THE SILENT WIFE!

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 33, 29 October 1920, Page 2

THE SILENT WIFE!

By MARK ENGLISH

Remarkahle Dr&ma. of M&rried Life.

THE FIRST PART. Dcris Tliobury, the sister of the childrens's ward, was telling the little ones stories, when the door opened and the matron and Dr Weston came in. Doris s cheokg took a deep tint, for she loved the kindly, grave-faced young doctor deeply. As the doctor went his rounds, she heid each little patient's hand, for the pain never seemed so bad when Sister Doris was near, and when all the patients had been examimed her duty for the day was over. As she was going ont of the Cottage Hospital gate, Paul Weston overtook her. "May I accompany you?" he asked, and she smiled and nodded. They spoke of many things, and at last when they had reached a more gecluded spot the doctor seized her hand. "Miss Thobury," he said, "I love you — I love you with all my heart and soui. Will you be my wife?" She looked at mm steadfastly as she answered "Yes." - It was some timo later when they parted, and when they did so Doris was the happiest girl in the world. The next inorning she received a telegram ; "Come homo immediately," it ran. "You are wanted at once." And a little later she was speeding towards her home. At the very moment she was ansrvvering Paul WTeston on the previous night, an interview was going on which was to alter her whole life. "Those are my terras ; take them or leave them. Aecept them and I pull you through; refuse and you are ruined!" The speaker, Roger, Armer, was a strong, hard man; he was Walter Thobury's manager, and the man he faced as he uttered those words was Walter Thobury himself. Doris's father was a, failure ; he was weak and lazy, and as he faced his manager he looked frightened. His uncle had died and left him the huge business of Thobury and Co. But he did not trouble himself about the business; he left it ali in the hands of Roger Armer. And now he found that he was on the brink of ruin, and only Armer could pull him through, and that he would only do so on one condition, and that was that he shccld marry Doris. And in his weakness and fear of ruin the crushed man agreed— actually agreed to sacflfice his daqghter to save himself, When he told Doris she was horrified. "Father," she cried, "you are not in eamest. Marry Mr Armer? I couldn't. You ean't mean it." At last she cast aside all her hopes for tho future and promised. That evening she wxote a short note to Paul Weston telling him she had changed her mind and could never he his wife. Her engagement to Armer was announced, and eventually Doris Thobury became Doris Armer. She found her husband domineering, and determined to break her proud spirit. She discovered, too,' that she had been won by a trick, for her father's business had never been anything but perfectly solvent. "I WILL NEVER OPEN MY LIPS TO Y"OU AGAIN." "We must give a large dinner-party, Doris," Roger said one day. "As you please," she said listlessly. "If you will give me a list of the guests you desire, I will send out the invitations." "You shajl have the list of City gnests," he said. "To you I leave the county folk. And, Doris, I wish no expense spared. Please get yourself something quite new and splendid in the way of a dress." He hesitated. He realised. he had not spoken quite as he intended, but did not know how to alter his request. Doris smiled bitterly. "I see," she said. "You want people to see that, after all, you didn't pay too big a price — that I a.m worth what you paid." "You are just," Anner turned coldly away, and for a few seconcfs Doris felt sorry she had spoken so bitterly. "But it's true !" she clenched her hands. "All quite, quite true! I am like everything he posseses — of the besi. I rank only with those old historic masters he has

purchased, -with his suberb automobile ; his stable of blood mares ; his kennel of pedigree dogs. His wife ranks but a litUe above these because she.is flesh and blood, and he can wound her through her tenderest feelings. " It was in this" mood, a worse tlian which cannot easily be imagined, that Doris Armer was destined to meet the man to whom she had once been engaged. The October leaves were falling fast round Doris Armer's feet, as she passed along the woodland path that led to the village. It was a still afternoon, rather melancholy, l>ut this well suited young Mrs Armer's f raroa of mind. How utterly hopeless did the future ap. pear ! She had just reached this pessimistic conc.lusion when, round a bend in the path, she aJmost ran into Paul Weston. For a space, neither spoke to the other. Their surprise at meeting there was too intense, at first, for speech. "You — here, Paul?" It was Doris who spoke first. "I thought you were miles away. Miss Dalty told me. you had joined her exploration party — after — •" She broke off, confused. What was she saying ? "After — ?" Doctor Weston spoke quiet. ly. "After your letter breaking off our engagement. Yes — I started. But before we h.id got far our leader died suddenly, and the affair f ell through." "But how do you come here?" the ipri asked, still bewildered by this unexpejted meeting. "I have bought a partnership with Doc. tor Leech. My partner lives • in Westways." "Didn't you know!" cried Doris, "that my home is at the Court?" His voice was not quite under control as he answered : "If I had, do you think I could have come here — to find you — a happy wife with another?" Slie made no answer. Loyal as ever to her husband and her wifely duty, she would not utter a word that might appear the reverse. "You are happy?" Paul said quickly. Tlie shadow in the face that had once been the dearest to him did not escape his keen eyes. "Is anyone in the world really nappy?" she asked lightly, evading a direct reply. "I — suppose not." He sigheol, and absently plucked a golden brown leaf. "Where are you going?" Doris asked after an awkward pause. "Strange to say, I was on my way to — to — your house. I had a letter from a Mrs Spry, aslcing me to call. One of the maids is ill. Naturally, I imagined this Mrs Spry to be the mistress of the Court." "Mrs Spry is Mr Armer's housekeeper," Doris said coldly. "She should have informed me that it was necessary to send for a doctor." Paul Weston's vague suspicion that all was not well with Doris Armer deepened. The very fact that his late fiancee was another man's wife completely elianged his feelings with regard to her. One of the most honourable minded of mcn, Paul Weston looked upon the marriage tie as the most sacred bond on earth. No one, in his eyes, was so despicable as the man who tried to break it. He was ■ only deeply grieved that the girl he adored should be unhappy. , Love was not for him ; but friendship remained. He would/ always be Doris Armer's friend, though he had lost her love for ever. "I will walk back with you," she said, and, turning the conversation into impersonal channels, they walked up to the house together. Somehow, hearing of old friends bright. ened Doris wonderfully. As she approached the house she found herself laughing at a quaint story of one of his small patients. Roger, sitting in the portico, had never ? heard that silvery laugh from his wife's j lips, looked up for the cause. He saw her pass by, aecompanied by a tall man with a pleasant, kindly face. Who can he he, to make her laugh like that? I never have." She passed from his sight, and Eoger experienced a quick stab of jealousy. He envied the stranger who could win a smile like that. Presently she joined him, the smile still on her beautiful face. The maid's illness was but a trifling one Paul Weston had hastened back, to senfl up the medicine. He 'wonld call again the

next day. Doris had invited him to their dinner. "I want you to meet Mr Armer." "I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance." Paul W7eston smiled back. Ile did so want to make sure he had been mistaken in his first hasty judgment. "W7ho was — your friend':" Roger asked, in a strained tone. Unfortunately, Doris hesitated a second before replying For the fixst time it struck her that possibly Roger might not care for Paul Weston' s acquaintance. "That was Doctor W7eston. He^-he is Doctor Leech 's partner. One of the maids is ill. Paul — I mean Doctor Weston — is attending her." Suddenly a furious gust of passion shook Roger Armer. "Then that man shall not enter my house again. Do you hear?" And then, as Doris shrank from him : "How long has this been going on?" "I only met Doctor Weston just now. He wants to — to meet you, Roger. I have asked him to he one of our guests next week." "And I refuse to see him. Go in and say you have made a mistake in inviting him, that I — the master — forbid you to speak to him again. "And what," cried Doris, her whole soul in revolt at this unjust tyranny on Roger's part — "what if I refuse?" "You will not refuse. Let me tell you, once and for all, now you are my wiie, I' will be obeyed," he said, his face working with anger. For the inoment he had lost- complete control over liimself. Roger Armer did not often lose his self-control, and when he did it was like tKfe loosing of a fierce to rr.cn t that nothing could check. "Do you understand? W7rite to — to your former lover. and say I — I forbid him to set foot inside my house." "I cannot do that." Doris spoke quietly, though inwardly she, too, was raging with outraged pride. "I have invited a good and noble man — my friend— to our house, and I see no reason to insult him." "You — you call Paul Weston your friend?" Roger looked dangerous. "I certainly do. One of the few real friends I possess." "Have you forgotten that he was once your acknowledged lover? I have not." She looked at him, her face very pale ; but in her steady grey eyes Roger read something that shamed him. They were proud and pure and true." "I have never forgotten," she said quietly, "that Paul Weston and I were once betrothed to one" another. That except for — a Iie, I should have been his wife. But, Roger, I am your wife now — your loyal wife — and why do you oibject to my keeping up my relationship with a man to whom I behaved badly? Paul Weston has one of the finest characters in the world. He does not knowthe meaning of dishonour. You are jealous, it seems, a paltry characteristic, and in your case it is not even dictated by love. It is simply to prove your power over mes" * There was so much truth, and yet so much that was not truth, in Doris's words, that Armer s anger rose to a higher pitch. For there was love for this lovely creature who dared him so courageously — love, but no pity. Y ou will take steps to prevent Doctor Weston attending our dinner party," he said coldly} as he turned on his heel. Later on — when too late — Roger Armer would have given the whole world not to have laid this erder upon Doris, his wife. Upstairs, in her own room, Doris wnslL ed with herself. Her consci ence tohi her to obey her husband. Inclination whispered contrarily, "What harm is there in having an old friend to see you in your husband s house? Don't give way n tJcs, Let Roger see you are mistress if 1>3 is master. He will not disgrace nimseli, and you, by making a scene in puhlic. " So the argument went on and ended m no letter being sent to prevent Paul Weston, entering Mr and Mrs Armer's house ag their guest. Doris looked "wondrously beautiful as she ascended the great staircase, u'reased in an exquisite creation of her fa » ourite ■white and green. It was the production of a celebrated maison in Hanover Square. Aiter all it was Roger's desire that she should look her best. Also, she wanted Fanl to believe she was a happy vihc,

and her lovely clotbPO „ If her husband slioulj 1 j to invite her late finance t'oT , had made np her mind to 0bev >i she had sworn obedience ,w before God's altar. Nothi, S° lor'8 1 alter that, " 1 . ^oger'« fac-e flushed with l0Ve tI1 , , | ing as tlns peerless being °I drawmg-room. ^ J M 1 handsome in a black sec.«inile; fitted her rather full but gracc [u ■ like a sheath, had already arri^e» wasmearnest conversation^ The guests arrived rapidly merchants and their portlv ■ dressed wives, mingled with S'w frigid country folk, one and all /If self at this, her first formal dinner,, 9 The hum -of conversation filled thc /I ly room. Every moment they 'm 1 to hear the portly butler annon^e dk, M Suddenly the door was flung wida. J|| Tompkms did appear; but it was n0^H nouncement of dinner that he made1 ■ "Doctor Paul Weston!" 1 With a sweet, shy smile at her husbanl Doris went forward. 'j "Roger, this is Doctor Paul lVest0n.H And then the enormity 0f tlie wroj she had done to Weston, in allowing fcil to come without her husband's sanctioB was born in upon her. 'j Looking apprehensively into the sternll handsome face of Roger Armer, she sal it change into an expression of such deaij' ly hatred that her very spirit sank. Paul advanced, his good-looking faal full of pleasurable interest, j "How do yoa do, Mrs Armer!" TlJ he turned to Roger. "I am very p/easeM to meet you, Mr Armer. Fonr wi/e 'I The words died on his lips. On no hnmaJ face had Paul Weston ever sern so diafl bolical an expression. tNkt was goinjM to happen? j "I have not the pleasure oi knowinl Doctor Paul Weston, nor do I intoid fol know him. He has thrust himself intofl my house in spite of my wishes." Roger placed his hands heW tisH back, and faced W7esto'n sternly. Tktih&B turned to Doris. "You have disobeyed me. I ara goingH to send for Doctor Weston's car, Hsl does not dine at my table to-night." J i The guests stared at each other. anfl at three central figures in this horribltH scene. Deliberately Roger rang the bell. "Doctor Weston's car," he said to thtl amazed Tompkins. But before Paul Weston could rcalise thiB full humiliation which had befallen himl Doris's clear voice rang out. ■ "One moment, Roger Armer. This iofl sult reaches the utmost liniit of ra \ ej durance. I have kept my hargain you— the bargain you gained with a 'J I am your wiie and your wife I raaj remain, but I hate you now! 1,011 ^ beneath my notice — beneath m\ contt-rap ■ Never will I open my lips t° )011 a=aU1 1 WHAT THE S1LENCE LED TO, 1 To depict the consternation that 1' lio J ed Doris Armer's extraordinar)' would be impossible. Some t e fj were too taken aback for woios, I whispered excitedly among them. I "What does it all mean? Not open J lips to him again! Why, the t "j possible — no wife could li\e .1 with her husband and not sp03, was only to nag at him. The last remark was made by 3 ^ Mrs Yandeleur, a woman rc'n0 her nagging propensities. J The man she addrcssed lo° " fully at Doris, as she stood a her face white, stern and »e , outwardly no emotion, unless ^1 of the laces on her breast co described. "I'm not sure about t ra • something about Mrs Armer ^ .. ^,1 she is no ordinary woman. ^ jy keeps her word I pity ffith > Jove!— the mere idea of m^o[Jian i* Silent Womjin — and such a ^ «■ Dorig Armer— makes my ^00^ Mrs Vandeleur laughed c | "As if she meant it! No But Doris did mean every ^ uttered. Wounded in het in her own house, one ^ «£

But this was no timo to give way to her i'eelings, to analyse the passions that had forced sd;h a dreadful decision publicly froni her lips. Sho forced. a laugh, and tumed to her i embarrassed friends, I must apologise for treating you to a domestic scene. Mr Armer entirely forgot himself— for the moment." She touched the bell, and "when ihe butler appeared, bade him announce dinner in five minutes' tnne. During that five minutes Doris glided about among her guests, trying to set them at their easo. Ont oniy was missing. Unable to con. ceal lier tnumph, and also to satisfy her curiosity, Isobel Yano had slipped out of the room, and followed Roger Armer and Paul Weston into the hall. "Will you kindly give me some explana. tion of the extraordinary manner !n which you have resented niy presence in your house, Mr Armer?" Although s^thing with anger, Panl Weston, for Doris' sake, forced himself to speak quietly. "Certainly, Dr. Weston, Come this way." Uiey both entered, and the door was shut. Isobel, remembering that a small ante-room opened off Roger's den, slipped into the little dark chamber. To her gratification the door of communication was ajar, and she could hear everv word that passed between the two men. I demand the reason for your insult, Mr Armer. Mrs Armer gave me an invitation to her house, and I availed myself of it." "I countermanded that invitation, and yet you forced yourself into my house. By doing so you laid yourself open to any — unpl easan tness — • — ' ' "Hold, sir! There must be somo mistake her.e." An unpleasant smile crossed Armer's stern, cold face. "None, Dr. Weston. I instructed Mrs Armer to write and inform you that it was not my pleasure to receive you. You ignored my very natural request, And so, for all that has happened you have yourself to hlarnc." He looked- at his watch "If you will excuse me, I must return to my invited guests." The emphasis on the word sent the hot blood flying to Paul WTeston's face, but he made no remark. "Your car is at tbo door," said Armer

as he left the room. As Paul Weston drove off, he thought of Doris and her str&nge declaration of silence. "She never wrote— -she disobeyed him. Were I not certain iliat thi3 ig so, I would have struck his cold, "cruel face! Oh, Doris! I grieved when I loet you! But I thought — I hoped — you would be happy with th.e man for whom you deserted me. But you're not, rny dear, my dear. You're heart-broken 1 If only I could comfort yon ! But — 1 raay not." Ile sighed deeply. ' How will this tragedy of an unhappy marriage end ? Who can tell ? There was something relentless in Armer's face. Oh Doris'— — " But to what he read on his old sweetheart s, he could give no name. The Armers' guests, though not all as weil-bred as they might have been, yet had sufficient good sense to appear indilfeTent to the unpleasant scene enacted b.efore their eves. They took th wisest course ; they ignored it. Ihe dinner was excellent, the wines priceiess. Roger had ordered that no expense was to be spared, and he had been. obeyed. Doris, at the head of the table, beamed and sparkled as though shc had not a care in the world. Those watching her furtively marvelled at her self-con-trol. "She evidently liiaeI making scenes ! Look at the humiliation she brought upon Roger Armer in the church!" Thus the woirisrt The men, more lenient to a beautifui woman, condemned their host's conduct. "Jealousy, of course! Paul Weston, was his wife's oid sweethearfc, and the fact rankles. All the same — he'd no business to insult . the man as he did." They ate and drank, and apparently enjoyed themselves. But there was a feeling of restraint on all present, and after dinner, ons hy one the guests dropped away. Once or twice Roger pointedly addressed Doris, but she made no reply. The long period of silence had commenced. Isobel was the last to go. Perhaps she was hoping to be invited to remain the night, as she had been on previous occasions. But Roger was impatient to be alone with his wif.e ; anxious to learn if the girl had really meant what she said. When Isoibel stooped to kiss her hostess goodbye, she ventnred to whisper : "You didn't mean it I know. No one could liv© with dear Roger, and keep up — spite against hina,."

She waitbd for a reply, but Doris only smiled inscrutably, and was silent. Roger sent Miss Vane home in the car, and then returned to the drawing-room, whcre he found Doris preparing to retire. Closing the door, he went up to her. Doris, what possessed you to disobey me? l"ou are responsible for all that occurred to-night." She only looked at him ; a strange, cold little' smile npon her tightly-closed lips. His temper began to leap up. If she showed temper, so could he ! Answer me ! ' ' He seized her white wrist. StHl no word issued from those soft red lips he longed to kiss. By heavens, I '11 make you speak!" He shook the wrist he held. "Answer me! Say something ! Explain — I order you to speak!" The faint smile remained. But for that smile it might have been the face of a dead woinan on which Roger Armer's ey.es rested. For, litce a flash, it came to him that she had^ meant what she said. Never more would she open her lips to him! Never again would that sweet voice address him ! The idea was so appalling that, loosing her wrist, he shook from head to foot. He was afraid of himself — of what this unnatural silence might tempt him to do— But it wouldn't last. It couldn't last. To-morrow she would forget, and speak, and all would be well ; or, if not exactly that, they would settle down as other illmatched couples did. Even that was better thanfthis weird dumbness! "You had better go to bed," he said curtly. "If you still persisfc in this childish courso of action, I will take steps to force you to speak. But I do not think you will." He was turning off the elec-tric light when he felt a light touch on his arm. Doris was holding out a sheet of letter paper, on which she had written some sentences. Curious to see what their pur. port might be, Roger perused them. "It will be no different to-morrow, or for tll the to-morrows aiter. My lips remain damb. My vow of silence was not lightly made. It shall be kept. It is going to be kept-. We live beneath the same roof. Heayen help me, I am forced to do this. The bargain which a lie made possible shall be kept — -but you cannot force me to speak. I register my vow on paper. I will never open my lips to you again. — Doris."

Before he had linished reading, Roger heard her light footfall crass the hall and asceuding the stairs. 1 1 is ,-i. - al-ncomally sensitive, heard the cioor of her suite open — shut. A key turned in the lock From henceforth lio was alone. He owned no wife. And then tlirough iiis veins j>uch passionate angei' rau — the kind of anger that breeds madmen. He laughed wildly, and his laughter echoed th rough ihe quiet house. But none heard. All, save Doris, were at rest. "Not force hei ! By heavens, 1 will force her ! I will iock her up in her room ; keep her a prisoner; depvive her o£ all she cares for! I will break her stubborn spirit — I will makes her speak!" For hours he sat brooding over the dying fire, his sor.ibre eyes gazing on a sparklin.g object that lay on one of the tables. It was a diamond tiara which Doris had worn that night, and in which she looked so regallv beautifui. She had quietly removed it. "I'll ask lier why she left it hei'e tomorrow," he said. And then he remembercd she weuld not answer him. In the morning he woke unfreshed — w-it.h a sensation making life almost insupportable. But for his masterful nature. Roger Armer might well have given in, and left his young wife the victory. But in the man was that dogged, almost brutal strain that some strong natures possess. Not lovable natures, perhaps, but interesting, uncommon ones. Accustomed to be obeyed by his subordinates, he could not brook rebeliion in his wife. Th.e days that followed were intensely wretched ones to him. What Doris felt remained locked within her breast They met at breakfast. and again at dinner. No word was spoken on either side, for Roger had given up attempting to unseal those closed lips, about which there was a sad droop that might have caused a less hard man infinite pity. Visitors came during Roger's absence in the city, where just now h© was very busy. Mrs Armer wag always a charming hostess, turning off all sly allusiona to the fateful dinner party so adroitly that they began to think that Doris's conduct liad been. but a flash of girlish temper. After all, Roger had behaved abomiaably ! It was left to Isobel to aci the spy, to carry taies to each other. To Roger it wa* : (Continued on Page 4. )

The SiBerat Wife. (Continued from Page 3.) party — such a tempest of anger and despair swept across her that frightened her. "She's ever go lively ! Quite jolly, I may say! It's only when the hour for your return is near she settles down into silence." To Doris she would say : "You poor dear! Hovd I sympathise with you! I'd be just the same myself. Your old sweetheaxt was asking after you only the other day. I met him at Mrs Vandeleur's. * What a charming f'ellow Dr. Weston is! I don't wonder you are still devoted to him." And then, as a glint came into Doris's eye, she added hastily : "As a friend, of course." When Isobel, despairing of discovering what was actually taking place, had gon,e reluctantly away, Doris sent for Mrs Spry. The good woman came quickly. It was impossible to conceal from the servants that something was very much amiss. ' Some took the master's part, some the

mistress's. Mrs Spry, little guessing that Doris regarded her as a spy and jailer, beamed with hope. "Now it'll be a-11 right, Misaus will speak, all will be well ; for it's a drear house as il is!" "Mrs Spry," said Doris coldiy glancing up at her, "I wish you to v a 1 1 on Mr Armer everv morning for his instructions. The continual writing of orders which pass throngh my hands does not please me. Mr Armer will give you his directions. Any that. apply directly to me — of course you will bring me." Mrs Spry looked positively scandalisei. "But, madam — you're the mistress/' she objected. Doris's face became irozen. "In name only. Kindly do as I desire." Mrs Spry left the room "shaking," to use her own words, "like a jelly."' "It's onnat'ral, and it needn't be. Master's the one to Be pitied, She's naught but a fro/.en image, is the migsus." To be Continued.