THE PRISONER'S SISTER

Wairarapa Times-Age, 1 August 1938, Page 10

THE PRISONER'S SISTER

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

PEARL BELLAIRS

(Author of “Velvet and Steel”)

CHAPTER lll.—(Continued). Rand meanwhile lighted a cigarette and was annoyed with himself for his flash of temper. He always tried to be considerate and amiable with employees and other persons who were dependent upon him in any way. But in these days it was so rare for him to come across anyone who didn’t do as he told them. He was used to giving orders because it was his job. He dealt with men by the thousand. He had settled strikes, defeated industrial combines. He dealt with people as he dealt with the stone and steel and bridges. He couldn’t believe that there wasn’t a way of getting round one angry young girl. “Are you too hungry to want to talk?” he said.. “My chauffeur is out getting something for you to eat.” “I don’t want anything,” replied Julie. “I can talk—but we’ve nothing to talk about.” “Yes, we have,” said Rand. “I promised your brother I would get you a job. What can you do?” “Nothing.” “But you.told me that you had had a job.” “Yes.” “What was it?” K “I was manageress in a small teashop.” She was exasperated at the way in which he made her speak by the weight of command in his manner. ( Rand rose and walked up and down,' thinking; the matter over. Finally he stopped in front of her. “I think I can solve the problem.” “How?” “I own a house near Hindhead, on the Portsmouth road,” he said. “It occurred to me some time ago that it could be converted into an hotel. It will want altering and decorating—that could be done immediately after Christmas —I, think I could find time to think about it then. It fcould be opened early in the New Year. I’ll put in an efficient staff, and advertise it well—and you can have the job as manageress.” Julie heard him. The idea arose in her mind that it would be the solution of every difficulty, and she could hot speak immediately, though she knew very well what she wanted to say. Rand went on. “I understand you have a young brother and sister. You could have them down there, of course. Is there anyone else, any aunts —uncles —superannuated relations dependent on you?” He was trying to be kind, but Julie was infuriated. “I didn’t ask for your charity!” she

said, sitting up, pale and breathless. “And I won’t take it.” “It’s not charity. I’m offering you a job.” For answer, Julie reached for her shoes on the heater, but Rand was too quick for her. He put them out of reach, and sat down on the end of the divon so that she could not get them. “Now, look here!” he said. “What is the use of all this? For heaven’s sake, let’s be friends!” Julie’s emotion rose in a choking lump in her throat. “Friends!” she burst out. “I only hope my conscience will always make me dislike you as I should, Mr Rand.” “What a frightful thing to say!” said Rand drily. But Julie was thinking of Tom —Tom shamed and degraded, dragging out the hours in a prison cell, broken and ruined for life. It didn’t seem to her to be an unreasonable hope on her part—that she would always hate the man who had sent him there. Rand looked at her in perplexity, but Julie merely lowered her head with a set, unyielding face. His impusle to break her as one breaks a difficult horse was complicated by other feelings. Her thin, white hands —the transparency of her face —he could see that she hadn’t had enough to eat. Her shabby raincoat was not thick enough to keep out the December cold. She was suffering from the shock and shame of having a brother in prison, but her will wouldn’t break, in spite of it. Poor little devil! “Very well, then,” said Rand, with a smile and in a more kindly tone than he had yet used. “I’m to be disliked for ever! Never mind that. It doesn’t alter the fact that I’m going to try to do what I can for you. That’s my proposition, and you can take it or leave it!” Julie knew what it means. A home for Will and Dolly in the country. Refuge and security until Tom was free. But her parting with Tom was still too vivid in her mind. Rand rose from the divan, looking'at her expectantly. Julie’s only answer to his last words was to lean over and pick up her shoes. She sat there putting them on. Her hands shook. “That means you iturn the offer down?” said Rand. “You knew I would.” He hadn’t known anything of the sort. He had thought she would give in and he was more surprised at her tenacious spirit than worried by what he was going to do about it; he was used to getting things fixed up in the end.

“You’ll change your mind, I imagine!” Hei’ shoes and .stockings were still wet and horribly uncomfortable, but she was stoical with bitterness. Rand stood there with his hands in his pockets and his feet apart, looking very much at home in his soberly magnificent background of off-white walls and light chestnut brown furnishings and fittings—all in the best possible taste and costing Heavens knows what. All the world of difference between this and a prison cell! Julie hated him. She ■ rose silently. “Are you sure you can walk? said Rand drily. 1 For answer Julie went to the door. “My man will be here with that food in a minute,” Rand reminded her. “Don’t want it,” Julie dragged the words out. She hadn’t the strength for anything but a small voice. She heard his voice behind her. “Does starvation make it so much easier to look after a brother and sister?” Julie bit her lip, and tried to open the door. The handle was stiff and her fingers were weak. His hand reached out and opened it for her. “Let me know if you change your mind about that job,” he said. “I shan’t,” said Julie. As soon as she had said it the fear of the struggle made her feel desperate. But she said coldly. “Good-bye.” Half-way along the passage she passed a man in chauffeur’s uniform, carrying a tray, with metal covered dishes on it, evidently got for her benefit from some restaurant. The smell of the hot food was intolerably good, an excruciating torment to her hungry system. She felt too shabby to go in the lift, and walked slowly down the stairs. Outside she found herself in Dover Street, and she walked slowly towards the Tube station. She had the fare in her bag, and she knew that she was not fit to walk home. (To be Continued).