Winding Paths | Page 9

she kept it to herself.
A home instead of the dingy lodgings she had grown to hate, and the
prospect of influential help, were sufficiently alluring to drown all
other reflections.
When the tour was over she went direct to Kensington, to make her
home with her mother until her next engagement. She was already too

much a woman of the world not to notice at once that her mother and
her host's relations seemed scarcely those of employee and employer,
and there was a little passage of arms between herself and Mrs. Vivian
the next morning.
In reply to a long harangue, in which that lady set forth the advantages
Lorraine was to gain from her mother's perspicacity in obtaining such a
post, she asked rather shortly:
"And why in the world should Mr. Raynor do all this for me, simply
because you are his housekeeper?"
A red spot burned in Mrs. Vivian's cheek as she replied: "He does it
because he wants me to stay; and I have told him I cannot do so unless
he makes it possible for me to give you a comfortable, happy home
here."
Lorraine's lips curled with a scorn she did not attempt to conceal, but
she only stood silently gazing across the Park.
She had already decided to make the best of her mother's deficiencies,
seeing she was almost the only relative she possessed, but she had a
natural loathing of hypocrisy, and wished she would leave facts alone
instead of attempting to gloss them over. Ever since she left school she
had been obliged to live in lodgings, because her mother would not
take the trouble to try and provide anything more of a home.
It was a little too much, therefore, that she should now allude to her
maternal solicitude because it happened to suit her purpose. She felt
herself growing hard and callous and bitter under the strain of the early
struggle to succeed, handicapped as she was; and because of one or two
ugly experiences that came in the path of such a warfare. She was
losing heart also, and feeling bitterly the stinging whip of
circumstances. As she stood gazing across the Park, some girls about
her own age rode past, returning from their morning gallop, talking and
laughing gaily together.
Lorraine found herself wondering what life would be like with her

beauty and talent if there were no vulgarly extravagant, unprincipled
mother in the background, no insistent need to earn money, no gnawing
ambition for a fame she already began to feel might prove an empty
joy.
She had not seen Hal for a year, and she felt an ache for her. In the
shifting, unreliable, soul-numbing atmosphere of her stage career, she
still looked upon Hal as a City of Refuge; and when she had not seen
her for some time she felt herself drifting towards unknown shoals and
quicksands.
And, unfortunately, Hal was away in America, with the editor to whom
she was secretary and typist, and not very likely to be back for three
months.
No; there was nothing for it but to make te best of her mother's
explanation and the comfortable home at her feet.
As for Mr. Raynor himself, though he seemed to Lorraine vulgarly
proud of his self-made position, vulgarly ostentatious of his wealth, and
vulgarly familiar with both herself and her mother, she could not
actually lay any offence to his charge. And in any case, he undoubtedly
could help her, if he chose, to procure at last the coveted part in a
London theatre. With this end in view, she laid herself out to please
him and to make the most of her opportunity.
And in this way she came to chose cross-roads which had to decide her
future.
Before she had been a week in the house, Frank Raynor deserted his
housekeeper altogether, and fell in love with the housekeeper's
daughter. Within a fortnight he had laid all his possessions a Lorraine's
feet, promising her not only wealth and devotion, but the brilliant
career she so coveted.
The man was generous, but he was no saint. Give him herself, and she
would have the world at her feet if he could bring it there. Give any less,
and he would have no more to say to her whatsoever.

It was the cross-roads.
Lorrain struggled manfully for a month. She hated the idea of marrying
a man better suited in every way to her mother. She dreaded and hated
the thought of what had perhaps been between them; yet she was afraid
to ask any question that might corroborate her worst fears.
All that was best in her of delicate and refined sensitiveness surged
upward, and she longed to run away to some remote island far removed
from the