The Hillman

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 174, 13 October 1927, Page 14

The Hillman

By

E.PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS Chapters 1 and 2. —Louise finds that she, her maid and chaffeur, are stranded on the Cumberland Hills. The car has broken down. The Hillman comes to their aid. He escorts them to his home John Strangewey introduces Louise to his elder brother, Stephen. The family have a keen dislike to the fair sex, and it is years since a woman crossed the threshold Stephen's welcome is hostile. In the large old-fashioned bedroom Louise notes the family tree. The name Strangewey sounds familiar. At the foot of the stairs John meets her In evening dress. Louise adapts herself, and does justice to the formidable meal. Stephen announces that they are haters of her sex, and enters into some family particulars to justify this attitude. The family portraits are examined. At ten o’clock she bids them goodnight.

Chapters 3 and 4. —Louise finds her maid Aline, on awakening the next morning. She partakes of an ample breakfast. Aline recollects that the reason why the name of Strangewey seemed familiar was because a farmer of that name in the north of England had had a vast fortune left to him from a relative in Australia. Louise joins John, who shows her the beauties of the place They visit the? churchyard. Stephen joins them with the intimation that her car is ready. He then walks away. John and Louise discuss some of the deeper problems of life, and Louise declares she has something to say to him.

Chapters 4 (continued), !> and 6. —John and Louise discuss the laws of life, and she tries to make him see her viewpoint. She finds he is the Stangewey who has inherited that large fortune. He promises her that, if the call to a wider life comes, he will obey It. The Prince ol' Seyre arrives in his car, seeking Louise. She regrets that she cannot accompany him, as Henri Graillot earnestly demands her presence in London. The Prince gives John Strangewey a courteous invitation to the shooting. The party leaves for Kendal to catch the express for London. Three months later John Is confronted by Stephen, who asks his brother whether he is thinking of that woman yet. He points out that she is an actress in doubtful plays. John denies that there is anything wrong, and hurls buck the insults that Stephen heaps upon Louise.

Chapters 6 (continued), 7 and B. —ln anger John leaves his brother, and, seeking solitude, reviews his position. He drives into Market Ketton, puts his trap into the hands of a man to take back to Peak Hall. Then he flings himself into a train and goes straight to London. There in an undress rehearsal in progress on the stage. Graillot and his English friends disagree as to what is best suited to an English audience. They go through the first act, and then proceed to the third. Louise notices a figure. It is John Hlrangewey. She introduces him to the company. Miles Faraday takes him to a seat at the back of the stage, and the pi ;y proceeds. Afterwards the Prince of Hey re eonversee with Strangeway. Louise tabes John to the Carlton. She says she is glad he has come to London. He says that he has come to be near her. Strangew»y is not impressed by the people he se** at the Carlton.

CHAPTER XJJ. “We’ve enjoyed our supper,” Louise whispered, us they passed down the room. “The whole evening has been delightful.” "May I drive you home alone?” he asked bluntly“l am afraid we can’t desert Sophy,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. “She nearly always goes home with me. You see, although she seems quite a frivolous little person, she is really very

useful to me—keeps my accounts, and all that sort of thing.” “And does her best,” Sophy joined in, “to protect you against your ruinously extravagant habits!”

Louise laughed. They were standing in the little hall, and the commissionaire was blowing his whistle for a taxi. “I won’t be scolded to-night,” she declared. “Come, you shall both of you drive home with me, and then Mr. Strangewey can drop you at your rooms on his way back.” Sophy made a little grimace and glanced up at John anxiously. He was looking very big and very grim. “Shall you mind that?” she asked. “I will try to bear it cheerfully,” he promised, smiling, as he handed them into the cab. As they drove from Luigi’s to Knightsbridge, Louise leaned back in her corner. Although her eyes were only half closed, there was an air of aloofness about her, an obvious lack of desire for conversation, which the others found themselves instinctively respecting. Even Sophy’s light-hearted chatter seemed to have deserted her, somewhat to John’s relief. He sat back in his place, his eyes fixed upon Louise. He was so anxious to understand her in all her moods and vagaries. He was forced to admit to himself that she had deliberately chosen not to take any portion of that drive home alone with him. And yet, as he looked back through the evening, he told himself that he was satisfied. He declined to feel even a shadow of discouragement. After a time he withdrew his eyes from her face and looked out upon the human panorama through which they were passing. Presently Sophy began to talk, and Louise, too, roused herself. “I am only just beginning to realise,” the latter said, “that you are actually in London.”

“When I leave you,” he replied, “I, too, shall find it hard to believe that we have actually met again and talked. There seems to be so much that I have to say,” he added, looking at her closely, “and I have said nothing.” “There is plenty of time,” she told him, and once more the signs of that slight nervousness were apparent in

her manner. “There are weeks and months ahead of us.”

“When shall I see you again?” he asked.

“Whenever you like. There- are no rehearsals for a day or two. Ring me up on the telephone—you will find any number irt the book—or come and lunch with me to-morrow, if you like.”

“Thank you,” he answered; “that is just what I should like- At what time?” “Half-past one. I will not ask either of you to come in now. You can come down to-morrow morning and get the books, Sophy. I think I am tired—tired,” she added, with a curious little note of self-pity in her tone. “I am very glad to have seen you again, Mr. Strangewey,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “GJood-night! ” He helped her out, rang the bell, and watched her vanish through the swiftly opened door. Then he stepped back into the taxicab. Sophy retreated into the corner to make room for him. “You are going to take me home, are you not?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied, his eyes still fixed with a shade of regret upon the closed door of Louise’s little house.

“No. 10, Southampton Street,” he told the driver. “Are you really in love with Louise?” she inquired, with something of his own directness.

He answered her with perfect seriousness.

"I believe so,” he admitted, “but I should not like to say that I am absolutely certain. I have come here to find out.”

Sophy suddenly rocked with laughter.

“You are the dearest, queerest madman I have ever met!” she exclaimed, holding tightly to his arm. “You sit there with a face as long as a fiddle, wondering whether you are in love with a girl or not! Well, I am not going to ask you anything more. Tell me, are you tired?” “Not a bit,” he declared. “I never had such a ripping evening in my life.” She held his arm a little tighter. She was the old Sophy again, full of life and gaiety. “Let’s go to the Aldwych,” she suggested, “and see the dancing. We can just have something to drink. We needn't have any more supper.” “Rather!” he assented readily. “But where is it, and what is it?” “Just a. supper club,” she told him. “Tell th€> man No. 19 Kean Street. What fun! I haven’t been there for weeks.” “What about my clothes?” he asked. “You’ll be all right,” she assured him. “You're quits a nice-looking person, and the manager is a friend of mine. Tho cab stopped a few minutes later outside what seemed to be a private house except for the presence of a commissionaire upon the pavement. The door was opened at once, and John was relieved of his hat and stick by a cloak-room attendant. Sophy wrote his name in a book, and they were ushered by the manager, who had come forward to greet them, into a long room, brilliantly lit, and filled, except in the centre, with supper tables. They selected one near the wall and close to the open space in which, at the present moment, a man and a woman were dancing. The floor was of hardwood, and there was a little raised platform for the orchestra. John looked around him wonderingly. The popping of champagne corks was almost incessant. A slightly voluptuous atmosphere of cigarette smoke, mingled with the perfumes shaken from the clothes and hair of the women, several more of whom were now dancing, hung about the place. A girl in fancy dress was passing a great basket of flowers from table to table. “Tell me,” he begged, as he looked

around him, “who are these girls? They look so pretty and well dressed, and yet amazingly young to be out at this time of night.” “Mostly actresses,” she replied, “and musical comedy girls. I was in musical comedy myself before Louise rescued me.” “Did you like it?”

“I liked it all right,” she admitted, “but I left it because I wasn’t doing any good. I can dance pretty weli, but I have no voice, so there didn’t seem to be any chance of my getting out of the chorus; and one can’t even pretend to live on the salary they pay you, unless one has a part.” “But these girls who are here tonight?” “They are with their friends, of course.” she told him. “I suppose, if it hadn’t been for Louise, I should have been here, too—with a friend.”

“I should like to see you dance,” he remarked, in a hurry to change the conversation.

‘Til dance to you some day in your rooms, if you like,” she promised. “Or would you like me to dance here? There is a man opposite wlio wants me to. Would you rather I didn’t? I want to do just which would please you most.” “Dance, by all means,” he insisted. “I should like to watch you.” She nodded, and a minute or two later she had joined the small crowd in the centre of the room, clasped in the arms of a very immaculate young man who had risen and bowed to her from a table opposite. John leaned back in his place and watched her admiringly. Her feet scarcely touched the ground. She never once glanced at or spoke; to her partner, but every time she passed the corner where John was sitting she looked at him and smiled. He, for his part, watched her no

longer with pleasant interest, but with almost fascinated eyes. The spirit of the place was creeping into his blood. His long years of seclusion seemed like a spell of time lying curiously far away, a crude period, mislived in an atmosphere which, notwithstanding its austere sweetness, took no account of the human cry. He re-rfilled his glass with champagne and deliberately drank its contents. It was splendid to feel so young and strong, to feel the wine in his veins, his pulse and his heart moving to this new measure! His eyes grew brighter, and he smiled back at Sophy. She suddenly released her hold upon her partner and stretched out her arms to him. Her body swayed backward a little. She waved her hands with a gesture infinitely graceful, subtly alluring. Her lips were parted with a smile almost of triumph as she once more rested her hand upon her partner’s shoulder.

“Who is your escort this evening?” tho latter asked her, speaking almost for the first time. “You would not know him,” she replied. “He is a Mr. John Strangewey, and he comes from Cumberland.” “Just happens that I do know him,” the young man remarked. “Thought I’d seen his face somewhere. Used to be up at the varsity- with him. We once played rackets together. Hasn’t he come into a pile just lately?” “An uncle in Australia left him a fortune.” “I’ll speak to him presently,” the young man decided. “Always make a point of being civil to anybody with lots of oof!” “I expect he’ll be glad to meet you again,” Sophy remarked. “He doesn’t know a soul in town.” The dance was finished. They re-

turned together to where John was sitting, and the young man held out a weary hand.

“Amerton, you know, of Magdalen,” he said. “You’re Strangewey, aren’t you?” “Lord Amerton, of course!” John exclaimed. “I thought your face was familiar. Why ,we played in the rackets doubles together!” “And won ’em, thanks to you,” Amerton replied. “Are you up for long?” “I am not quite sure,” John told him, “I only arrived last night.” “Look me up some time, if you’ve nothing better to do,” the young man suggested. “Where are you hanging out?” “The Milan.” “I am at the Albany. So-long! Must get back to my little lady.” He bowed to Sophy and departed. She sank a little breathlessly into her chair and laid her hand on John’s arm. Her cheeks were flushed, her bosom was rising and falling quickly. “I am out of breath,” she said, her head thrown back perilously near to John's shoulder. “Lord Amerton dances so well. Give me some champagne!” “And you—you dance divinely,” he told her, as he filled her glass. “If we were alone,” she whispered, “I should want you to kiss me!” The stem of the wine-glass in John’s fingers snapped suddenly, and the wine trickled down to the floor. A passing waiter hurried up with a napkin, and a fresh glass was brought. The affair was scarcely noticed, but John remained disturbed and a little pale. “Have you cut your hand?” Sophy asked anxiously.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “How hot it is here! Do you mind if we go?” “Go?” she exclaimed disconsolately. “I thought you were enjoying yourself so much!”

“So I am,” he answered, “but I don’t quite understand ” He paused. “Understand what?” she demanded. “Myself, if you must know.”

She set down the glass which she had been in the act of raising to her lips. “How queer you are!” she murmured. “Listen. You haven’t got a wife or anything up in Cumberland, have you?” “You know I haven’t,” he answered. “You’re not engaged to be married, you have no ties, you came up here perfectly free, you haven’t even said anything yet—to Louise?” “Of course not.” “Well, then—” she began. Her words were so softly spoken that they seemed to melt away. She leaned forward to look in his face. “Sophy,” he begged, with sudden and almost passionate earnestness, “be kind to me, please! I am just a simple, stupid countryman, who feels as if he had lost his way. I have lived a solitary sort of life—an unnatural one, you would say—and I’ve been brought up with some old-fashioned ideas. I know they are old-fashioned, but I can’t throw them overboard all at once. I have kept away from this sort of thing. I didn’t think it would ever attract me—l suppose because I didn’t believe it could be made so attractive. I have suddenly found out—that it does!” “What are you going to do?” she whispered. “There is only one thing for me to do,” he answered. “Until I know what I have come to London to learn, I shall fight against it.” “You mean about Louise?” “I mean about Louise,” he said gravely. .(To be continued.)