The Hillman

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 182, 22 October 1927, Page 10

The Hillman

Sir

E-PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS Chapters 1 to 21.—Louise finds that •he, her maid and chauffeur are stranded on the Cumberland Hills. The car has broken down. The Hillman comes to their aid. He escorts them fo 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 theshold. Stephen's welcome is hostile. On awakening the next morning Louise 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. She finds he is the Strangewey who has inherited that large fortune. The Prince of Seyre arrives in his car, and gives John Strangewey a courteous invitation to the shooting. Three months later John is confronted by Stephen, who points out that Louise is an actress in doubtful plays. John denies that there is anything wrong, and hurls back the insults that Stephen heaps upon Louise. In anger John leaves his brother, and goes straight to London. There is an undress rehearsal in progress on the stage. Louise notiees John Strangewey. She introduces him to the company. Afterwards the Prince of Seyre converses with Strangewey. Later Louise tells the Prince that she and Sophy are taking John to Bohemian restaurant. She tells him, too. that John has inherited a large fortune. The Prince presses for more details, but Louise withholds them. The Princ© changes his plans and decides to remain in London another week. The next day John, Sophy and Louise visit the Tlitz, when John almost tells Louise that he loves her. He takes her home and then goes to a night club with Sophy and tells her he is in love with Louise. The following day the Prinee visits John and takes him •hopping. They meet Louise, vho introduces John to Graillot. Later Ciraillot tells Louise that the Prince c omes from a despised family and warns lier to have nothing to do with him. John and he are enemies. That afternoon the Prince introduces John to Lady Hilda Mulloch. That night John goes to a party given by the Prince and almost becomes involved in an affair with a dancer. He leaves the house. That same night Louise tells Sophy that she thinks she is in love with John. John visits her the next day and tells her he loves her. but she says she does not want to go and live in the hills. He is willing to go wherever she likes. The Prince conies in and interrupts and John leaves her. John Daves to stay a week-end with Lady Hilda under the impression that she is having a house party. He finds after sleeping the night that he is the only guest in the place.

CHAPTER XXII (Continued) “I stayed there last night,” he answered.. “To-day—well, look at the ■weather! I have just motored Lady Hilda up.” "And what are you going to do now?” *iie inquired eagerly.

“Give you some dinner,” he replied promptly. “Hurrah!” she answered. “I have been so bored and miserable that I went and walked over Waterloo Bridge in a mackintosh, just to get a little air. I’ll be round in an hour. Will that do?” “Any time you like,” he agreed: “the sooner the better. I was almost wishing, a few minutes ago,” he went on, “that I could find the courage to storm you in your little room. Louise is away, and I’m hating myself.” “So I am to come and amuse my lord!” she laughed. “Well. I’ll come,” she went on quickly. “We’ll sit and you shall imagine that I am Louise, and make love to her. Will that make you happy?” John leaned out of the car. “Sophy,” he whispered, as he slipped in his clutch, “just now I do not feel like making love to any woman on earth!” "Fed up with us, eh?” He nodded. “You’re different, thank Heaven! Don’t be late.” CHAPTER XXIII. "This is very nearly my idea of perfect happiness,” Sophy murmured, as she leaned across the table and listened idly while John ordered the dinner. “Give me very little to eat, John, and talk a great deal to me. I am depressed about myself and worried about everything!” “And I,” he declared, “am just beginning to breathe again. I don’t think I understand women, Sophy.” “Wasn’t your week-end party a success?” she asked. "Not altogether,” he confessed; “but don’t let’s talk about it. Tell me -what is depressing you.” "About myself, or things generally?” “Yourself, first.” “Well, the most respectable young man you ever knew in your life, who lives in Bath, wants me to marry him. I don’t think I could. I don’t think I could live in Bath, and I don't think I could marry any one. And I’ve just thirteen shillings and fourpence left. I haven’t paid my rent, and my dressmaker is calling for something on account on Monday morning.” “There's only one answer to that,” John insisted cheerfully. “I am going to lend you £SO while you make your mind up about the young man.” She made a face at him. “I couldn’t borrow money from a strange gentleman,” she protested. “Rubbish!” he exclaimed. “If you begin calling me a stranger—but there, never mind! We’ll see about that after dinner. Now what is the other cause for depression?” "I am not very happy about you and Louise.” she observed. "Why not?” She hesitated. While she seemed to be pondering over her words, John

studied her almost critically. Unquestionably she was very pretty; her fair hair was most becomingly arranged, her petite features and delicate mouth were charming. Her complexion and colouring were exquisite, her neck and throat very white against the plain black satin of her gown. “In a way,” she confessed at last, "it’s the play that’s bothering me.” “The play?” he repeated. “You won’t like it,” she sighed. “The reason the production has been delayed so long is Graillot's insistence upon calling a spade a spade. Even with all Louise and Miles Faraday have managed to get him to leave out, there is one scene which is certainly a little startling for English playgoers.” “And Louise is in it?” he asked. “Louise is the principal figure in it,” John’s face darkened a little. “I have noticed lately,” he remarked gloomily, “that she rather avoids talking about the play. I wish she’d chuck it altogether!” Sophy shook her head. “Louise won’t do that,” she said. “I sometimes think that her work is more to her than anything else in life. I suppose you two will find a way out of it, somehow.” “There is only one way, and Louise will have to make up her mind to it,” John declared steadfastly. “However, my time hasn’t come just yet. Until it comes, I must make the best of things. Tell me more about your own love-affair, Sophy.” “It isn’t a love-affair at all!” she exclaimed, almost indignantly. “Why, I am sorry. Your prospective alliance, then, shall 1 call it?” “Oh, it isn’t interesting,” she said. “It’s just a young man in Bath. He is a lawyer and moderately well off. He has wanted me to marry him for years. He was a friend of my brother’s. Lately he has been bothering a little more than usual —in fact, I suppose I have received what might be called an ultimatum. He came up yesterday, and I went out with him last night. He has gone back to

Bath this moaning, and I have promised to let him know in a month. I think that is why I went out to Waterloo Bridge in a mackintosh and got wet.’ “Do you like him?” John asked practically. “I like him, I suppose,” Sophy sighed. “That’s the worst of it. If I didn’t like him, there might be some chance. I can’t realise myself ever doing more than liking him in a mild sort of way; and if he expected more, as of course he would, then I should probably hate him. He tried to kiss me on the way to the station, and I nearly scratched him. That isn’t like me, you know. I rather like being kissed sometimes.” John buried himself in the wine-list. “Well,” he admitted, “it doesn’t sound very hopeful. I’m no sort of judge in these matters, but I have heard lots of people say that one gets on all right after marriage without caring very much before. Y"ou don’t seem to have a very comfortable life now. do you?” “Comfortable? No, but I am free,” Sophy replied quickly. “I can come in and go out when I please, choose my own friends, give my kisses to whom I please. Marriage—the sort of marriage mine would be —is slavery, and nothing else. What 1 am afraid of,” she went on, “is that when I was down in that highly respectable old city, sitting all day in’ a respectable little villa, with two servants to order about and housekeeping books to keep, I should feel the old pull come over me and some day I should chuck it all and come back here to play around under the lights. It’s rather fine to be here, you know —to be in the atmosphere, even if the limelight misses one.” John sighed, and regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re a queer little girl, Sophy,” he said. “I don’t know how to advise you.” “Of course you don’t.” she answered.

“No one could. As for you. I suppose you will marry Louise. What will happen to you after that, I don’t know. Perhaps I shan’t care so much about London then. You’ve made it very nice for me, you know.” “You’ve made it bearable even for me,” he told her. “I often think liow lonely I should have been without you to talk to. Louise sometimes is delightfully companionable, and kind enough to turn one’s head. Other days I scarcely understand her; everything we say to one another seems wrong. I come away and leave her simply because I feel that there is a wall between us that I can’t get over.” “There isn’t really,” Sojfiiy sighed. “Louise is a dear. Considering everything, I think she is wonderful. But you are utterly different. She is very complex, very emotional, and she has her own standards of life. You, on the other hand, are very simple, veryfaithful and honest, and you accept the standards which have been made for you—very, very rigidly. John.” “I wonder!” he murmured, as he looked into his wine-glass. “Sometimes I think lam a fool. Sometimes I think I’d do better to let go the strings and just live as others do. Sometimes ideas come into one’s head that upset principles and everything. J don’t know!” Sophy leaned across the table toward him. “Be a little more human, John,” she begged. “You must feel kind things sometimes. Couldn’t you say them? I am depresesd and gloomy. Be like other men for once and fiirt with me a little! Try to say things, even if you don : mean them —just for once, for a. few short hours!” He held her hand for a moment. The fingers seemed to respond to his touch with a little thrill. “You silly child!” he exclaimed. “If I were to begin to say all the kind things I feeJ about you—” “Begin, then —begin!” she interrupted. “What do you think of me, really? Am I pretty'-? Do you like to have me here at the table with you. or is your mind too full of Louise? Do you notice that I’ve a pretty frock on. and my hair is nicely 7 arranged? I have taken so much trouble to-night. Wliat are you looking at?” John’s whole expression had suddenly’ changed. His eyes were fixed upon the door, his face was stern as a granite block. Sophy’ turned quickly around. The niaitre d’hotel, with another satellite in liis rear, was welcoming with much ceremony two latelv arrived guests. Sophy clutched at the tablecloth. The newcomers were Louise and the Prince of Seyre. “I don't understand this!” John muttered his lips twitching. Sophy Gerard said nothing. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. Suddenly Louise saw John and Sophy. She stood quite still for a moment; then she came toward them, slowly and a little languidly’. The prince was still studying through his eye-glass the various tables which the head waiter was offering for his consideration. What an astonishing meeting!” Louise remarked, as she laid her hand a moment on Sophy 7 ’s shoulder. What is going on behind mv back 9 ” John rose very slowly to his feet. He seemed taller than ever, and Louise’s snule remained unanswered. “The rain broke up my week-end party,” he explained, “and I met Sophy in the Strand. In any 7 case, I intended returning to-night. I understood that you would not be here until to-mor-row about eleven o’clock.” “Those were my plans,” Louise replied; “but, as you see, other things have intervened., Our little house I party, too, was broken up by 7 this i abominable weather, and we all | motored up to town. The Faradays I have gone home. The prince heard

from Miles that 1 was at home, and telephoned me to dine. Me voici!” John was struggling with a crowd of hateful thoughts. Louise was wearing a wonderful gown; her hair was beautifully arranged; she had the air of a woman whose toilet was complete and perfect down t(j the slightest detail. The prince’s slow drp.wl reached them distinctly. “It was my servant’s fault, I suppose,” he said. “I told him to ring up last night and order the table for two in that corner. However, we will take the vacant one near your desk.” He looked around and, as if for the first time, missed Louise. He came forward to them at once. “The prince sepms to have ordered liis table last night,” John remarked, his tone, even to himself, sounding queer and strained. Louise made no reply. The prince was already shaking hands with Sophy.

“I thought you were spending the week-end with my cousin. Strangewey," he remarked, turning to John. “We did spend part of it together,” John replied. “The weather drove us back this afternoon.” “I congratulate you both on your good taste,” said the prince. “There is nothing more abominable than a riverside retreat out of season. We are taking the table on the left, Louise.” He led her away, and they passed down the room. John slowly resumed his seat. “Sophy,” he demanded hoarsely, “tell me the truth. Is there anything between the prince and Louise?” Sophy nervously crumbled up the toast by her side. “The prince admires Louise, and has done so for many years,” she answered. “No one knows anything else. Louise never speaks of him to me. I cannot tell you.” “But you must know,” he persisted, with a little break in his voice. “Forgive me, Sophy, if I make an ass of myself. First Lady Hilda, and then Graillot, and then—well, I thought Louise might have rung up to see whether I was at home; if she came back sooner than she expected; and the prince took the table last night!” She leaned over and patted him on the hand. “Don’t worry,” she begged. “If Louise has to choose some day between him and you, I don’t think she’ll hesitate very long.” He poured a glass of wine and drank it off. She leaned over so that her head almost touched his. “Flirt, please!” she murmured. “Even if it hurts afterwards, it will be heavenly to listen to!” (To be . ontinued)