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The Chatelaine, I‘/larch, 1929

girl at a desk, took off her hat, looked at a calendar pad, gave her hair a few deft pats, and joined Cherry in the window. In ten minutes the thing was to her liking.

“That’s better.”

“It is—not a doubt of it. Going to that auction in Bayswater Road?"

“Yes—but there won't be anything decent there."

“It starts at twelve. And, by the by, I saw my cousin last night. Nothing doing.” Helen glanced at him soberly. “Oh!”

“ ’Fraid not. I gave it to her as straight as I could, told her it would help me no end, and all that. Then she started asking all about you, your previous experience, and what other houses you'd done. That rather put me up a tree."

“Who gets the work?”

“Gillam’s—she placed the order yesterday. It's biggish, too. I—I don't exactly know how we're to stand up to firms like that.”

Helen lost interest in the Sheraton chairs. Gillam’s! The old story. The newcomer without business connections and reputation against big people with both. It was rather deadening.

“There’s just one thing,” hazarded the young man reflectively.

“What?”

“You must become a mesmerist and hypnotize some one into giving us a free hand. Oh—by Jove!—did Miss Turpin tell you?"

“No, she said nothing. About what?"

“Well, just after you left last night a Mrs.——”

He was interrupted by the sudden appear- ance of another man, who stopped in front of the window, surveyed them with a quizzical eye, gesticulated in dumb show grinned approvingly, and came in.

“Hello, Helen! Look here, you stay in front like that—say beside a bit of old crewel work—and we'll get more business than we can take care of."

“Good morning, Mark. Had your break- fast yet?”

Mr. Mark Upton put his hat on a table, lit a cigarette, and regarded her with great goodwill. He was about thirty, rather thickset, had a gay and open countenance, and radiated the atmosphere of one to whom the world has extended an unvarying consideration. His mouth was large and good-natured, but firm.

“I’ve reformed," he announced.

Helen laughed at him. “Since when?”

“Yesterday. Now I breakfast regularly at eight-fifteen."

“You’re hardly awake yet,” she retorted.

“On the contrary, my brain is working with unusual cleamess. Also I see the dawn of better days for this emporium of ours. I have news, Madame Franchette. news! We have had a bite.”

"Whose dog was it?”

"No dog—but a real live customer; a strange sight in this shop. but true. What is more, she doesn't know anything about antiques——not even as much as I do. Nevertheless, she desires a houseful. Also it's my fixed belief that she can afford 'em. And it's a deal easier to buy than sell in our business. Isn't it, Cherry?”

“I was just going to tell Madame‘. The lady came in the last thing last night; 8 Mrs. James Pritcliard, from Birmingham- A widow, I take it, though she doesn't look depressed.” _

“Good for Birmingham,” put 111 Mark “where I believe, all widows bear up bravely.”

“Well, this one is going to pull through» anyway. She’s got a house in Lowndes Square, and is going to have it decorated and furnished——the whole thing. She began by buying those chairs in the window.’

“All of them?" demanded Helen. H

“All of ’em—-at twenty pounds each.

“And they cost four guineas in the Caledonian Market." she breathed eX111t- “I remember finding them. YeS—- go on." _

Cherry looked and felt very pleased with himself. “Then I persuaded her not to do anything more that night, but wait t11l_Y0_11 saw the house. There isn't a stick in It yet.”

“Heavens, what a chance! What's she1ike?" _ G°°d‘1°0k1ng—1'd Say good-natured- “Ch*0h. yes, she's rich right enough——and Wants 01113’ the real thing. She wants you to be at Lowndes Square at eleven-thirty." Mark laughed. “Better forget about that auction, Helen. Something whispers that V911 and I in every way will do well to be wise and stick together."

MARK UPT ON, whose personality

moved so uncomfortably in the mind of the.s1ck man in Balham, had been very much in love with Helen, and it came with something more than a shock when Glaisher, the rather ordinary, everyday, sensitive and fairly ambitious man of his own age, stepped in and carried off the honors. Mark had never quite understood how it was done. On his own side were financial independence, better looks than Glaisher’s, a lighter touch and more optimism; on Glaisher’s, a rather touchy, introspective nature, no great ability, no great prospects. and yet Glaisher did it!

Mark sent them a silver-mounted tan- talus, did not go to the wedding and deter- mined to think no more about it. He found this impossible. Ugly pictures kept coming into his mind of intimacies for which he had hungered. He fought with them, endeavor- ing to think of Helen not as another man's wife, but a fine, candid, beautiful soul who, though she was not for him, was still one whom any man should be glad to remember. Then, months later, he accepted an invita- tion and went to dinner.

It was all curious and very difiicult—the more so because Helen was so obviously in love, and love had lighted in her a sort of quick, aspiring flame of living that made her more than ever desirable. She received Mark as an old friend, and nothing more, being too wise to approach, even remotely, any attitude at all tender. From time to time she sent him little glances as though asking whether he could not now see and admit how perfect this all was, and begging him in her own oblique way to put other things out of his head and be happy with them both.

Mark tried quite genuinely, and failed. In his efforts not to dwell too much upon her, he found himself analyzing Glaisher with an unfriendly eye. What had Glaisher to offer a girl like this? What a waste! Inconspicuous surroundings—a life of effort —the companionship of a supersensitive husband. Glaisher might get on, but he'd never get very far. It wasn't in him. The evening dragged. It had been a mistake to come.

Mark hoped that Helen would accom- pany him to the door, but it was Glaisher. When Mark put out his hand and something about a delightful evemng, it sounded crude and forced. Even Glaisher could see that, and looked relieved that the evening was over. He had not wanted Mark. And Mark could see that. So the door closed with a click,‘ final, definite, as much as to say: “This is my ho_use—not yours,” and Mark went off, choking back envious. lmW0I‘thY th011EhlfS I-!_13_t 01113’ made his condition worse, imagining the contented nod Glaisher would give in the hall, and the sort of things he would say to Helen when he got back to her. .

He saw nothing more of them for a year. then heard that Glaisher was ill, and wrote a very polite note asking if he could be of service. Helen sent back a charnung letter, declining with thanks. Mark never knew how much Glaisher had had to do with that letter. Then had followed mutual silence. until one day in Knightsbridge» 50”“ months later, he saw Helen across the street, looking thin and white. This gave him a shock, and he rushed over. ’

..I say, what's the matter? Y<t)_u dont 1001; very fit. I haven't seen Y0“ °1’j—‘

“For a long time, isn't it, Mark? I in all right," She smiled. but her appearance belied her. kw

‘trembled a little. “J ack’s not at all well. He's a very sick man» Mar!‘-

“Been anxious?" he blurted. noting the strain in the Pale f_a°e' ,,

“Very, very anxious.

She seemed so tired and driven that of a sudden he felt frightened about her.

“Come in here and sit down a minute. I want to know all about it."

He took her arm, thrilled at the touch of her, then put that part of it out of his mind and asked no more questions until sipping her tea, she seemed less distressed.

“Mark,” she said curiously, “what were you doing in Knightsbridge to-day?”

“Went to Tattersall’s to look at a horse. Why? And what were you doing?"

“I was looking for a job.”

“What!”

She nodded with a faint amusement. “That’s just the difference between us. I lost mine two weeks ago, and I'm footsore trying to hunt up another. And some men are beasts,” she added reflectively.

He stared at her. “You—a job! Oh!" A glimmer of the truth came to him, and he got angry. “Look here—is this on account of Jack's illness—and you never told me!"

“I—I couldn't," she said in a low voice.

“Why—for heaven's sake, why?” He was baulked and infinitely sorry.

“Jack wouldn't let me—he’s too proud.”

“But he'd let you tramp London looking for a job! Oh, my dear, my dear!"

“Please, Mark," she begged, “you don't understand. "

He choked back his resentment. “Go on—tell me everything." This with mem- ories of the last time he saw Glaisher, and the click of the door latch.

She told him, thankful to tell him, because for the first time in her life she was nearly beaten. She began in the passionless tones of fatigue, her brave grey eyes fixed on him, full of the petition that he would realize now, if he never did before, how she loved the man of whom she spoke.

“And so it went on. When Jack finally knew that he was down and out for——-for a long time, I was afraid for his mind. He was terribly humiliated. Our plans were knocked on the head, and the business he was building up went to pieces without him. Then the money question!"

“That wasn't fair," he said a little harshly.

“Mark, dear, try to understand. Put yourself in his place. Anyway, we began to sell things, or rather I did, trying to arrange the rest so that he wouldn't notice. That went on until we had to move."

“Where to?"

“Balham."

He made a gesture. “And then?"

“I got a job in the office of a man called Birkett in Upper Thames Street. That lasted three months, and—and I had to go‘?!

“Why?” he demanded. “Birkett," she said with a world of meaning.

Mark felt horribly disturbed, but if she was plucky enough to be calm, he felt he must be no less so.

“When did you leave Birkett?"

“Two weeks ago. And, Mark, I never told Jack. He thinks I'm still there, and doing awfully well for a beginner. He hasn't been out of his bed for months, but doesn't need a special nurse. It's the dread- ful weakness, and the feeling of being so utterly useless. His pride is as sick as his body, and he blames himself for——for marrying me. Can you understand better now?”

“What is the matter with him?” asked Upton very gently.

"Infantile paralysis,” she whispered.

He had a dull sensation that the affairs of this world were completely out of joint. He, too, blamed Glaisher for marrying this girl, and always would. Here he sat, rich and unharassed, and there was Helen anchored by what he saw to be the most loyal love, to a cripple who might live for years.

“When you asked me to have tea, you didn't dream I'd become such a liar, did you?" she added with a pathetic little smile.

Mark, thinking very hard, smiled back. Something had to be done, and done quickly. But how? No use in offering money. He knew her too well for that. He racked his brain to ferret out how he might best and most immediately help this

61

girl, who, even though she loved Glaisher, had come nearer in the last half hour than ever before. And, too, he must help to preserve her pride.

“What would you most like to do?" he jerked out.

“Anything I can do. choose."

"I've always believed you could do any- thing. What appeals to you most?"

She took a long breath. “If you know anyone important in the house decorating business, I think I'd be best at that. I've the instinct." She glanced about the tea room with its futuristic lamp-shades, blue china and staring yellow walls. “I don't mean this sort of thing—-but the real thing."

“At once, without any training?"

“Just the opportunity to show what I can do. I've often helped people with their houses. And it's awfully nice work, Mark, when you're really in it."

“Right—all I want is a lead. I can't promise anything now, in case I let you down, but can you meet me the day after to-morrow for lunch?"

Her eyes brightened a little. course."

“And meantime," he went on with a touch of awkwardness, “how about—er— will it be all right in Balham.?"

“Quite/' she assured him, “and for an- other two weeks, thanks to the last thing I sold. You'd never guess what was going next."

“What?"

“Your tantalus! Oh, Mark, I kept and kept it. Do you really think you can save your own tantalus?" she went on chaotically. “If I sound crazy it's only because of the relief at having some one to help. This afternoon I hardly knew what I was doing. There wasn't any job in sight, and I've been everywhere. Why are so many men unfair to women, Mark?"

Strange that she should introduce this, because at the moment Mark was vowing to try and be fair, more than fair to her. This situation, so suddenly developed, had engrossed him entirely. Its possibilities were — well — anything. And something whispered that he must do the decent thing by Glaisher, too.

“Men—-well—men differ a good deal,” he

I mustn't expect to

“Yes, of

said vaguely, thinking only of her and

himself.

“I know. And, Mark, there's something else. I wonder if you'll understand- quite.”

UIIH try to.”

“It's about Jack—I'm not going to tell him that I met you-——and you mustn't come to Balham. Does that sound queer?"

“A bit. I was going to ask when I could come." He was aware that his pulse was quickening.

“Not for a long time. It would be too hard on him, don't you see?”

She paused, the gray eyes imploring that he would see, that he would be big enough, generous enough, not to twist this affair into something to which it would lend itself with complete facility. What she asked and beggai was that whatever he did it might be solely because it was the natural and decent thing with nothing else behind it, and no expectancy of any particular reward. And, she secretly admitted, this was a good deal to expect from a man who still loved her.

What Upton saw was that it would be excessively hard on himself. Paralysis! He could not refrain from considering that. Odds a long way against Glaisher. Upton, though far from being selfish, would have been more than human had he not welcomed this queet twist of affairs in which Helen would be living a double life. There was no other way to put it. But it could not continue indeflnitely—that cheered him. Patient! He must be very patient.

“Look here," he said, “I’m out to do all I can—everything possible one can think

_ of—and in the way you'd like it done. But

let me start straight. It's for you, Helen, just you. I can't pretend anything else. If we pull off something, something really worth while, you'll use it for your own purposes. Iseethat,andwantyouto