The Moon out of Reach | Page 7

in Penelope's honest
brown eyes. "Mistaken? . . . Nan, what do you mean?"
"It's quite simple." Nan's laughter ceased suddenly. "Maryon Rooke has
not asked me to marry him. I've not refused him. He--he didn't give me
the opportunity." Her voice shook a little. "He's just been in to say
good-bye," she went on, after a pause. "He's going abroad."
"Listen to me, Nan." Penelope spoke very quietly. "There's a mistake
somewhere. I'm absolutely sure Maryon cares for you--and cares pretty
badly, too."
"Oh, yes, he cares. But"--in a studiously light voice that hid the
quivering pain at her heart--"a rising artist has to consider his art. He
can't hamper himself by marriage with an impecunious musician who
isn't able to pull wires and help him on. 'He travels the fastest who
travels alone.' You know it. And Maryon Rooke knows it. I suppose it's
true."
She got up from her chair and came and stood beside Penelope.
"We won't talk of this again, Penny. What one wants is a 'far Moon' and
I'd forgotten the width of the world which always seems to lie between.
My 'shining ship' has foundered. That's all."
CHAPTER II

THE GOOD SAMARITAN
Penelope tapped sharply at Nan's bedroom door.
"Nan, are you ready? Your taxi's waiting outside."
"Ticking tuppences away like the very dickens, too!" returned Nan,
emerging from her room dressed for a journey.
It was a week or two later and in response to a wire--and as the result of
a good deal of persuasion on the part of Penelope--Nan had accepted an
engagement to play at a big charity concert in Exeter. Lady Chatterton,
the organiser of the concert, had offered to put her up for the couple of
nights involved, and Nan was now hurrying to catch the Paddington
West-country train.
"I've induced the taxi-driver to come up and carry down your baggage,"
pursued Penelope. "You'll have to look fairly sharp if you're to catch
the one-fifty."
"I must catch it," declared Nan. "Why, the Chattertons are fourteen
miles from Abbencombe Station and it would be simply ghastly if they
sent all that way to meet me--and there was no me! Besides, there's a
rehearsal fixed for ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
While she spoke, the two girls were making their way down the circular
flight of stone steps--since the lift was temporarily out of
order--preceded by the driver grumblingly carrying Nan's suit-case and
hat-box. A minute or two later the taxi emitted a grunt from somewhere
within the depths of its being and Nan was off, with Penelope's cheery
"Good luck!" ringing in her ears.
She sat back against the cushions and gasped a sigh of relief. She had
run it rather close, but now, glancing down at her wrist-watch, she
realised that, failing a block in the traffic, she would catch her train
fairly easily.
It was after they had entered the Park that the first contre-temps

occurred. The taxi jibbed and came abruptly to a standstill. Nan let
down the window and leaned out.
"What's the matter?" she asked with some anxiety.
The driver, descending leisurely from his seat, regarded her with a
complete lack of interest.
"That's just w'ot I'm goin' to find out," he replied in a detached way.
Nan watched him while he poked indifferently about the engine, then
sank back into her seat with a murmur of relief as he at last climbed
once more into his place behind the wheel and the taxi got going again.
But almost before two minutes had elapsed there came another halt,
followed by another lengthy examination of the engine's internals.
Engine trouble spelt disaster, and Nan hopped out and joined the driver
in the road.
"What's wrong?" she asked. She looked down anxiously at her
wrist-watch. "I shall miss my train at this rate."
"I cawn't 'elp it if you do," returned the man surlily. He was one of the
many drivers who had taken advantage of a long-suffering public
during the war-time scarcity of taxi-cabs and he hoped to continue the
process during the peace. Incivility had become a confirmed habit with
him.
"But I can't miss it!" declared Nan.
"And this 'ere taxi cawn't catch it."
"Do you mean you really can't get her to go?" asked Nan.
"'Aven't I just bin sayin' so?"--aggressively. "That's just 'ow it stands.
She won't go."
He ignored Nan's exclamation of dismay and renewed his investigation
of the engine.

"No," he said at last, straightening himself. "I cawn't get you to
Paddington--or anyw'ere else for the matter o' that!"
He spoke with a stubborn unconcern that was simply maddening.
"Then get me another taxi--quick!" said Nan.
"W'ere from?"--contemptuously. "There ain't no taxi-rank 'ere in 'Yde
Park."
Nan looked hopelessly round. Cars and taxis, some with luggage and
some without, went speeding