"CHRISTABEL"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 19 July 1939, Page 10

"CHRISTABEL"

Published by Special Arrangement. Copyright,

By

PEARL BELLAIRS.

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

CHAPTER XXVII. (Continued).

Meanwhile Sylvester, having come to the point of wanting to marry her. was moderately sure that she would find it easy enough to do so too. But Christabel had to disillusion him. “Quite apart from leaving Arthur, which would make it difficult,” she said. "I do like you very much, but I don't really love you!” It seemed difficult to sort out her thoughts so soon, and so she said: “I like you as a friend. Let’s not think of it yet. Perhaps one day " She did not want to marry him; she was sure of that. All that it seemed to her was a possible escape from the depressing sense of futility which she sometimes felt.

Sylvester accepted her decision, but only for the moment, as he told her, because he had to go away; and left for London in a considerable state of emotion.

Cavanagh guessed what had happened, and let Christabel know that he had.

“Yes,” she said, "I was quite wrong about him. He wants me to marry him.”

She looked for any pain in Cavanagh’s face, but there was none there — only an affectionate interest and anxiety. It lightened her heart, and she said impulsively:

“I don’t want to leave you, Arthur; and I don’t want to marry him. So why should I?” “Oh, come, my dear, you and Paul get on so well, you're such good friends. Aren't you a little in love with him?”

"Do you want me to marry him?” Christabel asked, half in amusement. “I think it would be the best thing you could do.” ,‘T don’t want to desert you!” “But you wouldn't be deserting me, my dear. You and Paul would be here, we would all be here together. You would be free to give as much time to me as you want to. I swear to you. Christabel, that it will give me nothing but happiness to see you happy.” “But should one marry if one hasn't any overpowering wish to do it?” "I think you only feel like that because you’ve been living this kind of sick room life for so long—schooling yourself into indifference for my sake.” “Oh. no. Arthur—it isn’t that. It’s within me. I haven't any interest of that kind in Paul.” "Well, then, if not Paul, I’d like to see you married to someone else!” They said no more about it. When Cavanagh took up the subject again a few days later she allowed him rather than wished him to go on with it. "I like Paul,”, he said. "I've known him for years—since before he made a furore with his first novel. Success hasn't spoiled him." "Haven’t you thought," said Christabel, "that Paul doesn’t know anything about me?"

“I don’t think the past will make the slightest difference to him. He has no social position to keep up, like some of the League people who come here. I admit I have been afraid for you sometimes —that you might fall in love with, some man, and it might be too much risk to his career to have anything to do with you. But Paul is quite a different proposition." "Well, when he comes back I'll tell him and see how he takes it. Then I’ll think about whether I’ll marry him or not —if he still wants me to.”

From some aspects she knew how nice it would be to marry Paul. His work was interesting, his life, his friends, his whole background was interesting; it was the most suitable marriage she could make.

Cavanagh seemed to have made up his mind that she must consider the matter seriously; and Sylvester when he wrote from London,.,made it plain that he would be coming back for a definite answer. Gradually Christabel came to look upon the matter as settled, though there was still a protest in her.

"I hope you’re not going to hesitate on my account," Cavanagh said. “For my sake you must put all consideration of me out of your head. Sick men, you know, arc happier without relationships that remind them of their helplessness. 1 would get more pleasure out of our friendship if I felt it was not depriving you of anything." "But that’s just it," said Christabel. "It’s not depriving me of anything I seem to want.”

"I don’t believe you. I don’t think you know what you need.” "Oh, I don’t need anything!" said Christabel. "Yes. I think you do.”

She said she did not; and the argument ended with their laughing. His attitude towards her was one of fatherly fondness, and their relationship at that time was happier and more truly candid than it had ever been.

The discussion took place a day or two before the International Conference on Criminal Law Pieform in Geneva; and on the fourth day of the conference an acquaintance of Cavanagh’s who was attending it came up to have lunch at the chalet. CHAPTER XXVIII. Cavanagh and Professor Schlustcr had met several times in America, and in Professor Schluster’s younger days Cavanagh had once financed the publication of one of the Professor’s books. It did not occur to Cavanagh, when he heard from Professor Schlustcr and asked him over to lunch, that Schluster would talk about prison reform; and that that, naturally, would not be the most pleasant topic of conversation to Christabel.

He began to think about it as soon as Professor Schlustcr actually began it. Professor Schlustcr had an American

passion for detail, and could recount the exact proportion of protein in the prison diet in the State of Colorado, compared with that in Yugoslavia, and the hours of exercise actually allotted to prisoners in Montreal compared with what they ought to be in Istanbul.

He talked and talked in his untiring American drawl, with his unsmiling American zest for pure information; and as he was the only guest, Lee and the doctor were also lunching with them, to take some of the burden of conversation off Cavanagh.

Try as Cavanagh might to steer the American out of the well-worn channel of his subject. Lee and the doctor assiduously kept him in it. Cavanagh was painfully upset on Christabel's account, certain that she must dislike the subject intensely. “Capital punishment . . . detention

. . . criminals . . . delinquents . . . prisoners . . . prisons . . . cells . . . crime

The monotous recurrence of the words became a torture to poor Cavanagh, who in any case was not very interested in the details which strung them together. Christabel, in a white woollen suit, for the touch of winter was already on the mountains and in the air, sat in an unwonted silence, hardly eating anything, breaking up her bread. It seemed to Cavanagh that her eyes grew darker and larger and more sombre, more heavy with tragedy as the meal went on . .

By the time it was over Cavanagh ■was feeling so ill that he was nearly speechless, and had to be wheeled away by the doctor, who was anxious at his apparently causeless breakdown.

Christabel was left with Lee to entertain the guest in the drawing room, with its wide windows overlooking the lake. As Cavanagh was ill, Schluster soon took leave; and Christabel, who had made an appointment with a hairdresser, in the town was undecided whether to go over with the Professor in the launch, or stay with Cavanagh. She went to see how he was, and found him almost recovered.

“I was so upset on your account,” he explained, “by the conversation of that stupid fellow!” “Oh, but I didn’t mind!” Christabel assured him. "At least, not after the first shock. 1 began to be quite interested!"

It was not quite true —really she had felt very uncomfortable and depressed; but Cavanagh believed her,- and as the doctor had prescribed him a sleep, Christabel went over to Geneva with the American. CHAPTER XXIX. He was carrying a parcel of books under his arm, and as they were waiting Cor the launch at the little private quay at the foot of tne cliff. Professor Schluster showed her a thick green bound volume. ' “I have something very interesting here —not a new publication, but a very interesting one.” Christabel took it in her gloved hand and read: “Criminal Psychology, by G. Hewitson.” The hand holding the book shook, and Christabel was far more affected than she had been by all Professor Schulster's conversation about prisons. She turned the pages, but too confusedly to gather much from them. But it was the book, it must be the book that she had nearly burned. "It's a very highly praised work,” remarked the Professor naively. ‘’But I suppose you'd find a book like that kind of dry.” Christabel recovered enough to feel a little irony in her own reply.

"I happen to know a certain amount about the subject.”

And then, as the pages fell over, the dedication suddenly lay under her eyes. “To C.C. for sparing this effort." She stared —unable to speak. She felt the blood leave her face. She closed the book quietly, and held it out to Schluster, with a smile which masked her decomposure.

"As a matter of fact I knew the author al one time.” She did not know whether she was angry, touched, or merely unhappy. The Professor was talking, and with the relentlessness of ignorance, delivered another shock.

"Why, that’s very interesting! Hcwitson is an old friend of mine. We’re at the same hotel —as a matter of fact I’m on my way to meet him now at the Cafe International, for a cup of coffee."

Utterly astounded, Christabel managed to say faintly: "Is Mr Hewitson in Geneva?"

“He’s attending the conference, Didn't you know?”

"No. I don’t know him very well — I "

"Why. ycsj The theories he puts forward in this book have been under discussion at the conference." "Oh. I see!”

The boatman with his boy had the launch ready alongside. Mechanically Christabel moved towards it, in the cold wind which blew from mountain lops already touched with the first winter snow. Her mind groped to find balance . . . Hewitson in Geneva. It had never once occurred to her that he might be attending the Criminal Law Conference.

She stepped unsteadily to her seat amidships in the little cabin of the rocking launch. The Professor sat down beside her. The engine started, the launch moved off.

She looked ahead through the swaying window towards the Geneva shore, with new dubious feelings.

The city seemed to have altered for her, as a summer day alters when a distant peal of thunder echoes in the blue sky.

(To be Continued.)