For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8317, 21 December 1906, Page 2

For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

By R. Norman Silver, Author of "A Double Musk," "A Daughter of Mystery,'' "Held Apart," "The Golden JDmarf," etc.

["For Her Sister's Sake " was commenced on December 20th.]

CHAPTER I.—Continued. Involuntarily she had lowered her voice at the last word. Julia Lavenden winced, and the sisters were silent. Save for the dropping of a glowing coal on the tiled hearth, or the beat of hoofs upon the wood pavement of Park Lane, no sound disturbed the quiet of the boudoir. "Do you think I ought—l ought to tell Mr Agnew?" she asked. Her sister caught at her arm. "Winnie!" she cried. "Are you mad?"

Winifred Lavenden sighed. "I don't like not being quite—quite honest with him," she answered, "and he has told me so much about himself. Only yesterday he said he wondered if he really knew half as much about me as I did about him. Perhaps if he did know he wouldn't —he wouldn't "

Julia regained her self-control with an effort. "I—l wanted to talk to you about Mr Agnew," she said nervously. "Possibly, dear, it would be as well not to —to take him too seriously. You are very young, dear, and his attentions may not mean what you think they do."' The other drew herself up haughtily.

"Julia," she exclaimed, "how — how dare "

Her sister clasped her appealingly. "Don't, dear," she begged, "not —not to me! I only want you to be happy. I have no one in the world but you —I —l never can have anyone in the world but you." Her voice broke. Winnie looked at her quickly, and the gray eyes moistened.

"You poor darling," she said. "There, I won't tell anybody anything unless you give me permission. ! Will that satisfy you?" "It must," answered her sister, with a smile whose affection could not conceal its anxiety, and she turned to the mirror again. The countenance reflected from it was pale and perturbed. Winnie waited passively until the change in her sister's costume was completed, and then they went out of the boudoir together and descended the wide staircase previously traversed by Constance Istria. The house through which they moved was spacious and pleasant, and had a character of its own. A few fine pictures, not too large, and a sprinkling of exquisite antiques set off the solid elegance of its subdued decorations, thick carpets, and fine furniture. It had been the. town residence of the late Viscount Lavenden, a politician, connoisseur, and bachelor man of the world, and it spoke elegantly of a refined and critical taste.

[To be Continued.]

A tall liveried servant was carrying in the teatray as the sisters reached the stair and the threshold of the drawing room. Another was opening the hall door. As it swung wide a young and handsome man stepped in. Not much above the middle height, he had an easy, stalwart bearing, and his | brown, closely-shaven face was at once good-tempered and clever. Winifred Lavenden took a quick step toward him, then checked herself.

But the visitor was already at her side, and clasping her hands in his, Julia watched them an instant before moving forward. "How are you, Mr Agnew?" she observed, intervening, and added lightly: "Youare just in time for tea."

The young M. P. met her remark with a disarming twinkle in his dark' eyes.

"Indeed," he rejoined, "I believe that was what I came for. I only finished at the courts a few moments ago, and the thought of tea and a hospitable hearth overcame my sense of duty to my constituents. So I drove here instead of to the House. I am really a most domesticated person, and quite wasted on a public career."

With which laughing declaration he stepped back that the sisters might precede him into the drawingroom. There was a tidy bunch of violets in the lapel of his frock coat; as he entered the room, almost side by side with Winifred Lavenden, he took them out and offered them to her.

"Will you honour them?" he said. "They are not much to look at, but they are English, and as sweet as they are modest." Winnie took the flowers shyly, and for a moment their hands touched again.

The drawing-room was a lofty apartment, looking towards the park, and a furtive gleam of winter sunshine stole through the high windows from a; break in the clouded March sky to glimmer on the silver of the Baroness' tea-tray and lend strange lights to tawny tresses of Constance Istria.

She was standing by a low circular table which supported the tray and its accessories, and near her were a, couple of men.

One of these was fashionable enough in the fashionable morning coat and fancy vest of a typical clubman. Yet, despite his somewhat bald forehead and carefully smoothed hair, he bore more than a slight resemblance to Constance Istria. There was a, gold pin in his ample necktie, a pin enamelled with . a set of racing colours, and he had the air of a gentleman jockey or a hard rider to hounds. He bowed to Julia Lavenden with a certain familiarity, and drew forward hid companion. "Ah, Cousin Julia," he observed, "allow me to present to you a friend of mine who is muvt anxious to make your acquaintance- Lady Lavenden, MrGarside—Mr James Garside, of Toombaroomba, or some other outlandish place on the other side of the

earth, but a good sportsman for all that." Julia Lavenden raised her eyes. Before her was a spare, powerful figure, with a sunburned skin, a high, thin nose, closely set hazel eyes, and a smartly trimmed brown beard and moustache. The closely set pupils encountered hers steadily. Far down in their depths there was a spark—it might have been of amusement.

"I am charmed," declared the personage thus introduced, "to have an opportunity of paying my respects to Lady Lavenden." His tones were almost strident, but clear and well modulated, as those of educated speakers are. Julia bowed and murmured some conventional nothing or other. There was a lounge by her; she sat down in it with a desperate affectation of indolence. But her heart was beating wildly. "May I get you some tea?" suggested Mr James Garside—and, without pausing for an answer, he went to suit the action to the word.

Julia Lavenden gazed at him affrightedly from under her long lashes as he waited by the teatable ; she saw the remaining introductions completed, she saw him bow to Winnie and shake hands with Ed-y ward Agnew, she saw Constance Istria pour out a cup of tea, and deliver it to him, she saw him returning to her. As he put the delicate porcelain into her hand he bent over her. "That's right," he murmured, "keep looking like that —'wooden face and china eye,' as they say in the Flowery Land, 'tell no tales to the passer-by.' But I saw that you recognized me." He sat down beside her composedly.