Painted Butterflies

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 990, 5 June 1930, Page 5

Painted Butterflies

Published by Special Arrangement.

I

Mrs PATRICK MacGILL

A 111 hot <J - D.OC. to .he Oath. " Th. UkeM. cul. • The Rome of UU-" - -■=

CHAPTER XXl.—(Continued). Jennifer had unconsciously lowered her voice; now she cast a scared look around the room, as if she feared an Unseen listener. "It’s all right, dear. Your mother has gone to fetch Faith from school,” Carlos Mayhew reassured her. “No, you did not tell me that you had signed an 1.0. U. for the cheque you had. I should have remembered had you done so,” he continued. "Well, I did,” said Jennifer, with a ?°te of despair in her voice. “And it Jf because somebody holds it over my aead and will not part with it —somebody who wants to marry Frank herself that I had to give him up,” explained Jennifer. ‘1 know whom you mean. Adela Creighton. A rotton bad lot, if ever there was one. But go on. Don’t , ave anything out. How did she get hold of the 1.0. U. if you gave it to her uncle?” asked the sick man, "with e ager, intelligent interest. "Mr. Read slipped it Into a secret drawer of his desk, and the desk beoama her property after his death.

She discovered the existence of the drawer by accident,” explained Jennifer. ‘‘l see And, naturally, there were a good many reasons why you could not own up and tell young \ardley the whole story; what a mess your brother had got himself into with his firm, and how desperately you needed the money.” Carlos’s dark eyes had a filmy, faraway look, as if his mind were in the mst linking up and co-ordinating its events with Jennifer’s present unhappiness. “You know the chief reason, Carlos; mv deadly anxiety not to have mother’s heart broken by knowing Tuck And he has been worth ft so fir as keeping steady and looking after his job is concerned; he is B ■ j Even as she spoke, Jennifer experienced an uncomfortable twinge as she recalled the fact her brother’s forgery of the reference that had secured for him the job to which she alluded. ‘‘Apart from all that, the date had a rather awkward significance. If you i J ton dragged into the matter of Ter uncle's r death you would have

had to tell the whole story in order to clear yourself—which is where I should have come in.’’ “Exactly," agreed Jennifer, wearily. “And then the Hon. Adela would have been made to sit up a bit; she will yet," observed Carlos Mayhew, grimly. To. Jennifer he impulsively held out his arms—both arms widely. “If this is the last kiss I am ever to give you, I’ll forgo it, if Frank Yardley were multiplied a hundred times,” he said. “And that was why you sacriiiced yourself all along the line to save the lot of us, with the exception of your mother —from getting our deserts," he said, holding the slim form tightly in his arms. The kiss that he gave Jennifer was pressed upon her forehead, for her lips were no longer his, they were henceforward sacred to another man. “There cannot be another girl like you in the whole wide world, Jennifer," Carlos told her, as he released her. Jennifer turned to the cardboard box containing the frock that was to have graced her wedding, for she did not want the man for whom she was to have worn it to see the trembling of her lips, the tears that were in her eyes. A sense of the monstrous injustice, the blind futility that was life, surged over her and filled her with mad rebellion. Carlos had acted finely, it w*as true, but all to no purpose, so far as her own happiness was concerned. Indeed, unless Adela Creighton succeeded in persuading Frank to marry her, she would never be free from her blackmailing threats to expose her to the police; and the crime she had never committed would certainly look blacker by reason of its concealment. Whether he wanted her or not as his w r ife, she would stand by Carlos

— | to the end and be to him everyth’>■ ' that she could, she told herself, and her self-imposed vow of faithfulness had in it the same qualities of self- j sacrifice that characterise the vows I of nuns, when they renounce personal I happiness for a life filled with ser- I vice to mankind. CHAPTER XXH. The world seemed to hold nothing in its hot gold arms but the car in ! which Frank Yardley and Adela Creighton sat, having just started on their journey to Oversley, the former for a week-end visit at Lady Yardley’s invitation. It was only half-past seven; an early start had been decided upon. The waters of the river danced and sparkled; white wings flashed out of the deep blue of the sky; the breeze was fresh and sweet, and the world looked as it must have looked on the morning of the first day. Ordinarily, Frank’s youth would have responded to the splendour of Nature’s pomp and pageantry; but the pleasure was drained from the whole of Creation that day, so far as he was concerned. It was Jennifer's wedding day. She had not written to tell Frank that, after all, she w*as not marrying poor Carlos Mayhew*. Of what use, since the fact of his refusal to allow* her to unite her life with his made no difference to the barrier between them. Jennifer dreaded, yet almost longed, for the blow of Frank’s marriage to Adela Creighton to fall upon her. If the latter tired of the chase it w r as quite possible that, out of sheer vindictiveness, she would use her power over Jennifer and bring about the very result that she had given up : so much to avoid.

“Heard anything of the fair Adeia’s ceasing of Yardley lately? I saw them in Piccadilly today. By jove, her ‘line,’ as the Americans call it, is a very poor one. She looked at the fellow as if she’d like to eat him, while he looked bored stiff." Thus Mayhew*, who now* had a male nurse. On the days when he had less pain he w r as wheeled into places in his speci ally constructed spinal carriage, and, being human, he was flattered by the instant recognition of his presence, and the warm welcome extended tc him wherever he went. Jennifer had taken up her designing again, but not w r ith Elise, Ltd., for she had secured a very good contract with a leading London film concern, and her task of pleasing the “stars" for whom she w r orked, occupied every moment of her waking hours. Adela Creighton had angled for the invitation to Oversley, and there had been no refusing her insistence that she should drive Frank down by car. “It’s glorious driving in the early morning all alone —with you.” Adela’s voice, which was certainly

no vehicle for her passion, spent itself on the air so far as the good-look-ing young man by her side was concerned. Adela’s chauffeur had chosen to take a short cut through a narrow little street, and the corner house —it was the home of a sweep, to judge by the upstanding black broom beside the board which advertised his trade to the world —had a crowd outside w*hich flowed over the narrow* pavement into the road. Laughing at the tops of their goodhumoured voices, the boys and girls who had stopped on their w*av to factory and w’orkshop, crowded round the "beautiful car and commenced to chaff its occupants. “Goin’ on yer ’oneymoon, Mister? 'Ere y'are, a silver ’orseshoe ter bring yer good luck," and the red-cheeked, bright-eyed factory girl, full to the brim of vitality and goodwill, took from an open paper bag that she was holding, a small handful of tiny slippers and horseshoes made of silvered cardboard—the kind that have ousted confetti from popular favour —and

threw them into Frank's laughing, good-humoured face. “Thanks,” he returned, cheerily, and raised his hat, which caused the little girl to turn to her companions and observe, “ ’E’s a real toff, ain’t ’e?" A few of the harmless favours had fallen into the lap of Adela’s exquisite motoring coat, and her face w*as dark with disdain as she rose fretfully, and shook them on to the expensive fur rug at the bottom of her car. “Can’t you drive on, Watkins?" she demanded, pettishly, over her chauffeur’s shoulder. “Can’t very well, miss. Seems to be a wedding on. There’s a whole string of sweeps’ carts and costers’ barrows, all dressed up, coming along,” and, following the direction of her chauffeur’s eyes, Adela Creighton saw that the narrow* street was indeed filled with humble little vehicles drawn by dressed-up donkeys and ponies, and dressed-up drivers as well, all coming toward them. It was impossible to go forward, and equally impossible to turn in the nar-

, row confines of the street; there was nothing for it but to back the car the little way they had come and re- ; turn to the main road. The little girl who had thrown the silver horseshoes into the car just had time to inform Adela, and anybody else who might be interested, [ that her face resembled a wet Friday, • when suddenly a yell went up from the half-hundred eager, excited young throats, and, turning toward the - house, the car and its occupants were forgotten as completely as if they > had never come. * “ ’Ere she is! ’Ere’s Liz! Good - luck, Liz! Good luck. Bob! Oh, don't - they look sweet little ducks?” This l as a tribute to the pink-clad, self-con- . scious little sisters of the bride, who. ; disregarding custom, had preceded their sister, who presently appeared . on the arm of her father, the sweep, ; to judge by the chorus of cheers from the sweep section of the rapidly- \ growing crow r d. (To be Continued Tomorrow.)