"The Marrying of

Wairarapa Daily Times, 20 April 1935, Page 7

"The Marrying of

(COPYRfIM PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL jWBB

CHAPTER IY (Continued). "Tell me about your life at St. Ives,” said Lady Anford, “and do have some more of that curry it is a real Indian recipe. You must have been quito buried alive, and no wonder you have a schoolgirl complexion. ’ ’ Captain Jack frowned. He thought it inconsiderate of his sister-in-law to ask a girl who had only just lost her homo and her father to tell the story of the past. But Marietto found it something of a relief, since Aunt Agnes’s questions had been few. Her listeners were sympathetic, too, and her description of her life spent in a wee back o ’ beyond bungalow on that rugged shore, with all its grandeur and strength, the brave romance and infinite pathos, was vidid in its simplicity. "My dear,” said Lady Anford, when she had finished, "you ought to write that down. What an author you would make! Positively it is the first time I have ever thirsted for the simple life. Now go out, both of you young things, and talk the golf jargon about tee-ing up. etc., -whilst I plan how, next year, I shall go to Cornwall, and get the vision of King Arthur and his fairy palace at Tintagel into my hqpd.” Captain Anford led the way to the "sports room,” as it was called—a room plainly denoting the tastes of the owner of the house. "Neville is an enthusiasist in every-

thing but golf,” he explained, "and means to make up for lost time now ho is home from India. He is fishincr with some old friends to-day, and we are both off for a long day’s shooting on Pridav. I am fairly sure the ’phone i will go for you that day. Vivienne will be alone till the evening.” Mariette was busy choosing her clubs, and did not reply directly. "You live here?” she asked, as she turned to follow him. He nodded. "I left the army three ago,” he explained, "after a bad go of typhoid fever, which I was warned would leave me with a. 'heart’ ior a year or two. Luckily for me, the warning was not needed, and after an idle year, I was amazingly fortunate in making friends with a South African magnate whom I pulled out of the sea when he fell overboard during the passage home. He died a short time ago and left me some thirty thousand pounds. I am independent of earning my living, and as Neville made a particular point of my living here, I came, and am now in charge of his farm.”

Marietto was interested—and amused. It did not appear to her that that farm saw much of its manager! The game of golf proved to her, however, that Captain Jack was not content without doing what he undertook, thoroughly, and her defeat made her humhle.

"It was no game for you at all,” she apologised, "and I had considered myself an average player. I shan’t dare to challenge you to a return game. ’ ’ , "I hope you will,” he retorted. "My form was rather above itself to-day, and I have enjoyed the battle. You are a sport —I hate playing with anyone who, finding himself outmatched, loses all interest. You can play a losing game, and there is nothing I admire more.”

His glance suggested' that he admired 1 her, and Mariette thrilled with pleasure. This comrade was, like Vivienne Anford, only a friend of a day, but she was convinced that in them both she had found real comrades. Already she ceased to regret coming to Rippleford even if Aunt Agnes showed resentment over her decision.

“I shall go to the Court,” she reflected as she walked home alone, after saying good-bye to her companion. “And I shall give Vivienne my friendship even if I hope she does not tell me her secret. Aunt Agnes will be stiff about it, and I hate stiffness. I shall feel I want to storm till she tells me her reason. I can’t believe it is jealousy or disappointment, even if she were in love with Sir Neville. Heigho! I hate rows and stiff people, but I should be a,perfect little beast if I wont back on my word about being friends with Vivienne —and, selfish cat that I am, I am sure she means to give me a very good time indeed. I •wonder what Dad -would think of it all. He would hardly know me in my new role.”

She hardly knew herself, and turned to prolong her walk, reluctant to face her Aunt, and hating the idea of offending the latter. It was sheer weakness of character, she reflected, to put off the evil hour by minutes, but it was still early. Aunt Agnes did not have tea till five. As she passed down a wooded lane she saw a man shabbily dressed, climbing over the railing; not a very attractive individual, though he did not look exactly like a tramp. To her surprise, and not a little to her annoyance, the shabby individual began to follow and finally came alongside. Marietto gave a quick glance up and down the lane. No one was in sight, and she recalled how Cranny had warned her against wandering over the lanes alono as the shooting season brought poachers and an increase of tramps. Quickening her pace, Mariette tried to out-distance the man who laughed in evident amusement, raising his hat at the same time with a gesture which did not suggest the ordinary beggar. “Please don’t think I am going to ask you your purse,” he urged, “or even for that very pretty little wristbracelet. I am a stranger to these parts and merely wished to ask you the way to the Court. I have a message—or rather a letter for Lady Anford. Perhaps you know her?”

Mariette turned to look at the man in surprise. He was very shabby, and the uppers of his boots were parting from the soles. His overcoat was patched, and stained as though ho had been pushing his way through bushes, but in defiance of his clothes the man’s features were well cut, and though he had not shaved for a day or so his face was clean. Added to all of which his voice was that of an educated person and his manners those of a gentleman.

“I have not been at Rippleford many days myself,” she replied, slowly, “but I do know Lady Anford. I have just come from the Court.”

“Good,” said the stranger with an ease which amazed and bewildered her. “You came along in the nick of time, for I have a train to catch, also an

BY MAY (Author of "Henry of Navarre,” "Gweimola,j||jߣ’feani*”' efcc)i

appointment in town, and should hot have time to get to the Court andi back to the station.. I wonder, kind lady, whether you will bo the friend' in need and take this note to her ladyship? It is quito important she should have it this evening.” As he spoke lie produced an envelope addressed in bold, masculine, and 1 sufficiently good handwriting, to Lady Anford. Mariette took it, reluctantly. "I shall not be going back to the Court this evening,” she objected, but the stranger waved aside the proffered envelope. "I can’t bo mistaken,” he protested, airily. "You are one of those sweet angels who come as a boon and blessing to a poor scoundrel like myself. You will have observed I am labelled 'down and out.’ I desire to be ‘up and doing.’ Lady Anford is—or will be soon—renowned for her charitable nature. Good-day, Madam, or is it au re voir? I can rely on your generosity not to mention our little rencontre. May I add the matter is a private one between myself and my benefactress?”

He had turned and was looking more fully at Marietto now, and with a strange thrill of premonition the girl fancied those eyes were the same that had peered down on her in the fog the day before. But their owner did not give her time to protest, for, swinging round, he started off up the lanel in the opposite direction. Mariette looked after him, utterly puzzled, then down at the letter in her hand.

"I supose I must take it,” she thought, "but I bate doing it. I don’t want to start imagining things, but I am afraid —horribly afraid this is a part of Vivienne’s secret.” She was not far from the Court, however, and the sooner she was rid of the mysterious letter the better. At the gate she was joined by Sir Neville coming back from his fishing. He look* ed surprised to see Mariette but walked up the drive talking to her about his day’s sport in a perfectly normal way, and then asked her if she had been at the Court to lunch.

Mariette, her pulses throbbing in guilty dismay, faltered out an acquiescence and mentioned her game of golf. How to account for her return she did not know. . How she hoped Vivienne would be upstairs!—and meantime she was racking her brain to find an excuse for coming, a pretext for a private interview. Sir Neville paused in the hall with an inquiring look at the visitor.

"Did you want to see Vi?” he asked, "or are you coming in to tea?” Mariette’s mouth went dry. If this keen-eyed, grizzled gentleman suspected her of joining some secret intrigue what would happen? What would her aunt —and Captain Jack —think? And yet she was actress enough to hide her distress, smiling in answer to the inquiry. "I won’t keep Lady Anford one minute,” she said. "She has a headache and is lying down. May Igo upstairs?”

Sir Neville smiled back, quite unsuspicious, and making her feel guiltier still, as, with the letter hidden in her pocket, she went quickly upstairs, pausing on the threshold of Lady Anford’s room as though to brace herself for an ordeal. Then, as she heard the summons to come in, she opened the door and entered the room. CHAPTER V.

The room was in partial adrkness, and as Mariette went forward 1 Lady Anford spoke querulously. “Is that you, Hortense? Tell Sir Neville I don’t want any tea.” “It is not Hortense,” replied Mariette, “and I won’t keep you one minute, Vivienne, but—but the fact is I met a man—lie seemed to be like a down and out gentleman—who asked me to give you a letter.’.’ She heard a little ery,, then Vivienne Anford spoke sharply. “Pull back the curtain, I—l can’t see. Tell mo again, Mariette, you are so stupid, only—only giving half the tale. Did the man say who he was? Had he been trying to see me? And —is Sir Neville in—have you seen him or Jack and said anything?”

Mariette had drawn back the curtains and turned to the bed. Lady Anford was sitting up looking haggard and ill, a spot of brilliant colour —not rouge this time'—burned on both checks. As Mariette held out the letter she snatched it, glanced at the writing, then looked in terror towards the girl. “Answer me,” she urged.

Mariette told the story as briefly as she could. Lady Anford wrung her hands when she spoke of her meeting with Sir Neville and interrupted with the question—had sho told him of the letter?

“No,” said Mariette, rather curtly. “I told him nothing at all. I expect he thought it strange of me returning after I had been here half the day. All I said, was that I wished to speak to you for a minute.” “You dear, wise thing,” cried Lady Anford, hysterically, snatching at Mariette’s hand and pressing it to her lips. “I might have known you had common sense. And you did quite right. Oh, how thankful I am you brought this message—you who I can trust.”

“I didn’t like the job,” replied Mariette, “that’s quite definite. It—it made me feel mean when I saw Sir Neville. I don’t know why, but I believe ho would have wanted to see that letter.”

Lady Anford moaned, covering her eyes with her hand. “I must think,” she kept repeating. “If only my head did not ache so. Hortense must bring me the tablets. Tell Sir Neville, dear, that .I have one of my attacks and have asked you to come and sit with me to-morrow morning. You will come, won’t you?” Her manner was distracted and she was so evidently suffering that Mariette could not be angry, could not even tell her sho refused to be mixed up in any intrigue or deceit. “I’ll come,” she thought, “and tell her to-morrow when sho is better. I can’t risk making her worse now.” (To be continued.)