The Japanes Parasol

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1014, 3 July 1930, Page 5

The Japanes Parasol

CHAPTER VIII. "You’ve always been very kind to mot Her anrl me, Colonel, and now that father is dead I feql that r would rather confide in you more than anyone else. As you know, Hugh, and I have always been very good friends, but what has happened lately—well, as I say, it's worried me. That photograph of his in Violet Chichester’s handbag—why should she be carrying his photo? Those almost daily visits of his to London—he would never tell me what took him up to Town. And that is not all.” “No?” Winthrop’s eyes on her face were i very watchful. They held an ex- , pression which might have startled : her, had she met them at that instant, ! But her own were intent on the handi kerchief she twisted in her lap. ! “You see,” she went on, and it was i obvious that she was trying to banish i the tremor from her “there is a ; deeper mystery still about that photograph. I mean that it was once mine ! —the actual copy that Hugh himself ! gave me. He told me at the time that i it was the only copy he had left, and | I recognised it by a certain little I scratch in one corner. It was my copy, mine, that that girl wa.s earry- ! ing.” j The colonel looked incredulous. j “But in that case, in that case ” ■ he began, when she anticipated him. 1 “I know what you’re going to say, and that’s just what happened.i My copy has vanished—l missed it just after Hugh had come to see me one day.” Winthrop whistled. “The deuce you did! That looks bad, bad,” he murmured, as if to himself. Then aloud: “But surely Monro wouldn’t ?” She had caught his soliloquy, however, and again she broke in on what he was about to say. “That’s what I want to ask you,” she exclaimed, “what I must know. Hugh may have confided in you more ! than he did in me. At any rate you are a man of the world. Do you think, do you know if there was anything, anything vital, between Hugh j and this actress?” Once more his eyes searched her troubled face, and the lids suddenly flickered. He countered with a quesj tion. “Has Hugh Monro ever proposed to ! you?” he asked. “As you say, I am your friend, Gwen, and you can co^ | fide in me.” j There was a long pause, i “No,” she said slowly, “he has never actually proposed. But there was a time —before all this happened—wh»’ I thought, I thought he might. He was in love with me theu—a girl always knows that. Colonel Winthrop. Even now, now that her influence is removed, 1 suppose, he acts as if he were fond of me. But how can I respond when—when ” “No,” he answered gravely, “you cannot—even if you wished to. Listen,” he went on, speaking with a care and deliberation that seemed to weigh every word he uttered, “I know no more than you actually of the rela-, tions which existed between Hugh Monro and Violet Chichester. But, as you say, I am a man of the world, and to such the inference seems unanswerable. Young men will be young men, and Violet Chichester had , fascinated many in her time. She I was very beautiful, very seductive. It. is no wonder, perhaps, that Hugh . succumbed where so many mo£ i sophisticated than he have done the Isame. Forgive me if I hurt you. I am not blaming Monro, but pitying blrn. .Whatever, have happened.

A Powerful Mystery Story, Superbly Told.

I shall remain his friend, as I am yours. But you have asked for my advice, and I feel that f should be failing in my duty if I did not put things to you as I see them—-as every man will see them who knows his world.” He paused again, and as he watched the result of his measured statement an almost indefinable expression flitted across his brown and furrowed features. A certain pity, a certain concern, were blended with something very different. He leant over, and placed his hand upon her knee. For the first time in the interview his voice was not quite under control. There was about it more than'an element of hoarseness and strain. "Surely,” he urged, “surely, Gwen, after all this you are not yourself ip love with Hugh Monro?” She did not reply. She was weeping softly. CHAPTER IX. It was those tears which precipitated the -crisis. But for them, and what they implied, it is possible that Winthrop would never have lost the hold which he had kept upon himself from the beginning of the interview, would have left matters to take their own course from the point which they ha.d reached, would have listened to the fundamental acumen which whispered to him that he had gone far enough, and that any further steps were better left for another time. It might have been so; yet who can say? . For when the heart sways the head incalculable results accrue. So it was now. At the sight of her tears, the barriers of his resolution, the pretence of disinterested friendliness he had so elaborately maintained, went down with a crash. His face turned white beneath the ingrained tan of the Indian suns. He sprang to his feet, and drew the girl to him roughly, possessively. Like his selfcontrol, his words seemed to leap the barrier of their reserve. Pie was the elemental male, blind to everything save the pulse of his own desire “You can’t love him,” he cried, that unfledged puppy, swayed by every pretty face he sees. You can’t, I say. What you want, child, is the love of a man, a man who knows his own mind, and has known it too longtor his soul’s peace. Are you, too, blind, you who said yourself just now that a woman always knows? Haven’t you understood? Haven’t you seen how it was with me from the first day I met you? Don’t you realise I love you, that I worship you? If not, then, by heaven, you shall now.” He crushed her to him, and for aD instant she was too astounded, too dazed by the turn affairs had taken, to resist. Then, with a strength he had not given her credit for, she wrenched herself away, her face whiter than his own, but for a different reason. She stood staring- at him in frank consternation. "Are you mad, Colonel Winthrop?” she asked at length. It was curious, but as water thrown upon a fire will subdue the leaping flames, so did that single sentence quell for the time being the fires of his passion. More than that, there was brought home to him the realisation of the ghastly mistake he had committed. He, too, stood staring, almost stupidljc Then, gropingly, he began to attempt to repair his error. "I’m sorry,” he muttered, and as if to reassure her he sank back into the chair he had vacated. “I'm sorry, deeply sorry. i must, have been mad—to act like that. Believe me—l give you my word—it shall never happen again. But. at least, you know my secret now, a secret I had not meant to tell ypu jet, so i

must hear one thing. Is there any hope for me, child, any chauce ?” “None.” Cold and overwhelming as an avalanche, that, one word swept, over his hopes, his desires. He recognised its finality, knew then that, never of her own free will would this girl be to him what he wanted. Yet he blundered on, not realising or perhaps refusing to realise, that every word he spoke landed him deeper still in the morass of his own undoing. “I know that, by your standards, I am old.” he muttered, “but. I am rich. I can give you much that many women covet houses, frocks, foreign travel ” She raised her hand, and checked him. “I am not to be bought,” she said icily. “Were you as young as l am, and as rich as Croesus, ray answer would be the same. I do not love you, Colonel Winthrop.” He made one last effort. “But I love you, child,” and his tone was almost wistful. “Surely you might learn to—tolerate—me in time?” She shook her head, and this time when she spoke her voice was softer. Her eyes were opened now, and she knew well enough that, this man loved her to distraction. To that fact she was prepared to put down, and condone, his outburst. She knew, too, that after this even their friendship could not remain upon its old footing. Already, she was bitterly regretting the impulse which had brought her there to confide in him that morning. It had fired a mine, the very existence of which she had not suspected. All the same, ever since he had taken Grange Hall, he had shown her mother and herself unvarying kindness, and this she strove to remember now. ~

“I am afraid,” she said gently, “that I can never care for you in that kind of way. I have always liked you—l shouldn’t have come to you like l did this morning if that hadn’t been the case—but you must be content to let things remain so. And now I must go—l promised mother to order some groceries in the town.”

By this last matter-of-fact statement she tried to relax the tension, to recover something of the old impersonal atmosphere. The shock to her had been considerable, and she was anxious to get away. “Tell me,” the colonel said suddenly, and because he guessed that she was watching him, he kept his eyes lowered—“is it Monro after all?” She hesitated, and then, because she wished to bring to an end a situation that was intolerable for them both, she resolved on candour.

“Yes,” she said frankly, “it is. If Hugh is the kind of man you think he is, I shall probably never marry him if he asks me to. But that cannot prevent my loving him. It—will always be Hugh.” By the clenching of his hands, she saw that her words had gone home, and, as if fearing that they might precipitate auother scene, she turned and slipped from the room. She was accustomed to letting herself out, and shq did so now, and AVinthrop made no attempt to follow her. For a little while he continued to sit quite still, and then he rose and went to the Hurrying down the drive, the girl presently encountered what struck her as a somewhat singular individual. He carried a basket, and liis swarthy skin and white turban proclaimed him as a native of India. When he reached her, he set down his burden and salaamed low in native fashion. Rather taken aback, Gwen responded with a nod, and hastened on. But had she seen the lo6k which sprang into Winthrop’s smouldering eyes when he spotted the newcomer from the window, it is probable that she would have taken to her heels and fled in sheer and uncontrollable terror. If Hugh Monro was frankly disappointed with the result of their nocturnal visit to the copse which had witnessed Milton’s murder, it would hardly be correct to say that Inspector Lucas was equally so. Matters, possibly, had hardly turned out as he had expected they might, but be was aware that they had at least introduced a new train ot‘ thought, and one that might conceivably prove not: less profitable than the old one. And he recognised that any train of thought that might, lead to results was to be welcomed at the present juncture. £*& Cqn tiniLigd