FETTERED LOVE

Waikato Times, Volume 102, Issue 17133, 21 June 1927, Page 3

FETTERED LOVE

All Rights Reserved. The National Press Agency, Ltd

By MADGE BARLOW.

Author of “Love Finds a Way,” “Flynn ’o the Hill,” “A Fight With Fate," “His Dear Irish Girl,” “Love’s Tangle,” etc.

“That’s the bone of contention!” cried Moira. “Oh, you are worse than silly, you are wicked. Mr Pakenham is too true a gentleman to flaunt his superiority.” “Oblige me by not talking about him,” said Pen, her mouth settling into lines of obstinacy. "I’ve posted on ultimatum to Hugh. Unless he is more submissive in future, I’ve no further use for him.” “He couldn’t be more submissive if he were a tame mouse,” Moira retorted. A flash of Miss O’Mahoney’s eye warned her to desist. “Sorry,” she murmured. “1 have no call to interfere.” “You haven’t,” Miss O’Mahoney replied, shortly. “And you’ll add to the mischief. There’s a lot of the pig in us Irish. We may be led—with a ring through the nose—but we can’t be klhruv.’ And you know,” she_ went on, puffing gloomily, “I refrain from poking a finger into your pic. I don’t care a jam whether you are here merely for a holiday, as Miss Gilfillan confided to my sceptical ear, or whether you have deep designs on Kenneth.” “I—l think you are horrid,” Moira stammered. “Of course. The minute I touch you on the raw you squirm. I‘vc got feelings, too. Leave Hugh to mo, and manage your own man, -whoever he may be.” She threw the cigarette away, jumped up, and gave Moira a bear’s hug. "Now am I horrid? Scat! Never be thin-skinned. Life hurts if one hasn’t a rhinoceros hide. Will you'come, or is the agreement null and void?” “Certainly, I’ll come.” Moira could not look huffy, so soothing were the blandishments of Miss O'Mahoney. She lingered at Foxgrove until the waning light reminded her of the miles she had to travel, and quitted it carrying a parcel of typewritten MSS. Pen. had thrust upon her. Entering Brady’s Town she dismounted and wheeled the bicycle through the streets, Katie having omitted to fix the lamp to the machine. A fair had been held this day, and jobbers and live stock swarmed over the place. Bacon dominated the town it had rendered prosperous. Salters in their blue flannel smocks were everywhere. An ancient thatched tavern bore the sign of the Pig in Clover. The modern hotel several doors below it in Main Street was named The Flitch. Brady’s Town being on the beaten tnftk of the summer tourist, the hotel was full, and brilliantly lit unblinded windows afforded a comprehensive view of the ornate interior. As Moira passed, gazing straight ahead to avoid the stares of a group of flashilydressed men talking and smirking in the porch of The Flitch, she missed seeing a man signal to her from a window of the coffee-room. He was ready to go out, hatted and gloved, stick in hand, and the moment he sighted her he tried to attract her attention. Failing, he hurried to the hall, thence to the street, but the porch loungers obstructed his passage, and ere tic gained the pavement she had disappeared. He ran after her. At the foot of Main Street Moira risked mounting her wheel, and rode leisurely homeward. In the dim twilight of the lonely country road she heard, dismayed, the thud-thud of her pursuer, his voice shouting to her to stop. Visions of drunken jobbers and t bloodthirsty tramps appalled her. She was putting on speed when the man caught up to her, threw his arms around her, and swung her off her seat. The bicycle toppled over in the middle of the road. Uttering an explanation, of alarm, Moira wrenched herself free, and turned, to look into the lowering face of Glen Farquahar.

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS. Glen Farguahar, a clerk in the Universal Providers Stores, has used the firm’s money to the extent of fTve hundred pounds, and is given in charge of the police. Mr Carrick, the senior partner in the firm, to whom Moira offers the five hundred pounds if he will forgive Farquahar. Moira Talbot, a pretty typist in the same firm, and engaged to Farquahar, unexpectedly hears that an old friend of her father’s has died and left money and property to his nephew on condition that he either marries Moira after she has spent six months at his home or is refused by her, in which case Moira is to receive five hundred pounds. On arriving at Sunrise, the uncle’s estate in Ireland, Moira is warmly welcomed ,by Miss Gilfillan, she quickly discovers that in Sybil she has a dangerous enemy. For on leaning over a high verandah one afternoon Sybil cannot resist the opportunity and temptation of injuring her rival, so stealthily and unseen she creeps behind, and Moira disappears. Belinda Gilfillan, who keeps house for her nephew. She expresses a hope that Moira will make Kenneth love her, so that he might give up Sybil Marsh, the daughter of the local doctor, who, infuriated at the terms of the will, admits she will kill Moira if she should attempt to steal her lover. Kenneth Gilfillan, who looks upon Moira as a schcoming petticoat, and refuses to be introduced to her. CHAPTER X.— (Continued). “Hoity-toity 1 Bribes! I wonder at you talkin’ like that, and you here to win the whole place and Kenneth if -you're able.” “But I don’t love your much-hunt-ed nephew.” “Love will come later.” “Never to me. He is less captivating than you think.” “His first kiss will teach you different.” “Perhaps there’ll be neither first nor last.” “Girl, are you shirkin’ your bargain, passin’ Kenneth by for the sake of Gerry Lalor?” Belinda shrilled. Moira glanced at the agitated old woman, and her eyes were dark and sombre with self-scorn as she answered: ‘Tvc no use for Gerry, and I have for Kenneth Gilfillan. The day he proposes to me will be the proudest of my life.” Belinda whimpered a little, and Ijaid her head on the young shoulder. “I ask your pardon. I ought to know Dick Talbot’s daughter couldn’t go back on her sacred word.” “Her sacred word,” echoed Moira. “No she couldn’t. It would be her shame if she did. When you understand all about that word of hers you shouldn’t blame her.” “Wear the clothes I bought for you,” #iid Belinda. “Next to beauty, dress is a power.” Moira’s foot tapped the carpet irresolutely. “If 1 do, they’ll be my own purchase to the last penny. I’ll earn ten guineas and give it to you.” A strenuous thinking-bout resulted, in Moira borrowing Katie Blake’s bicycle and riding in the cool of the evening to Miss O’Mahoncy’s mansion, a quarter of a mile beyond Brady’s Town. She found Pen dishevelled and distracted, composing a speech for a meeting of the local suffragettes. Perching on the littered table, Moira sniffed a bowl of roses, and said it was a lovely evening. Miss O’Mahoney said “Is it?” and tapped her front teeth with a lead pencil. “Delicious,” Moira enthused. “And I rode a bike over to ease my mind of the most delicious idea. Evidently I’ve arrived at what novelists call the crucial moment. Don’t you need a secretary?” Pen rolled her eyes and struggled for speech. “’Cos if you does I’m It,” drolly surveying' her inky friend. “I type, I write shorthand, I believe I could concoct a speech at a pinch. I’d put lots of ginger into it. Mr Pakenham’s wouldn’t be a patch on mine. Say you’ll hire my services. I’m in straits for ten golden guineas. It’s a debt. I’ll tell no more.” Miss O’Mahoney’s eyes ceased to roll. They remained stationary, fastened on Moira’s dimpling face. “Would you come two hours a day for fifteen shillings a week?” she asked hoarsely. “I would. I’ll start to-morrow.” “From ten' till twelve each forenoon?’’ “That will suit nicely. Got a type- ; writer?” "Yes. Hugh worked it, but lie has left me shamefully in the lurch since that evening at Sunrise. lie was my unpaid amanuensis; lie knows I tie-, pend on him for help, and he deserts j me, imagining I’ll send for him. I j just won’t. I’m engaging you to spile him.” j “Candour deserves candour,” laugh- ; ed Moira. “I fanced there would be j rather a serious rift in the lute, owing to your shocking bad manners on the occasion referred to, and I’d have time , to earn the guineas before you got it plastered up.” “The blame : s entirely his,’ said Pen, making icious lunge with the ! pencil at a big bluebottle intent an sampling the roses. “I’ll punish him. I’ll let you sit behind me on platforms and prompt me.” "Er—thank you.” “I wouldn’t let anybody but you, Moira. Isn’t Hugh a beast to serve me so?” “He is not.” “He was, to take that odious Mrs McQuarry’s part against me.” “Not if he loved you, Pen, and thought it right.” “Pooh! Love doesn’t give him the rigid to cross me.” “It does, for your good, when you reciprocate his love.” , “But I don’t.” “Probably you only think you don’t.” Miss O’Mahoney grimmaced, and reached for her cigarette-case. “I admire your nerve, young ’un, to cheek your employer. Do you mind my smoking? No? Hugh is perfectly nasty about it. Besides being a crosspatch, lie’s a Puritanical person. The fact is, Pakenham’s an aristocrat and 'l’m a plcbeiun,- ms order wants to rule and mine hates to be ruled. Every time ‘he finds fault I say to myself ho does it !o show his superiority because lie has ancestors, and my paternal grandparent was a common sailer in Ihe bacon-curing business he eventually owned.’*

(To be Continued To-morrow.)