ We must be getting along.” Her face changed; with difficulty s ffe restrained hex annoyance. Too bad •of you,” she protested, and would like to have said a good deal more. But instinctively she felt that furtfier protest would be useless, any- suggestion she. might make of no avail. This woman knew her power and was making use, of it. Being a woman she understood the ways of her sex. Perhaps Denise carried her bead a little higher as she passed the chinless one and the lanky girl in green. Both were, of course, unworthy of notice, but it would have been scarcely human to forget. She sank back in the car with a sigh. “What does that mean?” he asked. “ I don’t know. The devil of unrest.” “ Let me exorcise it.” He did it in a.manner peculiar to lovers. She nestled in against him. He pressed his lips into hex hair. “ Oh. my dear,” she said, “ where am I leading you?” “To heaven.” She caught fiis hand and held it fast. Then with one of those exquisite actions which endeared her bevond all imagining she suddenly raised it, kissed and held it against her cheek. " Darling,” he whispered. “ H’sch,” she returned. “I want to think, I want to think.” The car purred on. An ama2ing surprise awaited her when she entered her bedroom and switched on the light. Phil was not there. She glanced at the little timepiece on the dressing-table. It was' just eleven o’clock. At first she had thought it must be much later, forget-' ting for the moment her hasty departure from Esme’s house. But where could the child be? Disturbed, face flushed, brain buzririg with appreheri--sion, she switched off the light, crossed over to the window—she had worn the sill smooth with her elbows—rind ’ looked out at the Glare. Being Sunday night it showed a fainter pink in the sky. But it was still the insidious, alluring monster who devoured both body and soul. She was so deep in thought that she did not hear the door open or Phil enter 1 the room. Only when the light was flashed on did she turn. Her look, of inquiry was met by one of undisguised amazement. “ You’re back early,” Phil faltered. “ Yes. Where on earth have you been?” “ Oh, I just went round to the Prescotts.” The Prescotts were mutual friends of long standing who lived in ail adjacent street. “ Father go with you ? ” “ No; he went to bed early.” Hastily she began to undress. “You didn’t miss much by not going to Esme Dundas’s/’ “ Evidently.” But she never asked a- question; seemed rather to resent being questioned. Then she slipped into bed without saying her prayers, of which fact Denise made a- mental note. “ Look here, Phil,” she said suddenly, “what’s up?” " “ I don’t know what you mean,” came the reply from under the clothes. Only the top -of Phil’s shining hair was to be seen. “ Something is coming, or has come, between us.” “ Do you think so?” “Is it a man?” “You ought to be the best judge of that/’ Denise’s white teeth closed on her under lip. “ That’s not nice of you, Phil.” No reply. “Aren’t you going to tell “ Do you tell me everything?” “My dear, this won’t do at all We can’t afford to take two separate roads; we simply musn’t.” “ Perhaps we shan’t.” The shining hair disappeared entirely- Denise stood staring at the outline beneath the clothes. Then she began. to undress. Only three of them that really mattered: a little family of three in a bifg world, and they were now surely but inevitably drifting apart.