"The Lucky Speculator,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 28 December 1927, Page 7

"The Lucky Speculator,”

A POWERFUL LOVE STORY OF A AIODERX GIRL.

BY MARY DRY WE TEMPEST, Author of: “His Last Shot,” “The Second Mrs Fairfax,” etc., etc,

CJf.\PTER Xll, —(fontilined. Mrs Huntloy-Gore laughed her peculiarly irritating tinkle, “Killing brothers—how shocking! If I member right]y, you used to call Mr Brent, a 'savage'’ before you so bravely undertook Io tame him. Gyp mentally measured swords with this lady. ‘■That was in my flapper days —when girls are invariably idiotic, i our mein or v may be good enough to recall your own. and make you charitable enough to be kind to one s bread-and-butter days’ stupidities.” The shaft, although apparently thrown in gay good-humour stuck, staining the cheek of this debutante of ten years before a bright red. Ladv Bristol) hastened to change the subject. "Mv dear, have you heard of 1-ord Prestwick’s terrible accident.”’ At the mention of that name Gyp's heart seemed to turn over, but not a muscle moved in the smiling face she turned in polite inquiry:

“Accident.”” she murmured with perfunctory interest, as if she could not quite place him in her memory.

“Yes; got thrown from his horse, gashed cheek and ear. and broke his nose. Of course, it's altered his face terribly; but that’s no reason why Peggy should cut him. Gyp’s laugh, spontaneous and merry, rippled out.

“Good for old Peggs! ” she cried. “My dear Mrs Brent, there’s nothing to laugh over,” remonstrated Mrs Hunt!cy-Gore. “Besides, he still remains a very eligible peer with a handsome rent-roll, if he hasn’t a handsome face.” “Does he?” Gyp asked herself. “J. can't see him marrying anybody.” She mopped away some tears, but try as she would, she couldn’t keep her dimples still. “I know it sounds brutal,”’ she apologised; “but a b—broken n —nose! Oil dear, I can't help it: reminds one of the f—funny man in a pantomime.” And she had her laugh out. “You seem to have grown perfectly heartless, dear child, since your sojourn among the savages,” chided gentle Airs Applin. “1 can assure you it’s no laughing matter for poor Lord Frederic. His nose has mended all on one side, and lie feels it so much that lie’s gone abroad to try and get used to it. ’' Gyp gurgled again. “Ah, here comes my husband,” she cried, glad of a diversion. As Stephen Brent entered, he met the battery of curious eyes trained upon him with his usual nonchalance, submitting to the cross-fire of questions with his imperturbable good-humour. Lady Friston had a weakness for worrying one subject to death. ‘‘We were discussing Lord Prestwick’s accident, ’’ she said, as he shook hands with her. Gyp. covertly watching his face, caught the flicker in his glance, then thrilled to see how swiftly lie recovered his composure. “Ah—did you give me two lumps, my dear? Alright, J didn’t see you add the second. So,” turning easily to Lady Friston, “you were giving my wife a resume of the births, deaths and —accidents covering the period we’ve been away, and had got as far as the accidents? Can’t say we number the gentleman you speak of among our intimates, but —poor chap! Badly ■hurt ? ’ ’ Gyp smothered an exclamation of delight. “Hurt? You'd hardly know him again,” chimed in Sir George, “Looks like a prize-lighter who's had the worst of it.' ’ “Hard luck!” Brent said. Gyp gave him a, winged glance. His eyes were full of tawny light, but his crisp, courteous voice sounded careless enough as he turned to others of his wife’s visitors, drawing them into the conversation.

In Gyp's worshipping fancy, lie scorned an uncrowncul king among the commonplace crowd scattered about her drawing-room. lie was so big, so sunburnt, so virile; his movements so vigorous }’ct withal so restrained; Ins voice ringing with sincerity, yet full of an indefinable tenderness that all the others lacked. Too late she knew that the “Jungle beast” as she had once contemptuously called him, could satisfy her every need. While she thus meditated, the talk shifted to —Tressler. “Suppose you haven’t heard about poor Tressler, Gyppie? He's come such a cropper! Couldn’t pay his debts, and his brutes of creditors sold him up, lock, stock, and barrel.” Sir George’s voice boomed into the silence that followed this announcement: ‘‘Buried himself in the country, poor devil; existing on a pittance of £SOO a year that an aunt stumped up. Not a bad sort, old Pcrcival. ” “Pity he dropped into a gambling set,” Brent remarked drily. “A chappie must do something,” sighed an Honourable, “though there’s always cross-word puzzles on tap. But seriously, his bally motor-bike’s all 'he’s got left to amoose him.” Gyp remained callously silent. There was no pity for him in her egotistical mind. Was he not been justly punished ? As soon as the last caller had departed Peggy Newton dropped in, and live minutes later, Tony Goodwin. As she impetuously kissed them both, Gyp laughed over that live minutes. “Wouldn’t deceive a mole,” she said, “you dear turtle-doves.” Peggy, perched on the arm of Tony’s chair and mischievously engaged on ruffling

the shining perfection of his hair, wouldn’t, plead guilty to any pre-ar-rangement. “We happened to hear you were back from the void. J hung about till the crowd moved off, then buzzed in to take a squint at you. Tony seems to have rolled along with the same idea.” Gyp hunehed a sceptical shoulder. “Don’t, waste your breath,” she said ilippant ly. “Fact is,” Tony explained, “we wanted—for very private reasons—to hear all about your trip.” But Peggy was more enlightening: “Fact is,” mimicking him, “we are thinking of following your lead. Say you feel immensely Mattered. Gyppie.” “My lead?” “Yes. Honeymooning when other couples are settling down. So chic!” Gyp went Scarlet. “Now you’re talking rubbish. Because we took a trip to the Antilles like thousands of other married people have done, yen say silly things.” “Rushing off without a word to anybody—except for a skimpy note; stopping away for six months without writing to anybody,” grumbled Tuny, Boggy broke in again. “And we’ve been here 20 minutes, and all that time you’ve not called him one bad name. J believe you’ve fallen in love with your speculator, old girl!’ ’ “'Alright,” stiffly, “then I have.” Gyp was heartily glad when that tiresome lirst day was over. With her wider, deeper experiences, society life now seemed so piffling, friends so “catty,” talk so trivial! She wondered however she had once enjoyed it, giving up such priceless things for unsatisfying pleasures. Deep in her heart she registered a vow that nothing should drag her back into that soul-destroying vortex, where every good motive was laughed at, every bad one glossed over . . . “Folks gone?” Brent came gingerly in, then seeing that the coast was clear, strolled to the fireplace, and lit a cigarette. “Tired out?” as she had not answered. “Not so bad as that,” she said, looking at: him with quickening pulses. In the flickering firelight ho seemed such a ruck of a dear! It set her long- 1 ing to have an ordinary wife's privi-' lege of touching her man . . . “Then what’s your programme for to-night ? Like me to take you to a play ? ’ ’ “Xo-o. I want to revel in home life a bit.” Brent noticed the wistful tone, and of course, misunderstood it. “She's trying to do her duty, but funking an evening alone with me. Well, I’m funking it. too —from, a different. reason.” “Then follow your whim,” lie said. “I’m going up to town for a day or two.” It was said easily enough, with no outward sign of regret. The young wife’s heart contracted painfully. “Good,” she murmured; “then we shan’t bore, each other.'' So the tune was set and each danced to it. Gyp, her heart aflame with the love she believed had come too late; Brent, secretly worshipping her, but his chivalrous soul forbidding him to trouble her peace or appeal to her pity. And always at the back of his mind a memory that called: “Halt!” So, day by day, week by week, Gyp ploughed her lonely furrow, trying to live up to his ideals; now and then putting out a tentative feeler for his love. But always Brent misunderstood. The deeper and more turbulent his passion, the coldc-r he forced himself to seem, for fear of being carried away. Yet tiie more he suppressed that passion, the more it threatened to break through his defences. ■ Came a time when lie could no longer trust himself to be near her, so mighty was his impulse to take her into his arms and toll her if only she could care for him a little, her past offences could go to the deuce. A parlous state for so proud a man! For three days lie deliberately absented himself to fight this thing out once for all, and came to a momentous decision: that he loved her to madness; that he could not go on living his present. life; that they must become all to each other or—part. And, having thus made up his mind, he determined to put it to her at once. It was dusk when he came upon her, sitting huddled up, in a corner of a big couch. She almost cried out when he spoke her name, then, rising in confusion, stood swaying upon her feet, as if unable to make up her mind to go or stay. “Star!led you, eh?” “Yes.” She hesitated, then stumbled on: (To be Continued).