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Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 984, 29 May 1930, Page 4

From the insistent df-mand RUBBING LAUNDRY HELP we only conclude that Housewives '* v< where have proved the worth of w® scientific “ Help.’’—The Trading Company.-—!9U

CHAPTER XIV. Alter she had bade her mother a cheery good-night, and accompanied it with a kiss blown into the transmitter, Jennifer buried her face in her hands and burst into wild sobs. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “stop punishing me! I did not mean anything wrong or wicked when I went to James Read for the money.” There was nothing but elation in Adela Creighton’s soul in the contemplation of the visit that had terminated exactly as she had planned that it should, except for the business of the lawyer, a detail which she dismissed with a contemptuous shrug. It was too early to go to bed, so she ( hanged and went to a party that was more than a little wild. It was three o’clock in the morning before she permitted herself the luxury of the dreams that have belonged to happy lovers in all centuries; her vision had sweet continuity, and all the time exquisite fancies floated in her brain, while subtle emotion held her captive until she could hold out no longer against nature’s antidote for all things contrary to health—sleep.

The dining hall at Oversley, with its magnificently carved Minstrels’ Gallery, its Holbein portraits, its torn

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flags from the Border Wars, its glorious panelling, was one of the finest houses in England. Lady Yardley, tall, slim, Parisgowned, descendant of a long line of owners of similar houses, stood out clearly, and yet in some imperceptible fashion melted harmoniously into her background as she waited in a chair that had been carved nearly five centuries ago, her ears straining for the sound of the motor on the gravel outside, the motor which had been sent to the station to fetch Jennifer.

Suddenly Alicia Yardley, mistress of Oversley and all its glories since she had come to it thirty years ago as a nineteeu-years-old bride; saw it with new eyes. For the first time in her life she thought of her own successor —Frank's wife, who, in the natural course of things would one day reign in her stead. “Frank’s wife, Frank’s children growing up at Oversley, loving the old place with its still older traditions, loving the friends that they would make.

The feeling of distaste with which the recollection of Jennifer’s mother inspired her was greatly lessened by Jennifer herself who, in her charming, unaffected fashion and her beautifully designed and executed clothes, seemed in her fresh, youthful way to harmonise just as completely witn her surroundings as any girl of her own acquaintance whom she could cal) to mind. Indeed, deep down in her heart she was obliged to admit that Jennifer's manners were far better, her culture wider, her sense of personal dignity infinitely greater than most of the" loud-mouthed, sometimes frankly rude daughters of her own set of friends.

But- —a grandmother for Frank’s children who had taken in washing and could not even speak her own language properly! “My dear, would you like to see the rose-garden before dressing for dinner? There is plenty of time.” Lady Yardley looked at her diamond wristwatch. “Half-past five. We are dining at 7.30 as Frank will not be home much before then.” At the mention of Frank’s name, Jennifer winced. How love hurt, hew brutal it could be, she told herself, miserably. “Thank you. Lady Yardley. 1 should like to see the roses,” she said, rising as she spoke. It would be easiei to deal her happiness the final deathblow among the flowers; here in inis centuries-old dining rooms, tile ghosts of men and women who had lived and

laughed and loved seemed to stretch forth hands, as if imploring her not to throw away the greatest gift that life could offer her or any one. “Watson showed you your room ?” asked Lady Yardley, as they passed out of the house on to a pathway of flagged stones leading to the rosery. Watson was the housekeeper. “No, Lady Yardley. There was no need. lam not staying. lam catching the 6.35 back to town,” said Jennifer, in a voice from which all emotion was carefully drained. Frank’s mother turned an amazed face toward the young girl with the set lips and pain-darkened eyes. “Going back—but—what will Frank say? What is your reason?” she asked, speaking rapidly in little disjointed jerks. They had reached a rustic seat, and both sat down, facing toward each other, the one woman in the mellow, sheltered autumn of her days, the other in the glorious springtime of her youth, a youth that yet held a greater insight into the deeps both of life and love than the woman whose path had been man-smoothed from her birth upward. “Lady Yardley, I must say what I have come to say quickly, if 1 am to 'catch my train,” said Jennifer, still in the cold, passive voice that gave no clue to her feelings. Without giving Frank’s mother time to reply, she hurried on, “It is only that 1 have decided to break off our engagement. I am not marrying Frank after all.” Curiously enough, instead of the wave of thankfulness that she might have been expected to feel. Lady Yardley was conscious only of a feeling of keen resentment. Her son—“only that I have decided to break off our engagement.” What did this girl of the people, without a penny of her own, mean to infer. Swallowing her anger, she asked, in a voice that might have chilled an iceberg, “May one inquire why? And does Frank know?”

Jennifer’s voice was just as icy, but from a very different cause, as she replied, ignoring the first and answering the second question. “Frank does not know, Lady Yardley.” Oh, the redness of the roses, their passionate scent, their silent pleading for her to choose the path they symbolised rather than the thorncrowned heights, the hard white way of sacrifice.

Frank, of course, should have been the first to have been told. Jennifer admitted that; had fought out the whole issue during the sleepless nights that had followed Adela Creighton’s visit. She was being an arrant coward in shirking the facing ot Frank, but, though the thought of those for whom she was giving him up sustained her during his absence, she knew that, when he took her into his arms and kissed her in his tender fashion, she would forget everything in the outrusli of her own love to him, and all her lesolutious would be in vain. “But —this is a very serious thing. Have your feelings toward my son changed, or is this decision tho result of a lovers’ quarrel?”

A pitiful smile twisted Jennifer’s mouth as she shook her head. “We have never wasted time in quarrelling, Lady Yardley, and there never will be another man in my life '('here is something in me and in Frank—l knew it directly I saw him, and he knew it. too. We shall always belong to each other.” The flush on the softly-rounded cheeks, the eyes large and bright, reflecting an undoubted inward glory, touched Lady Yardley deeply. Moving nearer to the tense, rigid young form, she slipped a kindly arm around Jennifer’s waist. “Then why, Jennifer?” she asked softly, every motherly instinc? in her roused to its fullest; at that moment she was very near to loving the girl against whom she had tried so hard to steel her heart.

“1 cannot tel! you, Lady Yardley,’ was the strange, unsatisfactory reply “Would you please give this letter to Frank?” she asked, taking an en velope from her handbag, and giving it to Lady Yardley. “I would have posted it to him, but I thought it only right for his mother to be told as well.” The thoughtful consideration of her feelings in the matter, touched Lady Yardley. “Besides, Frank had told me so much about Oversley that 1 felt 1 roust come, if only for an hour,” finished Jennifer, wistfully, fidgeting with the clasp of her bag as she spoke, in case Lady Yardley should see the tears in her eyes. “Of course, Frank will rush up to town immediately, so you might just as well stay," urged his mother, thinking of the dinner that would be spoiled, and of the long night journey that he would probably take in his twoseater, driving himself. “The letter will explain why it will be useless to follow me,” said Jenni l'er, rising as she spoke. “So far as I am concerned, this parting is only ‘au re voir’ not good-bye in any final sense, for 1 do not intend lo lose sight of you,” said Lady Yardley, graciously, as she kissed Jennifer warmly on both cheeks.

“You are very kind,” replied Jenniter, feeling that, had things gone well, she would have found it very easy ‘.o have loved Frank’s mother. But when the peculiar charm of her immediate presence was removed, and the time drew near for Frank’s arrival, Lady Yardley had reached the stage of deeming Jennifer an extremely sensible girl, typical of her generation in refusing to be burdened with responsibilities which she felt might become irksome once their novelty had staled. In the midst of her reflections, a maid came to tell her that Miss Creighton would like to speak to her on the telephone. “Is that you, dear? This is Adela, and I’m at the station. My stupid car has broken down. I was driving my self to a little midnight stunt party that Dickie Denton is giving in his cottage at Torquay to a few of us. But the garage man says it’s no good —he'll have to wait till tomorrow for some spare part he hasn't got before the thing can be repaired. 1 was won dering if —■” .

“But, of course, darling,” Lady Yardley dashed in eagerly. She did not know that she was giving stale news when she continued, dropping her voice cautionsly, “I’ve got something most interesting to tell you about the little Lome girl. You’ll be the first to hear it. Frank is liot due home for another hour. I’ll send the car along at once for you.” “Oh, is Frank coming home tonight? How topping! Luckily I’ve got a new Elise frock with me,” chirped the would-be fresh, gay voice at the other end of the line. It was an ironic fact that Jennifer had designed the frock to which she alluded.

Twenty minutes later she was sitting in the rose-garden on the same seat that Jennifer had occupied, her eyes carefully widened with surprise, her whole expression one of bland innocence, as Lady Yardley told her of what had taken place between JenniftJ and herself.

“She would not give a reason for breaking it off, but of course it may be contained in the letter that I am to give to Frank. Girls are very extraordinary these days,” said the clearly puzzled woman in a slow, thoughtful voice. “Really—it sounds ridiculous, of course —but, do you know, Adela, 1 actually got the impression, just at first, that she did not consider Frank a good enough match,” and though Lady Yardley laughed, there was a shade of chagrin in its note as she made the admission.

“Of course, she is very conceited; that Elise woman makes a most ridiculous fuss over her. What is she going to do, do you know—Jennifer Lome, I mean?” asked Adela Creighton with seeming nonchalance that concealed a great anxiety. It would not suit her book at all for Jennifer to remain in London. If she did that, she—Adela—would have to use the influence she knew that she possessed with Madame Elise, to have Jennifer dismissed. “Oh, she is going abroad, 1 believe. She said something about having a friend, a film actor in Hollywood, who had got her a contract to design dresses for his company. She is catch ing the boat to Paris tonight, and putting in two days there before start ing for Los Angeles.” “I see.” Adela Creighton was looking into her own eyes in the pocket mirror which aided the powdering of her nose. Lady Yardley, gazing at her roses, aid not see the exultation leap into them, making their blue brighter, and their whites as clear as those of a little child. The astute Frenchwoman, reading between the lines, had herself anticipated her “star” client’s move regarding Jennifer. “She would not stand for it, as they say, my dear,” she told Jennifer, with a strange savage bitterness in voice and manner. Like most people

who got to know Jennifer Lome intimately, she loved her, and hated having to let her go. “It is, of course, the acme of folly to travel at any time; on the other hand, those who never budge from their own country are only fit for the madhouse,” Madame Elise told Jennifer, as she laid an arm about her shoulders. “Mix with the world, see something of great cities, enlarge your relationships, and, believe me, my dear, sweethearts will only occupy part, not the whole canvas of life for you,” she concluded, giving the forlorn, heart-sick girl the best advice she knew.

“A year or so of travel will give you a mastery over the affairs of the world that otherwise you could never hope to possess. You say that you have a friend in Hollywood?” “Yes. Little Faith’s father fell out of work, and by chance joined a crowd for some film-work. He caught the producer’s eye and was offered a small r-art which led to a job in Hollywood, He seems to be getting on splendidly, and is the ‘star’ in his next picture.” Jennifer told her employer with interest but no enthusiasm. CHAPTER XV. There was a strange feeling of tension in the atmosphere of the Yardley dinner table when the four of them Frank, Adela Creighton, and his father and mother, sat down to dinner. Frank’s first question after greeting his mother had been; “You invited Jennifer, did you not?” Lady Yardley looked away as she answered the question, and evaded its issue by saying, “Yes, I invited her, but unfortunately she could not come,” keeping back the news that she had to impart, and the letter which she intended to give Frank after dinner. “That’s strange, for I know she was looking forward to coming,” said Frank, glumly, his words betraying no hint of the dream that had borne him sweet company all the way from Oslo to Newcastle, and from Newcastle to Sussex. He loved Oversley with a deep, abiding passion; his earliest recollections were bound up with the place. He had pictured his hear, gallant, beautiful little Jennifer sitting in the very seat that Adela Creighton occupied, and his heart became filled with a great, hot unrest. “Frank, do tell us about the Norwegian girls. What are they like? Are they prettier than I am?” To which Frank replied absently. “Yes, —no, I mean,” recovering himself hastily. Adela Creighton bit her lip with vexation, and once again wondered what in the name of heaven could be wrong with him that he could not see that she was immeasurably super ior in every way—yes, even in looks, she was the greater beauty, she told herself jealously—as a wife and future mistress of all this glory. She did her utmost to charm throughout the somewhat trying meal, but the conversational ball was almost

entirely kept rolling by Sir Ralph Yardley, and both she and Lady Yard ley felt the strain, and were glad when coffee and liqueurs were served Both women had a reason for wish ing to go to their rooms immediately after dinner, and the same reason concerned them both, though not iD the same way.

“I want you up in my room, darling, when you are ready,” said Lady Yard ley to Frank, as she passed his chair, and something in her voice made him look up sharply, and caused him to cut short his after-dinner cigar in order to obey the summons. “Si* down, dear, and wait a minute, will you? Oh, you have left your cigar downstairs. Have a cigarette, then. You will find some new Egyp tians in that box,” said Lady Yardley. who was hunting in the drawers of her dressing-table, pulling out one thing after another, as she failed to find that for which she was looking, At length, with a look of exasperation on her face, she rang the bell. “Oh, Slater, did you see a letter addressed to Mr. Frank on my dress ing table, propped up against the eau de Cologne bottle?” she asked, when the maid appeared.

“I saw it all the time I was dressing you for dinner, my lady, and it was still there after I’d tidied up and left the room,” was the positivelyspoken reply. “Mother, it was not a letter from Jennifer, was it? Did you notice the postmark?” asked Frank, immediately the maid had been told that she could go.

“There was no postmark, Frank. Jennifer herself gave it to me this afternoon,” said Lady Yardley, tenderly, for she knew how heavily would fall the blow that she was about to deal.

If she, who had tried to hard to i prejudice herself against the girl, ; could not help liking her, how would j Frank feel, who was in the first ardour of the only real love affair that he i had ever had—to that she would be ready to swear. “Jennifer here this afternoon? Then why on earth —? I don’t understand, mother,” said the bewildered boy, leaving his sentence up in the air. Lady Yardley’s face was white, and her voice was very low, as if speech hurt her in some way, or the words were being dragged from her against her will, as she said: “Jennifer wishes to break off her engagement to you, darling, and the letter which I was to give you would explain everything, she said. Oh, dear, I cannot think where that letter can be, Frank. I am certain that I left it propped up against the eau de cologne bottle. I wanted you to have your dinner first, you see. I knew that it contained bad news.” I “That letter has to be found!” | thundered Frank Yardley, in a voice | that made him an utter stranger to i his mother. | (To be Continued Tomorrow,),