"CHRISTABEL"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 30 June 1939, Page 10

"CHRISTABEL"

Published by Special Arrangement,

Copyright.

By

PEARL BELLAIRS.

(Author of “Velvet and Steel,” “The Prisoner’s Sister,” etc.)

CHAPTER X. (Continued). Hewitson smiled, out failed to make any remark of the kindly-satirical nature which was usually called forth by his sister’s wilder fancies. “I know!” said Molly, suddenly pointing at him. “We’ve got four tickets for the Russia ballet—you say you won’t ask Gladys, or Lady Eveline—let’s take Miss Collet!” Dr Sanders looked startled; but said nothing. Hewitson went on sorting his manuscripts for 'a paper he had lost, and Molly watched’ him, waiting for a derisive refusal. But Hewitson merely said casually: “Just as you like!” “You’ll take Miss Collet?” said Molly, amazed at the success of her suggestion.

“Yes, if you’d like me td,” said Hewitson. “Pernaps you’d better ask her. Send a note to her at the clinic.”

•‘All right!” said Molly, to bewildered to be triumphant; and as he bent abstractedly over his papers, she gazed at him with the utmost suspicion. Hewitson had one or two close friends among the women he knew, but though they adored him, he was far from adoring them. Sometimes he found them silly and irritating, and then he would flatly refuse to take any one of them on some jaunt that Molly might arrange for him, herself, and Sanders.This mild consent to take a comparative stranger to the theatre was something entirely new. 'CHAPTER XI. Christabel was so astonished by Molly Hewitson’s note that it took her a few minutes to collect her thoughts.. She walked up and down the office distractedly. it was as though the situation she had sometimes dreamed of in the prison was being thrust on her without effort on ner part. Possibly the invitation really came from Hewitson himself. She could not afford to buy any new clothes for the occasion, but packed in the bottom of a trunk in her room were some of the frocks she had worn in the old days. The best that remained was an amethyst satin which would look.presentable enough when it was pressed and altered for she had grown much thinner in prison. She had amethyst velvet sandals, and a long, night-purple velvet coat. Her hands had improved with much soaking in olive oil during the last two months. In any case they looked no more work-worn than the hands of most nurses . . It was a perfectly turned out, exotic looking Christabel who presented herself at the Cafe Imperial to meet Sanders and the Hewitsons. “Mr Hewitson, K.C.,” as she sometimes called him to herself, was there first, and he saw her, and saw other people’s eyes turned towards her, as she stood looking quietly about her. There was something so other-worldly about her that lie was suddenly struck by the fancy that she was like some dark angel come for a moment to look on the activities of men. And then as she saw him her whole face changed, her half-smile of recognition, was subtly derisive, it seemed to him—and not in the least angelic. She had the most curious variations of expression. Feeling thoroughly pleased that Molly had suggested asking her to come he led her to a little table in the corner, and ordered cocktails while they waited for the others. In a voice, whose laziness yet seemed to cover some deep-seated interest, she suddenly began to question him about himself. “What has made you give up the law as a career, Mr Hewitson?” “Because I wasn’t compelled to go on with it for any financial reason — and because human minds with all their motives, kinks and impulses happen to interest me more.” “And yet, I’m told that you were very successful.” “Yes—l was on my way to the top, I suppose. At one time it used to amuse me, too.” “Amuse you!” she laughed the strangest little laugh. “Did it?”

“Yes, I discovered tne orator’s thrill. Apart from the fascination of the argument, I found I could do more or less whatever I wanted with a jury.” “That must have been gratifying.” “Do I sound as though I’m bragging?” "Not at all- —I absolutely believe you!

Go on.” “That's all. I found I was rather a clever mass-hypnotist, like all other persuasive speakers! Personally I would as soon be an actor. Hypnotism is much more interesting to me as a fact than as a practice. My interest in psychology grew up alongside my interest in a career at the bar, and psychology won by several lengths!"

"I can't understand how a man who had got as far as you had towards a success of that kind should give it up to spend his time writing books that very few people want to read, and treating mental cases that no one will ever hear of,” said Christabel.

He looked at he”, narrowing his eyes slightly, and told her: “You haven’t the estimation of things that sets mere noise above knowledge!”

“No, but ” “Why do you pretend to it, then?” Christabel replied unmoved, without looking at him:

“I still don’t understand how a man who has once been a barrister can be really interested in anything so idealistic as ‘truth for truth’s sake.’ ” “I see what you mean! But isn’t that an adequate reason for getting tired of the bar? I had an interest in the law for its own sake; then I got a lot of fun out of the success I made at it; and when it began to pall I gave it up!”

She simply sat looking at him, and did not speak. Her eyes were very wide and dark, and he gazed into them, accustomed to finding the characters of people lying open to him through their eyes; and was all the more interested because of the deliberate evasion which he always seemed to find in hers. “What is it that you know,” said Hewitson, suddenly, “that you think I don’t know?” The wild surprise which flashed into her face for an instant showed him that he had somehow stumbled on the secret, a more conscious affair, appai - ently, than he nad ever supposed it to be! Her face calm again, she leaned back in her chair, and looked at the light through the sherry in her glass before she spoke: “I’m younger than you are, but I ve seen more of life.” He laughed: “Good heavens! Where is the world, it it isn’t in the human mind? What do you think there is that I don't know about life, spending my days as I do, raking the muck of one little human brain after another, and finding each one so much like the last?” The conversation was cut short by the arrival of Di' Sanders with Molly Hewitson. Molly looked youthfully glowing—she was, in fact, a few days over twenty—in a picture frock which was just a shade duller than her corncoloured hair. The effect was charming; but as they passed through the grill room to their table it was Christabel towards whom all eyes were turned. The two men noticed this; and Molly, wrapped up in her affection for Sanders, with a perfect faith in his love for her, felt willing to give away admiration to any woman who could get it; she had arrived at that happy stage in a love affair when everything outside it seems superficial. She regarded Christabel with an eager, interested enthusiasm, as a sort of lovely toy found by the three of them. The dinner went well, became quite gay. At one time Christabel heard herself laughing happily in pure, lighthearted amusement, and felt surprised and strange, as she realised that for fully five minutes she had forgotten herself and her circumstances. To her the ballet was a glorious experience of sound and colour and movement, and she watched it in a slate between intoxication and tears. It was ten times more vivid and beautiful to her starved senses, than it was to her companions; and coming away was as sad as. wakening from some delightful dream. Hewitson proposed supper, but Molly had promised her mother that she would be home by eleven-thirty. Sanders had come in his car, but Hewitson’s was temporarily under repair. It was arranged that Molly should go with Hewitson by taxi, as she lived in Hanover Gate which was in his direction; while Sanders should run Christabel out to Barking.

It seemed to Christabel rather inappropriate, and Molly made a tentative suggestion that she should come too, which Sanders did not appear to notice. She lanced there was a shadow on Hewitson’s face; but before Christabel could be sure that the whole thing was not her imagination, Hewitson had hailed a taxi and she and Molly were saying goodbye. Christabel thanked the girl; her hand rested in Hewitson’s, her glance met the friendly warmth in his eyes, and she thanked him, too, with an odd mixture of feelings. And then she and Sanders were walking through the crowd to the great garage in which he had parked his car. Christabel looked about her at the well-dressed, pleasure-surfeited throng . . surprised that in less than two months since her release, she could have taken her place again in the respectable life of middle-class London. Sanders took her by the elbow to escort her across the road. She wondered why his usually cheery sort of face was so strained-looking, and what it was that had kindled his eyes so that they looked abnormally dark. “I really could get a bus from the Bank,” Christabel said. “Why bother to take me all the way?” "I want to,” he said, and added, suddenly: "Let’s go somewhere for a drink somewhere, first, shall we?” Christabel doubted, almost refused, uneasily aware of the strangeness of his manner. “You must come!” he said, almost roughly. Surprised by his ungency—and yet not surprised, for his manner had been odd enough for her to expect something of the sort, Christabel went with him. In the dimly lighted cocktail lounge he sat opposite her, without speaking for some minutes, nervously playing with the ash-tray on the table before them, as though he was struggling with himself . . . It was queer to see such a thoroughly average matter-of-fact individual so overwrought. Christabel tried to talk of indifferent things, but the crisis was not so easily averted. Out it all came, to her discomfort. "There’s something about you that fascinates me,” he began, desperately, doggedly. “Ever since the first time I set eyes on you at the Clinic I’ve been fascinated by you! I can’t help it!” She gazed at him mutely. "I hope it doesn’t annoy you that I feel like this,” he said. "I’ve tried to get the better of it, but I can think of nothing else! I don’t know what has happened to me!” <To be Continued.)