The Awakening of Theodore Wrenn,

Wairarapa Daily Times, 23 February 1935, Page 7

The Awakening of Theodore Wrenn,

(COPYRIGHT.) PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER VI. —Continued. “Then Avhy,” she demanded, “do you Avear a hat like a bill collector ? Theodore could think of no adequate reply, so remained silent. Naomi opened the door Avide. “Come in: but please leave that hat outside. It is ridiculous, absurd and sordid. If I Avere forced to look at it for fh-e minutes it xvould spoil my work for xveeks. And the umbrella too. please. I can’t bear umbrellas. You may lea\-e them upon the doorstep. Completely at a loss, Theodore laid his hat and umbrella on the doorstep, and followed her into a large room, the AA-alls of Avhicli Avere xvliitcAvashcd, and decorated with a frieze of dancing nymphs silhouetted in black. The only comfortable seat in the room Avas a dix-an piled high AA'itli cushions, Avhicli stood in the centre of the floor. Naomi Dean gestured to Theodore to sit upon it. She herself squatted cross-legged upon the floor on a square of thick oriental carpet xvliich xvas littered Avith sheets of manuscript, and looked to Theodore to commence the conversation.

“I Avrote to you,” repeated Theodore, “stating that I Avished to call, and asking you to ’phone me if my x-isit this morning Avas not entirely con-x-enient. ’ ’

Naomi’s pale, oval face assumed a thoughtful expression. “Was your letter in a squarish, xvliite envelope Avith a name embossed upon the flap?” Theodore nodded: “It Avas.”

ji Her face cleared: “Oh, that! I II tore it up unopened. It was typewritj! ten, and I loathe typewritten letters. ! := So often they are bills. My xvork suffers for days if I open a bill.” “I see.” ji “You don’t see at all,” she said. | “But it’s polite of you to pretend you ii do.” , »She looked at him frankly. “What is your name?” she asked. ;! Theodore produced his card-case, but || she xx-aved it aside.

“Don’t give me your card; tell me yourself.” “My name is Wrenn —Theodore Wrenn.”

Naomi clapped her hands gaily. “A delightful name!” she cried. “Theodore Wrenn! It’s delicious, and it suits you perfectly. You have an intelligent, bird-like look, Mr Wrenn.” Theodore coughed. “I called on behalf of Sir Anthony Ravenal,” he murmured tentatively. Her hand travelled SAviftly to her heart, and her eyes assumed a tragic, stricken look. “He is ill? You are a doctor?” He shook his head. “As far as my knoAvledge goes, Sir Anthony is in the best of health.” “Then Avliat do you mean? You look like a doctor. If you are not a doctor, Avhat are you?” “A laAvyer,” said Theodore simply. Naomi’s, high, pale forehead was furroAved.

“A lawyer,” she repeated. “I don’t understand. Why should he send a lawyer to see mo? He hasn’t been near me for a whole week. I ’phoned him a few days ago, and lie promised to call that afternoon. He didn’t come, and now his flat is shut up, and he’s gone away, without a word. Why does he send you to see me? Why doesn’t ho come himself?” Before Theodore could frame a reply, she stood up and paced up and down the floor. “We’ve meant so much to each other. Why, we’re as good as engaged. How can he treat me like this?”

Her oval face seemed ever paler than before, and her eyes seemed darker. She halted in front of Theodore, and stared at him blankly. “We’re as good as engaged,” she repeated.

Theodore was at a loss what reply to make. He decided that the blunt truth was best in this case.

“I am afraid you are mistaken,” he said gently. “The announcement of Sir Anthony’s forthcoming marriage appeared in the Press a few days ago.”

She stared at him uncomprehending- “ His forthcoming marriage?” she repeated fully. “It can’t be true!” He felt truly sorry for her. “I am afraid it is.” “Who is he marrying?” Her voice sounded unreal and remote. ...

Ho hesitated, but did not see how the question could be evaded. “A Miss Anne Wildipg.” Naomi’s expression became suddenly fierce.

“That insipid little fool! He can’t possibly prefer her to me! She paints beastly pictures of 'horrid fat children. ’ ’

She walked up and down restlessly, her fingers twitching. Suddenly she turned on Theodore. “She shan’t take him from me!” she cried. “She shan’t, I tell you, she shan’t! I’ll kill her! I swear I will! I’ll kill her!”

Theodore was shocked at the quivering intensity of her passion. “Miss Dean, please—” he murmured distraitly. “We’ve been so much to each other’’.she wailed.

With a little cry, she threw herself upon the floor, sobbing as though her heart would break. Her shoulders heaved convulsively and she struck fruitless little blows on the floor with the palms of her hands.

The situation was more delicate than any in Theodore’s previous experience. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, but his sympathy for the girl outweighed his personal uneasiness. Her long, slender body looked so pitiful as it lay upon the rug, writhing in a paroxysm of sorrow.

Ho bent over Naomi, murmuring words of comfort which he knew as he uttered them, were futile and useless. Words were powerless to console such grief as this. Suddenly, the girl sat up, and brushed away her tears with a grimy hand. “I’m a little fool. I’m sorry, Mr Wrenn. ” There was a pause, then she added: “Tell me, why did he send you?” Theodore felt like an unmitigated cad. He blushed to the roots of his hair. i “There are some letters —” he stam-

BY JAMES RONALD, (Author of “The Secret of Hunter’s Keep,” “The White Card,” “The Monoeled Man,” etc.)

mered. Naomi’s eyes flashed. “Letters! Letters!” she laughed hysterically. “That’s good! He’s broken my heart, and all he can think of is the feAV letters he Avrote me! And he meant so much to me! I loA T ed him. ’ ’

Her sobbing was renewed. Noav it Avas a dry, A'oieeless, sobbing, tearless and terrible, Avhicli shook her slight frame. She rose to her feet, SAvaying, and trembling. “I loved him, do you hear?” she gasped. “I loved him.”

There AA-as a piteous expression m her dark eyes. “I’ll kill myself!”

Theodore held out his hand mutely. He felt poAvcreless, helpless, completely useless. “I’ll kill myself!” she. cried again. “He shan’t have the chance to laugh at me! ’ ’

She turned and ran into another room. The door slammed, and the key turned in the lock. Theodore follbived and rattled on the door-handle. “Miss Dean!” he shouted. “Miss Dean! ”

There Avas an ominous silence, and he pounded on the door and shouted again. “Miss Dean! Miss Dean!”

Still there Avas silence. He pressed his ear close to the doox 1 , and Avas relieved to hear her moving about inside. She Avas sobbing still, breathlessly and incoherently. “Please open the door!” he cried. There Avas no ans Aver.

He Avas faced Avitli a terrible problem. If the girl really contemplated suicide, it Avas up to him to stop her.

The door Avas too massive for him to smash doiAm, OA-en if there had been anything solid enough in the room to use for the purpose. And he dare not summon help, or the police, because of the consequences xvhich might result to the poor girl. For five terrible, seemingly-intermin-able minutes he xvaited anxiously at that door. He could ,<liear his heart beating, like the pounding of a hammer. He had one frail hope; he could still hear the girl moving about inside. Thus far, at least, she AA r as alive.

When the door opened, ho Avas almost overwhelmed xvitli relief. His relief Avas succeeded by equal amazement.

Naomi came into the room dressed in a canary-coloured frock, xvith a bright red little hat upon her head. She had repaired the damage her tears had done to her looks, and presented a cool, attractice appearance. “Take me to lunch,” she said calmlv. CHAPTER VII. With lightning rapidity, Naomi Dean transferred her affections from the man xvho had deserted her to his quiet, dependable cousin. To one of her frothy, fantastic nature, Theodore Wrenn’s serene disposition AA-as irresistibly attractive. She liked him for his reticence, his sincerity, his singleness of purpose, for all of the qualities in him, in fact, Avhicli Avere lacking in her envn composition. Mercurial of temperament, after the xvild hysteria to xv-hich she had abandoned herself on learning of the faithlessness of Sir Anthony Rax*enal, she xvasted no time regretting her former lover, but devbted herself to the Avholeliearted pursuit of Theodore. Of this, Theodore xx-as not fully axvaro for some time.

Naomi wrote letters to him, and telephoned, and called at his office, insisted on being taken to lunch, to the theatre, to supper in Soho, stormed at him when he would not see her during business hours, and sulked all evening when he insisted on taking her to a restaurant to dine instead of going to her maisonette in Potiphar’s Mews. On one occasion much against his will, she made him take her to a nightclub.

“But I don’t know how!” he protested, when she insisted on dancing with him.

“You can learn; I’ll show you,” she retorted.

Once on the floor, and after his initial embarrassment was over, he found that it was not unpleasant to walk slowly, with her soft yielding body in his arms, to the intoxicating rhythm of the negro jazz band. Naomi was delighted with his docility as a pupil, and complimented him upon the ease with which he picked up the steps. A few minutes later, when they returned to their table, she ranted at him for preferring cider to champagne. ‘ She had not yet given him the letOnce he mentioned them tactfully,'doing his utmost to spare her feelings, and she looked at him frankly. “I expect Sir Anthony told you to offer me money for them,” was her scornful conjecture. “I’m right, aren’t I?” “I’m afraid so.”

“I thought so. Well, he can keep Ins money! I don’t want it. And I never wish to see him again.”

“Then why don’t you give back the letters, and be done with him?” Theodore was emboldened to ask. A little smile flickered across her lips. “If I gave you the letters, Theodore,” she said candidly, “you would never come near me again.” For two days she left him severely alone. He decided that she no longer needed him, and he was loath to trouble her again for the letters. He was about to turn to the third and last name on the list which his cousin had given him, when he received a letter from her, written in violet ink on mauve stationery, and scented faintly with heliotrope. (To be Continued).