A SECRET FOE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10159, 1 December 1910, Page 2

A SECRET FOE.

(OUR SERIAL.I

ry GERTRUDE WARDEN. Author of "Scoundrel or Saint?" "The Secret of a Letter," "A Bold Deception," "The Wooing of a Fairy," "The Crime Oi Monte Carlo," etc.

CHAI'TEI? Vll.—Continued. A little before four o'clock that morning, just as Iris was tailing to sleej), the noises she had been waiting for began. A distant rattling of the front door chain, followed after an interval by light, very light footsteps, and then, quite distinctly, the fitting of a key in the lock of Dagmar's room. To make assurance doubly sure, Iris pooped out, and beheld by the light of dawn coming faintly from a window on the stairs below, the iiguro of Dagmar, dressed iu the black silk dinner-gown she had worn that evening, and wearing a black lace shawl about her shoulders, which, slipping a little back, clearly disclosed her features. As she turned the key in the lock, Miss Mallvon threw a sudden glance cf apprehension in the direction of Iris' half open door, and seemed to hesitate. A moment later she had entered Iris' room, where the gas was still alight. "Hush!" she whispered, placing one finger on her lip. 'Whatever we do, don't let's wake those odious children. They caught me once bei fore. And Miss Travel's—dear, no— I I won't call you that, I'll call you j Iris—Jris, dear, you mustn't let a I soul know you have seen me. The truth is, mama, who is full of silly fads and fancies, has taken a dislike against some very bright and jolly people who live close to here, and who give card and supper parties, beginning at midnight and keeping up till five or six. I must have excitement, and I must enjoy myself. We Mallyons always manage to enjoy ourselves somehow, and I do love cards and supper parties with amusing people. Don't look shocked! There is safety in numbers, and there wore at least thirty people at the Cleethorpes' to-night. It is absurd," she went on yawning, while she unrolled her beautiful hair, "to suppose that just because I am a young woman I must always go to bed at eleven, and never go out | without my mother, or some old idiot of a chaperon, and never want more excitement than a visit to the theatre, or a drive in the park with mama, or a game of tennis with some nice young ladies and their schoolboy brothers. Just because I am a woman I am to be a precious saint, and atone for all the faults and foibles of the men of the family! Uncle Jasper, for instance, who makes love to every pretty girl, as j well as every decent looking married woman, he sees, and never has the slightest intention of marrying any of them—he may be as disreputable as he pleases, and it is far worse in an old man—but I may not even flirt. It's just nonsense. Well, goodnight, Iris, dear. I know I can rely upon you not to betray my little card-play-ing frolic. Goodnight, and give me a kiss." But in her own room Dagmar Mallvon bit her own red iips until they bled. "Little spying cat!" she muttered. "I'll pay her out for this."

CHAPTER VriT. DAGMAR PLAYS PROVIDENCE. The morning after Iris had discovered Daginar's surreptitious expedition proved a very trying one for the elder girl. Dagmar and her mother were in the liahit of breakfasting in bed in their respective, apartments, leaving Iris to give Mr Mavrogodato his breakfast at the same table with the children before he left the house for the city. Iris was much relieved on this particular morning by her employer's absence. Mr Mavrogodato was in the habit of addressing' Iris as "my dear" when 110 one was about, and as "Miss Travers," in tones of exaggerated coldness, in the presence of his wife and stepdaughter, a system which angered Iris deeply. Bv the first mail Iris rceofved a very kind note from Lord Mallyon, whom she had not seen since she had | arrived in London. In it he said lie j delighted to learn from his sis-ter-in-law, Mrs Mavrogodato, that Iris was installed in Lancashire Place, and that lie hoped vorv soon to call and see how sho was getting on. B ."And remember, my dear Miss Travers," he added, ' "that I shall continue to regard myself as your self-constituted guardian until you diclaim my care, and that I trust you will not fail to apply to me for advice and sympathy, should von ever need theni. "Always your sincere friend, "MALLYON," The reading of the letter gave Iris unmixed satisfaction, and in the glow of gratitude she felt for Lord Mallyon it hurt her deeply to recall the style in which the great man was invariably alluded to in this hou'sehohl, where his genius and charm were altogether ignored, and where he seemed to be regarded solely as an old man from whom money ought to be extracted on every possible occas-

ion. Up in her luxuriously furnished bedroom, Miss Mallyon was also reading a letter indited by the same hand, but her feelings as she perused it were by no means either graceful or affectionate. '■Mean old wretch!" she exclaimed emphatically. "Why couldn't he get drowned on board me Atlantis and leave, me his money!" The letter wmc-n so aroused her ire was, nevertheless, considerate enough to have satisfied a less unreasonable person than tlu beautiful Dagmar Mallvon. Her uncle wrote:—

! ''.My Dear Dagmar:—Your letter • of complaints lias duly reached me, ' and I fear you will deam me flinty- ! hearted when I tell you that I cannot wholly sympathize with you in your troubles. On attaining your majority, exactly fifteen months ago, ' you succeeded to a sum of between six and oven thouand pounds. As the trustee appointed by your late father, 1 found, on examining your affairs, that you had already, as a minor, contracted debts amounting to four hundred pounds, for -which you desired to evade i v .ll responsibility by pleading that you were under age, and that the articles of which you wished to defraud the trades- | men were not necessities. As you are aware, I had too much respect for the honour of our ncme to permit this. Although yon had no claim upon me, and your father died in my debt, T did not wish you to start in life handicapped with debt, and so I advanced the sum by which your debts were fully settled, leaving the repayment of the loan to any future time when you could clear off the obligation without crippling your resources. "Through my investments in your name you injoy an income of two hundred and fifty pounds a year, which should surely suffice for your clothes and pocket money, living, as you do, without expense, at your I mother's house. The outlay attendant 011 your presentation at court last year I defrayed by giving you a cheque for a- hundred guineas, and my account book shows me that during the last fifteen months I have drawn other cheques in your favour amounting to over seventy pounds. 1 Yet now you write and tell me that you are 'over head and ears in debt'; 'trembling lest every mail should bring a dunning letter'; 'insulted by j dressmakers, florists and perfumers'; 'unable to purchase trifles that are absolutely necessary to a woman in your position,' etc. "I can weil understand that beautiful clothes are longed for by a beautiful girl; and as you love these evidences of wealth so dearly as to fall heavily in debt over them, it is incumbent upon you to supply yourself with thorn by the. only legitimate means in your power—that is to say, by making a rich marriage. I learn with surprise and regret from .your mother's letter that you have refused Sir John Moray, the banker. Unless you have a more brilliant match in view, this is extremely unwise. Sir John is a personable man, of excellent family, and moving in a very good set; and T happen to know that his income exceeds fifty thousand a year. Such a husband is not easily found, even by a beauty and my neice. For a girl absolutely without fortune as yourself, to be Lady Moray, of Cardhat Castle, is a brilliant position. Consider, Dagmar, beauty soon fades, and although you are irresistible at twentytwo, a restless disposition and a passionate temper hasten the apI pvoneh of wrinkles. In brief, if yon want money, you must marry for it, some sacrifice being usually necessary in the r. itainrnent of our desires. "Always your affectionate uncle, "MALL YON." Dagmar crushed the letter in her strong hands and flung it to the floor. Then she sprang out of bed, a creature of fairylike beauty in her amber silk nightrobe covered with white lace, with her long black hair waving about her shoulders. I wish »ie were dead!" she /lissed, stamping with her bare feet upon her uncle's letter. "How dare he remind nie 1 am without fortune, and count over each pound he doles out to me! He ought to acknowledge , me as his heiress, and give me a handsome allowance—a few thousand a year—instead of a miserable two hundred and fifty! And I, the beautiful Miss Mallyon am reduced to selling and pawning my trinklets to raise money! Why should I marry Sir John Moray to get money which this miserly old uncle of mine could hand over to me at this moment and never feel the want of it?'' She stopped. (To bo Continued.\