"PAINTED BUTTERFLIES,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 15 March 1932, Page 7

"PAINTED BUTTERFLIES,”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT,

COPYRIGHT.

I CHAPTER Xlll.—Continued. The feeling of inferiority that had Sheen present with Adela Creighton throughout the whole interview, re--15 turned in overwhelming measure te If render her almost speechless with anil gw. I “Very well.” The short sentence conveyed spite in its very essence, and li the subsequent sentence confirmed it, I “ You may not be aware of it, but your I whole success has been built up bv my || patronage, and so depends upon its eon--11 tinuanee. ” Is “You are quite right. It does. 'I hat is why you have practically monopoliser ed my services while I have- been with IMadiune Elise, so that I should not become valuable to any of her other I clients. You are a very clever woman, V Hiss Creighton, but clevcrencss that is i misused is apt to hit back at the inI dividual who possesses it. I have always noticed that, although, of course, 1 my life has been a very rough-and--1 ready affair compared with yours.” i Jennifer’s eyes had recovered some of I their fire; her little soft chin was held jj high in the air, as she rose and opened | the door for her self-invited guest. 8 Then, just as Adela Creighton was S about to pass through the outer door, | a sudden thought struck her. | “Miss Creighton, will you please | come back for a moment? I want to I say something very important,” said = Jennifer, in a voice which had momentg arily shed its sadness. [ “Certainly. - What is it?” Adela !s Creighton, impressed by the tone, willingly followed Jennifer back to the = little drawing-room. IThev did not sit, down, but stood a few inches apart in the middle of the 1= floor. Adela- Creighton’s ash-blonde beauty was beginning to show signs of the 8 strain she had undergone. Her blue | eyes had dark smudges beneath them = that added another five years to her I apparent age. S Jennifer came to the point without | preamble; having burned the boats of I her passion behind her, she neither saw | nor admitted any further necessity for 8 dealing with this- woman in any other S way than the one which naturally oc- | curred to her. f “When I have fulfilled your wish, I | take it that the evidence you hold — I my signature on that 1.0. U be f handed over to me?” | A look of surprise crossed the fair, | vindictive little fac-c, to bo succeeded [ bv one of obvious unwillingness.

“If I sacrifice my happiness, I shall certainly expect that for which I am sacrificing it to be given up to me, and not to be held as a weapon against me and used at any time that it happened to suit you,” said Jennifer, with a return of the common-sense engendered more by life than by nature.

A swift, sudden decisiveness illumined the fair, cruel, utterly unscruplous little face.

“I will send it to you on the morning of my marriage to Frank lardlev,” said Adela Creighton, in a tone of finality.

“And supposing you are over-estim-ating your chances where he is concerned? Supposing that he does not propose?” Jennifer put her doubts into words without the faintest scruple. The little, claw-like- fingers encased in the French kid gloves curled and uncurled, as if they itched to choke the life out of the supremely proud, charming little creature who dared to put such an impossible eventuality into words.

“Frank is going abroad for some months, but I would stake all 1 possess that this next year sees me Mrs Frank Yardley.” The toneless voice shrilled a little with sheer self-confidence and ungovernable f u rv. Heedless of the other girl’s anger, knowing that if she did not safeguaid herself to life-long blackmail, Jennifer named her terms.

“To-morrow you must come with me to a lawyer, who will draw up an agreement for my 1.0.1.. to be handed o\ei to me unconditionally a year from today,” she said, with an outer calmness that she was far from feeling. In view of her boast of a moment ago, Adela Creighton appeared to regard Jennifer's words in the light of a challenge, and her eyes gleamed as if they had suddenly become surfaced with steel as she replied, in a voice as cold as the substance her eyes resembled, “Certainly, and we will go to my own solicitor.” “Your own or any other, it does not matter,” replied Jennifer, opening the door for the second time.

The click of the gate closing as Adela Creighton stepped into the bit seemed like tlio key of fate turning in the door of her heart, locking out all the sunshine of love and a normal woman's happiness, shutting in the gloom of a love that was dead thoug 1 living, frustrated, though keen-edged as a sword.

-\Vhat was the beauty of life to her Fortitude, and a measure of peace might come with time, but forgetfulness —never!

Then occurred one of those thm-e----blcssed commonplaces that help to heal the deepest wounds that one human being can inflict on anothei. The telephone shrilled its message into the silence. Mrs Lome always spent twopence at the nearest telephone box, at ten o’clock every night in the hope of being able to say “Goodnight” to Jennifer. , Jennifer’s vivid imagination busied itself with visions of her mother, happier in the calm, steady round of domesticity that was so immeasurably sweetened by a little child’s love; and her heart swelled with the purest joy that is given to humanity to know—the joy that comes of suffering that a loved one may be glad. “Hallo, Mother darling!” The voice

BY MRS PATRICK MacGILL. Author of “Dancers in the Dark,” “The Ukelele Girl,” “The Flame of Life,” etc.

1 that travelled over the wire was as I bright as a bird’s. “It’s lovely to ’car you sound so ’appy, duck. What do you think Faith said in the bath to-night?” Without being aware of it, Mrs Lome’s conversation consisted almost exclusively of what her little charge had said or done during the day, and she rattled on innocently and proudly. Jennifer suddenly felt as she had felt when Frank had proposed to her, as if her eyes read more clearly than theirs the riddle that was life, and that, somehow, her wider knowledge made her more tenderly protective towards those in whom such a feeling, according to ordinary standards, should have been reversed. After she had bade her mother a cheery good-night, and accompanied it with a kiss blown into the transmitter, Jennifer buried her face in her hands and burst into wild sobs. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “stop punishing me! I did not mean anything wrong or wicked when T went to James Read for the money.” There was nothing but elation in Adela Creighton’s soul in the contemplation of the visit that had terminated exactly as she had planned that it should, except for the business of the lawyer, a detail which she dismissed with a contemptuous shrug. It was too early to go to bed, so she changed and went to a partv that was more than a little wild. It was three o’clock in the morning before she permitted herself the luxury of the dreams that have belonged to happy lovers in all centuries; her vision had sweet continuity, and all the time exquisite fancies floated in her brain, while subtle emotion held her captive until she could hold out no longer against nature’s antidote for all things contrary to health- —sleep. CHAPTER XTY. The dining hall at Oversley, with its magnificently carved Minstrels’ Gallery, its Holbein portraits, ’its torn flags from the Border Wars, its glorious panelling, was one of the finest houses in England. Lady Yardley, tall, slim, Paris-gown-ed descendant of a long line of owners of similar houses, stood out dually, and yet in some imperceptible fashion melted harmoniously into her background as she waited in a chair that had boon carved nearly five centuries ago, her ears straining for the sound of the motor on the gravel outside, the motor which had been sent to the station to fetch Jennifer. Suddenly Alicia Yardley, mistress of Oversley and all its glories since she had come to it thirty years ago as a ninetccn-years-old bride, saw it with new eyes. For the first time in her life she thought of her own successor .—Frank’s wife, who, in the natural course of things would one day reign in her stead. “Frank’s wife, Frank’s .children (flowing up at Oversley, lo\iug the old place with its still older traditions, loviner the friends that they would make.” The feeling of distaste with which the recollection of Jennifer ’s mother inspired her was greatly lessened .by Jennifer herself who, in her charming, unaffected fashion and her beautifully designed and executed clothes, seemed in her fresh, youthful way to harmonise just as completely with her surroundings as any girl of her own acquaintance whom she could call to mind. Indeed, deep down in her heart she was obliged to admit that Jennifer’s manners were far better, her culture wider, her sense of personal dignity infinitely greater than most of the loud-mouthed, sometimes frankly rude daughters of her own set of friends.. p> u t —a grandmother for Irani* s children who had taken in washing and could not even speak her own language properly! _ . “My dear, would you like to sec the rose-garden before dressing for dinner There 1S plenty (lt time." Lady \aidlev looked at her diamond wrist-watch. “Half-past-five. We are dining at -.30 as Frank will not be home much before then.” \t the mention of Frank s name, Jennifer winced. How love hurt, l.ow brutal it could be, she told hersed:, miserably. “Thank you, Lady Yardley. should like to sec the roses,” she said, rising as she spoke. It would he easier to deal her happiness tae fmal deathblow amongst the bowers; here m this centuries-old dining-room. the o-hosts of men and women who had lived and laughed and loved seemed to stretch forth hands, as if imploring her not to throw away the greatest gift that life could offer her or any one. . “Watson showed you your mom? asked Lady Yardley, as they passed out of the house on to a pathway of (lagged stones leading to the rosory. Watson was the housekeeper. “Xo, Lady Yardley. There was no need. I am not staying. I am catehhur the 0.35 back to town,” said Jennifer, in a voice from which all motion was carefully drained. (To be Continued).