THE LIVING STATUE

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Volume 58, Issue 274, 20 December 1929, Page 11

THE LIVING STATUE

by MARY GRACE ASHTON

"AN 1NTR1GUING NEW SER1AL— «

(PUBLISHEU BY ARKANGEMiflNT)

CHAPTER III. VntlKRE WAft A bJUALL HOb'SE m a srnall, neat road iu W'eiiibluy Park, wiucTi contained all tliat Ena s motlier toudly liiiagnied attached Enu to iiie. 'io Mrs Laurenco lt was strange and good tliat hor daughter, beginuing witli a sciiolarship afc a secoudary sciiool, sliouid liavo mauaged to gct oi] sb well. Slie was never quite oleai- aa to wliat tliis getting on cornprised, or to wliat ultimato goal it was intended to lead ; slio iiad nevor really understood the precise signilicanc© of anytliing in Ena's life. rilio knew oiily that Ena liad early resented the things tliat slie kerself accepted contenteUly ; tliat slie liad no use for small dean houses, hated tidy tront gardens and took no more interest in the kitchen gas-stove tlian if she never wanted a liot dinuer when she caine liome " at night. This much Mrs Laurenee realised, and assented lminbly, looking on at the sivift upward struggle of ber daugliter's firm youug body out of it all. So long as slie herself migbt live in this house, live in lier oivn way, as sbe liad lived all lier life, remaining placid amongst familiar surroundings, she did not mind, was even quite pleased with Ena's successes, and Ena allowed ber so mucli. v * * "T^TEMBLEY PARK," SHE liad * * pointed out to the girl on one rlissenting occasion, "is not far out. Yoj can get in and out easily on the Underground, and I'm used to it." It seemed to ber a clinching argument. So, when Ena had gone, nicely dressed and hurried, in the morning, slie would stand in the kitclieu before the arrival of the daily charwoinan and have small reflections 011 Ena, efficient and alert, very sonnd in the head, able to afford a few nice dresses now, gone off to her secretary job,. rehectious iutermingled with other more imp'ortant considerations as to the day's cooking and the things there were to be ironed. She would go up then to Ena's room, up the narrow fliglit of stairs, aiul tidy it, aware, almost \yithout realising it, of the curious ditference in that room to all the rest. It was all part of tliose ideas that Ena had picked up in the years, the culmin&tion of a process that liad commenced long ago in a black hair-brush wliich Ena had bought hnd cherished wlien she was sixteen. The room was untidy hecause people who have 9.0 trains to cateh can not get up and dress neatly. The furniture was old, solid and heavy, laid in when dressingtables had lots of litt'ie drawers, and people used wasliiug-stands, but the bed was new, of wood and artisticlooking, bought by Ena a little while ago. There were yellow curtains in the windows, too, as indeed there were all over the house; Mrs Laurenee reuiemhered having to watch, not witliout misgivings, the removal of her carefully-nurtured lace ; tliere was a dress 011 the tumbled bed, shoes scattered over the floor, cigarette-ash i'n a little ring-stand, two or three magazines, and a lot of spilt ppwder. lyRS LAURENCE SPT ABOUT it quietly and xiiethodically. It was all part of the young, vivid, self-willed personality that sometimes seemed to her not so much her owu daugliter as London, that town to wliich Mrs Laurenee made expeditions, a place composed entirely of enormous shops, business offices, odd, elderly men called Colonel Muir, one-way traffic, and Lyons tea-shops; and cirls like Ena grew up, were clever and got on, took a course in shortliand and typing, got iobs as secretaries and came liome late every niglit. All this had germinated _ in Mrs Laurenee' s mind for a long tinie, so it caused her 119 discomfort as she put everything to" rights and took away Ena's costume-skirt for the removal of a spot with benzine. There was somo stuff dropped on the dressing-table ; Ena did complicated things with her nails every morning. Occasionally during the day Mrs Laurenee still wendered gently-, vaguely to herself Of course, Ena might marry, but that wa$ unlik-ely. She macje no friends amongst the neighbours, knew nothing about pillion-j:id-ing* and tenpis acquaintaifceships, and continually averred that she was 3S hard as flint. Occasionally she went so far as to say that slie had seen th rough it all. » * ^ Men," she would say, with that vibrating cord of bitterness in lier voice tiigt Mrs Laurenee simplv did not understand. "Men do uot marry women like nie, my dear motlier. Money is reaily the only unfailing lure of marriage, but you can do sometliing with looks and position. I liave neither, and men think you're a sort of sixpemiy store then, nothing over sixpenc-e and all shoddy." Mrs Lauience would look at her daughter, lying back, indolent and bored, in the cliair slie had herself covered witli artistic cretonne, regarding her polished nails, with lier waved sliingled red head against a cushion, and quietly go on witli her sewing. Tliis might be so, she tbought, and Ena must know

by now. She canie into contact with so many men, of course. It had not been so in her day, when she had married a solictor's clerk and taken up a hard life. "Well, I daresay you're better cff as you are," sbe would concede a little doubtfully. These kind of conversations ahvays took place on Sunday afteruoons, when Ena, by common consent, got the tea. She would l'ise and mq>ve slowly towards the door. • ! * OE COURSE I AM. I've got a good job, and Muir will never let nie dowu. I shall stick on until. sometliing better conies along and tlieii go." Until slie could get more money, Mrs Laurenee would think. Yes, tliat was all Ena cared • about, getting on. Had she been rather more imaginative slie would liave known or at least suspected tliat it was not by any means all. But slie liad so many illusions, had Mrs Laurenee, and her daughter had none. It was the single reason why tliey were able to get 011 so well together. The gate swung and banged at half-past seven and Ena came up the path. Mrs Laurenee emerged out of the kitchen door as she entered, and saw the end-of-the-day look, pale patches under her eves and her clieeks falleh a little. "Well, her days were -full, she did odd jobs fo'r a typewriting bureau besides everything else. It would be as well to make haste with the dinner; meat rissoles and vegetables and an apple pie and custard. Mrs Laurenee knew that this would do her good. "Come on;" she said cheerfully, "dinner's ready. It.' 11 do you good." Ena ,sat down in silence to the table and looked at all that was put before her. It was towards the end of the meal, rather silent, but not more so than usual, tliat she remarked: "Muir's got another craze 011, 1 think." Muir was a liousehold word to Mrs Laurenee. and the faint note of a kind of liumorous despair in Ena's voice very farpiliar. "Oh?" slie said. She had uot got lt in her ever to say much. * * * «]VPS ST. CYR'S GOT a protege; T'-*- she's ahvays got one, and she wants Muir this time as a foil. The giiTs a sculptor, or wants to be." "Oh?" Mrs Laurenee had a feeling that slie ought to say more, but for the life of her she could not think of anytliing. "I liaven't seen her, but I expect I sliall," said Ena. "Jt may take two montlis or more She'll be dining witli liim soon. He always takes a good two months." • •" Mrs Laurenee hardly understood^. but slie said "Oh" again agreeably. "This one's young 'and innocent " Ena was looking gloomily at her place. "Or if she's not she seems so. I can tell tliat much." . y "Oh, yes." . . , " Ena pushed away her plate and got up. She went to the fireplace, took a cigarette from a box of tliem and then lit it. "Well, we'll have some tea," Mrs Laurenee remarked briefly. "I expect you'U b© g'ad of a cup." Ena liad wandered to the window, the aspidistra brushed and crackled as slie moved round it, and was standing with her face up to the dying pink of the sky, {ilue wreatlis of cigarettte smoke about lier bead. (To be Continued).