"Her Hidden Husband,"

Wairarapa Daily Times, 18 October 1930, Page 7

"Her Hidden Husband,"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

(Copyright).

CHAPTER X.—Continued. He- got up slowly; ho was surprised. She was still young; she made him think of a liot-house flower —pretty rather than beautiful, at the same time fiambuoyant. He noticed the sensitive nostrils, the Purge, generous mouth. She was not tall, but had an attractive figure, which the very modern evening dress she wore emphasized. “Jim," she said, “don’t look at me like that—as if you’d never seen me before. This is just too wonderful! . . . like I dreamed when we were first engaged and you went away! ’ ’ She laughed: “You look wonderful ... I shouldn’t have known you! ’’ She came closer to him and with an impulsive gesture held out both her hands: “Say something, Jim, —you’re making me feel all queer and frightened.’’ He took her hands, and, not knowing what to do, he kissed them. “That’s better!" She was close to him now, staring at him out of her large, expressive eyes, in which he saw many emotions mingled. “Is it really you? ... I shan’t believe it till you take me in your arms again and kiss me.’’ Obeying an impulse strong than himself he took her in his arms . He bent to kiss her forehead —she gave him her lips. “Oh, your beard!’’ she laughed, “it does tickle! How brown and strong you are. . . . Now sit down and tell me everying. You. have really come back for keeps —and you haven’t forgotten me? ... I ought to have asked you that befoire, though, oughtn’t I?’’ Again she laughed; he realised she was as shy and nervous as he, only she was showing it in a different way. “Yes, I’ve come back for good,’’ Ring said. '“I don’t quite now where lam yet. I had rather a bad time, as you know, just before the ship sailed and sinre then everything’s happened so quickly and ' London seems so strange. I haven’t had time yet to find my breath and get my balance.’’

She had thrown a wrap over her shoulders and was slipping out of her frock. She stopped as he spoke, and, turning, stared at him. “Shall I go outside while you change?’’ he said, half rising from his chair.. She shook her head: “No, that’s all right. I’m just going to get all this paint off my face. We can’t talk while the dresser is messing about. . . . You’ve changed, Jim,—your voice is different, somehow. 5 ’ “Ten years does change a man, and a climate like Borneo. ’ ’

.She nodded, stepped out of her frock, threw it across one of the chairs, and sitting down in front of the dressing table began to take off her make-up. “Do you think I’ve changed, Jim?’’ She spoke breathlessly now in a husky voice. “Older, I suppose, quite grown up? It’s only nine months ago I made a hit and became a star. It does make a difference —but I’m not really different inside, I feel just the same . . . how do you feel?’’ She paused a moment in rubbing some cold cream on to her face and turned to look at him. He pulled his chair closer trying to get rid of the embarassment he felt. He wasn’t used to women; he only knew one —Pete, and she was as far removed from Vera as the stars from the earth —clothed in mystery—while Vera seemed to have torn aside the veil of mystery behind which he believed all women were hidden.

“I haven't had time to feel yet,” he replied, clumsily. “But it’s worldeifill coming home and you know you ic the first friend I’ve met since I landed.”

“I’m glad of that. You hadn’t many—friends —though, had you, Jim? We were both rather lonely sort of people . . . That’s what drew us together I believe. Seems rather funny now to think how desperately we were in love with one another. I’ve had lots of affairs since then —one can’t help it on the stage—but nothing real.” She had come into the room full of expectation and excitement but now she had changed. He wondered if she was acting. He felt ashamed of the thought for it was he who was the actor. He kne.w ho would have to go on' acting perhaps all his life. He wanted to blurt out the truth. He believed he could trust this girl; like Pete she was real, but in a very different way. He wanted to tell her that the past was a sealed book to him; that he didn’t remember in the least; that she seemed more strange and more remote even than Violet Markham. But fear stopped him, though he hardly knew what it was lie feared. Once anyone knew and told the world he would be at the mercy of the world. Yet if he didn’t tell her, how could he explain to Pete that believing he was free he had fallen in love on the voyage when really he was engaged to be married. _ The situation was impossible. It made him speechless. If ten years ago he had promised to marry this girl; if she had waited for him and still loved him then he was bound in honour to make her his wife.

She asked him to tell her about the accident on the Malaya at Singapore. “You were badly injured, too, weren’t you, Jim? ... I suppose you’re quite all right now?” She gave him a quick glance. While he told her he watched her comb her hair, powder her face and smooth her lips with a lipstick, afterwards washing her hands and covering them with some liquid from a bottle. She did these things naturally and unconsciously, but they made him vividly conscious of the relationship which existed between them.

BY ARTHUR APPLIN. (Author of “The Dangerous Game," “The Greater Claim," “The Woman Who Doubted," etc).

She was about to throw off her wrap when she stopped and drew it close: “Are we dining together, dear? Perhaps you’re engaged—or you’d rather not?" He stood up. “Of course . . .I’d just like to telephone to a friend whom I met on the Malaya.” “Sure?" She held out her hand. “You-seem different somehow, Jim. Let me look at you. If you’ve changed you won’t be afraid to tell me, will you? The last letter you wrote was so wonderful and then when I heard you were really here —oh, I got all thrilled.” “I haven’t changed,’’ he said steadily." I’m just the same- but you must give me time. I’ve lived too long in the East, never seeing a white man, much less a white woman. I don’t know where I am. I feel like a boy fresh from school!" She nodded sympathetically and pointed to one of the photographs above the dressing table: “Look—you weren’t much more when we first met, were you? I’ve always kept that picture of you. Do you recognise yourself?"

He -shook his head; he wasn’t even sure which photograph she indicated. “While you are ’phoning your friend —you can ring up from the stage door-keeper’s office—l’ll get into my dress. I’ve a new frock which -only arrived last night; I’ll wear it in your honour, Jim. Let’s go somewhere where we can talk. I shall have to be back at eight -o’clock." King went out and rang up Pete. The relief he felt in being alone for a'moment made him realise the strain he had just undergone. Pete’s voice over the wire shook him. Already he was beginning to live two lives; against his will he was deceiving two.women. But he could tell Pete —he would have to tell her. And at that thought he felt the world crumbling beneath his feet.

“I’ll explain to-morrow. I’ll call for you about eleven o’clock —I must -see you, darling."

She answered him cheerfully; said she quite understood, then told him that Mr Denny had asked her to dance with him that evening—would he mind now if she accepted? King didn’t reply at once. Why should he mind? He had no right to object; but he did intensely. Fate seemed to be driving remorselessly a wedge into his life, dividing it. The only person in the world that mattered to him was Pete'; the only thing he cared for, her love. Jf he lost her he lost -everything. He would indeed then be utterly alone; the future as black as the past. “Rather not!" he said. “Bee you to-morrow at eleven then!" He replaced the receiver on the telephone quickly and going out walked up and down the pavement waiting for Vera. Instead of sending for her dresser when he had left the room -she took his photograph from the wall and looked at it closely. Across it was written in writing already faded. “Always your Jim." She was trying to trace a resemblance between the original of the photograph and the man ■who had just left her . . . Ten years wasn’t such a very long time—and men didn’t change as quickly as women. She remembered that Jim had, a slightly crooked nose got in a fight at school —she had always loved his crooked nose. His eyes had been large and ! queer, like a dog’s, steady and f aith- - ful.

She put the photograph back and glanced at the empty arm chair. He had looked at her so strangely, almost as if he didn’t remember her. She shivered and, calling to her dresser, put on her new frock, a pair of new silk stockings and shoes to match. As they drove to the restaurant —she had chosen the Ivy —Jim suddenly put his arm round Vera and held her close to him. She gave a glad cry, half astonishment, half pleasure. It was the first sign of emotion he had shown. She rested her head against his shoulder looking up at him. Though he had changed almost beyond recognition yet he was still thrilling. “I want you to tell me something,” he said. “I’ve knocked about a bit since last we met and I know I am different. And you—you’re a great actress, rich and famous. I haven’t made a fortune or anything like it—the other man did that.” “Bad luck, dear—but you never cared much for money, did you? It was really adventure you were after.” “I want to know,” he continued quickly, “whether you—you still feel just the same about me?” She didn’t reply. He misinterpreted her silence and it urged him to make ■sure. Ho had to know before he met Pete again. “Tell me, do you still love me as you used to? . . . Do you still want to marry?” “That’s a queer question, Jim. I might say, do you still want to marry me —? ” (To be Continued").