Lady Marjorie's Love

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXV, Issue 10713, 5 February 1913, Page 2

Lady Marjorie's Love

(OUR SWAL

I By Carl S w erdna ! j Author ot "To the Uttermost Fartb, ing," "A Mere Ceremony," "A Fight 5 for Honour," Etc.

J j ( HAi'TKK IV. (Continued. j "Wity diil ,vou come horc?" he a»UJ •-.Because I knew you were here, j .-illi> ;in~vwi'cd. . * Tne old storv? The story told with nimble mid pitiless reiteration in the , :: ,st, mill l<» In- told as often in tho luture —to be repeated ceaselessly as |„n.j; a< men are false and women w-cak? Vet, not quite the old story! Their was love in her face and wrath ;I ,ul unwilling disdain, but of shame fi.r a laith that had loved too much and trusted too far there was not a sliathf.v. Had it lurked in her breast, •die would never have looked at him with Unit straight, steady, unwaverin„ jdnwe, and he would never have lo,?keil baek at her with a face in "which, with all its Hushed uneasiness and atigrv amazement, there was no touch of scorn. But in it thero was reluctant admiration for the beautiful, indignant creature, for there was something like contemptuous shame for himself. He-tried to speak with his usual graceful and indolent ease, but the effort was poor and-forced, just as his half laugh was awkward and short. "My dear Norah, surely you don't mean that you followed me down here from town?" "Yes. Why elso should J bo here.-' What business have I at Castle Marling?" "Truly, none that I know of. But wh.v take the trouble? If you were so good as to 'wish to see me, .why not have sent a note to my rooms? I would have come at once. Surely you know that." "You know," she answered quietly, "that that is what T will never do —nover'!"

'' would have done so but for an uneasy consciousness of not knowing what to say, was expressed plainly in every line of his face. A faint cold smile touched her lips again; the dreary, unwilling scorn grew plainer in her voice. "I was so near to you that I could see her plainly," she said. "She is very pretty, poor child! I had expected that I should hate her, but she looks so innocent, so young, such a loving, simple little creature that I coiild only pity her. Tt would surprise her J suppose, to think that any one could do that. Was I very contemptible, 1 wonder, that .1 felt glad to see that she is not half so handsome as I am? What nonsense, 'sn't it, particularly when I remember that if I had not been so hand-some I should not he hero now? But women are queer creatures, and perhaps 1 am a little more queer than most." She paused again, her brilliant eyes upon his flushed, avoiding face. "You did not talk much. I was quite shameless, you see. I listened to and heard all you said, although it was not very, entertaining. You were .a little bored, 1 think. Was that your fault or hers? You did not look so, I think, when you talked to mo in the old days." -*- "Norah!" With the reproachful, passionate utterance of her name he impulsively tried to take 'her hand. She made a quick movement that evaded him.

"I forgot," she said, with the same cold, bitter smile. "That was your pastime; this is your earnestness. You told me once that amusement was the business of Hfo. Remembering that, I should not 'have been surprised at the contrast."

There- was another pause. With a manner more ■imea.sily restless and xmwillingly ashamed than it had been yet he again broke into it, "I have no right, Norah, to complain of anything that you may see fit to say to me. J know that, and I'm ashamed of it, but you must know that you are making me out even •worse than I am if you pretend to think that I don't care for you or that Ido car© for my cousin. I'm a scamp between the two of you. I felt it pretty smartly to-day while she was talking to me, poor little girl, whether you give me so much credit or not. I havo lived the sort of life a man generally lives, I suppose—more sha.mo for most of lis! —.but you know well enough that I care for you as I never cared for a-woman before and never shall care again. If Butwhat is the use of going on with that? Even if I had been- free instead of bound when you were first unlucky enough 1 to see me, how would it have been possible for you to marry such a. miserable, useless, poor wretch a* I am!' It would have meant wretchedness for us both."

Her tone was calm and low, but had she reiterated the "Never, never!" with all the strength of passion and pride that was in her she could have made the words no more bitterly emphatic than her look and tho setting of her lips made them now. Although there was much that was well-nigh contemptible in his character, although in his treatment of bethe had been very much of a scoundrel, and would have been worse had she been weaker, there was yet a vein of honesty and manliness left in him which responded to her and made him ashamed of himself.

He had dropped his pretense of lightness, both in manner and speech, aa he moved a little nearer to her. "Forgivem e, Norah!" he said slowly. "J do know it well. I beg your pardon." :Sho did not answer, and did not attempt to break the short silence that followed, but stood with her eyes moodily dowwnst ami her teeth set firmly in .her lip. Tha-t so standing she resolutely rvpressed an emotion \\h : el). in a weaker woman would have broken from her in wild tears or wilder words-, he understood her well enough to know.

When lie s-.poko it was not. wit limit fl wary and -uneasy glance round, although in tlint sheltered spot, fared by the, liijrli park wall and well-nigh surrounded l>y trecvs -and clusters of shrubbery, there was little need to fear overlookers. "At- any rate, Xorah," lie resumed gently, as though lie would liave .soothed and conciliated her—n* indeed ho ardently longed to succeed in doing—"l suppose f may conclude that since you are here, you wished to see me?" "No," she curtly answered. "No?" ho echoed.

"No." She glanced at him now, and her lips parted in a bitter and droarv smile. "T often «ee you," she said delilxM-ateiy. "I very often see you when you are not aware of my presence. 1 don't know why, or, if J do, it doesn't matter. I very often see you ; there is no reason why; I should follow you down here for that." "Ei-—yes, of course —true!" he said hurriedly. Tn his embarrassed, uneasy awkwardness lie was very unlike fclio graceful and ready Loftus Bligh whom society knew ; .ho was every 'moment only the more uncomfortable, only the more restless and ashamed. "But," he hazarded, "you 'might have wished to «peak to me?" '"All wo had to say was *>aid sixmonths ago," she answered, with, one flashing look at him, and again looking moodily clown. "1 came down hero because I took a fancy. I <W't know why T never experienced the inclination' before. I wanted to see hei'." "Her?" His echoing of the Word. was a question"; hut he perfectly understood her, and his ,I'ace showed that ho did. • "Yes. I wanted to see Lady Marjorio Wynne." He had known what she would say, hut it did not prevent his (lushing a deep red. He- glanced at her, but | said nothing. '"I knew you were ..coming down here" she'proceeded, in" "t lie same calm' tones, "and T thought I shoul.l like to see her and to see you with, her. So T followed you into the wood this morning." She stopped. That he would »:»v<\ liked to question hor, and that lio