"IN HONOUR BOUND,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 8 January 1936, Page 7

"IN HONOUR BOUND,”

BY MAY WYNNE. (Author of “Tho Marrying of Mariette,” “Henry of Navarre,” “Gwennola,” etc.)

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER NXI (Continued). He only saw the small, wistful face with its aureole of curls, the darkened eyes, eloquent in pleading, the quivering lips. And what could have withheld him.

‘ ‘ Why should I?” lie asked, questioning himself as much as her. ‘ ‘ Why . . . because I love you.” Slio turned away, but ho took the hand resting on the tabic, growing suddenly reckless. “And you, Gay,” ho asked, m spite of all tho old Bluebeard’s cupboards, you love mo?” Gay snatched away her hand, rising to her feet. Her mood was changed from shy yielding to challenge. “I don’t mean to tell you,” she defied, “till I am sure of you. I mean to test your love by asking for service. Will you stand the tost?” There was no need to repeat tho challenge, Mervyn Cranton smiled as he looked into Gay’s eyes. “Yes,” ho said, very quietly, “I shall stand the test.” Tears started to her eyes and she held out her hand. “I always w-anted a true knight,” she whispered, “and I know now I have .got one. But —it won’t be an easy test, Mervyn.” “Tho harder the better,” ho retorted. ‘ ‘ Are you going to send me to my devoir right away?” She shook her head. “Presently,” she replied, “but let us have one hour first.” They left the tea table, never remembering that tho meal was left untasted, and crossed tho lawns together. Gay did not talk much; she was not quite at her ease, whilst Mervyn was puzzling to know what reality there j was in this swiftly presented chapter of life. As they reached tho rose garden ho looked down at his companion. “Give me a red rose,” ho pleaded, and she laughed. “You know tho meaning,” she teased. “A confession of love. Well, you shall have it.” She picked a crimson rosebud and handed it to him. He took it, thorns and all, and bent, to kiss her. Gay half drew back, then laughed and yielded. “You are such a perfect knight,” slio said, “that you might have practised it all before. Was Susan the lady?” He coloured to the roots of his hair. “That’s not fair,” he replied. “Susan is the .iolliest kiddie, just like my own sister. ’ ’ “Of course,” said Gay, but the words jarred with their note of mockery. Somehow the mention of Susan’s name spoiled tho idyll, but Mervy tried hard to regain tho glamour. He did not altogether succeed and presently Gay suggested that she would have to return to the house. “I am going to give you your service first,” she said, “at least, a part of it.”

And slip held out an envelope. “It is to the bank manager at Kinsley,’ 7 she went on, hurriedly. ‘'l . , . I want a cheque cashed. It’s rather a lot of money, but it is not all mine. Part of it is Mum’s. She told me not to cash it till next week, but I must. I simply must have the money by the morning. “Will you get it for me, Mervyn? and bring it me here by ten o’clock. Promise not to tell anyone—not even your mother. Of course I shall make it all right with Mum, but she would bo furious if she knew I had disobeyed her. Will you?” CHAPTER XXII. The request came as a shock. Mervyn had expected sxich a different kind of service. lie did not quite like the hurried way in which Gay spoke, the anxiety in the green eyes. He knitted his brows. “Of course I will,” he replied, taking the envelope which was sealed. “Is that all?” he added. “It is scarcely a service, Gay, merely to go to the bank and cash a cheque.” He was not exactly suspicious, but he did not like it. Gay took out her cigarette case and lighted a cigarette. It was a habit Mervyn disapproved, though he knew nine girls out of ten smoked. Susan was the tenth! “It is quite a lot more than that,” she confessed. “Mother would be really vexed if she knew I cashed the cheque so soon. I have been extravagant. And I particularly want her to bo very nice to me. I want to bo perfectly sweet to her —before I introduce you as a fiance. As a matter of fact my hands are tied by a stupid promise.” “Could I lend you money?” asked Mervyn. “I could let you have twenty or thirty pounds.” Gay smiled. “You darling,” she replied, “but it really would be no use. Don’t forget, then! to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, here. And I have your word not to say anything about it.” “You have my word,” promised Mervyn. “I’m sure it must be all right or vou would not asked me to do it. ’ ’ ‘ 1 Of course not, ’ ’ agreed Gav. ‘ ‘ After all, your part is very small. You only have to hand the note to the manager and bring back the money. Out of debt, out of danger. Now come down and see the water-lily pool.” She was very charming during the rest of the visit, but begged Mervyn not to say anything about —caring for her, till her father came home. “He is returning earlier than wo expected,” she grimaced. “I am rather sorry, Dad is a dear, but a bit of a martinet. You will have to work the oracle, Mervyn, and do away with all Bluebeards’ cupboards. I hate mysteries and skeletons—family skeletons. I want to live in the sunshine.” She caught both his hands. “Kiss me and race me up the lawn,” she said, “then go out through the shrubbery. Ain’t I deceitful?” She came very close. “You would never forgive me, I suppose, if I were deceitful?” she asked. “You are so good.” He put his finger under her chin, looking down at her. “What’s the matter, Gay?” lie asked. She gave a little shudder.

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“I feel wicked,” she confessed “and then you won’t love me any more. That’s breaking my heart.” j “Your heart need not break then,” Mervyn replied, quietly. “True love does not behave like that. Smile, Gay —before we race.” She smiled radiantly, but there was real regret in her heart as she turned away. How chivalrous he was, and vet—and yet—“l must have Dickie,” sho thought, as sho smiled up at her eager lover. “I won’t count tho cost.” But deep in her heart she knew, whether counted or not, someone had to pay. As they reached the terrace path Mervyn, looking up, saw Lady Prixell watching them from tho 'open drawingroom window. And her ladyship did not look pleased! Gay had seen her mother too. “Bother,” she said. “Now for a run! Be a perfect lamb and go out and round to the front drive by way of that gate. I will explain why you were here. Don’t forget—to-morrow.” “Is it likely?” ho asked. “I shan’t live till to-morrow comes.” But the words were stereotyped, and, as he walked home, he was half vexed to think how he had exaggerated. Gay climbed tho veranda steps and entered tho drawing-room without her usual bravado. Lady Frixell was thoroughly annoyed. That is how she would have expressed it. “I hear from Cerise that you havd had young Cranton to tea,” sho said. Gay sighed. “Yes,” she confessed. “I suppose Cerise tittle-tattled because there was a mistake, and he got shown into your boudoir instead of mine. Of course he ought to have been brought along to the morning-room where I was waiting. ’ ’ Lady Frixell grew quite pink with vexation. “I never heard of such a thing,” she said, “the idea of showing him up to my boudoir. You know perfectly well no one is allowed in there, and all my correspondence, my cheque and account books, all my business is lying about on the desk. I forgot to close it when I went out.” “It was not ray fault.” said Gay. “Cerise could not have heard. I did at first suggest Mervyn coming up to my own boudoir, but Cerise looked so shocked that I changed my mind and probably did not make things clear. Sorry, Mums, but I don’t for one moment think Mervyn will have been looking at your private correspondence! ’ ’

“One would never have supposed,” retorted her mother, coldly, “that Alys would have stolen valuable jewellery. I believe firmly in the taint of heredity. ’ ’ Gay stretched her arms lazily over her head.

“Well, it’s useless to argue,” she yawned. “Mervyn was only in your boudoir a few minutes, so he could not have contemplated or carried out any heinous crime. He is a dear boy, but not quite at his best to-day. He seemed worried and bothered. I expect that foot still hurts him. Anyway he is going to London soon to start his doctoring and I shall see him no-more.” “I am very glad of it too,” retorted her mother. “You know how extremely firm your father is about having nothing to do with the Crantons. It was sheer disobedience on your part to encourage the young man.” “Well, it is finis to the chapter,” laughed Gay. “Out of sight, out of mind. I shall be glad when we go to London for a fling.” She slipped away with some careless excuse, but, once in her own room, her smiling unconcern was exchanged for an expression not unlike fear. “I’ve burned my boats,” she whispered. “It’s too late to draw back now. But . . . oh dear! if only there had been some other way. If only Dickie had not been in quite such a desperate hole. But it can’t be helped. Kismet! And, after all, the money will all be mine one day. I shall never, never want it so much as I do to-dav.”

She sat by the open window, arguing with herself. Thinking of the man who had stolen her heart, a- year ago at that Battle of Flowers in France. She loved him . . . she loved him . . . and to save him she was prepared to destroy the man who, a short time since, she had called her “perfect knight.” CHAPTER XXIII.

“'What ages you have been,” said Gay, crossly. She looked very pale, and her eyes were ringed by dark shadows as though she had not slept. Mervyn was unbuttoning his coat. He took out a sealed envelope and handed it to her.

“Sorry,” he said, briefly, “but the cashier wished me to wait till the manager came along. They seemed to hesitate at first about your mother’s cheque, but I suppose it was all right, for after a question or two they gave me the cash. Of course I had had no idea it was for such a colossal amount.” Gay shrugged her shoulders.

“Three hundred pounds isn’t a fortune,” she retorted. “It isn’t much more than the price of my new horse. Don't look so solemn. Mervyn. and thank you tremendously. I shall give you a hiss for your pains.” And she tiptoed to bestow it.

But Mervyn was not quite the adoring lover this morning, though the rose garden was more enchanting than ever in the early sunshine, and Gay a queen rose, amongst her subjects.

Yet there was a forced note in her change of mood. The anxiety had not altogether ceased to haunt those green eves. She almost blundered in her fas' cination bv overdoing it. “You are a knight without reproach,” she said, “and I shall not forget the reward. Only it happens that Dad has sent to let us know he will bo home the day after to-morrow. We could have done without him for a bit longer, but I shan’t let him suspect he is de t.ron. He likes to be potted and fussed. And now, what are you going to do? Shall we go for a swim later on?”