2 l.‘ l I l 5 1 _ .. ............_ ._..-,.,. .,-......p.~ ...,.,,_.. .. ‘.1 -. .,. A ~ ..v.,aq.:u-——-.-v-—--—:_r. . 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