A SECRET FOE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10145, 15 December 1910, Page 2

A SECRET FOE.

COUFt SERIALS

r y CERTRUDE WARD'SN. Author of "Scoundrel or Saint?" "The Secret of a Letter," A Bold n.Mv-r.tinn," "The Wooing of a Fairy," "The Crime oi Monte Carlo," etc.

CHAPTER Xlll.—Continued. Her anger at sight of the necklace of even rows of pearls caught hy diamond clasps, another gift from Iris' fiance, almost got the better of her prudence, and she could scarcely control her voice as she observed suddenly : ■ "Do von know, Iris,-I never had any idea that there was anything between you and Uncle Jasper. Excuse me for saying so, but of course I knew that Drogo Gordon was in love with you, and I certainly thought you'had a sort of earnest regard for him." The chance shot told. Iris' white skin flushed, and a troubled look came into her eyes. "1 never had any idea that Lord Mallyon would do me the honour of asking me to marry him," she said. "I only called at his house that morning to explain to him that I was not so unworthy of all the friendship and kindness he had shown as he might have been led to believe. While I was talking to him you and your mother were announced. You know what followed: I was quite as much astonished as you when Lord Mallvon asked me to ' marry him:" ■.•*■■.;■■''■'■■'

dered her incapable of understanding the reserve, the 'childlike innocence, and shy maidenliness of Iris Travcrs. To Iris, love, such love as men feel for women and women for men, was little more than a name, a thing she had sometimes read about, and ragarded with more alarm than any other feeling, as a devasting element the nature of which she did not understand. Her strongest senti'ment had boon, so far, filial affection, and because of her gratitude to Lord Mallyon, and her unbounded admiration and respect for many brilliant qualities which were really his, as well as for many others with which her imagination had endowed him, she regarded it as her clear duty to accept the honour which he proposed to bestow on her.

Again a feeling of impotent rage swelled lip in Dagmar's heart.' But for her mother's intemperate speech on that morning, and, above all, for Fitzalan's incredible folly and her own outburst of furious jealousy on the preceding evening, this hateful development - might not have come about. She turned her head sharply aside, lest Iris should read in her eyes the hatred that consumed her. "Yes, but &eing proposed to- is one thing, and saying 'yes' is another," she persisted. "I was- so certain that there was an understanding between you and Drogo." "I shall be deeply grateful to Mr Gordon as long as I live," returned Iris earnestly. "He saved my life •on,.board ship at the risk of his own. But I have only seen him twice since I arrived in London, and you are .quite .mistaken'' in your surmise about him."

Only the. thought of Drogo Gordon troubled her, and without doubt if he had spoken in the Flower Walk as he afterwards did in the Abbey cloisters she would, in spite of every thing, had refused Lord Mallyon's offer. But when that offer was made, it would have seemed as though she, the beggar-maid, were refusing King Coplietua. Friendless, penniless, and among strangers, exposed to calumny and-insult in her endeavours to earn her living, how could she refuse the man who had exalted her before the eyes of the very persons who were endeavouring to blacken her fair fame ?

Deep within her nature her capability for passionate love was still sleeping, and, until that last interview with Drogo, no one she had met had stirred so much feeling within her as this wonderful Dagmar, with her beauty and her petulance", and her abrupt changes of mood from mad, high spirits to stormy anger. At the very moment when Dagmar was scorning her in her secret heart for what seemed like her coldness and stolidity, Iris took Miss Mallyon's hands in hers, . and looked into her eyes, with a sudden tenderness.

. "Why, the last time I mentioned the name to you," remarked Dagmar innocently,, "you said you had not met him since you arrived—that was on the very day you left us. You have seen him twice since then, I suppose?" Dagmar spoke in such careless tones that Iris could not guess with what eagerness her answer was awaited. She wished Dagmar would not talk about Drogo. The mention of his name made her unhappy, _ although she-hardly knew why, so little did she as yet understand her own heart.

"I am so glad," she said, "that you have come to me, Dagmar. I cannot ever'express well in words what I feel—well,.as if I had been ■stabbed by a friend. We will never talk about it again, but I am very glad you understand me better now."

"I met Mr Gordon by accident in the park the day I left your house," she answered, in constrained tones, after a slight pause, ' 'and I met him oil the street on the following day. But please, dear Dagmar, put out of your head any notion of sentiment connecting him with me. I think, indeed, I am quite sure, that M** Gordon does not approve of me at all. We seem to disagree whenever we meek"

•A pang shot through her hear? as she spoke, recalling as she did the extreme coldness of Drogo' farewell. Three times she and he had been so near in spirit—first, ,on the deck of the sinking Atlantis; again, when he quoted Browning's lines, to her in the Flower Walk; and yet another time, as they sat within the WestMinster Abbey cloisters. But on all these occasions suddenly a little word had come to part them, as it seemed, farther asunder each time. Iris' blue eyes became dreamy and regretful; for the moment she forgot that she was the" promised, wife of another man, and fell to wondering whether at their next meeting the 'Same ; thing would happen. The quarrels had been all of Drogo,'a making; she herself had always wished most ear nestly to be friendly with him. Would he ever look at her again with that wonderful light,which seemed to say so much, shining in those dark-hazel eyes of his? she asked herself. Dagmar meanVhile was , keenly watching her, while affecting to be absorbed in the examination of boxes of millinery. Every fresh instance of her uncle's lavish generosity towards his intended bride angered her still further, but by this time she had gained complete control over her facial muscles, and the countenance she now turned upon her companion was smiling and affectionate. "One great favour I have come to ask," she said, "and that is, that I may be your bridesmaid. Mind, I don't even know when the wedding is to be. But whenever it is, I must be bridesmaid."

"Dear girl," returned Dagmar, kissing her with impulsive affection, like the accomplished actress that, she was., "And you must persua'de uncle Jasper to let me be your bridesmaid. I think I hear his carriage outside the gates. What a pity it is that the garden path is so narrow. The house ought to have a proper carriage drive. It must be very awkward going out on wet nights." In the luncheon-room, when Iris and Dagmar entered it presently arm in arm, they found Lord Mallyon in conversation with his hostess, from whom ho had learned with surprise and pleasure of his neice's visit. He had'resented that idea that his own family would be unrepresented at the wedding, which was fixed to,take place in three weeks, and he was delighted by this display of what he considered tact and worldly wisdom on the part of his favourite neice. 'I am begging Iris to use her influence with you and let me be lier bridesmaid," Dagmar said, after greeting her uncle with much display of affection. "I have alway's refused to be anybody else's, but I do want to be hers."

"It will be a very quiet wedding," her uncle returned, evidently gratified, "but of course Iris will do as she pleases, and "

"You will ask Lord Mallyon, will you not?" Iris answered, a little confused. "I know it is his intention that the wedding shall be' a veryquiet one, from this house, and at a church near here. My grandfather, who is a clergyman, will assist in the service, and, at Lord Mallyon's request, I have written asking my father to give me away." She spoke quietly in matter-of-fact tones. Dagmar looked at her curiously. Not in such terms could she have spoken of a ceremony that would unite her to the man she loved. Her tempestuous nature, the loves and hates of which attained a precocious development and strength, ren-

He stopped short in his speech, his gaze having been suddenly attracted by an ornament his neice was wearing at her throat. A linen collar surmounted her tailor-made bodice, and this was fastened together, not by an ordinary st'ud or brooch, but by links of a curious design. On one side was a beautifullymade tennis racket,, gold-bordered, the centre filled in by platinum openwork, and on the other a couple of small gold tennis-balls. The whole ornament was small and, although extremely pretty, by no means conspicuous. Yet Lord Mallyon appeared incapable of removing his. gaze from it, and Iris, whose eyes followed the direction of his, knew in an instant the reason of his fixed attention. The racket was the facsimile of the broken sleeve-link left on Lord Mallyon's cabin floor in the Atlantis by the man who had vainly endeavoured to affect his death. At sight of it Iris would have uttered an exclamation of surprise, but a warning gesture from Lord Mallyon stopped her. "Lam sure Iris will like you to he present at her wedding, even if not in the formal character of bridesmaid," he went on in his' smooth' melodioustones. ' 'Pardon mo for breaking, off avltat I was saying just now, but my attention was arrested by the links you are wearing in your collar. They seem identical with a pair which I examined a few weeks back in Tiffany's, the New York jeweller's store. The design was so prettily carried out that I thought of buying them, but eventually decided in favour of a larger pair. May I ask how long you have had them ?" (To bo Continued.)