CHAPTER VH
Synopsis
Anne Ordw&y, nineteen, is
shocked when she realises that
their old friend, David Ellicott,
is in love with her beautiful
mother, Elinor. She adores her
mother, and her father, Fran
cis. One night she and Garry
Brooks find a young man mak
ing coffee over a fire in a mea
dow. Later this stranger sees
someone through a second
story window in Anne's house
take something from a dressing
table. Next morning Anne's
pearls are missing and Garry
suggests the young man may
have taken them. He is identi
fied as Charles Patterson, much
in the news because of his
-wife's sensational divorce pro
ceedings against him. Elinor
confesses taking the pearls,
and Vicky, Anne's companion,
redeems them from a pawn
broker. Elinor and Francis tell
Anne they are to be divorced.
Anne goes to stay at Vicky's
farm home.
Vicky dared not tell Francis
how much she herself missed
what she had left behind in his
old house—the games of chess
with him at night, the talks and
walks, his confidences about
Anne. Now that she was away
from him she realized how im
portant was the part he had
played.
Anne had heard nothing from
Charles Patterson. She had not,
indeed, expected him to write. It
was enough to feel that in some
subtle, mysterious way he was
linked with her life. She re-read
his two letters, and at night
looked up at the stars and
dreamed.
But the time was at hand when
she was forced to face reality.
Coming early one morning to
breakfast, dressed and ready for
a ride, she was the first to get the
Baltimore paper and there, star
ing out from the front page, was
a picture of Charles' wife, Mar
got, very smart and smiling as
she gave to the court the evidence
which made of Charles something
a little less than a brute and a
bounder.
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Vicky, hunting for Anne later,
found her face down across the
bed. "My darling, what is it?"
Anne flung the paper towards
her. "Vicky, if it isn't true, why
does he let her do it?"
"A false sense of gallantry, my
dear. Men like Charles take the
blame, although they know they
are not at fault."
"But the world will believe all
she says of him."
"Yes. That's the burden he will
have to carry."
Anne retrieved the paper and
studied the picture. "She doesn't
look kind. She's hard and cruel.
Oh, how could he marry a wo
man like that? How could he?"
"He probably mixed her up
with his dreams," said Vicky dry
ly. "Men do that—and women —"
Again Anne flung the paper
from her. "Well, I shan't mix
anybody up with mine. I shall
never marry. I'd be afraid. Even
if i should want to, don't ever let
me marry, Vicky."
Charles Patterson had seen
that picture of Margot as she
stared from the front page of the
morning paper. For the first time
her smile did not set his pulses
pounding. He found himself
meeting her gaze calmly. A little
hard, those sparkling eyes. A lit
tle heavy, that round young chin.
A little thin, those lips that at
the last had spoken with such
scom.
"What's the use of going on
when we are both bored to ex
tinction?"
"But we promised, Margot, as
long as we both shall live'."
"Neither of us meant it.*
"Didnt we? I think I did, Mar
got." A . ,
She had asked with a touch of
curiosity "You mean that you'll
always go on loving me?"
"I'm not sure. But I shall al
ways feel that you're my wife."
She had shrugged her shoul
ders. "That's the trouble. You've
been too serious about it, Carl. So
I am going on to other adven
tures."
Other adventures?
He hated it all. He knew what
the world would think of him.
Mental cruelty? She had called
it that because he would not let
her own his soul. She had in
sisted that he must live his life
in the way she wanted it, and
the way she wanted was an un
ending merry-go-round.
Before his marriage he had
written boks about his travels,
vivid books, and the world had
liked them. He had thought Mar
got would give him inspiration,
but she had soon tired of listen
ing while he read to her. "Why
should you keep your nose to the
grindstone, Carl, when you have
enough money?"
"But it's a part of me, darling."
"I'm a part of you, aren't I?
And just having me to play
around with should make you
happy."
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"I thought you were proud of
my success."
"Success?" She had shrugged
her shoulders. "Writing a book
doesn't mean much in these days,
does it?"
Well, God knew,' he had been
weak enough at first to give in
to her, but the time had come
when he had to write or be
maimed mentally. He told Mar
got that, but she would not be
lieve him. So he had gone to his
island and had worked alone, and
in due time Margot had brought
suit for divorce, with the expecta
tion of fat alimony. She would
undoubtedly get the alimony for
Charles had refused to fight. He
could have brought countersuit
much damning evidence, but he
was glad to be rid of her at any
cost, glad to be again back on
his island with his old negro,
King, who was caretaker in his
absence, and cooked and valeted
when Charles was in residence.
There was also a red setter, Ruff.
Charles needed no other company
except that of the wild ducks
who, finding food and shelter,
were staying on through the win
ter.
Charles, too was staying on.
Here in this quiet placg he lived
with the thought of Anne. It
was strange how his mind went
back to her. Their time had been
so short together.
Christmas was two weeks away.
Charles, talking it over with
King, said, "I'll have my oysters
and turkey right here, and run
up to Baltimore for mince pies
and fruit cake."
"Well, I hopes you eats some
thing," old King told him. "You
needs fa 11 eni n* up, Mistuh
Charles." ,
"Fattening up isn't fashiona
ble."
"Humph," King said, and car
ried out his tray.
He came back to the dining
room to say, "I might trim us-all
a tree."
Charles shook his head. "We'll
have to put things in our stock
ings," he said, and stared out of
the window at the dark waves
tumbling up against the horizon.
The first Christmas after his
marriage he and King had trim
med a tree for Margot. It had
been a lovely tree—a young pine
out in the open. He and Margot
had lighted it in the dark of the
morning and Charles had said,
"Perhaps some day, darling,
there will be a child to light it
for us."
And Margot had said, "Don't
be silly," and the glow of the
candles had seemed to fade.
After dinner Margot had rail
ed against the loneliness of the
island. "You told me it would be
romantic," she had complained
to Charles, "but it isn't." She
wanted to be where people sang
and danced, and when they went
back to town she told her friends
that Charles' island was a "dead
hole." He had never taken her
there again.
And now Christmas was almost
here and King took his master in
a speedboat to the mainland.
Charles kept his car in the town
garage and rode to Baltimore in
time for lunch at the old ex
change which deals in the de
lectable wares of Maryland gen
tlewomen who preserve the ep
curean southern ideals of cook
ery.
Having ordered mince pies and
fruit cake, Charles made his way
to the tearoom. Waiting there to
be served, he saw at a nearby
table two women, their backs to
wards him, Anne and Vicky!
Charles rose and, crossing the
intervening space, stood back of
Anne's chair. "Here I am," he
said.
As she whirled around and
looked up at him, he was shock
ed at the change in her. Her
face was thin and colorless, her
eyes dull, her voice tense as she
greeted him: "How nice to see
you!"
"Don't say it like that."
"How should I say it?"
"As if you were really glad.
Not as if you were a little block
of Ice." He shook hands with
Vicky. "You're glad, aren't you?"
"Of coursfe, and so is Anne.
Aren't you, darling?"
"I don't know. Why should I
be glad about anything? And
I'm too honest to pretend."
Charles waited a moment be
fore he spoke. "So that's it," he
said at last. "You've been read
ing about me in the papers, and
you believe it."
She flushed. "No, I don't real
ly believe it. Only, after Mother
and Daddy and everything, it was
a last straw." She broke down
and hunted in her bag for her
handkerchief.
Dabbing her eyes, she heard
Charles say, "I refuse to be a last
straw."
He was smiling straight into
her eyes and suddenly she smiled
back at him. "I'll be good," she
said.
He gave the order to the
waitress and said to Anne, "Now,
tell me all about yourself."
"You tell him, Vicky."
They had come that miming,
Vicky informed him, to see a
doctor. "He thinks Anne needs
a decided change. He is suggest
ing that I take her to the south
of France."
"I'm not going," Anne said ob
stinately. "I'm not going to drag
Vicky all over the world Just be
cause Daddy and Mother have
made fools of themselves."
Charles spoke with a touch of
sternness: "You must not talk I
like that. 'Time marches on,' as
they say In the movies, and we've
got to keep step. We can't stop
and say 'things end here for me'."
"There isn't much reason to go
on, is there?"
"Yes. I am going to tell-you
about that later." He turned to
Vicky. "May I take Anne for a
ride? Haven't you an errand or
something?"
"If I didn't have, I'd invent
one," Vicky told him.
So when luncheon was over
Charles carried Anne off, with
the snow coming down as they
drove towards the park.
Charles said, "I'm glad it's
snowing."
"Why?"
"It shuts us in—together."
"Please don't say such things."
"What things? I'm not mak
ing love to you, Anne, if that's
what you're afraid of."
"I'm not afraid," she said
shakily, and there was silence
until, when they reached the
park, Charles stopped the car in
a secluded spot where with the
snow drawing its white curtains
about them, they were safely hid
den from curious eyes.
It was then that he said, "I
have brought you here, my dear,
because I have something to say
to you. I think you know how
much you mean to me. My little
note told you that. If I were free
I should try in every way to win
you. But lam not free. Perhaps
I shall never be. The courts may
say that Margot is not my wife,
but in a way I shall always be
tied to her. It is a feeling I can't
explain. But it exists —like the
albatross about the neck of the
Ancient Mariner." He waited a
moment, then went on: "How
ever, that is neither here nor
there. What I want now is to
know how I can help you."
"No one can help," she said.
"It is just that I believed in 'ev
erybody, and now there is no
one."
"Yes," he said, "there are two
of us—Vicky and I. We will nev
er let you down."
She began to cry silently. He
put his hand over hers. "Tell me
about it."
She told him, and before she
had finished his arm was about
her, her cheek against his coat.
She whispered, "I've been so
afraid."
"I know what it is to be
afraid."
Anne lifted her head and look
ed at him. "Why," she asked,
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"did you come Into my life if you
have to go out of It?"
As his eyes met her troubled
gaze, his self-control gave way.
"Why should I go out of It?"-he
demanded passionately. "We both
know what we want, Anne. Why
shouldn't we take it?"
(Continued Next Week)
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SINGERS TO MEET AT
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The regular semi-annual meet
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