FALSE LOVE AND TRUE

Waikato Times, Volume 124, Issue 20784, 19 April 1939, Page 11

FALSE LOVE AND TRUE

SERIAL STORY

By MARGARET GLENN

A Love Story of Outstanding Charm

CHAPTER VIII. The wire that came on the Saturday morning worried Edna. It was brief, which was natural enough, and it should have been satisfying, hut she felt, vaguely, there was something not genuine about it. It read: “WIPED TO COME BUT CAN'T MANAGE. VERE.” •John had seen the telegraph boy riding along the path leading to the house. Edna knew he was at the window, and went upstairs. John smiled, but she fancied he, too, was worried. "I’d like someone to —to—keep an eve on him." she said. John Malleson pursed his lips. He cursed his own uselessness, then, mere than he had ever done. Yere wanted a guiding hand badly. But it must be someone whom the lad knew and trusted.

“I think.’’ said John, "that it’ll be best to let him go bis own way, my dear, it’s not wise to interfere. He'll get through.” Edna nodded.

Her worries were forced into the back of her mind, that day. however. A morning pupil, trying to do tpo much, had a tumble from one of the hacks, and Oaklands was Hurried while he was bathed and bandaged, and. finally helped into his car. Martin Wingate was inclined to scoff. "It served him right.' 'he said. “He can't ride much better than he can mount, and T have to pick him up and sit him on every time."

"That's all very well.” said Rene. "But it won't do us any good if he’s seriously hurt.” "Seriously hurt and tTddlesticks," said Martin. But he could see Rene was worried. and he set. himself to dispel her fears. Boh Pierce came, immediately after lunch, with his nieces, and half a dozen other would-be riders followed him. The time went swiftly, all hough towards four o'clock it dragged a little for Edna. The sound of a high-powered car on the narrow lane leading to the house made her walk towards the gate, just before four, but slic knew who it. was before she could see him. Per John called out from the window; he eould see from there. "You'd better not bring it, any further. Brent. Too big for the corner.” Malcolm Brent waved towards the invalid, stopped the car and climbed out. Edna shook hands with him, smiling with genuine pleasure. "■How's everybody?” he asked, as they walked upstairs. "Rene's busier than ever,” said Edna. ‘‘l'm glad,” said Brent, simply. He chuckled. "Is Wingate still here.” “Busy, too,” laughed Edna. They entered John’s room, and talked generally for a while. Not until Edna talked of getting tea did Brent say: “I’ve been wondering, Mrs Malleson, if you could And room for Janey here, for a month or two.” "Janey?” Edna had a sudden vision of the angular housekeeper, the one servant at the Manor whom she had been really gTieved to lose. "But why?”

“She’s restless,” Brent smiled, “and I think a holiday here would please her more than anything else. I can manage quite easily without her.” Edna was uncertain, but she could do no more than say: “Of course, if you can really manage.”

'Brent was pleased at the success of his ruse. He still felt, absurd though it was, guilty at having taken the Mallesons’ home from them. There was little enough he could do to help them, without risking an injury to their pride, and the idea of giving Janey a holiday had seemed providential. Janey was a housekeeper in a thousand, but she made no bones about wishing she was with the Mallesons.

“How’s Vere?” he asked, as Edna went out.

John looked thoughtful, and a little worried.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “He hasn’t been home for a month now, and—”

His shrug was eloquent. Brent nodded.

“I must spend a week or two in town,” he said, half suggestively. "I could look him up.”

“I wish you would,’ said Malleson. “How old is he?” asked Brent, casually.

" Nineteen.” Malleson laughed, ruefully. "And there are times when he's more like twenty-nine.” The voices of Rene and Martin sailed into the sick-room at that moment. Martin was scoffing, Rene protesting something. laughingly. There was a smile in Malleson's eyes as he listened.

“She’s happy,” he said. ‘There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be,” said Brent. Malleson looked at his friend closely. There had seemed something behind the words, but Brent’s smile was as pleasant as ever, and the invalid decided he was mistaken. Mistaken—

Brent did not run straight down to the main road after leaving Oaklands that evening. He walked along the lane until he reached Wingate's house. Wingate was reading when Mason ushered Brent into the small sitting-room. His face darkened when he saw the visitor. He had seen Brent that afternoon, of course, but they had had no opportunity to talk privately. Wingate had half expected this call.

Brent’s smile was friendly but there was a seriousness in it that would have surprised the Mallesons. He lost no time in preamble. Bluntly: “Is is fair to—to Rene?" he asked. Wingate had stood up. Ho looked out of the window, across the darkening countryside, and the older man's heart went out towards him. But Wingate had a battle of his own to fight, and Brent knew lie could not help him with it. The muscles of the younger man's face work('d. The shadows Rene had once seen, and which she hoped were gone for pver, were there now. There was something savage in his voice as he said : “No. Of course it's not. Once the summer's finished. I'll go." "You'll fell her 1 " Wingate faced the other squarely. "No." he said. "I'll just drop out. It's th-e devil, hut. thpre's no need to make it worse, for her.”

Brent shook his head. "No," he said, softly, almost mus- | ingly. "l think that’s the best way. j But—don’t hurt her too much.” j There was storm in Wingate's eyes. I His lean Angers were clenching and 1 unclenching. His lips barely parted. 1 "Why the devil must you inter- j fore ?" He faced -Brent squarely and * the semi-darkness emphasised the j lines of each man's face, the one , calm, the other storm-swept. l T can ! handle it my own way, to save her J most ” "You need not have started,” said j Brent. It was not a reproach. It ; was a simple statement, and there w-as j a wealth of kindliness and understand- ; ir<g in his tones. “I just wanted to ' make sure, Wingate.”

The younger man was silent for a moment. His eyes searched Brent's. He saw something there that he had believed was present before. He knew, suddenly, that there was a bond between himself and Brent, a strong one that would help towards a mutual understanding. He said: "That’s all right. Thanks.”

Brent left the house, wondering whether he had been wise to seek that, interview. He knew Wingate, and had known him casually for several years. He knew the secret of the shadows in his eyes. And, he told himself, he knew Wingate well enough to trust him with Rene.

Malcolm Brent, was very anxious that Rene Malleson should not suffer. He went to London on the following Monday, and looked Vere up in the evening. It was a night when Iris Arden was engaged on something that. Vere could not share.

Brent knew, without being told, there was something on Vere's mind. He wondered who the girl was, and told himself it, would be difficult but not. impossible to And out. He led the talk around towards Vere’s work at the World.

They had left Vere’s two rooms in Bloomsbury, and were dining at Frascatti's. Brent had suggested a show, afterwards, and Vere had assented, without much enthusiasm. But he, like Rene and Edna, had come to look on Malcolm Brent as a friend of the family, solid, trustworthy, sincere. It would be* impossible to refuse his suggested dinner and show, that night. "I’ve often thought,” Brent said, "that the World might And something of interest in rubber planting.” "Yes?” Vere’s eyes quickened. He was eager to discuss work, anxious to succeed.

"The different aspects don’t always get revealed,” said Brent ‘The handling of the natives might give your people an interesting psychological view-point.

"It’s more than likely,” Vere said. He was genuinely interested, Brent knew. "Why not come , along and see my chief? Augustus Brinelle. He’s always looking for something new,” "When?” asked Brent promptly, "Any time,” said Vere.

He did not realise that Brent had angled for that invitation. The older man, in search for the girl who had influenced Vere so much, realised the office might yield a discovery. Vere was not the type to make a casual acquaintance. He was reserved, and his quietness and sober looks would scare any girl from making promiscuous advances.

They enjoyed the show that evening. although towards the end Vere. realising Brent and Iris Arden would probably meet, was worried, and his enjoyment was spoiled. There was no reason why Brent shouldn’t see Iris, of course. No one, not even Brinelle, knew they met outside the office. It was Iris "who admitted Brent at the office next morning. He needed nothing more than the expression on Vere’s face as he looked towards her, to know who the girl w j as. Of course, she had fascinated him, Brent knew. Vere had no chance against her, and he was unable to realise that it was with her, a game for her amusement; with him, Vere’s happiness as the price of it.

Brent was worried, more worried than he admitted, even to himself. With a different girl, money might have talked. He judged, shrewdly, that if he offered her money to leave | Vere to himself, she would refuse it ' with a laugh, and set herself with j that cruel pleasure to break him. She : was toying with him; would she break I him? 1 All these things Brent thought, as j he talked with Augustus Brinelle and saw, from time to time, the covert ; glances of devotion from Vere to , the girl. Rene would suffer. Vere would ! suffer. Edna, because of John, was suffering. CHAPTER IX. The riding school still had its patrons, but they were not so numerous in the winter, and they did not stay so long. But it more than paid for' the upkeep of the horses, and Rene was optimistic, justly so. She was worried, too. Martin Wingate dropped gradually hack into those black moods she had seen at Arst. There was a softer edge to his tongue, but ue was touchy, quick-tempered and, what was worse, : uncommunicative. She tried once j or twice to make him talk. "My dear girl,” Martin said, with bis lips twisting wryly, "you’ve enough on your haners without worrying about me. Don’t.” Rene, that day, left him quickly, and went to her room. She remembered how Gregory j Davis's shallowness had overwhelmed her. But there was something dif- , ferent now. The hurt was deeper. 1 By act and inference. Martin had told • her he loved her. but no word had over passed his lips. The bittersweet days she had with him were half forgotten. Drily the bitterness remained. ‘His face. lean. strong, browned, was graven on her heart and on her mind. She eould see him wherever she went, she could hear his voire. s<utio!im**s raised in laughter. but more often with the twisted irony that soemed to curse him. Was the bitter, soured man whom she saw more often, now. the real Martin? Or was it. a surface for the laughing, thouchtful man she had known during the summer? i (To be continued)