A SECRET FOE

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10156, 30 December 1910, Page 2

A SECRET FOE

(OUR SERIALS

jy uERTRUDE WARDEN. Author ..f Scm.ndiT-1 or Stunt?" "The Secret of a Letter," "A Bold Op.suotion," "The Wooing of a Fairy,". "The Crime ol Moute Carlo," etc.

CHAPTER XX.—Continued. "Iris!" Dagmar interrupted her scornfully. "Do you know how much it costs to live charmingly. Ted'has never yet had a client; he doesn't make two hundred pounds a year, and he owes at least eight hundred. I have about three hundred, and I owe three times that. If we were to buy furniture on credit, it would be seized. Do you think I am going to live in dirty, choky lodgings, and dine off burnt chops—l, Miss Mallyon, a London beauty, and Lord Mallyon's niece?"

Iris sighed and turned away. In her secret heart she cherished the conviction .that, little as she might understand the fierce intensity and wild jealousy of such a love as Dagmar's, she could yet bo capable of sacrificing wealth and comfort, and working hard in poverty for the sake of a man she truly loved,, such a man, perhaps, as Drogo Gordon, had things chanced otherwise. But at the mere thought of Drogo a loyal blush suffused her cheek, and she secretly reproached herself for having let such an idea enter her mind.

"It all seems hard, and sad, and wrong," she said gently, "and I am very sorry, and will do anything in the world to help you, Dagmar. But I cannot help thinking that, if you went to your uncle and spoko to him just as you have spoken to me, he would understand and forgive, and would help to make some provision for you and your husband. He is very wise, and very kind." Had Dagmar taken this advice, which was undoubtedly the best possible, the entire course of her life might have been altered, and a very speedy end found for all her troubles. But she preferred her own devious way of action, and for.the chance of ousting Iris and securing her uncle's entire fortune, she disdainfully let this opportunity pass by. "It is impossible yet," she said, said. "And new let us forgjt this conversation." Iris .kissed bar and ssi'.l no more. That night Dagmar retii.d early to her room to write Jr.tiers, a? she said. But, having f.'st locked her door, she set herself to carefully copy a specimen of Iris' : undwriting, one she had previously secured, for the space of three hours. Much mischief

might be done by forging handwritings, as she knew ,ell, and in her schooldays she had been an adept at the art, her delicate, quick touch, and artistic instinct helping her in tins as in everything else she undertook. It was characteristic of her that, although her confession to Iris had greatly relieved her, she yet hated Iris the more for havi::j made such a confession necessary. Disguise it as she might, her own marriage was a failure, and sometimes, in an agony of jealousy and regret, she told herself that Fitzalan had already tired of her. In this, indeed, she was not very far wrong. In the Honourable Edward Fitzalan's nature strong animal passion coexisted with shortsighted cunning and a selfish envy of the good things of this world. Ho had loved Dagmar's beauty, and had coveted her uncle's money, which he had felt certain she would sooner or later inherit; but for this belief he woidd never have married ner. And now that Lord Mallyon's fortune seemed to have slipped forever from his niece's grasp, Fitzalan was conscious of a growing irritation toward his wife, to whom he showed himself sweet-tempered and affectionate, but by no means so loverlike as before. In losing the first brightness of her beauty, she had lost the chief ' charm in his eyes. As to her passionate love for himself, he accepted that as his due. and attached but little value to it. A certain handsome young heiress, a Miss Lilian Delmar, had recently attracted his wandering attention at a country house, where he had passed a few days for the shooting, and ho had already almost hinted to Dagmar that, but for the tie that existed between them, he might have made the "match of the season." To Dagmar, her husband's growing coolness, as ivc: as all her other trouble , was attributable to Iris' influence, and with all her scheming Italian brain she set about to devise some method of procuring the downfall of her innocent enemy. An opportunity for exercising her skill in imitating Iris' handwriting occurred no later than the following morning. The day brake brisk, clear and sunny, an ideal morning in the early winter. Lord Mallyon's business would take him from home for the greater portion of the day, and i

at breakfast, of which meal lie was partaking, with his wife and niece, he asked the latter how they meant to dispose of their time. Already he had I>;gun to watch Iris with a jealous eye, and to receive her ; statements with suspicion and in- | credulity. The poison had done its | work. Dagmar's anonymous letter, | followed closely by the discovery of his wife and Drogo in agitated conversation in the library, made the secretary's desire to leave his employ appear suspicious and significant. Iris was not happy with him; she did not love him as he desired to be loved, and in her wistful blue eyes Lord Mallyon thought he detected the bok of a caged bird pining to be free. | In this fancy he was not far from i the truth. The conventions of her J present existence oppressed Iris, and j ! she often found herself looking back with regret to the old days when she was only a dreamy schoolgirl, the little insignificent daughter of a graybearded student, living out her uneventful life in the quiet town of Richmond, Virginia. 1 Even now she could hardly realize by what pressure of circumstances all this had been altered, and she, Lady Mallyon, whose every movement, and every gown worn in public would be reported in the newspapers, came to be tho wife of that handsome, whitehaired gentleman, with Uie steely eyes and silvery voice, who sat watching her acre?.? the breakfast table. "I shall be shopping all i he morning," Dagmar, said, in answer to her uncle's question. ''But I won't bother you to come with mo, Iris, dear, and I shan't want the carriage. I shall just take a hansom and fetch Milly Cleothorpe, a girl I know you wouldn't like, and we will potter about Regent sti "ct and Bond street, and have lunch n;mewhero in the neighbourhood 1 .. - " 'Do you think you are strong enough to undeital-e such a, tiring morning?" Iris asked anxiously, while Lord Mallyon frowned, and took up his paper \.'ifch a little murmur of dissent, in common, with most men who had lived irregular lives, he highly disapproved of the new ideas of hboiy ard independence for the ladies of his family, who, in his opinion, could liob ba too strictly watched or too closely guarded "I am ro sorry you will not come with me," iris observed to her guest. "I am longing for a country drive on a morning like this. I want to get away from streets and houses where I can leave the carriage and have ' a beautiful, brisk walk." "You should drive vo Richmond Park, or Hampstead Heatju," Lord Mallyon suggested, noting as he spoke his wifo's intense pallor and the -shadows under her eyes, for Iris' concern for Dagmar Iv:;d troubled her rest that night. "Stevens can follow you at a little distance while you enjoy a walk there.' The suburbs -f J-ondon were unknown to Iris, antf, when Richmond Park had been at length decided upon, she hastened to put on her hat and furs, as pleased as a child at the idea of the drive. This was Dagmar's opportunity. Hurrying to her room, she scribbled in pencil on a. half-sheet of note-pa-per, in an excellent imitation of Iris' handwriting, the following words: "Am driving to Richmond Park. Meet me there to continue our talk of vesterday. "1.M." CHAPTER XXI. IRIS AWAKL.,. When Drogo. Gordon reached tho library after breakfast, to proceed with his morning's work, he discovered a litle folded si" > of paper sticking out beneath his inkstand. He had breakfasted, as was his wont, in the smaller study opening into the library, and he therefore knew nothing of Lady Mallvon'sarrangements for the day. At sight j of her handwriting, which he knew well, the blood rushed to his face, and his fingers trembled as he spread out the paper. At first it appeared not unnatural that she should wish to consult with him alone concerning Dagmar's -entanglement with Fitzalan, now that she had had an opportunity of questioning the girl upon the subject, and he was angry with himself when he felt his heart beat faster at the thought. (To be Continued.)