"The Lucky Speculator,"

Wairarapa Daily Times, 29 December 1927, Page 7

"The Lucky Speculator,"

A POWERFUL LOVE STORY OF A MODERN GIRL.

BY MARY DRV3WE TEMPEST, Author of: ‘-'His Last Shot,” “The Second Mrs Fairfax,” etc., etc,

CHAPTER Xll.—Continued. “Perhaps it 's as well yon came, '.•lieriys umiethiii; 1 must say to you, Stephen. Id ease sit. down; I e —can't say it with you looking at me like that —as if I were a c —curiosity. Brent sat down promptly, still with his eyes upon her face. Though daylight had faded, he noticed the faint blue veins throbbing in her temples: saw that Iho corners of her mouth were a-quiver. • •Don’t be afraid to speak your mind,” he said. Then she began to talk very last: - ‘ .Stephen. L've been thinking for a long time now —specially since i \ e had so much time for thought.'’ laughing a little, then hurrying on, “—I find 1 can't stick this life any longer, Stephen, "’ill you let me live a\\a\ . J t was out! Brent's face was in shadow, so she could not: see the bony look come back on it. and his voice, as usual, gate nothing away as he answered slowly: <•] take it you mean, ‘live away from me'?” She nodded several times, as if anxious that there might be no possible mistake as to her motive. “Then I'll clear out,” he told her. “Oh. but 1 couldn't bear that,” she cried in inlinite distress, “L want just to go to our cottage, ‘ I he. Little House.’ Jt isn't so very far away. Stephen, may I.’” Jt sounded a prayer. Brent said: “Of course,” paused to gather his forces, and went on gravely: “I suppose you know it is a very serious step to take? iSure you can t put up with even so little of my society as J. vc indicted upon r oil lately A” She seemed to swallow a lump before she could answer: “ Q —quite sure. ’ ’ He got up then, and very gently took her hand in his. “Gyp, hear me, little girl. From my soul I am sorry: sorrier than any poor words of mine can express —for having bound von to me. I want you to believe that?” Her voice sounded small and piteous ■when she made her comment: “J, too.” “I will make all possible atonement,” he assured her earnestly. Then he released .her, and, moving to the door, opened it. “Don’t let tliis bother you,” he said, “try to remember that whatever blame there is, is mine.” Suddenly he smiled at her. “.My biggest speculation has been a failure, little Gyp!” •She passed out without speaking, without even looking at him again. As lie closed the door on her lie closed it on all his hopes! I lien went back into the darkened room to mourn his dead. They met at breakfast, both bravely smiling, both very pale. When she rose from that awkward meal, he told her with grave courtesy that he was motoring down to “The Little House,” to see that everything was ready for her reception. “Please take what servants you require; I shan’t need ’em here,” he said, “and, of course, your ear. ’ Standing slim and stilj before him she listened with averted eyes. “Thank you very much, ” 'she said, almost in a whisper. lie returned about one, but Gyp sent a message excusing herself, and he lunched alone, then went to make a business call. When he got back lie found a note from her lying on his study table. Dear Stephen, —Goodbye and goodluck. Better -forget me. —Gyp. A tear glittered on Brent's brown check as he took in the full meaning of the blow that had fallen upon him. “My little Gyp,” he groaned aloud, “how am I going to live without you! ’ ’ How he was going to live without her was answered hour by hour in the desolate weeks that followed. To his dreary fancy, sunshine and music were gone from the world; that he was living in a tomb among his dead hopes. He ached for the whisper of her skirt, her light step on the stair, and lilt of her voice. Only once did he communicate with her —in sending a cheque for her immediate needs. She thanked him in three words, and silence, like a curtain, again fell between them. Then Brent, in his chivalrous anxiety to spare her even that slight contact, began to devise other means of providing for her. His own sensitive mind told him it must be particularly galling for a wife separated from her husband to have to return periodical thanks for her maintenance. His idea planned out, he sent for his lawyer. Brent found it very painful to have to touch on the tragedy of his marriage to even this trusted friend, but since it, had to be done, he did not funk it. “Fact is, my wife wants to live her own life,” he said, “and l've got to make things as easy for her as I can." 7 ’ , “Dear me,” murmured the lawyer, distressed, “it’s a thousand pities to allow any little diff—” “Aly dear chap, it's a very big difference that’s come between us; what the Americans call ‘lncompatibility,’ perhaps. I only know it’s insurmountable. So I want to make adequate settlement upon Airs Brent. Will you be good enough to transfer suitable securities into her name?” “How much do you propose to settle upon her, Mr Brent ” “£50,000. That ought to bring her in a decent income.”

The lawyer’s withered eheek flushed. “Mv dear sir, it’s my bounden duty to point, out that 1 think that amount excessive—excessive!'' he bleated. .“So X expected you to say, Brent coolly remarked. “But put the. thing through, there’s a good chap.” “Vou are doing an injustice to your heirs, sir! ” Brent gave him a tired smile. “I have no heirs,” he said, “ion really must allow me to know best about Ibis very personal matter, Mr Binliford. 1 shall be, very relieved il you can deliver the deed ot gift by the first. Will you manage that date for me?” “I can —but —” “Then that's that. A\ ill you take a whisky-and-soda before you go? A glass of port Hum? Well, goodbye, Mr Branford, and many thanks.” A glimmer of gladness Hashed through Brent’s heart when he. found himself alone. His proud, wilful young wife was provided for “against the chances and changes of this mortal life.’’ How glad he was to be able to secure her happiness like this! How could he guess that lie was merely adding the pinnacle to the monument of his offences against her! CHARTER XIII. The last day of. that month always stood out in Brent’s memory as the longest day of his life. Occupy himself as he would, his mind rushed on ahead anticipating the morrow's interview with all its details plainly etched. Saw Gyp receiving his lawyer with proud dignity; eyes and ears on the qui vivo for soin'e rock of offence; saw her when Brunford’s dry-as-dust legal phrases had succeeded in making it clear that she ay as now mistress of £50,000 to do as she liked with; saw her face Hash with rapture; almost saw her “letting off steam,” as she was fond ot expressing her exuberance of spirits, in a mad dance round the room- —regardless of the scandalised feelings of his lawyer, while she laughingly explained that she was merely celebrating her Fourth of July. Had llm grace to see her, too, stammering some message of gratitude; then-—dimly—when she was alone again, shedding a few bright, tears on her letter of thanks, the last, letter she would need to write to him-—her husband. At-the intolerable thought, Brent groaned, and sat for some time with his head between his hands lost in visualising this dead “finish' ’ of it all. Thank goodness, lie had got through most of that day—the last on which she “depended on him”; from to-morrow onward, she would fie free to become “Rapid Gyp” again—if she wanted to; she'd have money enough to burn, anyway! At the agony such thoughts brought in their train, little clusters of sweat gathered on his temples. With a grim determination to turn liis mind into less disturbing channels, lie switched on the light beside him and opened a book; but always her face came between him and the printed page: now radiant with joy; now wistful, as if happiness had passed her by. “Good lor,” he muttered despairingly, “bow am I to worry through the rest of mv days? I'm only thirtythree. yet I can’t see myself ever getting used to life without her.” A thought struck him. “Death’s got a nasty habit of paying an unexpected call. Better not take any risks.” He got up, lounged across the library, switched on a lamp above a bureau and began rummaging in a secret drawer. Presently he found what he ■wanted: the pencilled scrawl that had brought about this grievous separation. “The lire will be the safest repository for this,” lie decided, “in case anything unforeseen happens to me.”

For a moment he held that precious scrap of paper, that had cost poor Gyp so much, as if reluctant to part with the only proof of her perfidy that he possessed, then, unclasping his fingers, he let it drop into the heart of the glowing coals. As the eager flames leapt at it, twisting it this way and that, that tristc “love-letter,” too, glowed for a moment, then softly crepitated into grey ashes.

“How I wish one might burn one’s memories like that!” Brent sighed, as the sparks died down, and he realised that his one weapon against her was gone. Jn spite of himself, he fell to wondering ho wthe girl was passing her evening. AVas she, too 0 vainly trying to bury her dead? “If so,” with grim humour, “I wish her better luck.' (To be Continued).