TWO MEN AND MARY

Wairarapa Times-Age, 13 May 1938, Page 10

TWO MEN AND MARY

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

HOLLOWAY HORN.

(Author of “George,” “That Man at Claverton Mansions,” etc.)

CHAPTER VI .—Continued. “If you want me to. Course I will, Miss.” “You will stay on here, then?” the solicitor asked when he and Mary were alone. “I think so. There’s a lovely old garden.” “Of course I knew in Davos that she had left you that money.” “I still can’t see why she did it.” “For one thing, she’s no one else to leave it to. She made no bones about admitting to me her dislike for her nephew.” “Nor to me.” “You’ve no plans for the future?” he asked. “None whatever. I suppose I’m independent?” “You are. An independent lady if ever there was one.” “You know I do feel that !■ made those last few months brighter for her,” Mary said anxiously. “I was really fond of her.” “So she told me. She was extraordinarily grateful to you. It’s a pity the winter’s coming on,” he added. “This place is essentially a summer or spring house.”

“It will be a very nice autumn one, too,” she smiled. “I’ve still my flat in Red Lion Square. I can get up there easily enough.” He nodded-. “What do you mean to do with all that money? Leave it where it is?” “If you advise me to.”

“I do, at the moment. It’s extremely difficult to find satisfactory investments bringing in three and a half per cent.” Mrs Skeggs came in with the tea and a silver box of biscuits. “I don’t even know what’s in the house,” Mary said. “That box is Georgian, anyway,” McCarthy said. “There’s a library full of books for one thing. Dull, Victorian stuff in the main, I fancy. Did you notice that those people went away without seeing her?” He nodded. “Not a lot of sentiment where they’re concerned.” Mary walked over the common with him to the station.

“I should love another omelette!” he said with a sudden smile as the train came in.

“See you soon,” she said as the train started, and with the memory of his smile turned slowly back up the lane which led to the common and the house that was now hers.

Neither the nephew nor his wife attended the funeral. Indeed, when McCarthy rang, him up the nephew replied: “Do what you think fit.” placed the receiver.” “Quite,” said the solicitor and rehe himself attended the ceremony, and Mary was gratified to find that the little church was nearly full of neighbours who had known and liked Mrs Westerton. McCarthy returned to town very soon after the ceremony.

Mary felt intolerably alone when he had gone. CHAPTER VII. It was a lovely morning and Mary decided to go up to the flat in Red Lion Square. She had never been' lonely there. “When do you expect to return, Miss?” Mrs Skeggs. asked when she told her.

“I’m not certain. Tonight, perhaps. Perhaps tomorrow. I’ll ’phone to you if I’m not coming back tonight.” “Very good, Miss. I’m accustomed to being here alone.” “I don’t think I shall live here permanently, Mrs Skeggs.” “Somehow I didn’t think you would. I don’t know whether you would like to see this. It’s a list of what’s in the house.”

“An inventory?” “I believe that’s what it’s called. It was drawn up by a man for a big London firm. He was here all day. There’s some valuable old silver, I understand.” “I’ve seen some of it.”

“There’s lots more, Miss, but it’s all in the list. There’s Queen Anne saltcellars that’s worth money, I know.” “Thank you, Mrs Skeggs. I’ll let the solicitor see it. It should be insured, of course.” “It is, Miss,” Mrs Skeggs protested. “That’s what the young man came down about.”

The flat bore many evidences of not having been lived in when Mary reached it that afternoon, but the caretaker’s wife had kept it, on the whole, in excellent order.

“There was a bottle in the bed, Miss, three days ago,” she assured Mary. “I will put in another at once, and it’ll be quite all right for tonight.” “It seems rather stuffy.”

“The windows have been closed. It’ll soon blow away once they’re open.” She had decided not to ring up McCarthy but to call at his office. On her way to it, a man hurriedly crossed the road and caught her up. “Mary!” he said. “It was Ronald Gilroy. She was too surprised to say anything: “Where on earth have you been to?” he demanded. “I’ve tried every way of getting hold of you again.” “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed. “Because I wanted to . . Look here, we can’t talk here.

Let’s get a cup of tea somewhere and talk things over.” , “But there’s nothing to talk over.” “Indeed there is . . There’s a little tea shop at the corner. Come on.” “No. I’ve nothing to say to you at all.”

“I know I’ve been all sorts of a cad. But I’ve paid for it.” “Are you asking me to come back to the office?” “No. I’ve an excellent secretary . . a girl with a face like a horse. I want something quite different. I want you to marry me.” “You haven’t lost your reason since I left the firm by any chance?”

“No.” “What about your wife, for one thing?”

“That is what I want to talk to you about.” “We can find a seat in the gardens for five minutes. I cannot stay longer.” “Thank you,” he said. They turned into Lincoln’s Inn Gardens, and sat down at the first seat they came to. “Well?” she asked coldly. “I’m going to be quite frank with you,” he began. “I lied to you about my wife.” “Oh?” she glanced at her wristwatch as she spoke. “I never had a wife.”

“What do you mean?” “I want to tell you. When I met you first I was not in love with you.” “That is not surprising. Or do you go about falling in love with everyone you meet?” “Whenever I met a girl I was interested in, in order to stop any talk or question of marriage, I posed as a married man.” “You seem to be rather a more unpleasant cad than I thought—and that is saying quite a lot, I assure you.”

“I know. You will remember there was no need for my telling you at all. Only I happen to have fallen in love with you. Will you marry me?” “No,” she said, without hesitation. “Is there anything further you wish to say?” “Only that I love you. My mother was greatly distressed when she heard that you had left.” “I’m sorry. Lady Gilroy was always kind to me.”

“She would be delighted if you were to marry me.” “Possibly. I’m afraid I cannot do it even to please your mother.”

“You never look lovelier than when you’re angry.” She had risen to her feet: “If I’d known what I know now I should have acted very differently,” he said. “It wouldn’t have made any difference. I should never have married you whatever you had done. Just one word of advice, however.” “Yes?”

“I shouldn’t try that silly, mean lie on any other girl. If you do it will get about. Where I was concerned, it did not matter, because I never took you seriously. You were merely a nuis-

ance. And with that she turned and left him. She found Anthony McCarthy on the point of leaving his office. “Well met!” he said. “I’m calling professionally.” “Oh?” he said with a smile. “I’ve an inventory of the contents of the house at Mossford. I want you to on. And I wonder what on earth I was going to do with myself.” “I was wondering about that, too. What about a little meal together somewhere, to talk it over?” “Would you like an omelette? But I’m not sure if I have the ingredients of one at the flat.” “We can surely get them on the way back? Come on! I have meal after meal in restaurants.” “We shall want eggs, mainly. I do not suppose there’s even coffee at the flat.” “It’ll be rather fun. Let’s get a shopping basket and go along Red Lion Square. We’re not likely to meet anybody we know.” “I’ve just met someone I know.” “Oh?” he said, as he fell in at her side. “Ronald Gilroy.” He glanced sharply at her. “I met him in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. We had a chat about . . old times. I don’t think he’ll want to see me any more.” “He’s a rat,” he said. “Don’t let’s talk about him.” Twice McCarthy had to go out to obtain things which they had overlooked. but in the end the meal materialised and McCarthy swore it was the best he had ever eaten. “Now, she said, as she handed him his second cup of coffee, “I. want to talk about myself.” “Go ahead.” “Briefly . . what am I going to do?” “In the immediate future?” “Yes.” “What are your wishes? What do you want to do?” “It's difficult to say.” she said. “You’re a wealthy woman; the world

is your oyster.” “I don’t like oysters.” “They’re not bad with a bottle of stout.”

“I hate stout. You’re not being helpful . . so far.” “Let's try another line, then. I take

it you've had just about enough travel for a while?” “I’ve always wanted to go to the Riviera. To Monte Carlo.” “I don't thing you'd like it. I was never quite so bored in my life as at Monte Carlo, although I won a few francs there.” “It seems pointless to get another job?” she said doubtfully. (To be Continued).