GARDEN PARTY

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 289, 27 February 1928, Page 5

GARDEN PARTY

The lawns and gardens of the home of Mrs. P. Cleave, Wairakei Avenue, I presented a gay scene on Saturday afternoon, when a garden party was held. Games and competitions were arranged for the afternoon, and tea was served in the garden. The hostess received her guests in an attractive frock of coral and white tricollette, made with slight bolero ! effect, and a shady crinoline hat I trimmed with velvet. Guests included: Mrs. Hoad, ecru lace over lilac crepe de chine, hat to tone. Miss Hazel Cooper, frock of foxglove figured ninon, with ceinture of rose velvet, and beige crinoline hat. Miss_ Eileen Gash, rose du Barri crepe de chine gown, with accordion-pleated skirt, rose-toned crinoline hat. Miss Muriel Needham, mexique blue frock of crepe alonza, relieved with ecru lace, smart white felt hat. Miss Betty Cain, pastel pink and silver grey frock of rayonne, pastel pink Bangkok straw hat. Miss Olga Clarke, beige crepe de chine frock, with three-tiered skirt, blue crinoline hat. Miss Helen Adams, eau de nil georgette, with gold thread, biscuit tagel Miss Ethel Needham, petunia floral frock of Canton crepe, cinnamon hat with floral relief. ... , , Miss Ruth Cleave, blush-rose frock of crepe de chine, hand-painted with bluebirds, shady hat to tone. Miss Marjory Elley, frock of figured ninon in shell pink, with hat to *° n ®* - Miss Doris Cooper, hyacinth blue frock of georgette, with finely pleated skirt, and biscuit crinoline hat with pastel ribbons. ■ ley Square. But he was not destined to reach it that night. His luck was out. and the crowning disaster upon hi ™ondon, as its inhabitants proudly boast is the most crimeless big city in the world. But in every big city are vagrant men who prey on their tellows, not in civilised fashion, like dishonest financiers, but primitively, as in the picturesque past. Two such men, their luck also out, met him in one at those narrow streets within a stone s throw of Piccadilly. They were big, burly ruffians who practised the gospel of Andrew Undershaft, the millionaire, “thou shalt starve ere- I,” but not in his way. “Got ’alf a dollar for a couple o pore chaps?” asked, or rather demanded, one of them, placing himself in his path. i Francis, never feeling less charitable than at that moment, answered with an oath, raising his hand to push the man out of his way. Solidly the other withstood him. Too late Lord Doulton recalled the scene with Arnold Berlyn and his weak wrist. He was alone with these two men in a narrow London street, as much alone in the heart of the city as on the wilds of Dartmoor. He sensed danger. And it came a moment later. A crushing blow descended on the back of his head, and he stumbled, had a momentary knowledge of the man in front catching him, and then sense and feeling were blotted out. Eva’s first impulse was to stop the cab, her second to sit still. Of two evils it is wise to choose the lesser, and a solitude a deux with her objectionable companion was preferable to a face to face meeting with a raging, putative husband. She feared Lord Doulton, she merely disliked Mr. Mailing. Guessing that any conventional protest would be futile, she held her tongue, remembering with relief that Mr. Berlyn had given the cabman Mrs. Tourmaline’s address, and the distance to Berkeley Square was not far. “Silly ass, your husband,’’ said Mailing confidentially, “went and fetched him from his club to set him in the way of putting salt' on his runaway wife's tail, and then he goes and blunders and misses. her. However, I don’t mind, since it gives me this delightful privilege.” He grinned again, and getting no rej ply, shrugged his shoulders and pulled out his cigarette case. By this time Eva’s first fright had passed; reflection told her Arnold Berlyn had succeeded in preventing Lord Doulton from following her. She might safely halt and turn Mr. Mailing out. So, as the cab crossed Oxford Circus, she picked up the. communicating tube and called “Stop!” “Mr. Mailing,” she said, “kindly alight.” “Not I!” replied that gentleman, ; cheerfully. “I represent your husband, Lord Doulton, as I will inform any policeman to whom you may appeal. ■ No, my lady, you don’t shake me like that!” • He lit a cigarette. - The cab was slowing down. Eva spoke again through the tube. “Go , on!” she said. “After all,’ she con- ■ tinued, sitting back, “I shall have to endure your presence for less than five minutes.” “Look here.” he said, “can’t we be Writing from Turin, Mr. Russell « complains of the excessive heat, but says he is thankful he has a good ! supply of Q-Tol which he finds ini valuable for sunburn and mosquito . bites. 2

friends? Come off your high horse. Better have me for a friend than a foe.” ‘‘You are impertinent!” “You are an impostor!” he told her. “You are not Lady Boulton.” “Indeed!” she laughed. “I’m not Lady Boulton; who am I, then?” “I don’t know. I wish I did. The likeness is amazing.” He began to draw closer to her (the taxi was of the modern type, very roomy, and the seat they shared would have held three people). “Mr. Mailing,” she said, sharply, “keep your distance! Though I have reasons for not claiming Lord Boulton’s protection, I am not friendless. Mr. Berlyn, whom I am meeting tomorrow, ■will, should I ask him, horsewhip you, if I tell him your treatment of me merits it.” “The big bounder who kept hubby from joining his loving wife? Tush! I fear him not.” Nevertheless, a subtle change in his attitude and the fact that his evident intention of putting his arms round her was not persisted in, told her the threat had a certain effect. “Come, I repeat, step off the high horse. I want to be friends. Here have I for months been nursing an unrequited passion for a certain fair lady, and now, lo!—I meet a replica of her, and my heart’s at her feet. Intentions strictly honourable, ’pon honour. And, after all, you’re nothing but a little adventuress Mrs. Tourmaline has