OUR SERIAL. THE GLARE.

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIV, 29 December 1926, Page 2

OUR SERIAL. THE GLARE.

BY

CARLTON DAWE.

CHAPTER X (Continued). “Either will do for the time being;” she laughed. He waxed warm over the monstrous vogue which denied an Englishwoman the right to her own nationality, but she made light of his protest. One just accepted these things; it was immaterial, really. “Of course we’re a bit cramped,” she admitted, looking round the room; “but we must learn to walk before we run.” Profundity of wisdom 1 But he was not searching for wisdom just then, or wisdom in the abstract. Here was something much better; wisdom Superlative in most attractive guise. “We’re both out to win.” he said. “But you have won.” , “And you’re going to.” “I hope so.” “This winning,” he mused, “seen in the distance, how wonderful; but the triumph achieved leaves much to be desired. Fame—or if that’s too big a word for little things, shall I say renown?—has its obligations: one has something to live up to. Two or three failures on my part and people will be gin to shake their heads at mention of my name; enemies will jubilate, dropping slow poison into envious ears, managers be otherwise engaged when I call on them. Oh, yes, I have lots of enemies'; virulent ones lurking round each corner, waiting an opportunity to spring out on me. They say I pander to a depraved public taste; that instead of trying to elevate the theatre I lay myself out to degrade it. Dear lady, if I were to attempt reformation of the theatre I should soon be walking the Embankment on my uppers. These days, like all days, are full of woe to prophets and reformers. Success is' the one unpardonable sin.” “ A sin we are all striving to com mit,” she said. Strange, singularly suggestive, was the look in his eyes. “ You are going to commit it.” She laughed a little uneasily. “ I’m going to try.” “ Has life really any other motive than that of getting on? Does it matter how we achieve success so long as we achieve it? I mean, of course, subject to accepted rules and conditions of life—more or less. This success may be a mean or middling thing in the eyes of some, but there’s no denying that it is success of a kind.” He stopped suddenly, smiling, “I bore you?” “On the contrary, you interest me immensely.” “ I’m an awful fellow to preach once I start. If it were not for a certain feeble dramatic instinct, which stirs uneasily at times, I should probably write plays as dull as Dicker’s.” “No envy there ? ” she asked with a smile. “ Not an atom. Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” “ Pitiless both.” “I admit it; but what would you? They are out to be slain by the hero with the longer and stronger jawbone." “ You open my eyes, Mr Whinstone.” “ And Dicker sends you to sleep. Therefore behind in me the antidote to troubled, dreams. 1., too, am not without a philosophy of sorts, though like a moth I flutter in the glare of this infernal city." The glare of this infernal city* Almost he seemed to read her thoughts. “ A moth with a philosophy,” shelaughed, but rather uneasily. “ Why not ? One day, when you are in a receptive and-generous mood, perhaps you will give me. permission to expound more fully." “ Perhaps,” she said. “ But I warn you, I also have a philosophy, and you know philosophers, like doctors, never agree.” “ In which non-agreement of experts j is to be found the salt of life.” He rose, seeking his hat and gloves. “I’ve bored you frightfully?” “ Not at all.” “ Then one day. Remember, you have promised.” And he was gone. “ Fancy, Denise," said Phyllis, “ you never told me you knew Dudley Whinstone.” “ I must have forgotten.” “ His plays are so amusing.”. “ So is he.” But it might be doubted if she spoke with much conviction. That short interview had given her another and a more intriguing view of the dramatist. Where was that egregious vanity of which Prin had complained in such scathing terms? For a successful author the man was almost normal. Perhaps, under that apparent normality, there might be another, a different identity. But even if this were so would it make him strange to the species? Moreover, he had : been extremely tactful, and for this ; he won quite a number of marks. Never a mention of Prin or Esme Dundas. Restraint most admirable; delicacy that did not lack appreciation. , But it was rather singular, that likening himself to a moth; productive of thought and sensation. Were they , all moths who fluttered round that : flame, ultimately to meet the inevitable end of moths? Foolish thought, for the insect lacked the instinct of self-preservation. To flee the flame for fear of what might happen was the negation of courage. To know a danger and defy it; was not this the heroic side of intellect and will? And • if it cam? to that, why such thoughts ' at all? This main, with his philo- ( sophy of success, the only thing that ( mattered; had it not much in common with her -own oft-expressed ideals? But there was a curious sense of melancholy in the argument. She was probing deeper than she knew; wading ;

in sullen and dangerous waters, apt to disregard the warning notice. Not good for the business of Denise and Co.; nor for much else, if one stopped to think of it. CHAPTER XI. How far may a woman venture on the road to worldly success? Does the end to be achieved justify almost any means in attaining it? Did fear of eternal punishment, which is entirely a question of faith, ever deter the debauchee; does certain punishment, if caught, deter the criminal, real or potential ? Stretching through this infinite country we call Life are two Main Roads, the True and the False. The first needs neither explanation nor justification; the second, it may be conceded, is rarely taken from choice. One ; just drifts on to it, and once that drifting begins it is no easy matter to turn aside. That it is always thronged with traffic, foot and vehicular, is because its broad and apparently smooth surface suggests easy going; whilst that other, rough, rutty, and narrow, appears to be strewn with innumerable ■ obstacles. Yet, on setting out on this 1 journey through the world, we all must choose one of these two roads. On that choice depends the success or fail--1 ure of the great enterprise. ’ Dudley Whinstone’s philosophy of success, cattered like seed into the ready ground, had a fair chance of . taking root and flourishing. Denise, j in this new life of hfers, had suddenly been thrown into the midst of the suc- ; cessful. She met and saw men of ■ whom doubtful tales were told; women with no less strange histories. Yet. with here and there an exception, few ■ of them bore the mark of the beast. : They were the people who dressed well, ate well, lived well; the people whom the poor envied; the important ones, the successful ones. They lived in fine houses, they went to and from their business or pleasure in expensive motor cars. Snow, sleet, rain, fog; nothing mattered to these people. Rarely were they cold, as the ill-nourished, the ill-clad are cold; they never wet their feet. If they occasionally lacked appetite it was due to over-gorging. All that was brightest and best in life was theirs. If not in every instance the salt of the earth, they had much of its savour. Beyond a sneer, chiefly of envy, no one cared how nearly that man over yonder avoided the law in making his money; how many doubtful stories might be told of that woman with the pearls. The indubitable fact stood out clearly: the one had money, the other possessed valuable jewels. Now could one, as yet in the embryo stage of fortune, avoid thinking, contrasting, wondering? Was not achievement the aim of existence? If not, what she saw round her was a mere phantom, a vision of the imagination. These people cared nothing for conventional morals; contemptuously ignored all ethical codes which might constrain their pleasures. One might call them pagans, slackers, wasters, fools; but would that alter the fact that they partook of the fatness of the land, were of those on whom the god of good things smiled? Vanity all; white anxious faces hidden 'behind laughing masks! Not a bit of it. For them the fulness of life, not unaccompanied by a pride of sorts. Their pride truly: but everything to them. Every intelligent woman, struggling in obscurity, must think of such things; every being, intelligent or otherwise, dreams of the Egyptian flesh-pots. Therefore Denise Leighley thought, thought often, with much significance. Questions, so often thrust in the background is though it were impious even to speculate upon them, demanded an answer; screamed for it. And though delayed, sooner or later that answer had to be given. What would she say when the crucial moment arrived, when the yes or no must be spoken? For assuredly that day would come; there is no avoiding such a day. And the man was always there looming large to her mental vision. She did not doubt that he loved her or that : she loved him. Pride of conquest had faded in pride -of affection. In him she had found nothing mean or small. Little by little, effortless it seemed now, he had gained ascendancy without suggesting enslavement. Rumours, whispers of him, were blown to air; all preconceived notions vanished. Even that whimsical smile of his no longer played over her. If life had never been serious before, there was now no doubt of its solemnity. He had said: “My dear, all protestations seem a mockery when I think of you. How easy to speak of your loveliness, to tell how I adore you. Any man could say these things and mean them: but I want to do something more than that, and don't know how to do it. Superb -you, wonderful you! A way out, Denise, a way out! ’’ Pitiful cry. But was there a way out? How long could this state of things exist, heart calling to heart, spirit to spirit, while between all, guarding all, such frail armour! Never had she dreamt that fate could play her such a trick. The irony of it; the despair. And but for circumstances the fulfilment of all those wild daring dreams! For this she now realised was the great moment of her life when one of the two roads had to be chosen- Getting on in the world sometimes exacts a heavy payment.

(To be Continued.)