TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10408, 31 August 1911, Page 2

TO THE UTTERMOST FARTHING.

CHAPTER Vll—Continued

"Ah, youwould, naturally!" Ie paused, and his dark eyes surveyed Bernard with a quick look. "Rattier odd, as'things have turned out, that you and I should have never met before, Mr Severance! But, if we had, the circumstances of our present meeting would havo been hardly less peculiar,* I suppose." Ho laughed. "You perhaps wonder that I knew you? i don't mind confessing that I put myself in the way of seeing you two cr three days ago." "Indeed?"

"Yes. To tell the truth I had a fancy—-no offence —to see how • you were likely to fill my place." Ho laughed again. There was no traco of embarrassment, or resentment in his manner, not a note -jx bitterness in his musical, slightlydrawling voice. To all appearance In took the loss of a fortune as he might have taken the loss of five pounds. Was it recklesness, bravado, honest indifference, a manly acceptance of tho inevitable, or a sheer piece of coasr inmate acting? With all his trained shrewdness Bernard Severance knew that he could not tell. _ It seemed that Sir Derek almost divined iris perplexity. His face grew grave; with ■apparent effort ho spoke again. "Mr Severance," he abruptly said, "this in an awkward time for both .if us, and it i- not much use to pretend that we don't feel it as such. A plana word uiay help things a little, and I' suppose I should be the one t'o speak it. I want you to understand—l ask you to accept, my assurance —that I can't and don't in the least blame you." The words could not have been better said. Perhapr. Severance was hypercritical. It struck iliim that thev were almost too ready, too oordiaj, too entirely right and becoming. t mav have been that his legal training Un A disposed him to distrust glibnes.3. Hia own" reply a stiffness that was not responsive. | "As I had never seen Sir Bernard since I was a child, Sir Derek, inc! knew nothing of the change in the wib until the thing was done, it would !■•<> a little unjust to blame me." "Certainly! Exactly what I have 'felt! But you know pretty well how it is. Say that we have lost a thing, it conies tolerably. natural to blame the fellow who has secured it. The man who plays-the losing game feels disposed to love t.h.9 -winner* A-tid if he fooled away own chance by bad play I don",. suppos6 it ma kesany difference . I' V e lost by Ineor bad play: you've won without; playing at all, but I hope that is uo reason why we should quarrel." "None whatever, Sir Derek I If a quarrel would., be absurd upon your side it would be even more so upon mine." Severance hesitated; in ordinary life stiffness was not natural to him, and so far the pleasant impression made by Derek Willoughby outweighed that one disagreeable doubt. "I, don't know," he said, "since we are connections, whether "

"Whether I should prefer to drop j the.title?; Upon,my word. Severance,.] I am not eager for it! My one inheritance is. not too pleasant for-me, as you may believe. It is apt,|you: see, to remind me rather too poinraidly of all that I have not gat." For the moment there was bitter-1 ness enough in his tone, but it rather I pleased Severance it was so obvious j ly genuine, as was the quick darkening j of the handsome face. He did not j choose to break the pause that followed, and. indeed, it was not necessary, for Willoughby soon did so, asking some formal questions about Sir Bernard's death—coldly enough, and in Severance's eyes it wias another point in his favour that he made no pre-' tence of sorrow. He was able to answer tho. questions, and did so with quiet plainness and- brevity, ,_~l*--younger man nqdded, small, blaek vw&W*~"' " ing qldmt rtaißlV *d Bethink that Ae ».%»»"" - would go so fast," he said. ..xthough when I saw him last —it is Hot much more than a fortnight ago—it was pretty plain.to me that would not last long. But perhaps he was excited and out of sorts. In point in fact, we had just had that quarrel of ours." He was seated now; lis easy, indolent attitude was in keeping with the slight drawl in his voice. "One's friends are usually pretty communicative," he added, "and, between ourselves, I can't flatter myself that I ever stood specially high in old Bethell's good books. He is -id excellent fellow, no doubt, but —wei'.. a bit prejudiced. Have you not heard all about it, Severance?" "Your breach with Sir Bernard? No —nothing!" "You don't mean that Bethell iasn't told you?"

"Not a word. I gathered yesterday that he knew little" or nothing about it." . "Yon don't say so." , Willoughb-'s surprise looked genuine. . "Sir.Bernard wasn't a man to talk in a general w&y, but Bethell vyas very much in his confidence, and in such -a case as this -" He broke off. "Yet, upon my honour, it was a mere no-thing." "Sir Bernard's reason for disinheriting you?" Severance bluntly asked. "Yes. Look here, if you don't mind I will tell you all about it —that <s. as far as I know. You were not acquainted with the old man, but I suppose it won't be news to you that he wasn't especially ensv to get on with'?" "I think I have gathered that much already."

(OUR NEW SERIAL.)

By CARL SWEHDNA, Author of "A More Ceremony."

I "He was abominably difficult to get on with. He has done the worst he could for me, and I don't care to say as much as I might. He was severe in his notions, strait-laced, with as much notion of Well, hang ; t, Severance, you understand! You're a man of the world, and a lawyer, too, you must know pretty well the way a fellow goes on who has nothing to do, and a few hundreds a year. I've two hundred of my own, the principal of which I can't touch, so I shan'u starve; and he used to allow me another five hundred —to .spend. Wei J. that'a all I've done, upon my word and honour." "What is all?" Severance curtly asked. 'You are not very explicit." "What? Why, the usual thiug! I've engaged a bit in racing, and lost. I've got into a good slice of debt. And I don't mind telling you that I was fool enough to get mixed up in i». i fast set of fellows at a club, and I dropped a confounded lot of money there. There was a raid, and my name was in the paper. Things between us had been rather strained for som time, but that finished me. I didn't have to appear —you know that sort of thing is hushed up—but if I had bec-i sentenced to. three months' imprisonment Sir Bernard couldn't have been in a more terrible rage. I wonder you didn't read about it, by the way —thought you legal fellows saw every thing in the papers." "I did not. Aand night clubs ire not in my way. Well?" ■ '#W©ll, -I was a fool. When c; v Bernard sent for me, I ought to have come at once, but I didn't. In fact 1 was idiot enough—knowing him —to hope that the affair would blow over. And when I did come-r-i(tntllng that lie was still enraged—l ought to Jiayo managed him better. He had warned me previously about gambling, and; as luck would have it, a couple -jf tradesmen, tired of applying to ne, had recently sent their bills to him. That didn't improve matters, you may bo sure. . He used language that was ■ n't particularly pleasant to listen to,' and I answered him • when I should have held my tongue. I lost my temper, and we had an- awful row. The end of it was that he turned me out of the house, daring me to enter it again while he lived, and vowing that he j would do—precisely what h'e has donxv I brought it all on myself, TJKati's the story-sho;; ; f - t< £ " particularly s .V;^t—for* me!" He took out a cigar and lighted it. Severance watched him,, his bro*s bent into a frown. In spite of,, hi» nonchalantly languid mariner, nothing could have been franker than vhe way in which Derek Willoughby ; iaci made his confession. The occasional tone of flippancy and bravado had rather added to its good effect. It was no more than the tone of a man resolutely, even defiantly, bent upon putting a good face on a bad business. And if it were entirely true, if this common enough record of youthful folly were indeed the utmost that could .be urged against Derek Willoughby fate had been too hard on him. A lesser punishment might have sufficed for such a fault. '

Bernard Severance was generous. The thought of being enriched at the cost of his kinsman gave him an uneasy pang. Things must remain sis they were; they were beyond his making or unmaking. In the near future, however, it must be his business 1 to make the other's prospects his care. But was the story told with such verisimilitude true? Was there nothing worse? How came it that Derek Wiloughby was so obviously unloved by those who should have knows him best?

Severance's thoughts were broken by Sir Derek looking at him. "I AIR remiss," he said, "I have not asked how the a f e- Mrs i Throckmorton"? 111, as~usual*?" / ' "I understand so. I have not see i her." "She is always ill. She has lived at Iledbourne for fifteen years, and since she has been here the doctor has been in steady attendance for eleven months out of every twelve. And Clare?" . ■*' Miss Throckmorton is grieving a good deal, I fear," Severance answered, with some stiffness. "Por little thing! She was very fond of Sir Bernard, and so, to do him justice, was-he of,her. Extremely nice girl, Clare,and an uncommonly pretty one. Don't you think so?"

"I have only seen Miss Throckmorton for a few minutes, but I have no doubt you are right in both respects." "Meaning that you can see ilvit 1 am right in one respect," Sir Derek said good-humouredly. "On my word I don't think I have met a man yet who was not more or less taken with Clare. How is her shadow?" . "Her shadow!" . ''Yes —Lorraine. Beg pardon, I should say Miss Latouche," "Miss Latouobe is very well, I believe." "Yo,u have seen her?" .. "Yes, I've seen her." ."OddJgirl, isn't she?" ' "In what way?" "Well, in all ways. In her looks, for instance. Something bizarre, you know. Yet I've heard men rave over her. There was a fellow down here last year—an artist. He was frantically anxious to paint her portrait. He wis wild to have her sit for him." (To be continued.)