The "Spell-Binder,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 18 September 1934, Page 7

The "Spell-Binder,”

jj CHAPTER I. || The clocks were striking one as I Daryl Burke left the office, liut though every minute seemed an hour until he || could go to Hargrove Square, it was I useless to ho there before four; Leila | had told him that she Avould not be jg back from Richmond till then. I ‘ ‘ And why should you go at all ?’ ’ i had been his retort. “You say that i Miss Westlake hates our engagement, I and thinks you are throwing yourself ;= away upon a penniless nobody; she will »make you miserable. You are not bound to be attentive to her, even is 1= she is your great-aunt.” I‘ ‘ Oil, but I must go! ” She is very fond of father, and he wouldn’t like | me to do anything to slight her. BeI sides —” her voice dropped, and she I looked up at him from under her long, I s silky lashes —“no one can make me miserable now that I have you! ’ ’ Adorable! There was no other word I for her. Ho told her so again and again as her head lay on his shoulder, = and he told himself so next day as he I walked slowly away from the office thinking of the delights in store for I him. There was a dreary bit of time I to be got through first, all the same, and by way of filling up some of it, || he took himself to his club to lunch. I It was a lovely April day, with a sun !! so brilliant that it turned smoky LonI s don into a city of gold, and there were few people in the dining-room when = he entered it; but two old cronies who sat at a table in the corner glanced up at sight of his tall, well-knit figure. “We old‘fellows sigh sometimes because we have no son to come after us, 1’ said Sir Francis Waldron. “If I || had been so blessed by fortune I should j have wished him to be like young I Burke. ’ ’ i “I don’t waste wishes that way ! ’’ I said Colonel Ashfield, with a grunt, j “Sons may be a comfort,'but, on the g other hand, they may be a curse. What | I wish is that I could put the clock S back and slip into Burke’s shoes. What I s wouldn’t it feel like to be five-and-twenty, with good looks, splendid = health, a congenial career, and the most I charming girl in the world for a bride! ’ ’ if “Who is the charming girl?” (“You can’t have read your paper properly yesterday or you would know. I My old friend, John Westlake, lias not lonly made Burke his junior partner, but has allowed him to become engaged to 1= his only daughter, his eigliteen-year-old daughter, who is a prize indeed.” “You speak as regretfully as if you i := had been sighing for her yourself!” The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. ;= “I am not quite such a fool as I that,” he said. “For a man of sixty to marry a girl in her teens is merely | asking for trouble. But I don’t mind I telling you that I hoped that my young nephew was going to carry off the II prize, and that it was with that idea I in my mind that I got Westlake to take him into his office. He is a bit 1= of a. waster, but he was quite ready to settle down to work with such a prospect. What -will happen now I I can’t say.” I There was a tone of genuine anxiety ! in his voice. Crusty old bachelor as he I = might be, he had an affection for the young nephew, who was the only rela- = tion left to him. But Sir Francis was ii not interested in Hedley Ashfield. a “Fortune certainly seems to have favoured Burke,” he said. “He really is a splendid-looking fellow; but looks are, after all, the. least valuable of her gifts. Ugly men make their way in the world quite as well as handsome ones —ugly women, too, for that matter.”

“No, no, Waldron, you are wrong there. You may ho right about the men, but not about the women. What ugly woman has a chance against a beautiful one?

“Take Mrs Lorraine, for instance; would she have the ball at her feet if she had not a face and a figure that make it seem an event when she comes into a room? Just picture her with a wide mouth, or a snub.nose, or crooked little eyes, and you will see your mistake in a twinkling.”

“Well, perhaps you are right, but I have wondered, nevertheless, why it is that Mrs Lorraine seems to set a spell upon everyone she meets. Other wom 4 an have magnificent eyes and enchanting figures; I have seen smiles as sweet as hers, and heard voices with the same sort of thrill in them, and yet— ’ ’ Colonel A slid eld laughed.

“Exactly, my dear fellow! that Land yet’ sums up what I have just said. Mrs Lorraine has the ball at her feet and it is her beauty that makes her a spell-binder. I have known Leila Westlake since she was born, and I consider her a charming bit of girlhood; but the other —” Words failed him and he came to a pause. “The other is the eighth wonder of the world!” finished Sir Francis for him. “That is your opinion, I am sure, but Burke would not agree with you. Miss Westlake is the one and only wonder of the world for him, and ho is off to see her now I imagine, judging by the speed with which he has bolted' his lunch. Fortune has evidently bestowed the digestion of an ostrich upon him in addition to all her other gifts!” “And for that, as well as for all the rest, I repeat that I wish that I could put the clock back and slip into his shoes,” returned the Colonel enviously. Daryl, for his part, was wishing that ho could put the clock on; he had found it impossible to linger over his lunch, and it was still little after two. There was no one whom he wanted to visit, no -place to which lie wished to go, and the only thing to be done was to walk off his impatience as best he could. Turning up St. James’s Street, he made his way along Piccadilly and reached the great gates leading into the park; it would be pleasant there on this perfect afternoon, and he would stroll about under the trees until he could set off for Margrove Souare. Pleasant it. certainly was, with the children playing on the sun-flecked grass and the light wind rustling the leaves on the trees. There were riders coming down the Row, and he halted by the railings to watch them, but he had only stood there, a moment or two when lie heard a voice at his ear, and turned quickly to see an elderly man with grey hair and a thin, hatchet-shaped face, dressed in a well-cut suit of dark brown. “Pardon me, Mr Burke,” he said courteously, “but I saw the announcement yesterday, and I could not pass

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED B Y SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY MARY BR ADFORD WHITING. (Author of “The Plough of Sham e,” “Who Paid the Debt?” “Treasure Ho use,” etc.)

He looked so delightfully blissful as he spoke, that an ansAvering smile broke out on the stranger’s face.

“And I have no doubt that Miss Westlake, for her part, thinks herself the most fortunate young lady in the Avorld!” he said. “Well—all good luck to you both! I could not resist stopping a moment, but I ought not to have done so, for I have a train to catch. I Avoiider if I might—but no, it Avould be too much to ask.” He had taken a letter from his pocket and stood hesitating Avith it in his hand.

“Is that a note for Mr Westlake?” asked Daryl. “Not for Mr Westlake, no; but the house lies on the way to Margrove Square, and this is important and ought 'to be delivered by hand. I meant to take it myself, but I see that I have barely time to get to the station. ’ ’

“I aaIII take it -with pleasure; Avhat is the address?” “Mercheste'r Court. You knoAv Merchester Street, I daresay?” “I have passed the top of it many times on my Avav to Margrove Square, but I have never been doAA-n it.”

“Well, you can’t miss the Court, it opens out of it about half-way doAvn on the left-hand side. Thank you a thousand times! It was the best of good fortune that I happened to run across vou.”

He put the letter into Daryl's hand as he spoke and Avas gone before there was time for a Avord of reply. A queer little incident! But it did not strike Daryl as queer. In fact, it hardly made any impression upon him at all. His mind Avas too full of the delicious joy that awaited him; to see Leila, to hear her voice, to feel her soft cheek pressed against his and her little fingers creeping into his hand! It Avas certainly not to be wondered at that an errand that lay on the Avav to such bliss seemed too unimportant to be Avortli thinking about. He thrust the note into his pocket Avithout looking at it, and turning back to the gates, set off doAvn Knightsbridge. If he had not still had time to spare he would not have listened to the stranger’s request, so he told himself, and then realised that he had not asked the stranger’s name —a stupid oversight. “This letter Avas given to me by an unknoAvn man in Hyde Park!” Was that a fitting thing to say as he handed it in?

But why need he say anything at all? The note might be thrust into the letter-box and the bell rung and there an end of the matter. Yes, but the stranger had said that it was important and ought to be delivered by hand, and since he had accepted the commission he was bound to carry it out. I was asked to leave this.” That was what he would say, and having said it he would turn on his heel and walk away. He came to the conclusion as he paced slowly down Mercliester Street, scanning the houses so as not to miss the turning, and he had only just reached it when the words “Mercliester Court” came into view on a board attached to a lamp post. It was the narrowest of openings between two houses, and as he passed through the paved entry he saw that it was the quaintest little place, .a tiny backwater in the great stream of London life, with a blank wall at the end and a small house on each side. The one on the right hand was evidently uninhabited, for the windows were dusty and uncurtained; but the one on the left had gay flowers in its window-boxes and had a curiously country look with its slip of garden and its little wooden gate. But Daryl gave it no more than a passing'thought and striding up to the door ho rang the bell. “I was asked to bring this,” ho said, holding out the letter to the smart-looking maid who answered the door. But she made no effort to take it. “Will you come in, sir?” she said. “Mrs Lorraine is at home and expecting you.” CHAPTER 11.

Mrs Lorraine! The name was not unfamiliar to Daryl, for he had often seo it when glancing over the items of fashionable news in the papers; a reception here, a dance there, a coricert some else. Mrs was frequently among the guests, while now and again her portrait appeared in one of, the illustrated publications. But that it was this well-known Mrs Lorraine who lived here was only a surmise after all. There were, no doubt, dozens of Mrs Lorraines in London —scores of them —and the occupant of this quaint little house in this quaint little court was in all probability some old-world body in a cap and spectacles who had lived there since the time of Queen Anne. The thoughts flashed through his mind with such speed that the maid did not notice any hesitation before he stepped over the threshold. Why should he not go in? He had time to spare, and it would be only polite to explain how it was that he was the bearer of the letter instead of the friend whom she was expecting. (To be Coirtliriied).

you witliot a word of congratulation.” “Thank you, that is really very kind of you.” Daryl did not like to add that he had not the least idea whom he was thanking, but his perplexity evidently showed itself in his face. “You don’t remember me, I see! We met at Mr Westlake’s house some little time ago, and I hope you won’t mind my telling you that you have Avon the most charming young lady in England for your bride.” The slight shade of annoyance on Daryl’s broAV cleared aAvay, and he smiled. “I don’t mind in the least,” lie said. “The only thing I object to is that you confine yourself to England —it Avould have been nearer the truth if you had said the most charming in the Avorld. ”