THE MASTER OF ENNISDALE

Waikato Times, Volume 123, Issue 20639, 28 October 1938, Page 10

THE MASTER OF ENNISDALE

BY MRS C. N. WILLIAMSON. Author of "The Lightning Conductor"

CHAPTER Xll—(Continued

London frightened her as much as it fascinated her, now that she was thrown into its inidst, homeless, friendless, and forced to earn her own livelihood. The agents to whom she applied for positions as teacher or governess looked at her in surprise,

and said that she seemed very young; they feared that there might be difficulties. No doubt she was accomplished, but her extreme youth, and lack of experience (they did not say her striking appearance, but they all thought it) might make parents hesitate to trust her with children. However, they would do their best, and something might be found. Her name and address was perfunctorily put down in several official looking books, already well-filled with the names of

others, perhaps better qualified, who had come before her, and Winifred went away, trying desperately not to

be discouraged. But her money would not last long; London was a mighty place; and there were a great many girls in it who seemed to be wanting situations, which they could not get.

It was very pleasant, after this first depressing experience, to lunch at a delightful restaurant with John Adams, who said nothing about love, except with his eyes, who sympathised wonderfully well for a man, and gave her exactly the things that girls liked; plenty of sweets an dice, and strawberries, while soft music played, and

everybody round them looked for lunate and happy.

John took her to the theatre, too; Miss Arnold’s distant cousin, Winifred's landlady, thought, when her advice was asked, that the girl might go with "such an old friend of her father’s and her own as Dr Adams;” and Winifred h.yi a heavenly evening. It was years since she had been taken to the theatre before.

Next day, after the agents had once more been vainly interviewed, John suggested lunching again, and going to the National Gallery. Afterwards, they drove in the Park; and that night, John was clever enough to bid her goodbye. He must go back to his work, which had been left in the hands of a colleague for his three days’ absence. But he did not repeat his proposal, and ask if she could make up her mind to marry him. He meant to wait for a few weeks at least, until the girl was thoroughly discouraged and weary, before bringing up that subject Xpr the second time. And he was right, for Wiinfred massed him dreadfully when he was gone.

Miss Forest's boarding-house, in a dingy side street of Bloomsbury, was only for women; and most of her guests were elderly, poor and preoccupied. Some of them were jealous of Winifred’s fresh loveliness, which seemed to make her a thing apart from their grey lives; no one had much time to think about her; and the agents never had any good news to give. By and by she grew ashamed to call and bother them, it

seemed so hopeless, and by the landlady’s advice she answered advertisements instead, a dozen advertisements on an average each day, cut from vari-

ous daily and weekly papers. She had some replies, of course, but though a few seemed promising at Itrst, all turned out on further examination to be impossible. The girl had even some disagreeable adventures in her ceaseless efforts to find employment; and every week there was a serious diminishing of her little fund.

With failing hope, health began to fail as well. She lost her appetite and colour, and sometimes could not sleep at night for thinking of her loneliness and disappointments. Life pressed hardly upon the girl; and then John Adams—who had given her time to wonder whether he had not forgotten his heart's desire—wrote to ask whether she were ready now to give him her answer.

'He WTote a really good love-letter—-the very ITrst which Winifred had ever received; for John had not spoken to her of his love except on that one day, when he had begun to propose so abruptly and surprisingly in the railway station. All girls like to know that they are lovable and loved, and the things that John Adams said pleased Winifred very much. After all her humiliations, all her disappointments, and just when she had come to think that she was superfluous in the big, indifferent, busy world, it was reviving to be told by a very good fellow that she was the most beautiful, desirable girl on earth, that he adored her, and found life hardly worth living without her by his side.

She remembered the delightful hours she had had with this good friend, and told herself that all the bits of happiness she had known since her adopted father’s death had come to her from John.

“Perhaps, after all, this is being in love,” she said to herself doubtfully, with his burning letter in her hand.

"I do love him—of course I do. Father would want me to say yes. Why not? Oh, I will. I’ll write him a letter, and tell him that I care a great deal, and I will marry him if he really wishes it so much.”

The letter had come by the last post of the evening, and when the girl had read it over four or five times, and thought about it in between, she began an answer: "My dear John,” she wrote; and then she stopped to wonder why it was she could not call him "Jack,” as he had once asked her to do. She could not make him seem "Jack,” and she did not like the name of John.

Somehow the letter would not quite let itself get written. Winifred was afraid of saying too much or too little. She would write the first thing to-morrow, when her mind felt fresh and clear. For to-night it was enough just to have decided to accept, for—she assured herself—she had decided to do that. Her first morning thought was of her letter from John Adams, and the one she must write to him. "Why, it’s almost as- if 1 were engaged already,” she said. "I suppose I will be engaged when he gets my letter, so it is the same thing now.” She tried to think that she was very happy, but something seemed lacking to her mood. The thought "I am engaged to be married” was set to music curiously out of tune, as if a string of the instrument was broken or missing.

"Perhaps I shall feel better when the letter is really finished, and off my mind,” she reilected anxiously. So after breakfast, which she* could scarcely touch, she went directly up the three steep flights of stairs to her little top floor, back bedroom, instead of waiting to search the advertising columns of the two daily papers which Miss Forest took in. There was no necessity to look at advertisements for governesses or companions

"Wanted ’ now, and she knew that she ought to be thankful that this was the case. She was tired of el mbing other people’s stairs. John would give her a dear little old-fashioneJ house of her own. which would be "home.” He had told her all about it in the letter. Why did she not feel more enchanted with the prospect?

This time Winifred would not let herself be conquered by her mood. She sat down, and ha\ing conscientiously read Joan’s love letter once more, with equal conscientiousness she answered it. She told him that he was very good, and she was sure she was grateful, and hoped that she was In love. She had had time enough to make up her mind now, and she thanked him for giving it to her. She would marry him, since he seemed really to wish it still, and to think that she was old enough for so much responsibility. She would try to make him happy, and she was his "affectionately and gratefully, Winifred.” The girl hoped that this letter would please him, though she was dimly doubtful of its being quite the right answer to a "real love letter,” like his. Still, it was the best she could do, somehow, so she sealed it up, and running down all the long otairs again, slipped it into the glassfronted box in the hall, which was emptied by the "man-servant” of the establishment three times a day.

When it was in, she realised that the first collection of letters must have been made, and hers would have gone sooner if she had taken it out to the nearest post-office. But after all it did not matter so very much. It was not worth asking Miss Forest for the key, and getting the letter out again. Like most landladies of boarding houses, Miss Forest was interested in her guest’s affairs, especially in those of Winifred Amherst, and if the girl showed eagerness to get Dr. Adams’s letter posted quickly, Miss Forest would not be above teasing her. She felt that she could not lay herself open to that ordeal, so she went upstairs for the second time, and left the letter where it was, luckily with the address turned to the wall.

But she could not rest in her grim little roorh. There was no particular incentive for going out this

morning, as it no longer mattered to her whether Hie agents had anything , to offer or not. John was-certain to | insist upon having the marriage soon, and it was useless now to seek a temporary post. Soon, she was to have a permanent place: her whole life was cut out for her by that letter lying down there behind the glass pane of the post-box. Still, her thoughts seemed to fill the ugly room, and make it too full for her to remain there with them. She must go out and breathe the fresh air, and have the beautiful out-of-door world to think in. (To he continued)