"IN HONOUR BOUND,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 31 December 1935, Page 9

"IN HONOUR BOUND,”

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED B Y SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER XII (Continued). j

Lady Frixell sighed. She had a very shrewd idea that as soon as her husband’s back was turned, Gay would do exactly as she liked —and both these young men were labelled undesirable. “Though if Gay married Mcrvyn, the secret — that unfortunate episode would remain untold for both their sakes, she thought. “ wonder —but I shall have to make the effort and chaperone her to places myself." It was easy to plan, but Sir Eric had not been gone a day when Gay walked into her mother’s boudoir. “Mcrvyn is just coming round to fetch me," she smiled. “He and I and Susan Aylton are going picnicking near Roland’s Bay." Lady Frixell raised a protesting hand. “My dear," she urged, “what would your father say? He so strictly forbade you to meet' Mervyn. You must not

“Nonsense!" laughed Gay. “Dad is too silly! Even if Mrs Cranton did pinch the old necklace it was all in the family. I shall tell Mervyn the story as a joke one day." And she looked hard at her mother.

Lady Frixell grew very pale, and her expression was that of a woman who is desperate. “I forbid you to think of such a wicked think!" she said harshly. “Never mention that necklace again. It is a perfect curse to me!" “I don’t see why it should be _ to you," replied Gay, and she went singing out of the room. Once outside, the song was checked. “I wonder why Alys Cranton’s doing a rotten thing should bring a curse on Mum," she murmured. “Oh! —bother it all, I’m not going to think of it again. Mervy will be as good as a tonic after all the growling. I’m —er . . . Am I glad to come back here? I’m going to let Mervyn make love to me, and Susan can be jealous if she’s a silly idiot. Mervyn is really nice—far too nice for stodgy Sue." She was thinking hard of Dicky and Mervyn—and all the laughter she craved for in life. And at the back of it lay a haunting thought —why should the sin of Alys Cranton bring a curse on her mother’s life? CHAPTER XIII. Susan was tired.

A most, unusual experience with her, and Mervyn noticed it at once as he overtook her on the village green. “What’s the matter. Susannah?" he asked, placing his hand on her shoulder. To his surprise she turned to him with eyes full of tears.

“It’s Rosie Brutton," she said, “the .. . the girl who went away. I ; . . . told you. The man called himself an artist. He came again about three weeks ago —and Rosie has left. She told her mother she was going and would never come back. She said she was going to the bad and it was the good people who had driven her to it. And it is true! No one ever gave Rosie a chance. The women would not speak to her; mothers would not let their daughters associate with her; the men were not a bit nice—and Rosie sat indoors and moped. I expect she wrote to the man and he has taken her to London; she told her mother she was going to have a gay life. Mrs Brutton is heart-broken. She owns she was too hard. She blames the neighbours. But it is too late." “Abominable," replied Mervyn. “I agree with you. I loathe Pharisees. My sympathy is always with the sinner. But you can’t be held responsible, Sue. I’m sure you did your level best. Buck up and look smiling. 1 Don’t forget I shall be away all the autumn right up to Christmas. lam going to take up medicine as you know. I hate leaving the mater, but she will come up to own quite a lot. We shall miss our good times together." She looked up at him, wistfully. At that moment life seemed a very grev business to little Susan. She had given her heart to Mervyn Cranton with the joyful surrender of one who cannot help giving to the uttermost —but scarcely realises the possibility of receiving. That Mervyn should love her as she loved him seemed impossible. And yet, till the coming of Gay, she had not thought of how Mervyn might be going out. of her life—claimed by another. “It won’t seem like life at all without you," she said; “and how . . . how dreadful it will be for Gay." He flushed up at once. “Why do you say that?" he asked, eagerly. She opened her eyes in surprise. “Don’t you remember telling me?" she said, “on the day we thought she was drowned. Besides, ever since, it is so easy to see." “To see what?" he demanded, with the persistence of a young man in love for the first time.

There was no escaping the saying of •words.she hated to hear spoken. •'‘That you love her,” Susan replied.

He gave an impatient gesture. “And she'?” he asked, “women understand these things better than men.” Susan shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Gay is so-—elusive. Like the sunshine. I can just imagine how a man would have to love her—only I can't explain. She is so pretty, so tremendously alive.” “She is Gay,” smiled Mervyn. “Only Titania would be a better name. I am so glad you and she are such friends too. It makes you even more the dearest sister in the -world.” Susan hid her little clenched hands under her sports coat. It was splendid to think Gay had not altogether robbed her of Mervyn

. . . but it meant she must play her own difficult part; for Susan was almost painfully honest, and longed to cry out, “But wo are not friends. Hot real friends. Sometimes I like her frightfully, and sometimes I can’t trust her.” Yet. what she could not explain to herself, she could never, never hope to explain to Mervyn. He was so wonderfully affectionate to-dav, too; accompanying her home where he was always treated as ono of the family. Horace Aylton- waved to him from the study window, and even Aunt Ann unbent for his benefit.

“So I hear you are going to be a doctor,” she said, “and I am very glad to hear it. We are all meant to do something with our lives . You may

(To be Continued)

BY MAY WYNNE. (Author of “The Marrying of Marietta,” “Henry of Navarre," “Gwennola," etc.)

have plenty of money to enable you to be idle; if so, the wealth becomes a snare of the devil.' Hard work is what we are intended for. A doctor has his share of it —and a responsibility too. I only wish my brother had devoted his pfo to such a sensible career. What’s the good of writing books when .men and women are in danger of losing their immortal souls.” “But Aunt Ann,” pleaded Susan who stood near, “doctors only mend bodies —books sometimes mend souls.”

“I am sure nono of your father’s ever helped to do that,” was Aunt Ann’s Parthian shot. When she had gone indoors Susan gave vent to a faint giggle. “What would she have said if I had asked what a mania for discovering dust on tables, and chairs and windowledges had to do with souls?” she whispered. “Poor Aunt Ann! that’s not fair of me. She is awfully in earnest, and I could never housekeep like sho does. She knows exactly how much tea, sugar, butter and beef to order every week —and oh! lots of things like that. Don’t laugh, Mervyn, it is quite important. You will have to get her to teach —’’ Sho checked herself. After all, Mervyn was not engaged to Gay yet.

“Wo had better start off,” he said, taking no notice of her blushes. He was used to the blundering of Susan, and anyhow ho was glad to find sho had apparently forgotten the troubles of Rosie Brutton.

They found Gay seated on a formidable hamper. She was wearing white to-day with a pale blue beret, and vas more fairy than elf in the get-up. “Of course Mervyn will be the beast of burden,” she said to Susan. “That is one of the blessings of having a handy man with muscles.”

And she grimaced at Mervyn, who asked if he were expected to carry her as well.

“You can do that when we go up to the cave,” she said. “I hate seaweedy rocks, and. as you have made the offer. I shall hold you to it.”

“I’ve brought my fish bag-,’’ said Susan, “to collect shells and sea treasures. I adore exploring, and we never have been right at the back of the cave. ’ ’

Mervyn shouldered the hamper, smiling. He was the only one who found three the wrong number for a picnic. “I told the Dellingtons they might find us on the shore,” said Gay, carelessly. “They ’phoned at the last minute. Robin has rather a jolly friend staying with him—a Captain Rospayne. I met him abroad.”

“I only hope Alice Dellington won’t come,” sighed Susan. “I’m fairly sure she won’t. Sho would hate rocks and explorations and jolly fun. She adores dancing, and night-clubs, and Society. I don’t think you would care for her, Gay.” Gay laughed.

“Who knows?” she teased. “I like my friends as I like my frocks. Different ones for different occasions. Now you, Susan, belong to picknicking and the simple life; Avice to cocktail parties and the latest —er —novel. I enjoy both separately —not together.” “And I?” asked Mervyn. Sho looked up at him, her green eyes darkening in perplexity. “You are different," she replied. “I —I am not sure, but I think I should like you to share all my moods. You do me good, but I don’t know why it is. You are not a saint —but I can’t locate you with the sinners. lam making you a character study, only you don’t give me a chance. Come and dine to-night at the Court. Dad is away, but Mother will be delighted. She is really not well —at times quite ill. And I hate illness. You will come and be studied."

“Gladly," he answered, “if I may do likewise. I shall study—you." Sho twirled round, clapping her hands.

“It is not only the French who understand chivalry," she said. “I shall make you my knight, if Susan does not mind?"

Susan pretended not to have heard. She walked on a little ahead and tried very hard to think of collecting shells and paddling in the sea. She loved paddling. Perhaps Mervyn had been right in calling her a child . . . but she had . . . a woman’s heart.

Gay had brought a gorgeous tea, and, as they feasted there amongst the rocks, with the little white wavelets splashing saucily over the seaweed-cov-ered stones, their hearts were light and untroubled.

Youth is masterful in bidding dull care begone, and it was so easy to forget all but the pleasure of the nresent. Gay was not exactly truthful, as she told Mervyn how sorry her father was not to have got to know him before he went abroad.

“He’s such a slow old bear,” she declared, “and a terror about making new friends. Mother is so different. She possesses a hospitable soul —but Dad is quite the reverse. He’s like the man in Dickens’s novel always asking ‘What’s your motive?’ It was the same in France, and it’s rather trying. He suspects every young man of being after my fortune —and it is .not till he is satisfied that the poor dears have no base thoughts, but merely want to be friendly, that lie yields. Anyway he’s gone abroad—and Mum wants to be nice. You must come.”

And Mervyn accepted, though ho knew his mother would be disappointed. Mrs Cranton had said little to her son about Gay, but he knew only too well that she was regretting the—friendship.