"ANN STEPS OUT"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 29 December 1938, Page 10

"ANN STEPS OUT"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

MARGARET GORMAN NICHOLS.

CHAPTER XXX. The people at Nick’s party welcomed Ann warmly. Doug was introduced to them and Ann wondered why he was so determined to be bored with them. He attached himself to Angela at once, who seemed, thought, Ann, very willing to relieve him of his boredom. When Ann came downstairs after unpacking her bag, she found the guests playing bridge and dancing. She saw Doug, with a bored frown on his face, waiting for her. “Ann, why did you drag me into something like this?” ‘“Nick asked me, and I had a good time the last time.”

“Nick asked you? When we’re married, are you going to do everything he asks you?”

Angela came out of the dining room with a tray of cocktails. “Perhaps,” said Doug, sampling one, “this will help some.” Ann said nothing’, and she supposed that her dream of having a house like Nick’s on the island would vanish aborning. Doug liked the rush of the city, his crowd, his clubs. After their marriage life would be a series of parties and the same people. Ann was tired of them. She thought of Jean and Dick snug in their little apartment, sitting together in one chair, laughing. “That’s what I’ve always wanted,” she thought. “A love like theirs, and security. To-belong to one man, and to him alone.” The next night, Sunday, many of the guests departed early. It had not ceased to rain during the entire week-end but to many of them the rain outside made them all feel closer together. “The intimacy of rain,” said Nick. A few guests remained for the night.

At twelve o’clock every one was either in bed or had departed for town. Ann, Nick, Doug and Angela were still in the living room, and Ann thought now of how little she had seen of Doug during the weekend. He had been with this girl and that and now he was with Angela, at the other end of the room.

Nick tried to make conversation, but was unable to get her mind away from Doug and Angela, sitting close together at the far end of the room, each in tent upon what the other was saying. Nick thought, looking down on her bronzed head, of what Angela had said: “Unless love makes one happy, it isn’t the right kind of love. Is Doug sc» sure of her that he can ignore her like this before marriage?” Angela got up with that sweeping grace of hers, walked to a cigarette tray and mashed out her cigarette. “The view is beautiful this time of the night,” she said to Doug. “I was thinking the same,” he said and smiled at her.

Nick, watching them go past and out to the verandah, wanted to cry out, “Angela, don’t do it! Don’t hurt her this way! Don’t disillusion her!” But he said nothing and gave warning because he hoped and be-l lieved now that Angela was right. • They stayed out there a long time,! and no word passed between Nick and. Ann. Nick saw the expression on Ann’sface. It was not an expression of jealousy. It was rather a hopeless look./ She got up, slim and straight, and took a step toward the door. Nick could not. restrain himself. With a pained look on his brown faise, he put out his hand to stop her. “Don’t,” he said.

Ann did not feel his touch nor see him. She went to the door that led out on the verandah. Nick could not see her face, but he saw the quick intake, of her breath, the tension in her body. Ann saw Doug—and in his arms Angela—their lips pressed together. Ann could not move. She could say nothing. She did not cry. She didn’t know that it was the death of love.

She felt no anger toward Doug or toward Angela; she knew after a moment that she felt nothing. No feeling—no hurt, only a wounding of pride and a kind of self-pity because she had been so wrong.

It was not the kiss. It was not finding him with another woman, but seeing him like this, she saw other unfaithfulness, other women with their heads on his shoulder as Angela’s was now.

Doug released Angela and Angela saw Ann. Then Doug turned and saw her, too. “Ann

Saying her name —once it had stirred her. It had brought her to him whenever he needed her. Now it was an empty, meaningless thing that came from his lips. “Ann . . please . Doug’s voice, imploring. Nick was beside her. Curiously, she had reached forth her hand and Nick had been there to take it —a gesture more significant than words. Nick, there, beside her. That was right. 1 That never failed. Nick beside her, tall, distinguished, Nick with brown eyes and tanned face. Doug stepped forward into the light. “Ann, forgive me,” he said. “It wasn’t anything. It didn’t mean anything . “You told me,” said Angela, ready and willing for Ann’s, for Nick’s sake, “that it meant a great deal to you. You said . . .” Ann lifted her hand. “What does it matter?” She.turned to Doug and said, not unkindly, “I saw then how wrong I’ve been about you. You didn’t come back humbly after Gail left you —to me —to Ann Dryden. You came back to Ann Hamill, a new girl, you thought, a girl with money. I’m not a new girl. I'm the same. But money blinded you. It was between us. We could never have been happy with that between us.” “Please . . .” said Doug. Ann smiled.

“I was willing, knowing that every one was against me, to marry you because I believed in you. Now I don’l believe in you. Nothing you can say or do, will make me believe. It isn’t your kissing Angela—not Angela. It’s coming out here —seeing a woman in your arms. I knew then i,t would be only the beginning of many stolen kisses for you.” Her voice was not shrill or angry. It was low and even and controlled. “Won’t you let me explain?” asked Doug.

“Explain kissing Angela?.” she asked mocking him, wondering why she felt absolutely nothing toward him, wondering why she had ever loved him, believed, waited, despaired for him. “It doesn’t, need an explanation. I don’t blame any man for wanting to kiss

Angela.” “You mean,” he asked, . “we’re through? You mean you won’t marry me now?” “Yes.”

“Oh, I see. You think I’m not good enough for you —for Ann Hamill. That’s a laugh, all right. What did you used to be? John Hamill’s stenographer, a girl who wasn’t anything, who didn’t have anything, a girl I was ashamed to ask to my college dances! But you’re Ann Hamill now —and the Hamills bend to you—even the old lady herself.”

“This won’t help you,” said Ann. “It will only make us bitter.” “I’m not good enough!” he cried m the tones of an outraged child. “I’m no pauper, even if Dad did make his money during the war —the Hamills probably call him a profiteer. There are still plenty of girls willing to take a chance with me.” He strode out by her. “I’m leaving, and I’m taking my car. You can get back to town the best way you can. Nick,” he gave Nick a quick, cynical glance, “will take you back —one Hamill to another.” He went out and slammed the door. When Ann turned, Angela was nowhere in sight. “Where is Angela” she asked.

They walked back into the room again. “Angela went away,” he said. “I heard her leave in my car. Ann, this was Angela’s trick. Now she’s gone away, back to' New York, to marry Ronald Farber, an old admirer of hers.”

“A trick Oh, I see. I thank her for it. It was that that' made me see him as I should have seen him years ago — weak, without strength. Nick, I’ve been so blind, so wrong! I’ve given so much to the wrong man!” She sat on the cushion before the fire and ran her fingers through her hair. Nick stood over her

“It was funny,” she said, “the way everything became so clear —like a revelation Everything was blurred before—like trying to walk up a dark street. Doug is gone and ! feel nothing. No anger, no hurt —nothing.” She lifted her head and her lips parted. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, Nick. Perhaps 1 haven’t the right. But when I reached out my hand tonight for you, for something to hold on to, and you were there, there, tall and strong, I had the same feeling that I used to feel with Doug. I’ve been fighting something I’ve wanted for a long time. I don’t know why. I know now,” her voice was low, “I know now —that all the time I’ve' loved you.” He came down on his knees beside her on the soft rug. He put his arms around her. Ann put her face close to his.

“One night you kissed me,” she said. “And it was a kiss I never forgot. I tried to forget it but it always stayed with me. Nick —kiss me again like that’.’

He kissed her full on the lips and held her close.

“I’ve been so wrong, so foolish, like a groping child,” she said, “but the price won’t have to be paid now.”

“You’ll marry me, Ann?” She nodded. Her eyes were clear. Her face smiling. Not even the memory of Doug remained. “I’ll marry you,” she said, “in the morning.”

In the morning, he thought. In the morning they would go to town and be married quietly as Jean and Dick had done. Then they would catch a train to the New Hampshire mountain lodge. In the morning the rain would be gone and the sky would be bright again. He held her close and put his cheek against hers. “In the morning,” said Nick. THE END.