YOUR CLUB AND MINE

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 320, 3 April 1928, Page 5

YOUR CLUB AND MINE

AN OPEN PAGE Each Tuesday afternoon a corner will be reserved for original contributions of genera] interest to womenfolk. The subject matter Is for you to choose—whatever topic interests you may also be of interest or amusement to others, whether it be about your hobbies, experiences, or merely amusing musings about the ordinary round of the day. A book prize is offered weekly for the best effort, which should be brief, plainly written, and sent to “Your Club and Mine,” The Sun, Auckland. This week the prize has been given to Miss Muriel Langsford for the following article: MINUS ADAM A dear creature, a comfortable sort of creature, and, withal, an indispensable creature. We ruled out that last. Not so indispensable we decided when discussing the question of taking unto ourselves a whole house. Other vyomen had leapt boldly from the confines of a contemptible eight by ten. So would we. Space should be ours, and freedom. Those gifts of the kennel days—did they ever take the form of something wearable or compressible? Not they. A quaint bit of pottery, a glass inkstand, a substantial book, such uncompromising articles as these were the pure harvest of Christmas and birthdays. The bulge in tlio suitcase under the bed increased. The pile of packages behind the curtain in the corner grew—and grew. The overflow of material things eventually affected our flow of speech, particularly at toilet time. We moved. As the landscape absorbs trees and rocks and bits of road, so our new surroundings allowed for the easy and artistic disposal of* our varied possessions. A manless household was to us a novel experience. No careless foot to disturb the corners of the precious rugs; no greasy fingers to mess up the towels; no vulgar appetite to create a demand for slabs of steak and fountains of pudding; no procession of masculine garments to pass under the ministering touch of the electric iron. In a neighbouring yard a dozen shirts, * plain and striped, white and . coloured, flapped gaily in the breeze. With memory leaping up within me like a vivid flame, I sat on the porch and enjoyed those shirts. Where should we have a garden? One half-expected to hear a reluctant “Well, you can have that strip under the window.” Instead the little god Freedom sat on a post and laughed. There were things to tackle—a clothes-line to be erected, a letter-box to be fashioned and set up beside the gate, a packing-case fresh from the cycle dealer to be disembowelled in readiness for its career as a jam cupboard. Disregarding half-promises o& help," we found a certain fierce joy in performing these things for ourselves, in connection with which we must place on record the good work of the poker, the tomahawk, and the one-and-ninepenny hammer. Were we quite alienated from the smell of tweed and tobacco? We were not. In our daily pursuit of the price of bread we encountered it in the bus and on the street, and occasionally, just to preserve the balance of things, we permitted it to mingle with the perfume of the flowers at our own dinnertable. And how did we manage at night time? Very nicely, thank you. What if one’s contemplation of a starcrowned hill be disturbed by a steadily-moving speck in the foreground? Well, there are moments when one prefers the humble light of the kitchen to the high-lights of romance. And who would deny a woman her fantastic solution of mysterious midnight noises? No, darkness was not, for us, the supreme test. But the feminine streak teresting experiences that his unusual trade had brought him, and she could well understand that Rivett could not have had a better companion during those days when they were imprisoned at the bottom of the Cornish mine. When he had gone, Rivett said to her: “Now, Grace, we will pack up and go into the world.” “I am quite willing to stay, if you wish to,” she answered. “I don’t wish to. You have been through quite enough.” “But doesn’t it seem heartless, Norman? That poor boy! And they haven’t found this man yet. Doesn’t it look a bit like —running away?” “What good can we do the poor bo?/ by staying here?” he asked her, with that deep sadness that came into his voice whenever he spoke of Glyn. “And when Stroud is found, I can come and give my evidence. You have done all you can. I have no doubt the wretch is raving mad by this time.” “Oh, Norman, have you no pity for him ?” she asked. “Not a shred,” he answered. “The world is better without such men.” His tone of cold savagery struck her like a whip. She, a perfect stranger, could feel pity for the poor madman wandering over the hills. But he. who had once all but taken his life, had none. And he called down wrath on Stroud’s head for the crime of which he himself had also been guilty. In such moments her heart failed her, and she felt that she could not go on living by his side. The Rivetts spent a week in London on their way to the Continent. They went from there to Rome, where Grace caught a chill, and was laid up for three weeks. While she was in bed. Rivett had news from Wales to the effect that Edwin Stroud had been found, in a state of great exhaustion, quite close to the camp at Sulpice Abbey. In a lucid interval before death, he had confessed to the murder of Shean Glyn. whom he had killed, as had been surmised. in mistake for Norman Rivett, his hated enemy. There was no doubt that the discovery that he had killed the wrong man had unhinged his mind still more, and that his madness took the form of an urgent necessity to return to the place of the crime. So, although he fled the spot for days and weeks at a time, he was in the end obliged to come back to it. Certain formal evidence was required from Rivett, but he was informed that it could be taken by commission at the British Consulate in Rome. This was done, and so the mat-

will never be entirely obliterated. Our downfall was to come. I went to open a pot of jam. The devotee of fresh paste had been there before me. So we invested in a fourpenny trap. Trembling, we baited the abomination with the usual fragment of cheese, set it carefully among the jam-pots, and retired. Snap! Morning came, and with it the necessity for disposing of that little grey bundle of fur. Reluctant to lift the restraining wire, and feeling utterly sick, we were for tossing the whole thing on the rubbish heap; but Thrift shot out a reproachful hand. Four pence a mouse, and winter still ahead. We hestitated, shuddering . . . Round the corner of the house, in the person of the fruiterer, he came. He came. Over the toast we revised our estimate. A dear creatjire, a comfortable sort of creature and“ at times, a:i indispensable creature. —MURIEL LANGSFORD. ter ended with the death of the demented criminal. Rivett smiled bitterly to himself, as he left the Consulate on a brilliant morning in late January. “So he’s dead—the only perspn who knew the truth.” He did not tell Grace anything about it until she was quite recovered. Then in a few words he announced the fact of Stroud’s death. “I hope you will be able to forget it all in time,” he added. “I am evidently to bring nothing but -ugliness and tragedy into, your life.” The doctor advised a warmer climate than Rome, so they went south, and Rivett took a villa at Sorrento, overlooking the Bay of Naples. It had a glorious garden, already a riot of spring flowers, with orange and lerrlm blossom scenting the balmy air. Grace was quite strong again in a week, and she could not but revel in the wondrous beauty about her, and her whole heart went out in broken yearning when she realised what it all would have meant to a happy woman. An extraordinary change had come over Rivett. He was suddenly seizr%l with a perfect passion for spending money. The villa was big and luxurious. _ It was full of servants. They had two motor-cars and a high-pow-ered, rakish motor-launch. They lived on tlio fat of the land, or could have done so, if either of them had had any appetite for rich food and rare wines. Rivett forced Grace to go into Naples and buy clothes and hats. He gave her a magnificent sable wrap, and almost every day he came to her with some piece of splendid and valuable jewellery. “Norman, really, I don’t want all these things,” she protested. “They’re out of place on me.” “They’re nothing of the kind,” he answered. “I admit the diamonds are vulgar, but the pearls on your neck are wonderful, and the emerald brooch and ear-rings—they make you look like some wood-sprite decked with enchanted water.” CHAPTER XXV.—BY THE SOUTHERN SEA. She flushed uneasily. He had never spoken to her like that before. The South seemed to have got into his

head. All sorts of people cropped .up j whom he had known in the past. He asked her if she minded entertaining ; them. There were constant parties, lunch and dinner, with dancing after- , wards, a delicious Neapolitan orches- , tra coming out from the city. There j was a moonlight trip in the crowded launch to the Blue Grotto at Capri There were gatherings in Naples, for the opera and theatre, with supper at the smart Casa Reale restaurant. ' All these people were of a class Grace had never come in contact with before —very smart Society people and of the ] very best sort, worlds apart from the opulent solidarity and slight heaviness of the Weaveham folk. The men were ; quiet and indolent, but great at all sports. The women were perfectly dressed; one or two were notabie ; beauties. What amazed Grace was ; their tireless energy in the pursuit of pleasure. She was also astonished at their appetites, and at the amount . they could drink and smoke without : any apparent ill-effects. They were charming to her, and openly worshipped her husband. ; “My dear,” said Lady Jane Garth to ; her, “you'll be the hit of the season, because, of course, that delightful husband of yours must bring you to London when you leave here. You’re just ‘ what one wants—a new sensation, quiet and taking us all in with those ' grave eyes, but as clever as the devil, I’ll be bound!” It was strange to Grace to realise that Rivett had ever moved in this kind of society. But obviously he had. They all deplored the fact that he had been *n the wilds so long. Between herself and him different ' relations now existed, more in accordance with his new role of a social lion. He was no longer cruel to her; he would no longer dream of asking her to do any work. He encouraged her to enjoy herself, to ride or drive and dance and turn night into day. He was clearly pleased when she dressed

in beautiful clothes and wore the ; jewels he gave her —chiefly the emeralds and pearls. But they were further from each other than ever. Sometimes she longed for the wildness of Sulpice, and the bare hills and the dark tarns, and the rough tasks, and the exposure and hardships of her daily life. Rivett of the South, of the drawing room and restaurant and foyer, of the days and nights of stifling rush and whirl that people called pleasure—he' was a man she had never known. In his behaviour he had not changed. He was still quiet and reserved, a force,ful and compelling presence, slightly arrogant in his manner. But the adulation and admiration of these smart people made him appear different. And he seemed perfectly at home, perfectly at his ease. “He must like it.” Grace said t© herself miserably. “How can he like it? All this empty-headed frothy talk, all this fatuous laughter, all this deliberate killing of time! They only want to spend his money. They only admire him because he’s cold to them, and sometimes rude! It makes me Sometimes she could not stand it and went off by herself to Pompeii, and roamed about that wonderful dead city, or she drove into Naples and

spent solitary hours in the museums and picture galleries. And when she came back they rallied her goodnaturedly. “Here conics our beautiful highbrow!” . . . “It must be lovely to 'mcso clever, dear Mrs. Rivett!” Once, when Grace had escaped, and was alone in the museum, admiring the exquisite bronze “Dancing Faun,” a little afraid of its Pagan lust of life, yet dwelling with delighted eyes on the perfection of its form, she heard footsteps beside her, and, looking round, found Rivett standing by her side. She laughed, and so did he. “What, have you escaped, too?” she asked, and a touch of mockery surged up into her voice from her bruised and humiliated heart. “One wants a day off now and then,” lie answered. “Lady Jane has borrowed the launch to take her brother-in-law the Foreign Minister,, to the Island of Ischia. I was told you had gone to Naples' early, so I came along. Shall we lunch together and then walk a little?” They talked very amiably during tlie meal. Grace’s intelligence was sharpening from the contact with all these wonders of the past. She was immensely receptive, and classical beauty m.ght easily have become a religion to her, if she had not vaguely feared it. Afterwards they walked up to the castle on the height above the town and drank in the glorious view. As they went down he said suddenly: “How do you like this life?” “It :s very amusing for a little while,” she answered. And added pertinently: “Do you like it, Norman?” “Oh, yes, also for a little while. It is pleasant while it lasts. We shall get back to work soon enough.” “The sooner the better,” she and her voice was shaken with a gu.-i of passion. The rest of the way down was ac-

complished in silence. They walk* side by side like strangers, newly m* t who have nothing to say. That night they were giving a dinn* party, with a dance to follow- A Grace looked at herself in the tall mil ror set in her ornate Italian wardrobt she knew' that she was beautiful. Thci • would be men who would tell her s« with their eyes, if not with their lip There was something ethereal an* haunting in her honey-warm face, witi tho clear, changing eyes and the dar red lips and the piled up misty hai: with its black shadow’s and tawn lights. She wore white lace ovc gleaming silver, and silver shoes, an* three rows of pearls; and the bi square emerald brooch at her and the great ear-rings burned wit their mysterious fires. She knew that she was beautiful and a sudden fierce determination en tered into her to enjoy herself. Fo one night she would forget that shlived beside a stranger and feaste* daily at a board that was bare of love What she got out of that evenir.; she never knew*. There was a certaii member of the diplomatic corps, a mai just over thirty, who knew the work as well as he knew his own name, ; man famous for his charm, his wit, anhis looks. She allowed him to devo himself to her. He had unmistakabl; bagged the privilege many times be fore. He made full use of it. (To be continued)