Abergavenny Chronicle

 9 ?, [All PIghts Reserved. ] <?> r- THE PAIGNTON H9NOUR 1*1 X BY V ? ALICE & CLAUDE ASKEW, f lX Authors of "The Shulamite," "Testimony," &c. y '><+ SYNOPSIS, ,T,nny) rATr,ro-,v, lately a widower. has been absent in Ausr:11¡a j" eighteen months, his twc daughters in Brussels, .an,1 his son Bruce at Oxford and with Sir Mark Thorndale's familv. wli'i-h includes a pretty daughter Doreen, to whom .13nl"" h:i* iust become eng-aged. They are now re-united at the aiicesU-.il home, Charlton Park. There is an old saying, When Paignton honour yields to shame, Extinct shall be the Paignton name. Lord Paiirnton tells his girls that he has bought a house in htsbridge, and promi-f?s them a season in town. Marion ?hi??s to her sister, "We shall be able to see Basil and Greory." These are two young men with whom the sisters have oecjme tiien lly during their absence in Belgium. The familv solicitor, PHVHI Mozeley, is horrified to hear of this •extravagance. kxi- wing that owing- to Lord Paignton'.s care- lessness in money matters he is drifting to ruin. Mozeley s partner romai ks that the Paignton honour will soon be worth very little. Lord Paignton, although on the verse of ruin, has bought :a house in town for himself and his daughters Mary and Amy, promis.ng to give hie son's fiancée. Doreen, a season 'there also. After a visit to his bank Lord Paignton is ,a.stA,unde,t to learn the truth of his position, and ouMtde -.meeti Owen Mortimer, a man whose acquaintance he has made on board t-hip. Mortimer suggests that Lord Paignton may become a miilionuiie by putting himself unreservedly into lii" h::nds, and succeeds in talking him over. It is decided that the London House shall be a wedding gift to Brae- and n ireen, for i one of the children guess the true state of affairs. Doreen is now staying at Charlton Park, she is kccnlv interested in politics, and Bruce has decided to so into Parliament. Mortimer is also staying there, and haTit? completely deceived Lord Paignton, makes up his linind to many Maiiuii, but the girls are doubtful of him. CHAPTER VI. A FINANCIER'S CONSCIENCE. The whole party sat for a while under the shade of the old oak tree enjoying the warmth of the spring afternoon. Lord Paignton was in high spirits, more boyishly irresponsible even than usual. He declared himself quite ready to play a set at tennis if lie were asked to, and announced that he felt <<juite capable of standing up against Bruce in a single match. "That would be quite delightful," teaid Doreen, with a quaintly impertinent mimicry of his lordship's stock phrase. "I should like nothing better than to see Bruce well beaten. He thinks too much of himself as it is." Of course Bruce protested, but at the same time affirmed that he would not be a bit sur- prised if he were to suffer defeat at his father's hands. Mortimer laughed at the little scene. "I never met such an over-grown boy as you in all my life, Paignton," he said, "and I've travelled all over the world." He stared at his friend as though he regarded him aa something of a curiosity. "A young heart, that's the secret of it," explained Lord Paignton, rubbing his hands "together and not the least offended. "Why shouldn't I be happy when I've got every- thing I want-? Not a care in the world; my children growing up about me—as fine a boy and pair of girls as any father's heart could desire—my own broad acres, with the sun shining down upon them. Can you wonder that the sun finds its way into my veins, too? "It's a happy disposition." Mortimer tnade the remark reflectively. He was sit- ting forward in his chair, his elbows resting upon his knees. "In some ways you are to be envied, Paignton. If we could all see the world in the same light that you do there would be more happiness in it. But the old "world would feel itself a shocking hypocrite, he added, with some cynicism. In spite of his declaration that he was ready to play tennis, Lord Paignton did not take the opportunity when it was oltered" him. He was not taring flannels or tennis shoes, he explained and after all it was plea- santer to sit quietly under the trees and watch the young people being energetic, and so another set was arranged, Bruce playing and D™eemlth ? sister Amy against Marian and Doreen. ref have to do some work "You will really have to do BOme work Bow Dome," he said triumphantly, "or you  stand the smallest chance against us." orn was all defiance at once, and so, laughing happily, the four young people be- gan their game. The two elder men sat silent for a few minutes. Mortimer was keenly watching th graceful movements of the girls, his grey eyes more particularly following Marian as she swayed across the court. They 're not engaged to be married, or anything of that sort, I suppose, those girls of vours, Paignton?" he asked at last. "Too young just yet, eh?" Lord Paignton acquiesced. Yes, Marian and Amv hardly seemed to him as if they were out of the schoolroom. Matrimony was a thing of the future. "You'll get London running after them, especially as it's their first season, Mortimer commented, his chin resting upon his hand. "Don't let them be snapped up too quickly— look out for the right sort of man." "Mv girls shall marry for love," responded his Lordship. "They shall just pick and choose for themselves. I don't care if the men they select haven't got twopence of their own as long as they're gentlemen. What docs it matter when I can provide so amply for them? Let the children be happy, I say— that's the first consideration." Mortimer's loose lips relaxed in a rather ominous smile. "Your heart does you credit," he remarked, placing a light accent upon the .,word heart." There was a short pause, broken by Lord Paignton. "I wonder you never married, Mortimer," he observed. W The other was not quick to answer. Lord Paignton's remark seemed to have aroused memories. Mortimer stared at a little hole which he had dug in the soft turf with the Jieel of his boot. "Perhaps I may some dav," he said, at last. "One never can tell. I haven't had much time to think of marriage in my strenuous life. Things haven't always been so rosy with me as they are to-day. I've had hard knocks in my time—and given them, too." He was speaking in a different tone of voice from that which he usually adopted, and it was almost as if he had for- gotten to whom he was talking. "There was a girl once," he went on. "She was wonderfully like your daughter Marian, just as slim and graceful, and she had brown curling hair, too. But that was all so long ago that I've almost forgotten about it. She died—it was a bit of a romance, I suppose, only it seems queer, doesn't it, to associate romance with a business man like myself? But if she'd lived-well-perhaps He broke off in what he was about to say. "She was a good girl," he added, "and things might have been different if she hadn't died." Lord Paignton listened sympathetically. He had a romantic heart, and would have liked to hear further details had Owen Morti- mer vouchsafed them; but the subject was a delicate one, and instinct deprecated the ask- ing of questions. "I expect she influenced your life all the same," he remarked, with the peculiar gentle- ness of which he was capable. "All good women must. No man should know that better than 1. I expect the memory of the girl you loved helped you when you were undergoing those hard knocks you spoke about just now. Love makes one charitable to all men." Owen Mortimer laughed, but without his customary case. Charitable to all men—he! There was something absurdly ironical in such words— applied to him. If Lord Paignton, this simple, warm-hearted old man, only knew all that was in the brain of his supposed friend at that inoment 1 If he knew the kind of man in whose hands he had placed his for- tune and himself! If he could guess why it suited the hook of Owen Mortimer to let'him feel himself a man of great wealth; that it was just for a little while-until the hoisting of the danger signals indicated that the farce must be at an end. If Lord Paignton knew all this--but how was he to know, he who was one of those who are the legitimate prey of every shark that swims? Yes, in some curious way-perhaps by his verv irresporisibilityr, inDOOence and 'h' ld man had some- Jight-heartedness-this old man had some- how contrived to touch a chord in the nature of Owen Mortimer which had lain dormant, unplayed upon, for many years past. Hardly ever since those davs, when love had come into his life, and when love might have in- fluenced him for the better, had Mortimer felt that somewhere deep down in his nature -he could not say where-he was possessed of the semblance of a conscience. Yet sud- denly lie had been conscious of a pang of re- morse for what he had done, for what he waa doing. Could it possibly have been that Marian's face, sejii for the first time that day, had aroused instincts dormant, but still living? He bit his lip, keenly annoyed with himself for his sentimentality. Whatever he might feel, it was too late to go back now. He had set his trap and caught feis quarry; he had found the scapegoat who was to be the bearer of his delinquencies when the time came. Why, he had searched in vain for months He had always rather prided himself upon hit; hardness, Iiis callousness. Utter selfish- ness was the most useful of his weapons. It had not always been so, but there was a great gulf of time between the Owen Morti- mer of to-day and him, who, some twenty odd years ago, after a violent quarrel with his father, the worthy vicar of a small country town, had left his home, throwing to the winds the careful and moral education which he had received, and had built for himself in another country a new life, upon dubious and uncertain lines. Yes, that gulf could never be bridged again. The parson's son-an eminently res- pectable youth, with strong views of his own —had, by some strange trick of fate, deve- loped into the unscrupulous adventurer that was Owen Mortimer of to-day. There could be no going back. Lord Paignton wondered at his friend's silence and abstraction, for Mortimer, as a rule, rejoiced in the sound of his own voice. His lordship had taken quite a fancy to his new friend and had decided that he was im- plicitly tc be trusted. Mortimer's plausible tongue had done ite duty well. That morning, before lunch, when they had been shut up together in the great study, gazed down upon by portraits of dead and gone Paigntons, he 'had given the most abso- lute proof of confidence that one man may give another. "I'll admit I'm not a business man," so he had said, "In fact, there is nothing in all the world that I hate so much. I just like things to go smoothly, and not to have to worry my head at all. You are ready to take my affairs off my hands, Mortimer, and really, I'm eternally obliged to you. Don't come and tell me about investments or anything of that sort; I shouldn't understand, and it would only bother -ic. I'll sign anything you like, and whenever you like. I'll leave everything to you and to Mr. Musgrave." Mr. Musgrave was the' solicitor, recom- mended by Mortimer, who had been elected to take the place of the discredited David Mozeley. "I like Mr. Musgrave," was Lord Paignton's comment, after he had been intro- duced to his new man of business. He looks as if he enjoyed life and wanted to make other people enjoy it too. Such a coiitrastto Mozelev, with his cadaverous checks and his eternal forebodings. Oh, yes, I'm sure that Mr. Musgrave and you, between you, will look after my interests. Besides, haven't you already proved it?" He chuckled joy- ously to himself. "They would have had me give up Wandsborough House and let Charlton, whereas you've clearly shown that nothing of the sort was necessary. You found the money immediately, and what better proof can I ask for than that?" It was true that Mortimer had done all this as part of a deep-laid scheme. Lord Paignton had lent himself to it unconsci- ously. an innocent tool. So easy a victim, too, that even Mortimer, accustomed as he was to the ways of fools, marvelled at the astonishing simplicity of Lord Paignton. It hardly seemed possible that there could be so credulous a soul upon earth, and yet- well, there it was, and, after all, fools were only created for wiser men to fleece them. Mortimer's eyes were still fixed upon the tennis-players. He wanted to find another subject of conversation. He fixed upon Doreen. "She's a nice little girl, too, your future daughter-in-law," he remarked. "I rather hoped I should have had the pleasure of meeting her father, Sir Mark, here to-day. Influential man. Sir Mark—his name would look well on a prospectus. There's the Deep Hanger Gold Mine, for instance, that we're just putting through-a most excellent thing, and I know all about it, as I've pros- pected it myself. Now, if Sir Mark cared to join the Board I think I could put him in, and he'd have no cause to regret it." "Oh, there you go again," cried Paign- ton, putting his hands to his ears, talking business just when I want to enjoy the sun- shine. But you shall meet Sir Mark and talk it over with him yourself; that is, if you'll stay to dinner. Sir Mark and Lady Thorndale have gone to pay a visit some dis- tance of, but they are bound to be back be- fore long. So if you can stay-" Mortimer looked at his watch. "Well, I don't know," he said, "you see, I motored down from town this morning with Musgrave and his daughter. They went on for a spin and agreed to call back for me at five o'clock, or thereabouts." "'Oh, but we must get them to stay, too," exclaimed his Lordship, "and then you can all motor back after dinner. It will be quite delightful. I'll tell Marian to peo about it. I notice they've just finished their set." He bustled off without waiting to listen to any protest from Mortimer-if, indeed, the latter was prepared with one. "I like Mr. Musgrave," he said. Presently he trotted back, having given his instructions, "And I shall be very pleased to make the acquaint- ance of Miss Musgrave. It will bn our last dinner-party for some little while at Charlton Park." Owen Mortimer made no observation, but there was a smile upon his lips. Perhaps he was marvelling at Lord Paignton's hospi- tality and wondering how the rest of the familv would, receive Nevil Musgrave and Nevil" Musgrave's daughter. CHAPTER VII. I THE OLD LOVE. I Bruce and Doreen, released from the thraldom of lawn-tennis, waudered off by themselves. They made their slow way down the smooth gravel paths to a spot which they had already claimed as their own, and which Marian had, in consequence, facetiously called "Lover's Corner." It was at the extreme end of an orna- mental rockery, where all sorts of quaint plants and shrubs, not generally seen in Eng- lish gardens, flourished. A- little stream broke through the rocks in tiny waterfalls, and every attempt had been made to convert the place into a miniature glen. Tie path meandered in and out, and there were de- lightful, unexpected corners and bends, with seats and arbours in the most unexpected places-a triumph of landscape gardening. The rockery ended in a coppice, and it was a little creeper-covered bower on the verge of this that the lovers had selected and made their own. To this spot, then, they came that sunny afternoon of early spring, and for a little while Doreen amused herself gathering a great bunch of moist primroses, bluebells, and hyacinths. She loved flowers, especially the simple wild flowers of wood and field. Bruce had often laughed at her for weaving daisy-chains, or manufacturing great yellow balls of cowslips. Presently, in obedience to an imperative summons from Bruce, who had been sitting in the arbour, smoking a cigarette and call- ing out an occasional remark, she abandoned her task and, laughing happily, dropped the flowers which she had gathered in rich pro- fusion upon the little rustic table. And whenever her hands were free during tha next half hour-which was not very often— she busied herself making them into a bou- quet to carry away. She e-eafced herself at Bruce's side, and lifted her mouth to be kissed. "You're just like a primrose yourself, Dorrie," he said, "just as fresh, and pretty, and sweet." Then, as from somewhere among the trees, a I thrush broke into sweet song, he smiled and quoted gently: What is freer than the wild bird, What is sweeter than the Mav, What is fresher than the mornin g And brighter than the day?' "That was a riddle propounded by some- one who was very much in love." he said, "and I must really be very much in love. too, Dorrie, for it to come into my head just now. "I think that to hear you quoting poetry at all in evidence enough by itself," was Doreca's answer. "I didn't think it was in your line, Bruce." "No more it is," he responded readily, "and I don't expect I should have remem- bered the lines I've just quoted if they hr-dn't been written by a sportsman." Brucc rather prided himself upon his f. /ortmg proclivitic-s. He rode straight to hounds, and was an excellent shot; moreover, hp had distinguished himself as an oarsman ri Eton and Oxford. One might have guessed it only to look at his tall, athletic figure. He Latcd the idea of any oocupation which should keep him tied to a desk; that was why liu was not altogether delighted with the prospect- of the secretaryship which he was going to take up in the winter. The manage- ment of a great estate such as the one which he was bound to inherit, and a seat in Par- liament — these were Bruce Paignton's greatest ambitions. The minutes that folle wed were sacred to the lovers, and, indeed, Bruce would have been happy to continue the sweet, sillv love- talk for an indefinite period. But Doreen would not allow this. She had a question to nsk, a very serious question, which had been in her mind for some days past, and she juugea this a lavourable opportunity to pro- pound it. She was sure that it was a question that all engaged girls put to their lovers. "I want to know, Bruce," she murmured, nestling up to him, "if I am really and truly the only girl that you have ever loved ?" "What a silly question," was his prompt answer, as he bent his head and kissed her lips. "Of course you are. You're the first, and you will be the last." She gave a little sigh of content. "But there must have been others, for all that," she insinuated. "Let us say girls who have been in love with you, Bruce. I'm sure there were hundreds of them. You've no idea how nice you look"—she drew back a little and gazed at him—"and I think I like you in flannels best of all. I know how jealous I was one day when Gracie Melton-you re- member her, don't you?—a plump little girl with a mole on her chin-said that you looked like a young Greek god. Such a silly trite expression, but just the sort of thing she would say, and it was silly of me to be jealous. But it shows that plenty of other girls must have felt just the same as I do." Bruce drew her back to his side with an arm passed round her waist. "So you want to hear all about my wicked past, do you? You want me to make a full confession of all my misdeeds?" "I'm suro there can't be any misdeeds," she interrupted warmly. "But I do want to hear anything you've got to te-il me, Bruce. I'm not silly and jealous, indeed I'm not, now that I know you're all mine. But I should hate it if anything happened if anything was said after we were married and I felt that you had never spoken to me about it. That's the only reason that makes me ask you, indeed, indeed it is." She clasped her hands prettily together until he imprisoned them in his own. "Well, really," said the boy, after a minute's reflection, "since I'm to take the question aft juite & serious one, darling, I era]) give you my word that I've not been guilty of anything very serious in the way of flirtations. What with hunting and shooting and the rest of it, I've never worried my head very much about such things. All the same, there was one little affair which I sup- POC'} you'd better know of, and, curiously enough, I was reminded of it no later than morning." "Reminded of it? How?" Doreen gave a little quiver and lifted her big eyes to his. "I'll tell you that directly; you'd better hear the awful facts first. It happened like this. lie drew a deep breath and pureed up his lips as though, despite the light way he was taking it, he hated to refer to the incidents he was about to speak of. But Doreen gave a little pinch to his arm, as if to assure him that he need be under no apprehension on her account, and so, without further hesita- tion, he took up his story. "It happened about four years ago." "That was long before you thought of fall- ing in love with me," interrupted Doreen. I'm glad of that." Why, you little goose, you were in short petticoats, almost in the nursery," he said grandiloquently. "But, if you interrupt me like that, Dorrie, I shall never get on." "Very well," she said meekly, "I won't interrupt again. Let us admit that it hap- pened in the long ago, when you were quite, quite young, and quite, quite silly." He pinched her ear. "It was four years ago," he repeated. "And I happened to be spending the vac. with Reggie Haines at Brighton, of all places in the world. I had a pretty dull time, I remember, though I went cut with the harriers once or twice, and I expect it was just because it was dull I got into mischief. You see, Reggie was the sort of fellow who was always falling in and out of love, and he knew all the girls in the place, and lie wasn't over particular that they should be girls in his own class of life either. Well, it was at the Pavilion dance that he introduced me to the young lady whom I'm going to tell you about. He said she was a 'clipper '-Reggie was always slangy—and that she had the reputation of being pretty rapid. Curiously enough, she didn't give me the impression of being that sort of girl at all. I expect she was really just a clever actress, and put me down as new to tbte game. Any- way, she attracted me as no other girl had ever done before, and having plenty of time on my hands I was quite disposed to make a fool of myself. "I daresay I should have gone ahead even faster than I did had it not been that her people gave me pause—her father and the company they kept generally, I mean—a shocking outsider lot." He laughed to him- self a little. "I can imagine them visiting at Charlton Park-I wonder what my dear mother, who was alive then, would have said to them." "And 80." put in Doreen, who had been listening breathlessly, "the whole thing ended there—it never went any further?" "It went quite far enough," he said, puckering up his lips. "Indeed, I was seriously thinking of throwing up everything for the sake of Agnes. And I told her so- yes, I did. Dorrie, though all the time I wasn't really a bit in love, onlv foolishlv in. fatuated. The worst of it was 'that I believe she really did care for me, better than she cared for the dozen of others, at any rate. It was those others that brought about the final quarrel. She cried like anything, and I re- member that I thought myself a brute at tho time, but when I came to think it all over afterwards I understood what an escape I'd had, how near I'd come to making a fool of myself. "And you never saw her again, Bruce? Didn't sho write to you, or anything like that? "Yes, she did write, trying to justify her- self and to make out that I'd been told lies about her. But I knew that it was true- I'd seen things with my own eyes—00 I never answered her letters, and did my best to forget all about her. I expect they've drifted down since those days; her father was by way of being a pettifogging little solicitor, and it was all he could do even then to make both ends meet." "And you never saw her again?" repeated the girl. "No, curiously enough, not till this morn- ing. That's why I told you that I'd been re- minded of the story quite recently." "You saw her this morning?" There was ft note of alarm in Doreen's voice. "Yes. And, by the way, that rather goes against what I said just now about their having come down in the world, for they were in a motor-car—old Musgrave—that's his name—and his daughter; rather a fine car, too, though I expect it must have been Lent them. It was on the road to Clay- borough, and they didn't see me, for t-ney shot past so quickly; but I'm sure, all the same, that I was not mistaken." "You don't think they were here for any reason concerning you?" hesitated Doreen, clasping Bruce's hands tightly as if she were afraid of losing him there and then. He laughed at her, and assured her again that Agnes had pro-bably forgotten him as readily as he had forgotten her. "And now we won't talk about these un- comfortable things any more," he said. "You've asked your question, Dorrie, and I've answered it. You needn't be afraid that anyone will ever come between you and me." And so the girl smiled once more, and the two young people gave themselves up to talk- ing of those things which were of interest only to themselves. A little later Amy came running lightly down the rockery path. She called her j brother and Doreen by name long before she was anywhere near them, in order, as she explained, to give them due warning. The sun was sinking by now, tinging the dark stones of the rockery a glorious red, while the little waterfalls glittered silver. Amy halted outside the arbour. "Oh, Bruce," she cried, father's asking for you. There are some new people just arrived, and you've got to be introduced." "Some new people—what a nuisance," grumbled Bruce. "The Manse folk, I ex- pect. I wish to Heaven they'd keep away just now." He glanced at Doreen for sympathy, but Doreen, though he knew she was echoing his sentiments in her heart, was a rigid dis- ciplinarian in matters social. "They're not exactly callers," Amy ex- plained, as the three young people made their way back along the narrow path of the rockery, "they are friends of Mr. Morti- mer's, and they came to fetch him, but father's insisted upon the whole party stav- ing to dinner. Isn't it annoying?—breaking up our little party, when we are all so happy together. But it appears that the man is father's new solicitor-the one who's taken the place of Mozeley the Moaner." Such was the unsympathetic title by which the unappreciated Mr. Mozeley had come to be known to the Paignton familv. It was Bruce himself who, years ago, had bestowed this name upon the solicitoi. "What's he like?" queried Bruce. "Well, I've seen so little of him yet," re- plied the girl cautiously. "I was sent off to find you almost at once, you see. But I don't think I like him very much, any more than I like Mr. Mortimer, and I'm quite sure his daughter, though she's beautifully dressed, isn t good style. Any woman could tell that at once. They drove up in a motor —a great big yellow one—and I left it puffing and panting at the door." Even then Bruce did not suspect what was before him. He was to receive the full force of the shock when he stepped on to the lawn, where the little company was gathered together, and Lord Paignton, in his usual airy manner, effected the introduction. "Mr. Musgrave, this is my son, Bruce. Bruce, you'll be glad to know Mr. Musgrave, who has"—he coughed behind hia hand- "undertaken some business for me. Mr. and < Miss Muegrave have motored from town. Our friends, you'll be glad to hear, have con- sented to dine with 116. It will be quite de- lightful." Lord Paignton was talking so volubly that he failed to notice his son's horrified face. Bruce started back, and was scarcely able to withhold the ejaculation that rose to his lips. But Mr. Musgrave extended his hand, and his face expressed nothing but polite pleasure at the introduction. "Happy to meet you, Mr. Paignton," he said. Bruce took the proffered hand reluctantly, then he turned to the tall, rather over- dressed girl, who stood by her father's side, as Mr. Musgrave proceeded to introduce him -—formally and as though they were absolute strangers. For a moment the eyes of man and girl met, and Bruce muttered something-he hardly knew what he said. His heart was beating painfully, for Doreen was now being introduced in her turn. He bit his lip. Why on earth had he been persuaded to tell Doreen that story, and why had Fate played him such a trick as to bring these two girls together? (To be Continued.)