“The PAINTED LILY”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 80, Issue 264, 6 November 1937, Page 5

“The PAINTED LILY”

Romantic Serial Story - - by

Olive Wadsley

' CHAPTER XX.— (Continued.) | “Hullo!" lie said, halting, and taking off his opera hat. “Still up?” ‘‘Yes. And you, you havp just left Mrs Warden?” Ronald's eyes narrowed, and he made a movement to walk on, but \ al barred his path. “1 want to speak to you," Vai said. ’ “Please." “All right, to-morrow,” [Ronald 1 said briefly. “To-morrow won’t do," Vai said steadily, “now, please, In my room." | He followed her in unwillingly; Hie : yellow roses were like a lovely golden I pool under the light of a tall lamp. “Well, what is it?” lie asked curtly. •‘lf you merely wish to discuss my movements during Hie day I warn you beforehand that I shall refuse to do any such thing. 1 have no curiosity as "to how you spend your time, and I welcome none on your part.” “Have you got any sense of right or wrong, Ron?" Vai asked him. He looked at her with irritated surprise, and said stiffly: “I hope so, but it scarcely seems necessary for us to start a discussion on any ethical question at three o’clock in the morning.” He turned to the door. Vai’s voice said clearly: t “Stay right here. I want to tell you something. Pat Mallinson and !• saw you and Iris Warden—in the wood today." Sho saw the dark blood rush up under Ronald’s tanned skin, his hand clenched and unclenched, then he said in a controlled voice: “Really? And you called me hi here to tell me that?” “Uh, no,” Vai said as coolly, “I called you in here to tell you I Intend to divorce you, as spectacularly as possible, and that I shall cite Mrs Warden’s name.” For a second Ronald fought with himself. He felt, in that instant, the instinct of murder. He had returned from a day with Iris, during which, at last, he had cast aside all reserve, told Iris everything, felt her take his life into her hand to mould as sho should decide. He had assur I himself, when he had been alone at' last, ho was glad, that he felt no shame for his unreserve, he had whispered in farewell: “We will be married on the day I am free,” and he had encouraged the thought, walking home, of Iris’ simplicity, her goodness. “We must play the gamp, Ronnie.” she had said to him. tears in her eyes, and her lovely month tremulous. Vai's voice broke into the turmoil of his thoughts: “ That's all I've got to say.” •He laughed then. “Is it? But 1 have a few words to say. ] '' They both started as Ronald's new dog lumbered it, a big bull dog Iris Warden had given him lately. He came tn. his head swinging, his eyes glittering. Vai saw there was froth on his jowl. She was about to speak, to call out: “I believe he’s mad,” when the bull dog sprang at Ronald with a savage growl, and she realised her fear was true. She caught up the small revolver which lay always on her table, and shot The dog fell back dead. “Why, what ■” Ronnie stammered. and caught Vai as she fell. She lay in his arms, so slight, so light, her eyes closed. CHAPTER XXI. Ronald laid Vai on the bed, and was turning to ring for her maid when she moved, murmured something. He went back and bent over her. Vai was looking up at him out of wide-open eyes, and as he stood there she slid a very chill little hand into his with the trustingness of a child. The action, the look, stirred Ronald, who felt the strangest surge of feeling. “ft’s all right, isn’t it?” Vai whispered. He bent lower, and said rather hoarsely, “You saved me.” “Oh darling, did I—did I really?” Vai answered. Their eyes held one another, Ronald, obeying an impluse he could neither define nor resist, bent his head even lower. Someone knocked —a man’s voice said, with respectful anxiety: "Thought I heard a shot, my lord—a dog barking.” Ronald went to the door. “The bull dog sprang at me-—her ladyship fired and got Hie dog—he’s dead, poor brute. You might carry Hie body away, Simmons.” Vai’s English maid had appeared too; she came in, hurried to the bedside. Ronald stood irresolutely for a moment or two; Vai had closed her eyes again. He tip-lord to the door, saying over his shoulder to the maid, in a low toicc: “If her ladyship wants anything call me.’ The light was growing in the sky when he was ready to go to bed. He stood by the up-flung window, his eyes fixed absently on the pale gold and lilac loveliness of the slowly changing clouds. A poignant discontent filled him. What a mess-up it had all been—this marriage, his inheritance, even that friendship with Iris which, he had sworn to her that day, should become so much more friendship directly he should be free. Free 1 He wondered bitterly, was anyone ever free ? Iris had said, her cool scented cheek to his, “This girl is your gaoler, she holds you prisoner, and yet in reality you arc perfectly free and perfectly guiltless of lhe least wrong towards her. She longed for you Io marry her. she urged her father Io force the marriage on you, and now she holds you Io it. Why, Ronnie, darling, why? Be strong, break away—oh, swear to me, swear by your love for me, which Is real, the only real love you life has ever known, you told me that yourself—swear by your real love to obtain your freedom.” Good lord how women talked! Ronald gave a weary sigh, and turned from the glory of the sky back to the cool dimness of his room. He supposed he might as well try to sleep, tried ineffectively, gave it up, • lit a cigarette and began to think out i his interview with Vai all over again;

Pretty plucky—to tackle that, dog like that—as coolly as you please, too —good sport, Vai. Then his thoughts drew up against lhe real import, of their talk before the dog had sprung at him; he remembered; Vai had seen ... a very dark colour can into Ronald’s face as he recalled that hour in lhe woods. Iris and he must have looked a couple of fools standing there clasped in one another’s arms—’kissing—he felt furious with Vai, himself, Iris’s sentimentality. “But I was Just as much to blame,” he told himself savagely. “Just as much—oh, damn It all,” and Pat Mallinson had seen. too. The blood burnt Ronald's face again as he thQught of Pat's Irish humour, which could be so whimsical and so biting; he had a pretty good idea which form of expression Pat’s humour would take with regard to the kissing episode!” His thoughts swung nff to a still more unpleasant angle of the affair: suppose Vai meant what she had said about divorcing him and bringing in Iris's name. He knew perfectly well, innocent as Iris was in this instance, that it would be extremely difficult to prove that innocence. Lately he had behaved like an utler Tool, he knew perfectly well, and like a childish fool too: he had felt ashamed of himself often, but he had never really fought his wholly unfounded and ceaseless exasperation again Vai's position In his life—her very presene. And Iris had fostered his every Illogical mood. Ronald got up suddenly. He could not lie still and think. He ran his hands through his thick, fair hair. “Oh, gosh, what a mess, what a mess—everything!” • • • • Vai was drinking her coffee when Ronald’s voice asked, “May I come in?” He walked in, and the maid discreetly vanished. “Hullo," Ronald began, and added hurriedly, "Better, I hope, are you?’ Vai was looking at him under her lashes. Somehow Ronald in blue serge, wearing a tie she remembered in San Recos, Ronald standing beside the window in the sunlight looking worried, hurt her heart in a queer little way. "I’m quite all right, thanks,” she "Good.” Silence. Vai poured another cup of coffee out of the little silver pot: there was the, scent of white pinks, of fresh coffee, and sandalwood in the cool, lovely room. Vai, sitting propped up with huge, frilly pillows, looked rather pale and very little and very sweet. ‘‘l came in,” Ronald began again, running the blind cord between his fingers, “to ask you—er—to—well, look here, were you quite serious in what you said last night?” If his voice had held the tiniest note of tenderness in it, even if he had come nearer to Vai, things might have been different; hut his voice sounded cold and careless, because he was, quite honestly, very nervous, and he looked as indifferent as if he was talking of a saddle or a suit of clothes. “Certainly,” Vai said. Ronald shot a glance at her. Only a few hours ago he had held her in his arms, and she had whispered ’’Darling.” Of course, she had been unconscious—she hadn’t realised what she had been saying. He dropped the blind cord, walked to the door, said "All right,” and walked out. Vai listened to his steps, her hand pressed down hard upon her heart. The hall door slammed after a minute of two: she sprang out of bed and ran to the window. Far below Ronnie stood drawing his case from his pocket. Vai could see the glint of his fair hair under his hat, see the pale gold of his old signet ring. He was lighting a cigarette—it was alight—he was hailing a taxi quite distinctly through the clear air \a! heard his direction—"Curzon street." So he was going straight to Iris Warden! All right, let him—let him! She herself went to the telephone and rang up Caro Mallinson. A very hurried voice said: "Hullo, }es. Oh, it’s you, Vai, darling. I’m in such a rush; Pat and I have to leave for Paris to-day—by the two o’clock. Oh’ do. Vai—that would be delightful—we’ll meet at the station, then—yes, good bye, darling. I can’t tell you how glad I am you are coming, and Pat will be, loo." Vai hung up and sent for her maid. “Pack all my things, will you? We are leaving for Paris to-day." Then she dressed and drove herself round to Holly’s flat. Sho had telephoned to him, and he was waiting on the steps. He got into the car, and Vai'headed for Hampstead; they sped up FitzJohn’s Avenue at forty and came out at the pond. Vai drew up there, and. in tile breeze Mowing sweet and cool from the far-off hills, told Holly everything. She finished up with: "So will you ask the best lawyer you know to come to Paris and see me? I'll Hx it all up there, I guess.” Holly took hold of her hand, stripped the loose driving glove from it, and held it closely in his own hand. “Vai, look here, don’t do this—give things a chance. I know it seems to you as if you’d had an awfully rotten deal, and Hon’s behaved like every sort of idiot; but all the same, I dunno —l’ve got Hie queerest sort of certain feelings, tilings will some day come all right between you and Mm. Don’t rush into Ulis divorce business; wait a bit. anyway; seeing a lawyer seems a ghastly, final. Don't do lhat just yet—lime." "Oh, limo!" Vai said with a weary utterly mirthless little laugh. "I've said that Io myself so often. In lime he'll love me—time works wonders! Everyone old always tells you that. Well, It may, but It mayn't work just Hie wonder you wantl The only wonder time’s worked for me so far is seeing with my own eyes my husband, whom' anyway I did believe to be straight, kissing a woman at least twelve years older than me, and made im so’s you could scrape it off with a knife almost, ami apparently liking dong ill That seems a pretty odd wonler to me. I can tell you I And every ime 1 remember it I grow madder,

XTo be Continued)