Harper's Bazaar 1926-01

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GERALD: “That luminous blode ts very restful to the eye, isn’t she?” MuriE.: “Perhaps so! But have you noticed how seldom men ask her to dance?” Listerine used as a mouth-wash quickly overcomes halitosis (unpleasant breath). +)

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Gian, Nn LW aAr. Number 2559 soth Year Cig Avis OUS les modéles reproduits dans notre magazine sont la propriété de leurs créateurs. Les reproductions, imi- tations ou contrefagons méme partielles peuvent toujours entrainer contre leurs auteurs des pursuites de la part des créateurs et de l’ Association des Arts Plastiques et A ppliqués en France et & l’ Etranger. HARPER’S BAZAR FICTION URING the year of 1926 the fiction program of Har- per’s Bazar will be emphasized, not at the expense of its valuable fashion features, but, rather, in accord with its traditional policy. This may sound like a New Year’s resolution, as indeed it is, but happily this resolution is backed with much fine new stock in the lockers and many reliable promises of more. The January issue, now in your hands, bears substantial first proof of our boast. The February issue will carry the proof into convincing reality. In February—just one— you will find a short story by Irvin Cobb that will certainly give you pleasure. Several fine novels are in prospect, and we hope to have a smart bit by Fannie Hurst in at least other issue. Anita Loos will continue her clever, sophisticated stories from month to month. Incidentally, speaking of Anita Loos, ‘‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes,” the novelette that ran through many issues of Harper’s Bazar, is being translated into French and Ger- man, is being made into a play and a movie and is running into tens of thousands in book form both in the United 6 States and in England. Just what touch Anita Loos was able to give her naively villainous little gold digger to make good people of several countries and all convictions refer to her blackest deeds and her most sinful escapades as “‘amusing,” we can’t say, but the touch is there. You will find it in the new chapters that will carry her new society heroine through all the débutante activities of Little Theater, Interior Decorating, Literature, Night Clubbing, Painting, and the allied arts. We have found the manuscript abso- lutely marvelous, and we hope that you will equally enjoy the story and the Ralph Barton drawings. every as ‘‘cute”’ NEXT Harper t vice-president; ag ov A. Moore, treasure and dependencies, 4.00. In C anada, rst copy to reach you. Entered at the : York Post Office Harper's b Fashions for JANUARY MONTH: ADVANCE ’s Bazar is published month] ly in the U.S. A. by the International Magazine Con Austin W. Clark, secretary, .00. In foreign countries, $6.00. subscription has expired it ic best to rene wm a at once, using the blank enclosed. as second-class mail matter. Harper's Bazar is fully e stected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted either wholly or in part without permission. the South 1926 Number Cover, by Erté ‘The House of Enchantments,” The Story of the Two Beautiful Daughters of Mrs. Siddons, by E. Barrington Illustrated by Henry Raleigh. Page eivheletletartd 64, 65, 66, 67 Snapshots from Palm Beach and Miami.... .... .......... ..... us 68 “The Smartest Clothes are the Simplest,” A Portfolio of C ostumes for Rewy Hour of the Southern Day, by Lucile Buchanan CE NE TI noon Se bso x vo si ivieeon a ewace . 69, 70, 71, 72, 73 Drawn by Mary MacKinnon. oe ae 745 75, 76, 77 “The Smirk,” A Light Tragedy that Has a New Morai, by Pancle ‘Hurst Illustrated by I oe. Gn ints. as Roa s oe res ee eeewuten Gene tees 78, 79 “Modern Incongruities,”” As Pointed Out by Baron és Meyer Photographs by Baron de Meyer......... 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87 Portrait of Mrs. Lawrence Lewis Gillespie. .................0 cece ceceeeeees 88 ‘Love is Not All,” A Significant Article, by Covtvede: Aahetben Decoration by Katharine Sturges.......... 89 1 American Party in Morocco...... go “The Paris Mode Crystallized,’’ Our Monthly Paris Anticte, by M: irjorie Howent Drawn by Reynaldo Luza.. .. 0... cccccccce eee QI, 92, 93, 94, 95, 98, 990 Drawn by A. Soulié..... .cc« 606,07 “The End of the Flight,”’ A Story of a Mys sterious Vengn ince in the South Seas, by W. Somerset Maugham Illustrated by John Richard Flanagan.................0405. 100 Portrait of Miss Lydia E. Dadmun...... ane lg GA Dk ees eae IOI New Doors Open on a Palm Beach C ollection,” by Marie Lyons Drawn by Grace Hart... . Pie We ni ee Sane S oeelabtca coment 102 Drawn by Helen Dryden. . 103, 104, 105, 106, 107 Drawn by Malaga Grenet. , +003 508, 569 ‘‘Harmer John,” Continuing the Story of a —_ Overwhelaingty Driven by a Love ot Beauty, by Hugh W alpole Ilustrated by T. D. Skidmore. : jv 0 BRO, SER “On the Screen,’ Continuing the Story of an English kanevent and a French Film Actress, by Robert Hichens Illustrated by John LaGatta .. 114, 115 “Why Girls Go South,” A Record of Some Critical BMonseute in the L ife of a Débutante, by Anita Loos ND Pee are eer ee te ee 116, 117 eek SR ee RON IR oa Sin vc vos awd hen eebckaeaawnaueenres 118, 119 New Accesories that Are Seer im Paris... 5. occ ccccasiwnseceuwewecyons 120 SPRING FASHIONS NUMBER ipany, Inc., William Randolph Hearst, president; C. H. Hathaw: 119 West 40th Street, New York City. Single Copies, 50 cents. (All subscriptions are payable in advance and at the full price.) , Vice-president; Copyright, 1925, by the International Magazine Company, Inc., (Harper’s Bazar Ray Long, Yearly subscript: n in United States When you receive notice that your When changing an address, give the old address as well as the new and allow five weeks for the ).

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(( HARPER’ S BAZAR ~ = > ) ( Mee? ( ree CCaces Ni f, A2ons WW ano her ae 10 ells gaa J D yy

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for JANUARY 1926 ————~_ Be & S Ow MONG the pictures in the National l, Gallery, London, there is none of more beauty and distinction than that of the immortal actress, Sarah Siddons. She looks the very great lady she so often played. The noble poise of the head in its curved hat of black with drooping ostrich plumes, the stately throat pillaring the beautiful face, all proclaim her queen of the stage, the Tragic Muse whom Gainsborough chose her to represent in the finest of his portraits. There he inscribed his name on the hem of her robe in proud humility, saying that thus he would choose to go down to posterity, the recorder of that magnificent beauty and genius. Those who read of her triumphs little know the sorrows which rent her heart in the stormy romance which befell her two daughters, gifted like herself with all the beauty and swift sensitiveness of the surprising Kemble family from which she sprang. This, imaginatively treated, is the story of that strange business, absolutely true except that I have compressed its wild romance into a shorter time than it really occupied. The excerpts from letters are all authentic and are taken from the admirable book of the Siddons-Lawrence correspondence edited by Mr. Oswald Knapp—a book which would interest those who wish to follow the minuter details of this strange romance of the great artist, Sir Thomas Lawrence. Cha) T WAS springtime in London, and even Great Marlborough Street had its share. It has been said that there is no street in London from which a tree cannot be and from the tall narrow windows of the great Mrs. Siddons’ house a lime- tree was visible, its delicate green leaves not yet soiled with smoke and soot. The sparrows chirped and twittered about it and as far as it could be seen its misty ethereal flutter was an image of hope. The two Siddons girls sat by the window, tightly closed because Maria took cold so easily, and longed for woods and daffodils far away in the blue distances of Surrey. Still, there were reasons why London had its charm for both just now. So there they sat in the pale sunshine which London takes for spring gold. Two sisters, not alike in coloring, very different in expression, yet with the subtle all-pervading likeness through Which kindred blood speaks. Sally, the elder, Clear-featured as a Greek nymph, with dark and beautiful hair piled upon her little head, looked seen, LIE of Che _— Wlustrations by : Slenry Raleigh ae. — out into a happy world through full-orbed eyes so deeply and heavily fringed that the first glance might them black instead of their true violet blue. Her lips, faintly pink as the petals of a China rose, were all sweet music and gentle laughter. We know, for we have her portrait drawn by the hand of a lover, and that lover later to be the great Sir Thomas Lawrence. There she smiles in immortal charm, little foreseeing the story to be remembered in looking upon her fair face. guess Cle) ER sister, Maria, glows beside her, a stormy beauty, angry dark eyes and lips red as a pomegranate blossom. Her features also have the clear-cut Kemble beauty which they inherit from their beautiful mother, but it is the eyes—the eyes that absorb every other interest in Maria’s face. With them she might have what features she would and yet be the one magnet in a room to draw the glances of men and women. They were too large for the small pale face in which they burned, too hungry, too eager, too secret; they overweighted her. They bespoke a personality that overflowed the slender vessel of her body. The very air about her was magnetic with quiverings of fear and hope and passionate resolve—too passionate for so young a girl. We have her portrait also drawn by the hand of alover. And that is the true testi- mony to her tragedy. Did she bring it on herself? Who can tell? Love has his victims, and she was one, and dragged another with her. That is all that can be said. They sat awhile silent, Sally reading and Maria staring at the tree in a dream too absorbed for her years. At last Sally, looking up, put a marker in her book and laid it by. She spoke in a low penetrat- ing voice, never to be forgotten if once heard; another heritage from the actor-Kembles. That family set its trade-mark, for so it may be called, deep on every one of its branches. Either of those girls might well have been an actress if their mother had so willed, but she knew better than most the perils and weariness of the player’s life, and the very mention of such a possibility was forbidden. Cie HE mother was the bread-winner in that household and held to her right to govern in consequence. A benevolent despot, but a despot all the same. The father a very ordinary, some- CO Onchantments- Lanting aulhor Of, Clriows Cpollo ‘ times agreeable actor, a little astray among the birds of paradise of the celebrated Kemble con- nection. He did his best, but found it a little fatiguing. “My mamma should be here in about ten minutes,” said Sally, looking at the small gold repeater at her girdle. She stood up and yawned, stretching her arms apart, and disclosing all the lovely lines of her slim young figure beneath her short-waisted gown. ‘‘What are you thinking, Maria? I don’t comprehend how you can sit hour after hour staring into nothing. What have you in your head now?” “Thomas Lawrence.” She added nothing to those two words, and never looked at Sally. If she had she would have seen a faint blush rising in her face. She, too, was silent. Far in the distance came the sound of horses’ hoofs. She appeared to be listening to that and to have no interest in Maria’s answer. In reality she was considering what could be said to Mrs. Siddons about that very matter when she should arrive from the tour in the Midlands where she had been playing to rapturous houses for a month. “It’s no use pretending, Sally,” cried Maria suddenly, fixing her with those burning eyes. “Because, if you think you’ve hid it from me you're entirely mistaken. You’ve engaged yourself to Thomas Lawrence, and well may you be frightened to tell our mamma! He’s in debt—his people look to him for support. Did you expect mamma to work for him as well as for all the rest of us? Good- ness knows she scarcely gets a minute of rest now.” CUsza7> UT Sally cut her short with a certain sweet authority. “Maria, you’re a foolish headstrong girl and don’t care what you say. Thomas Lawrence has a genius that the world very soon will acknowledge, and mamma, who made her own way up the ladder, won't despise him because he was not born with a gold spoon in his mouth. If he and I love one another—”’ Maria looked at her with a mocking spirit in either black eye. “Love! You may love him, Sally. Love comes easy to you, but it comes easier still to Mr. Law- rence. An artist—a man witha face like his—why, all the women in London will fall in love with him. He can’t keep his eyes off a beautiful face—and why should he?_ It’s his trade to love it. That man

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is a born lover—of beauty. Not of any one woman She flung the words like knives, willing to wound. Sally put them by with quiet dignity. “You don’t know Mr. Lawrence so well as you think; anyway, you’re but a child. You don’t understand these matters.” Maria glared at her and was silent. Seen thus, the two resembled Blake’s line—“ Girls of mild silver and of furious gold,”’ as though he had written it for them. Ihe horses came nearer and Sally ran down the stairs, fleet footed, to be at the door to welcome her mother, Maria starting to follow. But she stopped, pressing her hand to her heart as if in pain, and leaned against the wall, panting. “O why can’t I hold my tongue?” “Tt half kills me. And my poor Sally that’s so good to me! I think the devil gets into me and makes me mad. O if only Lawrence would go away and never come back! If only Sally had never seen him—nor I either.” She stood a moment, doing her best to subdue the hot bright color that had rushed into her cheeks, and closed her eyes with an expression of she gasped. pain as steps came up the stairs and a voice so like Sally’s and her own that the three might easily HARPER’S

“Tt is a singular fact, but true, that in their secret hearts Mrs. Siddons, Sally, and Maria be confused; “But where’s my sweet Maria? Why wasn’t she down-stairs?”’ it said. She pulled herself together then and went to meet her mother. Mrs. Siddons! One feels as if court heralds should announce with silver trumpets anything so lovely and imperial. She held her head like a queen; she walked like a goddess. The long folds of her cloak falling about her took on the character of classic drapery. She stretched her arms maternal and was Demeter welcoming her lost Persephone. She smiled her exquisite smile and became Euphrosyne. There was no pose, no expression, that was not lovely on this lady, and even her beautiful daughters paled before her noble beauty. With the flush of pleasure on her cheek she might easily have been Sally’s elder sister and indeed there were not many years between them. | pete there must needs be spots on the sun it was said the grace that melted from one iovely poise to another was studied, not spontaneous; that she deliberately cultivated the majesty of demeanor and words which arrested even passers-by with astonishment, and indeed at this very moment a story was running round London of a man found impossibly dead in his bureau, of all places, and Mrs. Siddons’ majestic comment: “Poor man! How gat he there?”” But who could censure such divinity, and it is owned that even the studied may become the natural with long usage. She folded Maria in her arms and then held her off to look at her. “Too thin, my child. What have you been doing to yourself? Now, Sally, you know I left you in charge. Has she had her milk, her nourishment? Has she rested sufficiently? Her hands are hot and feverish.” ‘She has done all I could make her do, mamma. But Maria is not easy to command.” Sally was clinging fondly to her mother’s arm. “Tt’s my mind won't rest,” Maria explained, with her eyes on the ground. “I lie down as my mamma ordered, but my mind won't lie down. It runs, it flies, it soars—”’ “Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!” quoted Mrs. Siddons, half laughing. It was believed that she almost discoursed in passages from Shakespeare and cultivated this habit as setting forth her lofty attainments. ‘But what has my child upon her conscience?” Maria flushed. Fragile as a lily, every emotion painted itself in heart’s blood on her thin cheeks.

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vith ima 5, it Irs. she eare ofty her tion 2eks. ee Sp OE ~~ ~ a Se en SR ree Me. AN ~~ ae nem each believed herself to be the object of his deepest admiration, conceal it how he would.” Conscience—no! Imagination, that’s what troubles me. I’m always in lands I shall never see. Moonstruck—that’s me! O, mamma, why weren't you like every one else, solid, wholesome like a suet dumpling, instead of a queen with a heart of fire? Then your poor daughter might have had a chance to be placid and dull. But, no, no! You’re the marvelousest, most beautiful mother in all the world, and what wonder it runs mad after you!” She threw herself into her mother’s arms and kissed her fiercely, Mrs. Siddons smiling at the deli- cious flattery. Sally looked on with her own quiet. “Carter is bringing tea, mamma. Sit here till it comes and tell us about the tour. I don’t need to ask if *twas successful.” “Money poured forth like water,” said Mrs. Siddons, disengaging her cloak with one of her ample gestures. “Crowds beyond compare. A Roman triumph. I know not when I have so felt the parts—nor so driven them home to breathless houses. If matters go thus I soon may bid farewell to the stage and settle down in peace to what I teally love—my daughters and domesticities.” Poor lady—easier said than done. Her stage needed neither curtain nor footlights. It would be wherever two or three were gathered together with herself in the midst of them. The Kembles were, so to speak, born in the purple, nurtured in the green room. How should they shake it off? But it was a Kemble legend that placid retirement was what they really panted for—one and all. They only obliged the public meanwhile. ever “AND what news have my nestlings for me?” = . ‘ r 7 r A. was the next question. ‘Your father? Your brothers? Cecilia, my infant?” All the family events were carefully detailed by Sally, while the Tragic Muse sipped her tea and luxuriously stretched forth her long limbs to rest. She had a man’s joy in coming to this peaceful haven, a man’s sense of pride in its comforts well earned by her own hard work. Mr. Siddons might be rheumatic and betake himself to Bath and its healing fountains, but still the house was safe, supported on her strong shoulders, and still the sons could be put out in the world and Sally and Maria wear their silks and gauzes while the beautiful bread-winner toiled on the prickly paths of the touring star. What wonder her success was sweet to her? ‘And have you had many visitors?” she asked at last. “Has Mrs. Piozzi been here? And Law- rence?” Sally hastened to explain that Mrs. Piozzi had taken her to Ranelagh and many sights and pleas- ures. As for Lawrence—her voice faltered. Maria flung herself into the pause. “Sally won’t tell you, mamma, but she should! He has been here day in, day out. And Sally and he are engaged. And if—” “Engaged? My child, my daughter, what is this?” cried Mrs. Siddons in blank And relapsed immediately into the homelier vein. “Heavens! What on earth will your papa say?” There was a most uncomfortable silence; Sally, pale and quiet; Maria quivering from the dart she had launched, and Mrs. Siddons looking from one to the other in consternation. The piece of cake fell from her hand, and the silky spaniel at her feet devoured it placidly. She set her cup dewn with a quick nervous gesture. “Sally, speak, I command you. Is your sister out- stepping the limits of truth? I did fear at one time there had been attentions, and watched with anxiety. But this—I really refuse to believe it until your own lips confirm the fact.” (Continued on page 138) verse.

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68 WAFFLES AND TEA SUNSHINE AND SPARKLING WAVES - ; ry Aes om fy ‘5 ee ee Laide a ey : ’ ay We! . HARPER’S BAZAR 7 wi (Above) The courtyard of Via Mizner, Palm Beach, where, at one lime or an- other during the day, every one appears with an appe- lite for those appetizing crisp waffles with melted butter and honey. (Left) Tea time at that most hos- pitable of Miami Beach hotels, the Nautilus. (Be low) Such a sea and such a sun and such a beach!

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fj J a | i i Ra | 1 x K i 4 z | eae # 2 \ \ gti Sa y/ ee \ [——— — ee Jat —— be Ce ay ee NaAn wa \4 3 The patio at the Everglades Club is a delightful place to lunch. CLOTHES For Southern Wear This Season the Sports Type of Costume Is Still the Almost Invariably Correct Costume THE SMARTEST For Daytime Wear LUCILE By HE exact impression of the clothes that are going South this year, compared with last season’s successful Palm Beach costumes, is that they are much sim- pler and smarter. Last year we insisted upon simplicity; heads were shorn and sleek, shoes were simple, sports and other daytime costumes were reduced to the point where everything was achieved with the least possible fabric and effort—in fact, one could scarcely imagine more me- ticulously groomed, carefully planned ensembles than last season’s. This season the line seems even more finely drawn; there is a still more exacting attention to detail that distinguishes all of the clothes shown in the mid-season collections in Paris. Fabrics are used together with greater feeling and care. Workmanship is more intricate and difficult. Paris seems to invent ways of making the simplest and most deceptively unadorned frocks a triumph of clever workmanship. The three-piece ensemble is still excellent. Of course, this type of dressing has become universal, an established move- ment in clothes that has nothing to do with the coming and ARE THE SIMPLEST BUCHANAN going of particular modes. One dresses not so much in things that match, however, as in frock, coat, hat, shoes, and other accessories that have been designed to go together and present a harmonious and exquisitely groomed whole. ‘‘Sets” of clothes are as depressing as sets of furniture. Colors this year are nearly all clear-toned colors. Subtle colors and off shades are singularly ineffective under the strong Southern sunlight, and the woman who goes South every season realizes this and avoids them. Clear light green, Chinese yellow, pale and deep rose, pale flame color, and shades of clear blue and green-blue are smartest. The all- white costume is shown in several Palm Beach collections this season, especially for evening. Actual sports costumes—practically all daytime costumes are derivatives of sports costumes—are highly specialized. For golf and for tennis are certain costumes, carefully de- signed to allow freedom of motion, carefully cut to eliminate bulk. These are in a class by themselves. These pages show costumes for general daytime and evening wear, for the smart woman who follows the conventional day at Palm Beach.

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HARPER’S BAZAR Some French houses are making exceedingly This Patou frock of beige wool is what we used to smart sports costumes using Scotch wool sweaters call, in the age of comparative innocence, a jumper as blouses. The frock shown above is really frock. The jumper, however, is made like a “‘va- a sweater and skirt; a green and yellow striped reuse,” and it is worn over a heavy white silk tail- sweater, with a circular skirt of wool poplin. ored shirt with a schoolboy’s turned-down collar. Worn with a white kasha cloth The tailored jacket is of Bian- coat, Lelong designs a tailored chint surah silk—the silk we frock most ingeniously plaited. once called silk serge—plaided The frock is of pink with a with brown and shades of rose. border of deep pink and white. Under it is a brown satin frock. CORRECT COSTUMES FOR A PALM BEACH MORNING — oo om © oO ! Models on both pages imported by B. ALTMAN

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JANUARY 1926 CERTAIN SPORTS COSTUMES MAY BE WORN ALL DAY Chantal, the house that so successfully designs the “‘little’’ frock, made this simple sports frock of raw silk. The vareuse blouse is trimmed with wide bands of knots of biscuit-colored cord. 1 Jenny costume, practical for Palm Beach, that has a wrap in case of adamp and moody afternoon as Southern afternoons often are, is of beige kasha, combined with yellow and orange kasha. (Above, right) Another simple sports aS = frock from Chantal is of finely plaited pale yellow Georgette crépe, with a cravat and belt of matching suede. A frock smart for general wear. (Right) Lelong uses wool in a light pink, for coat and skirt. Collar and cuffs are of gray shaved lamb painted in futuristic design in pink, silver, and beige. The blouse is gray and pink.

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HARPER’S BAZAR ;

THIS PAGE SUGGESTS THE TYPE OF COSTUME SMARTEST FOR THE BEACH AND COCONUT GROVE The seated figure wears one of the smartest bathing-suits designed this season. There is a sleeveless printed vareuse, worn over shorts matching the background of the blouse. Shorts have taken the place of knickers this season. <A circular cape matches the shorts.

(Above, middle) A gray-green silk bathing-costume, all one color, is singularly effective. A costume of this sort

is absolutely impeccable in its good form, as well as its chic. The blouse is a sleeveless vareuse with shallow neck-line. Shorts and circular cape of same fabric. The long-sleeved beach costume has its devotees every sea- son, and these are usually the smartest of women. Heavy black satin is used for this, satin with an extraordinary luster and weight. The blouse ties at the wrists and at the throat. Three bathing-suits from Lord and Taylor.

For afternoons, at the Coconut Grove, a three-piece costume consisting of a coat of almond-green Rodier fabric, woven with a Persian design, and under it a simple sports frock of almond-green crépe, that one may easily dance in, is correct. From Jay-Thorpe.

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ON THIS PAGE ARE SHOWN GOWNS FOR SOUTHERN EVENINGS OUTDOORS AND IN (Lbove, left) Black ciré net is embroidered with flowers in color. The frock has rather fitted bodice and hips, suggesting princess lines, and a crisply flaring skirt. There is a stiffly plaited black tulle sash in back. Over this frock is a black chiffon cape. Mollie O'Hara. with a full petal-like skirt, and a little floating cape at the shoulders to give charm to dancing. Diagonally across the front of the frock, from shoulder to knee, is a shower | The frock on the dancing figure is of white chiffon, made ! | of gold and silver stars. From Saks-Fifth Avenue. For dining indoors is a ‘“‘sports’’ evening gown. That is, it is made in two pieces with a sleeveless “vareuse” blouse, and a plaited straight skirt under it. The gown is made of gold lamé, a very charming fabric and very effective handled in this way. From Lord and Taylor.

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HARPER’S BAZAR An ensemble for evening wear at Palm Beach is designed with understanding of what is re quired of an evening costume in the South. The frock is apricot-colored chiffon, made with fulness front and back, to allow freedom in dancing. Over this frock is worn a Persian coat of gold and apricot-colored lamé fabric. Another ensemble is all of white chiffon, made with the silhouette that flares below the knees, extremely smart and suitable for dancing. On the shoulder is an enormous ragged flower made of the white chiffon cut°tn strips. The loose wrap with a low waist-line éstaf white chiffon with a similar white flower. THE DANCE FROCK FOR SOUTHERN WEAR IS SMARTEST Models from SAKS—FIFTH AVENUE WHEN IT IS OF CHIFFON

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for JANUARY 1926 "5 MY AG 9, es One of Madame Vionnei’s gowns of rare charm and character is of black chiffon with . . applied ‘modern’ motifs of pale green taffeta. From Lord and Taylor. The other frock is of pastel blue and pink chiffon, tied at a low waist-line, and made with petal-like fulness wae th, at the front of the skirt. From Bonwit Teller. Ww | | At the left is an afternoon costume of the sports type, the unerringly smart costume to wear any time during a Palm Beach day, either in the morning or afternoon. The simple frock with f us tied front and semi-high collar is of heavy bois-de-rose crépe de Chine, the coat of matching jersey. From J. J. Jonas. AFTERNOON FROCKS MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE AN ACCOMPANYING COAT

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Shoes on this page from SAKS-FIFTH EASON, SHOES, LIKE COSTUMES, NOT SO MUCH IN PATTERN: AS DETAIL Upper left) The Peel oxford, christened the Prince of Wales oxford in this country, is having a long life and a smart one. Last year it went South in white buckskin, and other heavy leathers. This season it is made in light leathers and pastel colors. It is shown here in pastel green suéde alligator. Shown in the middle, at the top, is a sports sandal of finely woven cream-colored Panama straw, with applied trimming and a typical French heel of kid plaided in pastel colors. The treatment of the fabric makes this shoe a less formal one than the hand-decorated shoe of Panama straw shown on the opposite page. (L'pper right) This is the shoe that had such success in Biarritz last season, where it was worn with practically every sort of costume except evening gowns. It is of white buckskin, with applied trimming of mahogany leather and a mahogany solid leather heel. We consider this a distinguished sports shoe. (Lower left) The open-shank sandal is the beautiful—and logical—shoe for dancing. Here it is made of a curiously lovely gold brocade that has the appear- ance of being jeweled with tiny glowing points of color across its surface. This model is good in either satin or moire, absolutely plain, to match one’s gown. (Lower right) Another lovely slipper for evening is made with a suéde or velvet back and heel to match one’s gown, and a toe of gold or silver kid. This is the smartest use of metal kid at the moment, in combination with another colored fabric, and that fabric is almost invariably vividly colored kid or leather. VARY

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Shoes on this page from I. MILLER E ARE THE SHOES THAT GO SOUTH AND FORECAST THE SUMMER MODE = Hn br ” At the upper left is a rather formal afternoon shoe of pastel green linen, with applied trimming of pale green suéde-finished alligator. It is this attention to detail, this “amusement” of fabrics, that distinguishes this season’s shoes from last season’s. This shoe, in pastel shades, will be smart for afternoon wear. In the middle, at the top, is a new opera pump of heavy white linen fabric that resembles linen toweiing. The narrow trimming of leather is tan, and the smart spike heel is covered with tan leather. An excellent shoe for the sports type of extremely simple afternoon costume of the sports frock and coat type. (Right, at the top) Odd fabrics are now used for shoes with extraordinary success. Patterns that appeared in leather last season, appear now in linen or straw, or in the mottled skins of serpents. This sandal, of the Perugia type, is of fine Panama straw, hand-decorated with flowers in vivid modern color. (Lower left) Pastel suéde, that will be translated into beige and brown and pink-gray for street wear in the spring, is used for this formal oxford. The finely drawn heel—a spike heel cut so that it has an hexagonal base—is of natural fine-grained lizard, in matching color. The narrow trimming is lizard. (Lower right) White lizard, with a large soft grain, is used for this afternoon oxford. The shoe has a flat gore of white kid in front, and ties at the top. Narrow strips of white kid follow the flowing line of instep and toe. White lizard has a decided vogue in Paris, and is now smart for Southern wear.

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BY FANNIE HARPER’S BAZAR A Light NE morning over her coffee, Melba toast, and marmalade embalmed in its transparency, Alicia, seated in her boudoir (which was the color of a dove’s with an orange-blossom mauve breast ‘ decided to become mistress of her own destiny. The Times, folded on her breakfast tray, con tained a boxed item which stared up at her and formed her conspiracy. Dr. Elmer Channing, Ambassador to Hentzau, was resigning his post to return to America. There was a packet of letters in Dr.Channing’s clear- cut specific handwriting in the orderly top drawer of Alicia’s buhl desk, each one presaging a little more emphatically the event described in the Times. With a flush creeping up under the fine-grained parchment of her skin, Alicia sat calculating. "No, little dear,’ cried Alicia, ‘here is a better ball than crystal. THE SMIRK Tragedy That Entirely New Moral Tlilustrated by EveretTrT On the estimate that it had taken her last letter, had it caught the steamship Cedricia, fourteen days to reach Hentzau, Dr. Channing’s cable an- nouncement of his return to America had made the day after receiving it. Dear Elmer. Dear, dear Elmer! There was a photograph of him in a large silver frame standing among the lovely litter of enameled things on her dressing-table. Thin clear specific features, like his handwriting. A curving simitar of a nose that had as noble a swoop to it as Dante’s. A photograph taken after the death of his wife. Elmer was holding his years. A little magnificently. There had never been a timve, even when she was standing at the altar vowing to Howard Huntley; there had never been a moment she had not cared been Has [t won't brear.’”’ an But a young Doctor of Phil- osophy, just out of college and with little besides an assistant professorship in a Middle-West college in view, was not, could not be for Alicia. Even Elmer had admitted the wisdom of it when for Elmer Channing. she married Howard. Alicia had the natural and the luxurious frailty of a Tanagra figurine. She needed to be wadded. She loved to be wadded. Up to the day of his death, Howard Huntley had spread red carpet before her small precise feet and had died without ever knowing that a small, merciless French heel had been jammed into his neck every hour of his married life. Alicia was like that. Exquisite even in her tyrannies. And yet at forty-two, the same forty-two that Dr. Channing in the photograph carried a little

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JANUARY 1926 for magnificently, there were ravages in the face of Alicia. Ravages of disappointment in gutters under her eyes, and her cheeks had dropped a little, like clay down a hillside. ELL, Alicia was not a woman of easy passions, and to have loved a man and not married him for fear of poverty, and then seen him come into a pretty blonde wife and an undreamed of and enor- mous inheritance just one year after she had married Howard... the gutters “underneath Alicia’s eyes were deep from secret, slashing tears. No little of the frailly lovely Alicia that Elmer had known was still there, however, but a little faint with the years. Tired with them. Ravaged with them. When Alicia put out her hand, a long tapering hand with nervous wrists that Huntley used to massage by the hour, and long tapering fingers that were made to step in among dainty things such as old jades and precious laces that would fall to pieces under a touch less exquisite, there were, none the less, grooves between the veins on the backs of those hands. Alicia’s was an old hand. It picked up a long- handled mirror with a porcelain ceramic of Marie Antoinette studded into the gold back. For ten minutes, with her lips flared back slightly from her teeth and her delicate parchment skin, shadowed with mauve, flecking ever so slightly with nervousness, Alicia regarded herself. Coldly. A little mercilessly. Then moved over and drew back an ashes-of-roses taffeta window-curtain and with the ruthless Park Avenue sunlight flowing in over her features continued her scrutiny. At forty-two Alicia looked it. The muscles of her mouth sagged as if there were little weights hung on the inside of her lips. It did not rob her smile of a kind of fastidious beauty, but it made that beauty seem tired. It was then and there, regarding her reflection in the hand-mirror, four weeks before the scheduled return of Dr. Channing and his three-year-old orphaned daughter from Hentzau, that Alicia decided to become mistress of her own destiny. HERE were those who said that Alicia precisely as beautiful as she had been as a girl. There were others who said that in her recaptured was beauty she gave them “the creeps.” Be that as it may, the beauty specialist who “lifted’’ Alicia’s face gained enough converts from Alicia’s conservative and exclusive set, after she had returned rejuvenated to their midst, to set him up in an East Sixty-sixth Street office suite of three anterooms done in Chinese Chippendale and a marquetry table of the most exclusive social week- lies. Regardless of what your personal reaction might be, Alicia’s rejuvenation was scarcely controversial. The areas around Alicia’s erstwhile tired-with- disappointment eyes were clear and firm now. And young. So was her throat, and the lines at her mouth, the sagging ones that had drawn it down, were lifted into what was a perennial expression of smile. That her friends felt the element of There was some- thing a little perpetually planted into Alicia’s face now. It made of it a mask. A lovely mask, to be sure, but that seemed to smirk. Slightly. Ever so slightly. where some of “creeps” was come in. one HEN Alicia put down the telephone instru- ment that had conveyed to her the news that the Cedricia was at that moment coming up the Bay, this curious smile that invaded her renewed loveliness failed to reflect how genuinely tumultuous was the beating of her heart behind the fine laces and mauve chiffons that covered it. Elmer Channing, whom she had not seen in more years than she allowed herself to compute, and a little three-year-old daughter whose photograph also reposed in the buhl desk, were steaming up the Bay at this moment! A finely preserved man of forty-two with the figure and firm flesh of thirty-two, and whom she could now meet in the equal vigor of youth and glow. For hours Alicia’s nervous hands fluttered among the diintinesses of the frail lovely things of her boudoir. They even broke a tiny amethyst Buddha which fell from them to her rare old tiled. hearth and smashed. For a moment a fit of nervous crying dashed across Alicia. She loved her frail and costly trinkets. After a while a butler carried away her scarcely tasted luncheon of fish cunningly flavored with port, watercress salad, and melted cheese on wafers. At two o’clock Dr. Elmer Channing telephoned from the docks his request to call on her with his three-year-old daughter at five. It was a high-keyed Alicia who tinkered in and out of her drawing-room for an hour thereafter. Carrying out and concealing on a closet shelf such lovely, absurd little frailties as her rock-crystal string of elephants. A chrysoprase hen and tinily wrought brood enclosed in a teakwood barnyard. A blue enameled clock with a sapphire bird in its forehead that burst out every so often and sang the hour in a minute melody. If only the child did not handle things! Alicia’s lovelinesses. And above everything, Alicia must not be made nervous! If only the child would not . would not . well, the child must be made the best of! The remaining two hours left to her before the arrival of Dr. Channing, Alicia wound leisurely out of her sheer things and into a warm perfumed bath. The idea of two hours of preparing to be lovely for Elmer was something slow and fragrant and to be lingered over. HE child of Elmer Channing was three years old and she sat on a gilt piano-bench before the gilt grand piano of Dr. Channing’s suite at the Ritz, in exactly the attitude of a bisque doll that had been plumped there. Her governess, Miss Bonne, who black poplin and white organdie at her wrists and throat, straightened out the doll’s legs, pulled up the pink socks and then fitted on a blue poke bonnet out of which four butter-colored finger curls rained on each side. wore “Tn her drawing-room was Alicia in a littl huddle at the foot of the curving stairway.”’ 79 Miss Bonne was an Englishwoman who spoke four languages besides her own, fluently, and who had served the first Mrs. Channing as an agreeable and congenial companion during the sometimes tedious years of her exile in a strange land. Miss Bonne had held little Hesper Channing the first hour she had been born. Miss Bonne had sat beside little Hesper’s mother as she breathed out her last worshiping breath of Hesper and her father. Miss Bonne whose lips sagged, but whose smile had a slow sweet way of curving into you, was doomed to go through life perpetually ashamed of the first thought that (Concluded on page 122)

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HARPER'S BAZAR

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for JANUARY 1926 By BARON DE 81 1 ena gt ct A ee a ma we ence aon ee wurmcomin . 2S anette act ce AR RO a Cartier made this lovely clock of black enamel, set with diamonds. It is an amazing and dig- nified jewel, decorative in the modern spirit. MODERN INCONGRUITIES Scarcely Ever, Baron de Meyer Points Out, Do Modern Clothes 1S rue Vaneau, Paris. HE Marquis de Castellane had invited me to lunch. Having just read my November article in Harper's Bazar, he had _tele- phoned to say he was much amused to think his advice to Mrs. Wallace should have found its way into print. ‘But it’s exactly what I said to her. How could she have remembered it so well?” I explained that Mrs. Wallace had made notes all along, which I had edited and sent on to New York. “You'll tell me more about it when you come on Wednesday,” he had said, and at luncheon I discovered that most of the guests knew of the article and were much interested in Mrs. Wallace. Monsieur de Castellane told them all about the lady, and as he proved to be in a brilliant vein that day and talked very interestingly, his conversa- tion touching on the most varied subjects is quite worth recording. 1 listened most attentively, for in my brain what he said was shaping itself into another article. The luncheon table was beautifully decorated. The silver and crystal sparkled, there were garlands of pale green laurel leaves, and there was a set of exquisite vases of viewx chine—famille rose. The setting was quite perfect, and the guests full of animation. A famous beauty, divinely blonde and tall, was wearing all black with the new turquoise hat that Lucienne, at Reboux’s, is making for all her favorite Harmonize With Their Background clients just now; three shades of blue velvet and sweeping strands of paradise plumes brushing the cheek. Beside me, still in mourning, sat a well-known and picturesque duchesse. Another guest, a charm- ing friend of mine and a very accomplished con- versationalist, was wearing, for the first time as she explained to us, her new Irfé creation (Irfé is the name of Prince Youssoupofi’s new maison de cou- ture). There were a few other women present, as well as a number of clever and amusing men—a most congenial party. Luncheons, in Paris, given in certain typically French houses, are, quite apart from the excellence of the food provided, often but an excuse for the displaying of wit and repartee, an opportunity for holding forth and being spirituel. Personalities are rarely made the subject of such conversations, for those who are experts in this sort of banter prefer being brilliant on topics of more general interest. What made me first pay attention to what was being said across the table was to hear the Marquis de Castellane say that he considered it unwise for any one to regulate his existence according to his means, and that in all cases the best course to follow was to gratify one’s whims as well as one’s aspirations. ‘How is that?” some one had asked. ‘Because,’ he replied, “‘with a well-regulated income and with moderate means, it is compara- tively easy to establish a budget and to live wtthin one’s means. Believe me, it requires very little imagination to reduce expenditure to the bare necessities of daily life. But what is complicated is to have aspirations beyond the means at one’s disposal. In such cases, intelligence and unlimited imagination become most valued assets, a capital from which heavy dividends have to be extracted.” People laughed, for the Marquis seemed to be expressing views he had always lived up to. We lingered quite late over coffee, liqueurs, and cigarets, while Monsieur de Castellane went on being most entertaining and amusing. Many clever things were said on many interesting sub- jects. We all listened, discussed, and enjoyed our- selves immensely. To start with, Mr. de Castellane to examine our consciences so as to know our defects as well as our good qualities. ‘‘Both,”’ he said, “‘should be taken advantage of, for faults are often much more useful than virtues.” “Do you consider that the quatiiy of has of late had an effect on conditions in general?” the Duchesse had inquired. “Decidedly so. Wealth have a meaning because of itself, unless it is made to serve a splendid purpose. We live in a truly incoherent age, for no one seems to take the trouble advised us wealth now aday s ceases to

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to consider whether anything is fitting or incon- gruous. Take women’s clothes, for instance; they have never been as absurd as they are now. Formerly they were designed to dissimulate de- fective figures, while these same defects nowadays are made into supposedly attractive features.” The Duchesse had insisted on knowing what were Mr. de Castellane’s views on fashions; not necessarily the prevailing ones, for those she knew he disapproved of. ““What can I possibly have to tell you on such a HARPER’S BAZAR

A | CDi kK < (« Lift ? ana floor , ! i“ latong subject that you don’t know a thousand times better than I do?” he said. ‘Fashions, to me, remain a subject shrouded in mystery, for no one can tell us by what laws they are governed. Why should a feather which is worn in the front of a hat one year become démodé unless worn at the back the next? And why is a gown, which is smart because of its long, sweeping lines, be considered hideous at another moment unless it discloses the kneecap? To my mind, women, both young and old, nowa- days have the appearance of schoolboys. Their

ny hair is shingled, their skirts are short and narrow, which makes them all look like little men pos- sessed of but one single trousered leg.” What Monsieur de Castellane had to say about modern dressing was very true. He pointed out how unwise women were to give away secrets which should be carefully kept from the public. Would-be flappers, as he called them, were ex- tremely ill advised to wear so few and so trans- parent clothes, for these misguided women did not realize that much of the mysterious feminine charm

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for JANUARY 1926 co Worth disappeared through revealing so much of their person. “They claim,” he added, “‘that the fashions of to-day are more comfortable. .I wonder why! The only explanation to be found for such a state- ment is that it takes hardly any time to dress and even less to undress. “The habit of wearing so few clothes, however, does not add to the sumptuous aspect of our modern dwellings, nor to the sense of decorum which good taste demands. Thougk we nowadays ex- press surprise at the exhibition of nudity to be seen on the stage, and in a certain measure even in the drawing-room, we must bear in mind that during the Directoire period it was much the same. Those were the days of gowns split right up to the waist, revealing the women’s legs, while further back, under Louis XV., ‘ladies of quality’ thought nothing of posing for their portraits with bare legs and with busts uncovered, as exemplified in portraits by Nattier, Boucher, and Fragonard. When these exhibitions are restricted to women with 83 (O ats | —phany beautiful figures, as shown in the paintings by the aforementioned masters, I have no reason to com- plain,” Mr. de Castellaine said. ‘‘What I have to find fault with, however, is the growing tendency of plain and quite mature women to reveal unblush- ingly what they should be intelligent enough to hide. “During the Renaissance and the eighteenth century, men wore gorgeous clothes and tried to dress as beautifully as the women did. With their powdered wigs, their brocades, jewels, and laces, they at times looked (Continued on page 124)

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84 HARPER’S BAZAR a a we 5 vedwhndlie Sau ae f 7 (We Ps tho~- Cl Lito Leathor (ct ( ( 4 anol

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Nae bi a al ee Ad heats TOUS LES MOBELES DEFusts HARPER’S BAZAR YP Pree oll. eo ee

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for JAN UARY 1926 } 4 i : a 3 : Dpa 6 y, rire 77] Gol) fico ever | (Aanol

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HARPER’S BAZAR Koshiba MRS. LAWRENCE LEWIS GILLESPIE Newport claims Mrs. Gillespie, who is shown with her small daughter, Miss Doris Beryl Gillespie, as one of its most charming hostesses. Mrs. Gillespie is occupying her New York residence for the season and she fre- quently entertains in the Sherman box in the Golden Horseshoe at the Metropolitan Opera House. She is a daughter of Mrs. W. Watts Sherman and a sister of Lady Camoys of “Stonor Park,’ Henley-on-Thames.

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for JANUARY 1926 Decoration by Katharine Sturges LOVE IS NOT I Am Weary of Tiresome People Who Smear Sex Over Everything OME time since I found myself the object of a sardonic editorial assault on an article of mine in which I advo- cated a completely independent and personal life for women after their children were launched and their primary duty to the race fulfilled if such an act conformed with their inclinations. The argument was that no woman past her youth could hope for any of the kudos of life. There are more mated and happy couples than the reverse, no doubt, who ask for nothing better than to live out their lives together, and they may be dismissed with sincere congratu- lations. It was not of them I wrote when I excited the ire of my critic. But there is a very large and growing class of women who may have married for love and the desire for children, and have faithfully observed their duties, but who have an independence of ego, an activity of mind, and a curiosity about life, which demand expression and fulfilment when these fundamental duties have been dis- charged, and I see no logical reason, in this enlightened age with its multifarious opportu- nities, why such women should not demand their release and leave the main highway for the many alluring by-paths. I was not surprised that my critic jumped at once to the conclusion that the only use women would have for their new liberty would be to go out and hunt fora lover. I have found that every man, at least who belongs to that elastic group I have called the Sophisticates, is dominated by sex to a greater extent than any other class in this country. Certainly they talk more about it and write more about it, and seem to believe there is no other main- spring for the most diverse of human activities. They smear sex over everything and it is particu- larly tiresome to people who have a larger knowl- edge of the world and a wider outlook on life. Moreover, they are peculiarly susceptible to clichés. Some years ago a novel was written called “The Dangerous Age,” which exposed the temperamental tribulations of a neurotic woman who was in the last of her inflorescent By ALL years. Quite right, as far as it goes, but all women are not neurotic, and the great majority of intelligent women have had enough of materialities by the time they are approaching the final mile-stone of their youth and are no longer the blind tools of nature. Nevertheless, all our Sophisticates (which includes their reflections in many communities outside of New York) and their readers continue to trot out that old cliché whenever a woman of a “certain age,” who shows any sign of revolt, is mentioned. They might have the mental capacity of that bird whose one claim to distinction aside from his plumage is his gift for reiteration of such words and phrases as have caught his fancy. Now, it is safe to say that fully eighty per cent. of intelligent and thinking women, who have been married for twenty years and more, are not looking around. for lovers; not only because they are eager for an entirely new set of experiences but because they know that lovers, being merely men, are quite as prosaic as husbands, and that love, even in its first phase, is a slavery, of which they have had enough. They are out for freedom, and there is no freedom when a woman is harassed by longings and doubts and fears, and the sense of helplessness which is the peculiar curse of the furtive love affair. Later the shackles of habit are even more galling than uncertainty. Business and professional women, even those who are able to express themselves to the public in art, letters, or politics, are far too absorbed to find time for any exacting man; moreover, the new delight in the resources of the mind—when it comes late—particularly where ambition is involved, directs the generative energies into new channels, and gives these women a sense of pro- found satisfaction, even of excitement, that must make nature rage in her laboratory. The neurotic woman and the woman to whom life has never meant anything but men may take a feverish last fling, but they are objects of wondering contempt to those women who have discovered the infinite resources of life. My critic was also (Concluded on page 148) 89 GERTRUDE ATHERTON

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AN A MERICAN PARTY N MOROCCO HARPER’S BAZAR Mr. and Mrs. T. Suffern Tailer, Betty Tailer, and Tommy Tailer of New York and Newport riding through one of the narrow streets of Fez in French Colonial North Africa. The photograph was taken on the last day of the Feast of Ramadan which was, by coin- cidence, the day before actual fighting began just outside the gates.

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Three points of polished silver, made by Puiforcat the Paris jeweler, decorate this hat of stiff black felt. The use of ornaments made of precious materials is a new tendency in millinery. THE PARIS MODE CRYSTALLIZED The Second Thoughts of the Grandes Maztsons Present Nothing New, But Rather Confirm the Ideas Already Presented 2 rue dela Paix, Paris. IFE for the fashion expert is just one collection after another. We used to hang out the busy sign in August and February only, when Paris became the Mecca of clothes-buyers from all over the globe. But it was not smart to be in Paris in either August or February; so the private client had to have special showings of the new things for her particular consideration, along about the middle of October or April, according to the season, and of course we had to be present at those. Gradually the rumor got abroad that these revised showings held treasures which the professional buyer nevet saw, and that he was thereby missing the real winning tricks. So a few enterprising souls began coming back to Paris to amass these jewels. Then, one November first, Jenny announced the first formal mid-season collection, and we all flocked dutifully to one of her littlest salons, and were regaled with a regular opening, smaller, but just as complete and carefully presented as the August one. By the next May, several houses had followed suit; so that instead of a few numbers, surreptitiously exhibited to the initiated few in a fitting-room, we came with clear consciences and printed invitations, and enjoyed front seats, with pencils, note-books, and everything; and incomprehensible names and announcements of ‘“‘four-twenty-seventeen” and Earlier in the Season By MaryjorteE Howarp “sixty-eleven” to struggle with—just like a regular Nowadays, the program at the majority of the houses consists of four shows a year, and buyers have to reckon with seasickness on eight trips instead of four. This fall the crowds rivaled the August ones in numbers and enthusiasm. One rather odd feature of the affair is that many of these intermediate collections have not really made up their minds what they are trying to be. Some of the recent showings were just the August collections with extravagances that had hoped for headlines eliminated, and groups of carefully studied models added, models that sug- opening. mid-season revise d, gested rather than stressed the season’s novelties; the sort of thing that is still called “for the Parisi enne,” though it has been amply proved that the Américaine with any pretension to smartness prefers this type sincerely enough to be willing to back it with her dollars. THER collections, thinking of the Riviera, had a strong flavor of the Southland; all fluttery frocks and pastel-colored sports clothes, and wraps that don’t wrap but flow liquidly about the figure; things for languorous perfumed midnights, and golden blazing noons. I shall show you some of these in the next number; in this one, I have chosen rather things to wear in town, because February is really the Southern month, just as January is the winter sports one, and you will be interested in town things between the two journeys. Do not look for a great deal of novelty on these pages; their key-note is the confirmation of existing tendencies, not the introduction of new ones. They are the second thoughts, which the proverb says Take the silhouette first, because that is the basis of all fashions. ‘‘ Nothing new,” is the first impression; and immediately afterwards “modification of flare.” Do not, however, picture us as going about again like animated Eversharps; there is nothing like that. The straight feeling is not general: it is particular. All sports things, to begin with, have gone back to really straight lines; coats especially, as skirts still have plaits, or a hint of circular flare, in order to give the necessary freedom. Fine plaiting, of the kind called “crystal,” is a noted feature of many of the new things. But the new sports coats are not just three straight sections, slit up the front, and sewn together down the sides. They show, on investigation, very interesting plans and specifica- tions; opportunities for the clever sophisticated cutting which is a feature of the existing mode. are best.

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wv N DG@UILLET This is an example of a successful gown in two colors and a gown very character- istic of the house of Deuillet. It is of royal blue and black satin, with gold embroidery of bullion thread and beads IRFE Under the name of “Irfé” the Russian Prince Y oussoupoff is conducting a dress- making house in Paris. From this house came this black velvet frock trim- med with applied flowers of black taffeta. ‘ks oer tT OWE oe Ee. SSaper rapea 2 DE@UILLET Pearl gray chiffon, beaded discreetly to match and banded with gray fox. This is Deuillet’s own favorite frock, and it is really lovely and unusual for a dancing frock because of its color. Many of the more formal coats have modi- fied their flare, though not to the same extent. There is an example shown from Lelong, Soulié has drawn a coat from Premet, also a part of an ensemble, which illustrates a type found in almost every collection. This coat, perfectly straight in the back, is cut very wide in front, and folded over from one side to the other on a diagonal line. This line is accented in all sorts of ways: by flatly appliqué fur, by stitching, a hint of embroidery, or as in the illustration, by a turnover of color, in this case that of the lining. This coat has a very good chance of impressing the spring mode, because it is a compromise; and compromises, while they may please nobody, at least offend few. HARPER’S BAZAR CHARACTERISTIC GOWNS FROM PARIS HOUSES The frocks of ensembles—for the ensemble shows no lapse in popularity—retain their ful- ness. They are still examples of how to use a lot of material without bulk. Look at the three from Patou that are illustrated. They all have fulness, but not one of them obtrudes it. Patou’s mid-season collection this year was really his high-water mark; full of models which had a real distinctive note, a definite hallmark of the house. He showed a group of nine at the Grand Duchess Hélene’s féte at the Ritz, for the benefit of her home for destitute Russian children. Half of them were of very modified fulness—beaded crépe- jersey, black or peach-colored velvet—and the other half were chiffons with a quantity

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‘ag “ei rn at- ore « of material expertly managed, and weighted on one hip with huge bunches of violets, white on a white frock, purple on a mauve one. Evening frocks, unless they are of chiffon or its coming rival net (which the French call tule), are apt to give a straight impression. This is true not only of the mid-season models, but of evening dress as it is worn by smart women as well. considerable width at the hem, but it is frequently concealed; and the favorite way of concealing it is to © load the fabric with spangles, beads, tubes and bugles, fringes, jewels or solid embroidery, that it has to hang in straight lines whether it will or no. While on the subject of evening dress, let me add that I am continually surprised at the absence of velvet evening gowns from smart places, though There is a + ty, ORR ete tg, * ie. % ‘2 ie FE t - Sow rAnr~ - For daytime, a two-part ‘‘vareuse”’ frock is of dark blue crépe, braided with black silk and doubly belted with red leather. (Above) For evening is an adaptation of the “‘vareuse” The embroidered top is rose, the skirt is of blue crépe. idea. (Right) An afternoon or informal even- ing frock has a “‘vareuse” of rose satin, with the corsage embroidered with beads. velvet frocks are very good by day. They exist at night, but in small numbers, in spite of the extreme suppleness and thinness of this season’s weaves. Dancing-places are too hot and crowded, perhaps, for velvet, and the ‘“‘dancings”’ hard to get into as ever. If you have not reserved a table at “‘ Florida,” you are turned back remorse- lessly by the uniformed Cerberus at the entrance. Net frocks are becoming really numerous. This material, which looks so fragile and is really so strong, gives an entirely different impression from chiffon. The one is all soft, and swirls and flows like water; the other is crisp and sharply edged, in spite of its thinness, and its lines break in definite angles. I see it worn a good deal. The other night, dining at Ciro’s, I twice saw Yteb’s black net model a la mode are as eee a JENNY CONTINUES TO MAKE THE “VAREUSE” FROCK with the deep hem of shiny melon-seed spangles. At another table was a slip of cloth of silver, covered with a sort of tabard of white net, lightly plaited; and I thought what an economical way this would be of utilizing tarnished metal tissue. A feature of the mid-season collections was the absence of many formal afternoon costumes. The August showings, on the contrary, stressed them unusually. This is another instance of the influence of the smart woman on current fashions. There is nothing the couturier would like better than to bring back formal afternoon dress—expensive, magnificent, and not to be attempted by the “little” dressmaker. Alas for fond hopes! Clothes don’t control life any more; life determines clothes. A “visiting toilette’? depends on the willingness to

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LUCIEN LELONG TWO YOUTHFUL visit, and the telephone has largely done away with that. Who now drives round in state on a perfectly good afternoon delivering cards at doorsteps? In the first place individual doorsteps are almost out of style; in the second, the smart woman is more apt to jump into a swift car, and rush out to the golf links. Can you picture her reception there in velvet and fur? Really formal occasions—luncheons, weddings, or receptions—occur, of course, during the winter season, and require special costumes. But our regular wardrobes have to play the rdle of General Utility in the stock company; and it is better on the whole to err on the side of informality than the reverse. I was lunching with the Baroness de Meyer the other day. She wore Vionnet’s geometry problem in dull and shiny black satin, the one that Luza drew in the November number of Harper’s Bazar. “This,” she said, “I consider the extreme limit of richness and formality in afternoon dress.” But if it is not gorgeous in the accepted sense of the word, this gown certainly makes up for every- thing in sheer cleverness of manipulation. She tells me that the fitting together of the straight and bias seams of all these figures and angles is enough to COSTUMES FROM LELONG HARPER’S BAZAR LUCIEN LELONG Paris has decided at least to give taffeta a fair trial. Lelong makes this frock of prune-colored taffeta on fitted prin- cess lines, with a flaring skirt. Under a straight coat of leaf-green kasha cloth is worn a frock of finely checked crépe de Chine, of green and rose-beige. Oval tabs are edged with fine plaiting. drive the fitters distracted, and that it very nearly did so. This is the subtle sort of art and craft with which we replace the lumps of shimmering velvet, the frills and folds and drapes and falls of heavy silk and satin which used to constitute afternoon elegance in the ‘‘good”’ old days. HE sports type of model for all times of day and night continues to be a strong feature of the mid- season. I have illustrated this with three models, morning, afternoon, and evening, from Jenny. She claims to have launched the evening sports frock at Deauville last June. You remember that I showed it to you in the Last Minute Sketches, and com- mented upon its appearance in the text. It is certainly established now. One cannot visit any “night place” without literally running into Lanvin’s sports frocks in Georgette crépe and silvery crystal beads, or Jenny’s in bead-encrusted satin, or Chanel’s bolero in spangled horizontal strips, which Luza drew in the October number. After all, there is nothing new in the idea of the same type of dress for all occasions. The Greeks knew this; and they have kept their reputation for good taste throughout the ages.

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for JANUARY 1926 WHEN LANVIN DOES NOT MAKE THE ROBE DE STYLE N This two-piece evening frock “sports type” of is having increasing popularity. Black Georgette crépe, beaded with silver and crystal. Chanel’s bolero frock reminds me to. say that some form of bolero figures in many of the revised collections. When we Americans say mean a short coat-jacket like a Spanish buli-fighter’s, stopping well above the waist- line. The French, on the contrary, apply the term to any short jacket, stopping apparently anywhere above the knees. You will find two of them in Soulié’s drawings; one from Worth, which is made of faded prune-colored crépe de Chine, tied over a frock of wool velvet and crépe; and the other from Martial and Armand, illustrating a type with which Paris is never tired of experimenting—namely, the combination gown that turns into something else in a hey presto! This sort of thing, called ‘the commuter’s joy” when first invented, must be really well done to be acceptable. I hear that reversible coats, a form of combination garment, are going to be great favorites on the Riviera. Molyneux has some excellent ones in leather, lined with flat furs. The other Martial and Armand model leads me to the subject of taffeta. This silk, if it finds popular favor, is capable of really influencing the present mode. It has been greatly modified, made far more ** bolero,” we LANVIN Mile. Maguy Warna wears this gown in‘‘ Bouche 4 Bouche.” White Georgette crépe, embroidered with a “fountain” pattern of silver beads. soft and supple, but it is still a crisp, definite material which demands special handling. Madame Vallet shows what she intends to do with it in one model in a blue-mauve color, fitted by means of sections to the upper figure, its hem softened with a deep band of matching chiffon, to tone down the “dancing girl” silhouette. On the page opposite this Luza shows you Lelong’s version of the taffeta frock, on similar lines. N PAGE 118 is Lanvin’s stage creation for Jane Renouardt. She wore this with a little round hat from Agnés, trimmed with a ing pale-pink feather, curled round under one ear and falling to her shoulder; and I assure you her whole appearance was as different as possible from our present “ideal.” She vividly recalled the fashions of 1915. Look at your back numbers of Harper’s Bazar if you don’t remember them. Here is a note, tentative at present, which may try to dominate the spring orchestra. Patou, you remem- ber, threatened us with a real revolution in cutting and fitting if materials like taffeta got the upper hand. The new fabrics are just being shown to the sweep-

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FROCKS FROM THE FRENCH MID-SEASON COLLECTIONS In the mid-season collections. the “little” frocks always find an important place. This one of black rep is rather typical. HARPER’S BAZAR PREMET One figure above shows the leaf-green crépe frock of an ensemble, applied with a large leaf design of self fabric. Over this is worn a coat of black wool with pipings of black satin and lined with leaf-green. leading couturiers as I write, so that it would be unreasonable to expect new materials in the mid- season. What they really do is to establish favorites. In woolens, nothing has supplanted kasha. Tweeds and mixtures are popular, and several houses are showing a revived interest in Rodier’s ‘“crépella”’ or wool marocain, while others are still using reps and Meyer's “‘frisca.”’ I find less broadcloth in these mid-season models, perhaps because so many of them are for the Southern resorts. A tentative bid is made in favor of serge at Patou’s, who shows some tailored things in a pin stripe. In silks, besides the trial of taffeta, there is great interest in the fine supple alpacas, both plain and bordered, which look like slightly stiffened crépes de Chine. There is also some use of raw silks and tussurs. One of the most tricky things we have to do is to put the right names unerringly to fabrics as the mannequin hurries past. You cannot call the girl over to you every time, to rub the material of her frock between your educated thumb and finger —you have to guess what it is from what it does. I also find it difficult to name the new colors the moment I lay eyes on them. It is so hard to hit immediately upon a word that conveys a mental picture of the shade, especially for the off colors so much in vogue, the wines that you look upon when they are not red, and the blues too cheerful to be blue. Spring is the season of the printed fabrics, but the mid-season collections, perhaps on account of their uncertainty of aim, did not stress them particularly. There were charming ensembles, the frocks of print, or of print and plain, and the coats of crépe or kasha, lined with the patterned fabric. This is a fashion which will go on a long time before it is finally superseded. There will be an immense variety of new prints, of course, on many materials, especially crépes One of the new ones from Bianchini is a typical small all-over design of ovals with a sprig of a

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Ce eens Oe for JANUARY 1926 MARTIAL et ARMAND Madame Vallet, of Martial and Ar- mand, says that this is her spring sil- houette. For these frocks with “the fit and flare” she uses soft fabrics. flower in each. Several houses have already used it, and you may find it on page 118 in a model by Martial and Armand. In general the prefer- ence is for plain fabrics. We are a little tired of so much design. Materials with a self-colored pattern are good, however; and so are fine checks. Many of the houses have made suits and sports ensembles in a very small black-and-white variety— “sponge bag,” the English call it. Stripes, they tell me, figure largely in the new fabric collections. That we shall see in the next issue. Patou has a striking model in bright plaid taffeta, but in general plaids are far less in favor. Velvets, naturally, leave the spring mode. Satins continue to make charming things, used with the same pretty play of surfaces, the dull and the shiny. Chiffon is used by the bale. It is often combined with fine laces, matching in color, and continues to be weighted with jeweled embroidery. Baron de Meyer has photographed one of Lelong’s pow eescseas ey Ono O Te The frock at the left is of black chiffon. The chiffon bolero, with long sleeves, may be removed. The other frock is of mauve taffeta banded with chiffon. prettiest chiffon frocks with “embroidered” jewelry in strass on a high line as ornamentation. The lamés, both silk and metal brochés and plain metal, are reserved principally for evening wraps, thoughI never go toa smart place without seeing at least one all-silver, or all-gold gown. Often the metal tissue serves as a mere background for marvelous embroidery, which really seems like gilding the lily. I saw a handsome draped gown in which gold and silver cloth, very fine and supple, were combined in the same model, at the Ritz on the night of the Russian féte above mentioned. Louiseboulanger’s collection exploits, as usual, several new materials. She has a sports frock made of a “bouclé” material, like a cream-colored bat towel, trimmed with bands of gazelle. She is the first to use Rodier’s new light-weight “kashatoil” which looks like flannel; and she daringly employs yellow broadcloth for a gold-embroidered evening frock. A new ensemble coat, ample without flaring, THE “FIT AND THE FLARE” ARE RETAINED BY SOME HOUSES WORTH Worth makes another version of the removable bolero. It is of faded prune- colored crépe, with a skirt of velours.

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98 HARPER’S BAZAR - ‘- é pe fi (Be? oA ‘% Reboux named this tmour Delices Orques.”’ It is a sort of béret, made of dark brown. be ige, and dark red felt. Sometimes this of velvet, felt, and grosgrain, all in on uses gold tissue to pipe all its royal-blue edges Colored pipings, indeed, are a favorite way of drawing attention to clever cutting Some of Louiseboulanger’s. models accentuate the hips with girdles rolled gipsy fashion about them Worth, you notice, has tied a velvet sash around the hips of the bolero frock sketched on page 11S You remember that Molyneux introduced this bolero and hip-sash silhouette last vear, and the designers are still showing interest in it. though the smart, public has not yet endorsed it to any extent Some houses believe firmly in the cape for spring I think it will have difficulty in ousting the coat from popular favor, except in cases of individual prefer ence. On page t19 I am showing you, with the newest crépe frocks for the South. an amusing cape made out of an ancient quilt of wadded beflowered cotton The cape may come back some time or other as strongly as it did after the war; but not this season. We like the long lines of our coats too well Che fashion of what one might call the ensembk wardrobe is encouraged by the dressmakers, some whom deliberately plan these combinations for us, showing sometimes two gowns with one coat, and sometimes two coats with one gown To do this successfully, color schemes must either be subdued, or the bright shades used with art. rrimmings must not be aggressive either; but then the whole plan of dress is away from trimming for its own sake It must thoroughly justify its existence nowadays in order to get by at all. hat is j - color Seat REBOUX Another Reboux hat, more recent than those in the first series she prese nted, is of velvet, with a subtly dented crown, and a brim which is turned up in front and cut in a scallop. Now I want to talk about hats. On the stands at Reboux’s is the hat that everybody wears the hat that anybody wears, and the hat that nobody wears “Somebody” wears, the hat that ‘Gigolo,”’ of course, belongs in the first category. This name, a real inspiration from the point of view of advertising, has given rise to a lot of amusement, with stories of Americans telephoning to Reboux at all hours to insist upon the immediate delivery of their ‘“gigolos,” as one should say her “lounge lizard,” or ‘cake hound.” But even’ more interesting is the success of the Reboux version of the béret, a hat of the second classification. You will see it above on this page, and perhaps, at first sight. vou will not interpret it as a béret at all. The Baroness de Meyer wears it, in its original version of three felts, dark red, dark brown, and beige. It is also made in three materials, velvet, felt. and broadcloth, all in the same color. Another sort, more like the classic béret, is seen very often in plain black or colored velvet Efforts toward the reestablishment of the draped hat have been made in vain for some years; that is what makes this model so significant, for it is a supreme example of the draped hat, anathema in any but the most expert hands. Perhaps its success will lead to the reappearance of trimmed millinery. I hear that the thousands of feather, flower, and ornament makers are at their wits’ ends to make a living, through the relentless vogue oi plain felt hats. On page 120 there is an even more aston ling eccentricity of (Concluded on page isl

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for JANUARY 1926 99 Agnés has designed a series of most exciting and original hats AATIOG TATH Tania AY that make use of odd materials for trimming. The one shown AGNES INTRODUCES AN Spats dia ainsi aes at the lefi. above, is entirely characteristic of the collection. ENTIRELY NEW TYPE It is of black hatter’s plush, with a high ornament of polished daa ¥ sia a Y sy J aj 4 brow . ry 1 oaneras 1 duil lver The i] y jj t a. f OWN rosewood, ivory, and dull silver. fie other fiat is o sepia felt, with a curious ornament at the side, made of three OF HAT ORNAMENT points of polished silver. wrought in vigorous geometric forms, is a decided innovation. This use of wood. ivory, and si/ver,

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SOMERSET MAUGHAM THE SHOOK hands with the skipper and he wished me good luck. Then I went down to the lower deck crowded with natives, Malays, Chinese, and Dyaks, and made my way to the ladder; looking over the ship’s side I saw that my luggage was already in the boat. It was a large, clumsy-looking craft, with a great square sail of bamboo matting, and it was crammed full of gesticulating natives. We were about three miles from the shore and a stiff breeze was blowing I scrambled into the boat and a place was made for me. I looked at the shore. in a green abundance grew to the water’s edge and among them I saw the brown roofs of the village. A Chinese who spoke English pointed out to me a white bungalow as the residence of the District Officer; though he did not know it, it was with him [ had a letter of introduction The coconut-trees I was going to stay. to him in my pocket. I felt somewhat forlorn when I landed and my bags were set down beside me on the glistening beach. This was a remote spot to find myself in, this little town on the north coast of Borneo, and I felt a trifle shy at the thought of presenting myself to a total stranger with the announcement that I was going to sleep under his roof, eat his food, and drink his whisky, till another boat came in to take me to the port ior which I was bound. But I might have spared myself these misgivings, for the moment I reached the bungalow and sent in my letter he came out, a sturdy, ruddy, jovial man KND OF The Operation of a Mysterious Vengeance HARPER’S BAZAR THE South in the Seas Illustrated by Joun RicHarRpb of thirty-five, perhaps, and greeted me with hearti- ness While he held my hand he shouted to a boy to bring drinks and told another to look after my luggage. He cut short my apologies. ““Good lord, man, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Don’t think I’m doing anything for you in putting you up. The boot’s on the other leg. And stay as long as you like. Stay for a year.” I laughed. He put away his day’s work, assuring me that he had nothing to do which could not wait till the morrow, and threw himself into a long chair. We talked and drank and talked. When the heat of the day wore off we went for a long tramp in the jungle and came back wet to the skin. A bath and a change were very grateful, and then we dined. I was tired out, and though my host was plainly willing to go on talking straight through the night I was obliged to beg him to allow me to go to bed. “All right, I'll just come along to your room and see everything’s all right.” T WAS a large room, with verandas on two sides of it, sparsely furnished, but with a huge bed protected by mosquito netting. “The bed is rather hard,” said my host. you mind?” “Not a bit. night.” My host looked at the bed reflectively. a Dutchman who slept in it last. hear a funny story?” “Do I shall sleep without rocking to- “Tt was Do you want to FLANAGAN ““The Dutchman saw the Achinese slinking along a wall. He'd fellowed him. It looked as though he meant business.’ FLIGHT I wanted chiefly to go to bed, but he was my host, and being at times somewhat of a humorist myself I know that it is hard to have an amusing story to tell and find no listener. ‘“‘He came on the boat that brought you, on its last journey along the coast. He came into my office and asked where the dak-bungalow was. I told him there wasn’t one, but if he hadn’t any- where to go I didn’t mind putting him up. He jumped at the invitation. I told him to have his kit sent along. ““*This is all I’ve got,’ he said. “He held out a little shiny black grip. It seemed a bit scanty, but it was no business of mine, so I told him to go along to the bungalow and I’d come as soon as I was through with my work. While I was speaking, the door of my office was opened and my clerk came in. The Dutchman had his back to the door and it may be that my clerk opened it a bit suddenly. Anyhow the Dutchman gave a shout, jumped about two feet into the air, and whipped out a revolver. ““*What the devil are you doing?’ I said “When he saw it was the clerk he collapsed. He leaned against the desk, panting, and upon my word he was trembling as though he’d got malaria. “*T beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘It’s my nerves. My nerves are terrible.’ “Tt looks like it,’ I said. “T was rather short with him. To tell you the truth I wished I hadn’t (Concluded on page 126)

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JANUARY 1926 ee ee CS EES a MISS LYDIA E. DADMUN Miss Dadmun, a daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George E. Dadmun, of New York and Southamp- ton, Long Island, served as a bridesmaid at the brilliant wedding in Mt. Kisco, New York, of Miss Edith Taylor to Mr. Robert Dinsmore Huntington, son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert P. Hunt- ington. Miss Dadmun is one of the distinguished members of the New York Junior League.

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v ate: se Si cone ARs ey LRNLG OM all the OCCASITO ( rved, lake ayr W Mi, tneled in HATTIE OY 1m port d s with a shaded g modc LOUISEBOULANGER AV, ls y Pe, 7 104 Louts e7 ai é of ginal Panelin /) art, # Orig : outs i] ( In 1 Furniture dn « I} 4 A ae a SO or CE AN DoS Pg SS VAY ry) FINA a ATU PRNURA OAM UAV i 2a se 2ST GBI RTE D A Se ES ae ae ES

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JANUAR 1926 for x / _ | —— 7 1 hy af | Mh a — NJ i YY hel ail I KS : ‘ \\ i, aes One of the most interesting hats of the mid-season (and there is no season for hats; one can never tell when an epoch-making hat may appear) is this flare of beige felt. NEW DOORS OPEN ON A PALM BEACH COLLECTION The Opening of the Beautiful New House of Hattie Carnegie Afforded An Opportunity for the Display of Mid-season Importattions As Well as Her Own Creations for the South By Marte Lyons . I’S a long time between openings. In the little emigrations to sunny shores of poetic names—th« showing of their models than a typical American irid midwinter season, when the models from Céte d’ Azure, Céte d’ Argent, Céte des Basques shop \lmost no American dressmakers have the \ugust openings begin to look passée to (nd so, though it sends no collections to this coun attempted a beautiful décors for their gowns. They sophisticated eyes and the February openings still try. it sends its fashionable world, smartly turned have been content to show their clothes on man- seem a long way off, one acquires an unbearable out, to its own Southern resorts; and it ts the nequins (once an innovation) in a room that was thirst for something new, something different from clothes worn to these European resorts that give obviously a shop and nothing more. Most of the the early winter models one meets everywhere—and — us the cue for our own Palm Beach styles French houses create a charming and intimate especially for something fresh and easy on the eves interior, a true salon, as a background for their to wear to so demanding a place as Palm Beach ( s Patm BEAcH OPENIN( clothes, and in her new establishment this is just That's the rub—Palm Beach. Suddenly, in the what Carnegie has done. midst of winter, to be forced to select an entirel er the many New York houses preparing I'wo houses thrown into one have given to the ne nre of clothes—ditferent in lire, color 4 xlus, none made so formal a presenta Kren decorator, Monsieur Chalom, an oppor- atmosphere, style—is not an easy thing to do. Onc lio yf Southern fashions as Hattie Carnegie, tunity to do things on rather a magnificent scale. is forced to imagine o If, not wrapped in furs on chiefly because the opening of the Palm Bea He considers the result equal to anything of the a wintry street nor swirled in brocades in a glittering seaso yincided with the opening of the new hom« kind he has done in Paris, where he has created some box at the opera, but strolling indolently along hot of t mutison de (11) Che event was marked by notable interiors, in particular the beautiful salons ing beneath the sword shadows of palms, the owing of a notable collection of Fren¢ at of Lucien Lelong ess sports clothes or floating chiffons from the foremost modistes (chief among them an His chefs-d’wuvre in the Carnegie house are the cult mental adjustment, especially for Inusua interesting p it might be « two large exhibition rooms, one of the Louis XV. neve b 1 South before And on ister its by Caro Rebou since | ‘ period, the other ol the Louis XVI period Che problem by simply translating one’s models will give the direction to the new spring hat latter is the larger, and here the mannequins, be into lighter fabrics, gayver colot \ in enviable group of importations from Vionnet emerging from pale rose taffeta curtains at the N l HW) tirel i ent ( \ Callot, et cetera—the le a much-needed end of th room, pass and repass, displaying theu Ther ire 1 aris openings to help at this spiration at this seasor beautiful clothes against the charming background I time—1 llections pointing summer rhis new house of Hattie Carnegie is more tha of age-old paneling. This is the original paneling of \ But there is saving grace in the situation, t is much more t sort of backgroun the Lo XVI. period, painted in a soft old ivory, Paris is the sa to meet, has its o Pp 1 by most ol Ul Iren furie) r the faints een and gold, a (Continued on Dp c6)

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HARPER’S BAZAR genres * REBOUX The draped hat, far softer than the uncompromising, masculine lines of some of the recent felts, is offered by Reboux in many new interesting forms. Here is a high shape of beige velours with all the fulness pulled toward a point in the front and a cuff of wine-colored felt at the back. The use of two-colored felt is new. Models on both pages from HATTIE CARNEGIE REBOUX A hat pulled into a béret shape, yet with a difference, is this of the new black scratch felt faced with old-pink felt. REBOUX AT LAST—REALLY IMPORTANT HATS THAT ARE A béret with a wide head-band as a base ” , ean a and a certain tailored stiffness is one of SHAPED ON NEW LINES the new offerings. Model in beige velvet.

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E N+ DEY DE_N- 4 {inl Saka REBOUX te oe ee The béret has always been a favorite hat with the Parisienne, but American women, not possessing the art of adjusting it smartly, have not adopted it. It is now being made on a tailored base that obviates the necessity of such skilful adjustment—and very chic it is—among the smartest hats of recent months. Black velvet. REBOUX The later models of the “gigolo” had the crown pulled down over the right eye instead of directly in front. Green felt. THE NEW, SOFTER HATS ARE Half béret, half turban is this softly MODELED ON THE draped, very becoming Cubist model in three colors of felt—red, black, and beige. BERET—WITH A DIFFERENCE REBOUX

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LOUISEBOULANGER LOUVISEBOULANGER It would aimost 1 sible lo be m smarl joulanger is note : her originality, and here dressed than in this evening gown of dark-bli hiffon example of it tin a vellow duvetyn evening gown with its jumper blouse tk and silver lan cn pe ise belted and flaring into a Persian y embroidery is done V, and the skirt is ir courage, rditions of cent wld on the débri e lor the pure permit adr niration Beauty cannot result ‘ by both end blance to its ctoire or even Le these stvlec are In suct as rapidh are un

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t N hoth Models page from HATTII RVNEGIE Nothing could be pleasanter for hot Southern afternoons than a . : ° . S crépe costume sprinkled freely with red, yellow, and black ~~ confetti. Some of the smartest wraps are capes just now and + ae this one matches the simple dress, tied at the side and having. 1 as all smart dresses must this season, long, tight sleeves. \ XY fy Vii THE SORT OF THING ONE WEARS IN — TAS AT BIARRITZ AND — mW) PALM BEACH . | Wy PAT Modern life does not provide the time nor the iterials with which to work as the master / ie XX \\\ ‘ ' ° J | i : qi A raftsmen of past ages worked. A | our produc ts, A rom their initial conception to their final expression, id , | m hear the stigma of the too great haste of modern life “iY here is something essentially superficial about ti rt ‘There is also the opposite pitfall to avoid—that ; ~~ of manifesting too blind and undiscriminating a evotion to olden times. To furnish a room co: : ; odel or um istently and beautifully in the furniture, paneling, Vine out of ten of the th 1 mM ONalura and drape ries of by gone px riods is a pr tiseworth smiarl rock ul N¢ ’ th doub thing; but to proceed, as so many do, who are just South are veater hed , acquiring a taste and knowl dge of historic period Monee alti Dou: sale to gather together, indiscriminately, an ill-assorted hesinut tu ’ ; sleeves orn t/ “a ; ee ae collection of antique s, however fine in itself eacl ‘ x S » f th ° . es . plait } oof , ur, one of those simple piece may be, is to fail in the first purpose of plaited ints. White 7 ports dresse interior decoration, which (Concluded on page 12: shantune. green stripe

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HARPER’S BAZAR SERS oF Peet ety ete Gs Pa eeeeh ORE et SOIR. ease att BI: ERE ON EERE AEE AT ae ete * a a i VIONNET VIONNET’S LATEST DEVELOPMENT OF THE SHADED PRINCESS DRESS In this interesting gown Vionnet incorporates several ideas which, launched a season or so ago, are only now approaching popularity. One is the princess style of dress, which started when they began molding the tube dress to the hips. A second is the shading of the fabric (here chiffon shaded from deep green to white). Two others are the use of appliques of conventionalized flowers and long sleeves.

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for JANUARY 1926 WORTH VIONNET THE ENSEMBLE COSTUME, WITH MORE VARIETY, CONTINUES ITS VOGUE One of the rules of present-day simplicity is that there shall be no excrescences. The trimming must not disturb the purity of outline. Appliques are therefore a favored trimming. For Palm Beach this model would be charming in white French jersey with applied bands of kasha in orange and yellow. Nothing is smarter than the cape, which appears on every sort of coat, from evening wrap to sports coat. This French blue costume, with a typical Vionnet dress, a princess model fitted by the dovetailed V’s, has a coat with a short, swinging cape. The famous “gigolo” hatis worn with these two costumes. A new way to flutter is to wear this dance-dress by Chanel. This effect of movement, so necessary for chic, is obtained by this designer in ever new and interesting ways, here by loose ends of the white crépe of the dress floating from the side of Models on both pages from CHANEL the bodice and a skirt gathered and trailing at one side HATTIE CARNEGIE

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HARPER’S By HuGH WALPOLE LD.GF ay a HARMER The Story of RESUME OF THE PRECEDING PARTS: NTO our town, an old cathedral town in southern England, on a December night in the year 1906, came Hjalmar Johanson to find a lodging place in the home of Mrs. Penethen. Johanson’s boyishness and straightforwardness made him at home at once in the Penethen house, and soon most of the town was on the way to yielding to his friendly attraction, one of his firmest friends being the Rev. Thomas Longstaffe, the jolly, kind- hearted rector of St. Paul’s Church. Johanson responded with a quick loyalty to the beauty and grandeur of the cathedral, unconscious of the gossip and self-seeking and all the jarring ugliness of the network of cathedral politics that filled the little town. Johanson carried within himself a singularly pur and intense love of beauty. He wished that the people of Polchester might be beautiful, stronger, lovelier, and happier than they were, and to this end, as a small beginning, he started a gymnasium. He wished for some beauty in the town that would demand still more, and so, littl by little, perhaps to bring beauty and light through all of England. A young man with a vision he was Johanson had few enemies, but almost from the more first of his coming to Polchester he had conceived an instinctive hatred for Vain unscrupulous, with a certain heavy cleverness, this man had gradually acquired important property in the town, and had nosed his way into business relationships with almost every one of consequence With childlike simplicity Harmer John, as the Samuel Hogg “‘ Looking at them, Harmer John knew that it would be no easy task. He must put some fire into them, some beautiful cleansing golden fire that would burn away the dross, the accumulated laziness of years.” JOHN a Man Overwhelmingly Driven by a Love of Beauty Illustrated by T. D. SktpmMoRE whole town now called him, responded to the beauty of the vain and selfish elder daughter of Mrs. Penethen; and before long they became engaged, Maude yielding only through personal vanity and the desires of the moment, for she was incapable of appreciating the fine, true spirit of the man. PART FowurR VERY ONE in the house was astonished at the Maude Penethen. Maude was another creature. She had no asperities, no con- no sudden tempers. She was neither vain nor noisy. She thought of others. She was in love with some one other than herself. Even Miss Midgeley, who considered that she understood human nature, was surprised. Still, she did not trust Maude, but she was compelled to admit that “if the girl remained like this very long she would be forced to change her mind.”’ Maude’s beauty shone through all the house. It had needed to be softened. Kindliness had been missing to it, that it might shine like a lamp through the texture of it. The lamp was lighted now and shone steadily. No one was more astonished than Mrs. Penethen. She had thought that she knew her Maude. The best that she had hoped was that in time, after constant companionship with that kindly simple creature, she would herself soften a little. But this instant transformation! Something not put on—a sort of spring cleaning polish—but rather something that came from the girl’s very heart so change in ceits, that she was herself surprised by it, taken by an emotion so new and overwhelming that she could only submit to it. She did not “‘show off” her Harmer John as Mrs. Penethen had expected that she would do, did not ask people in that they might see what a capture she had made of this big clumsy giant, she so small and delicate and he in her hands to be ordered whither she pleased. She did not order him any- where but rather waited for him. She was passive, expectant, altogether transformed by this sub- mission to another personality. Only Harmer John was not astonished. As he had from the first thought her very perfection it was not odd to him that she should be kind and un- selfish and gentle. It was only odd to him— astonishing indeed—that she, so beautiful and so perfect, should care for him. They did not see one another very often during the daytime. Business was now coming to him in full flood and she agreed absolutely with him that he must neglect his work for nobody. She was intensely ambitious for him and the only im- patience she ever showed was in connection with his job. She was down in the morning to see him off. she went sometimes with her mother to fetch him in the afternoon. When the spring evenings with their pale primrose light began to steal upon the town she walked with him, strolling up the lanes above Orange Street But after supper was the best time. She sat very quietly in the kitchen close to him, her hand

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een SEE “The woman drew a deep breath. sleeping, for days and days,’ she whispered, gazing down at the child in his, saying very little, looking at him sometimes, meeting his eyes and holding them. She busied herself about his clothes, mending his socks, sewing She liked best of all to be quiet, very close to him, her body touching his, feeling his body through his clothes, feeling the pulse beat in his hand against hers. It was as though she were holding this moment like Joshua bidding the sun stand still in its course, as though she had some forewarning that just this moment was the best that she would ever have. He loved her so terribly that it frightened Mrs. Penethen sometimes to see the way that he looked at her, as though he drew her in and in and in to himself and then fiercely held her against all possible challenge. But as yet there was no challenge. He was forever buying her things and such Strange things, not at all like the things that any one else would buy. Where on earth did he find them? Maude liked what he bought for her because she was in love with him, but had she not been in love she would have preferred more ordinary things like necklaces of pink coral or bright ribbons buttons on his shirts. ‘She ain't slept, not to call it or pieces of lace. His engagement ring for her was a funny old one of twisted silver with a small blue stone. He found her little silver boxes and old porcelain figures and an amber seal and a silver dish and a print of a ship in full sail and a string of grass green beads and a shawl with roses. Where did he find them? Little old shops. They were beautiful things, but people would think them odd. Now, because Maude was in love, she did not mind that; had she not been in love she would have thought them rather shabby. He was extremely gentle with her and she liked it best when he put his arms around her and held her close to him; she could feel his heart beating in the struggle that he was making not to hold her closer to him and crush her. She would be crushed one day; that was in the future She liked to put her hand up and stroke the back of his neck. His skin was warm and smooth and then, just below the neck, it was cold and smoother yet, like marble. She laid her hand gently against his cheek and then she knew that he closed his eyes ind she could feel his hand clench around her. 111 ~— tilts 5 * Vrs doh Shanta on Be if ig ih AY 4 a Pe Bin. wn ae Pe thee He talked to her a great deal, but she did not listen very much. She had never listened to what other people said and she could not, all in a moment, acquire that habit. She sat, dreaming, beside him, hearing his voice very far away beating through the beating of her own heart; it was her own heart to which she was listening. She soon trained herself to say “Yes” and ‘‘No” at the right places and * Yes,” that she agreed or “‘Wasn’t that interesting?” and “Just fancy!” Curiously, although she was so ambitious for him and wanted him to be a thunderous success and that every one should be proud, yet she was not interested to hear about his hopes, his dreams, his schemes for the future. When he mentioned names, important names, Canon Ronder, Wistens, Mrs. Bond, Ryle, Mrs. Combermere—she listened greedily. When it was Tom Longstafie or old Mrs. ‘Idred she sank back into her trance-like lethargy. And he poured out everything to her—to Mrs. Penethen and Judy also. To Cesar the dog and also the cat. These were happy evenings in the old high kitchen; the two lovers (Continued on page 128)

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HARPER’S BAZAR

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for JANUARY 1926

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114 * From where Jack was he could make nothing of the picture. blobs of paint glistening coarsely in the sun-rays. ) g g p ; And he did not kno uw He saw huge daubs of color, what to answer.” N THE SCREEN The A Résumé ACK RICHBOROUGH was far more cynical concerning life in general—and women in particular—than an attractive and well-to-do young bachelor leading a placid life in London had any right to be. He had had a bad experience during the war when his fiancée had jilted him and suddenly married an aviator whom she hardly knew. But women were like that nowadays, he decided— hard and artificial, with their sealing-wax lips and self-conscious flippancy of dress and manners. They had none of the soft, alluringly feminine qualities which he thought a woman should have. For his holiday, Jack happened by chance upon the and beautifully appointed Hotel Mirabeau, set in the cool quiet of the Fontainebleau Forest. Early in his stay, Jack went to a cinema where a famous actress, Antoinette Durier, being featured. She was a lovely, tall, rather sad woman, very elegant in a simple way, with quict hands and a complete lack of self-consciousness. Jack immediately recognized in her all the gracious, feminine qualities which he had the women of his acquaintance, and he was overjoyed to discover that Mlle. Durier was herself visiting in Fontainebleau. Through ‘“‘ Madame,” the charming proprietress of the hotel, he was introduced to the French star, and also met a friend of accomplished musician named Krahmer Jack accepted an invitation to visit Mlle. Durier at the Maison Blanche, and although he was strongly and mysteriously attracted toward her he was puzzled and troubled by her insistence that she was in life quite a different woman from th: OF THE PRECEDING PARTS exclusive was missed in hers, an self-sacrificing, heroic character which she por trayed on the screen. He could not help feeling that she was more natural, more her true self when he saw her in the films than when he walked and talked with her in the Fontainebleau garden. Story A French of an English Film Illustrated by Joun LAGaTTA The next day, at Mr. Krahmer’s studio, Jack found a gay group of clever, sophisticated artists— many of them very famous in their various accom- plishments. In the ultra-Bohemian atmosphere Jack felt dull and prosaic—a veritable Philistine— whereas Antoinette Durier seemed to be completely one of them. Reluctantly the young Englishman realized how widely her temperament and enthu- siasms differed from his own. And he began to feel horribly jealous of her friendship with Krahmer. PART THREE HAT night he felt anxious, even unhappy. He was afraid of love; Kit had made him afraid. And nevertheless he had again fallen in love. His hot fit of jealousy, which persisted, left him in no doubt about that. During the evening he was horribly restless and companioned by a disastrous sensation of loneliness. His sense of independence had vanished; his freedom was misery because now it was not a dual freedom but merely a freedom of the body. His mind was chained at the threshold of the Asile Vert. What was happening there? Had she stayed on till the evening came, till the shadows trooped out of the Forest and gathered about the house? Was she there now in the studio alone with Krahmer, lying, perhaps, stretched out on enormous sofas piled with cushions while he played to her in the twilight, or semi-darkness? Music! Jack hated music, because he knew its effect upon women. Women were worshipers of and through this worship of music they fell in love with the makers of music, with musicians. He that sort of thing in London with wonder, charming women at the feet of little dark, long-haired, effeminate fellows whom Jack and one of those music, had seen Innocent and Actress Jack’s pals were inclined to call “measly.” was fond enough of music himself. He enjoyed a good tune. Krahmer’s playing of the tango that very afternoon had struck him as fine. He was not insensible to the beauty or the power of music. But he could not understand, he could only register, its often deadly effect upon women. They seemed to give their bodies to it irresistibly as well as their minds. Its effect upon them seemed to be three parts physical. Krahmer was an accomplished music maker. It was he who had played in two different ways the section of a Chopin Valse which Jack had overheard in the Maison Blanche. Jack was quite certain of that now. Krahmer had been there in some upper room giving Antoinette different interpretations of music, showing her styles, how pianists varied in their playing of the same composition. She must be musical then, must be interested in the subtleties of music. And that fact, of course, drew her to Krahmer. Probably she admired him because of his talent. But women did not always stop short at admiration, were not always satisfied with purely intellectual pleasures. Emotion often filtered in and swept them away. Krahmer was probably playing to Antoinette now. Night was creeping through the Forest. The winds were still. In the town the cafés were thronged, and the streets were full of family parties and lovers taking the air. The cinema houses held their gazing crowds. And out there at the edge of the Forest remote, secluded, a woman was listening to music, was coming under the cunning spell a sensual musician knows so well how to weave. {nd Krahmer was sensual. Jack was certain of it. Krahmer had given Antoinette that singularly blatant bulldog. An extraordinary gift to make to such a refined and delicately sensitive woman! Jack

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SCNT CERT SRT Cy svibemarad for JANUARY 1926 ‘Jack felt a hot wave of indignation go through him. believed, to look quite unconcerned. But apparently these art-loving people delighted in violent contrasts. With their finely drawn percep tions must be mingled something quite different. something perhaps coarse, even brutal. Jack could see himself giving Antoinette—say—an Italian greyhound. Buta bulldog! Yet evidently she was quite satisfied with the apparently inappropriate gift. \CK writhed under the ugly conviction that Krahmer knew Antoinette far better than he did, knew her very well, had known her, perhaps, for a very long time. All these people seemed to know her well; ‘‘Madame,” the dancer, Madame Karovsky, the pink, bald-headed Baron with the calf’s head, even those dark-eyed, pouncing young South Americans. They were all on intimate terms with her. But there was something more. Cheery intimacy, even the freemasonry that might easily obtain among artists and art-loving people, was natural enough. But Jack—was it because of his jealousy? He asked himself that—felt that in these people’s intimacy with Antoinette Durier there was a peculiarity, a subtle peculiarity which marked it out as in some odd way, which he couidn’t quite understand, exceptional. Perhaps it was not so in Madame’s case. Despite her fiery eyes and her frankness there was something reserved, something non-committal about her. But this peculiarity was certainly present, Jack believed, in Krahmer’s intimacy with Antoinette, in the young South Americans’ intimacy with her. As to the Russians— he could not be quite certain. He fastened on the three men, Krahmer, Peranza, and Leri. There was something common to them all in their way with (Antoinette, and it was something not quite usual in Jack’s experience. Leri seemed very willing to fall into a comradely intimacy with Jack, and he evidently not only knew a good deal about Antoinette but had been rather surprised that Jack did not know what he knew. But he managed, ht Leri was a gossip, a scandal-monger.”’ When Jack had said, ‘You mean she is rich?” Leri had looked oddly at him, as who should say, “Well, and where do you come from not to know?” And his answer, “‘Of course she can have whatever she wants,” had been said with the air of a man why explains a situation he had thought hitherto to be universally understood. AY I: ASY way was open to Jack. He had only t accept Leri’s invitation, to go to Barbizon, get on horseback and ride off into the Forest wit! Leri, and he could find out all he wanted to know. Leri would talk, Leri would tell him. But—what? And Jack realized that mingled with his jealous curiosity there was something akin to fear. He did not know exactly the nature of his fear. He just felt uneasy, felt a longing to know more, but also, contradictorily, a faint disinclination to know more lest something unpleasant, even perhaps distressing, might come upon him with (Continued on page 150)

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116 BY ANITA UTO Thl OYAEWIby 7; KYWATb _ WHY Har CErOA ; — ; F a ee, HARPER’S BAZAR Loos ““Spottiswood was very dignified, but he told the waiter that every great man in history was an interior decorator at heart.” GIRLS GO SOUTH A Record of Some Critical Moments 1m OCIETY NOTE: “Among those who are now flitting Florida-wise is the gorgeous Judith Revell, in this instance accompanied by her aristocratic mother, her father, and her maiden Aunt Mary. Judy always manages to keep well to the fore in the public prints, and the Florida season is sure to be considerably égayé by her presence, because where Judy is, there is always action, of one kind or another. “The migration of the Revell clan adds two of the oldest Knickerbocker Florida roster, which to date, perhaps, has been made up of a too generous sprinkling of the nouveaux riches. But, with the Revells, goes not only the substantial cognomen of Revell pére, but the much-to-be-con- jured-with name of van Tassell, to which Judy’s mother was born, and which now is carried by her maiden aunt, Miss Mary van Tassell. If wanted to write a modern fairy-story, it would seem that one could not imagine a more glamourous heroine than the lovely Judy actually is in real life—truly, ‘a girl who has everything.’ To be nineteen, outstandingly beautiful, talented, and with a magnificent social background, what more has life to offer? Judy’s career is going to bear watching.” If Judy’s career is going to bear watching, we may as well begin at the beginning of it and let the reader in on a scene that took place one morning last December. The setting is the red and gold salon of the old Revell home in the once ultra-aristocratic Murray Hill district of New York. The atmosphere breathes long-standing tradition, and an elegance which has stood a little too long. names to the one the Drawings by Ratpepu BarRTON On a Louis Quinze table rests the famous silver- gilt urn, which was presented by the late Czar Nicholas of Russia to the present head of the — int a a 8 — eT “In ten minutes I had agreed to his proposition.” Life of a Débutante house of Revell, when he was American Consul General in St. Petersburg. Inside the urn is a dun for repairs on the roof of the house, due since a year ago August. To the left of the table hangs a portrait of Julian Revell the First, founder of the family, self-made millionaire, and head of the New York Anti-Vice League that cleaned Man- hattan of sin in 1871, and gave it the push that sent it headlong into its present state of grace. On a gilt console table, underneath this portrait, rests a current copy of the Daily Views, with a two-column picture of the present daughter of the house, Miss Judith Revell, doing the Charleston at a lawn féte in Southampton; her underwear, a one-piece step-in, is seen to be edged with exquisite old point d’Alencon. Against the opposite wall stands a Louis Quinze spinet, on top of which is an ormolu jewel box, presented to Judith’s mother, Emma, on the occasion of her marriage, by the late Ward McAllister. It contains three soiled aspirin tablets, an autographed photograph of the Grand Duchess Kyril, and a notice to the effect that Emma has been posted at the Colony Club. It is a high moment in the Revell salon, and the air is tense with dramatic feeling. Those present are: Ex-Consul General, Julian Revell. The last time he was sober was just before his graduation from Harvard in 1886, and he can remember nearly everything prior to that date, but his mind is a bit hazy as to what has occurred since. He made a record as Consul General in St. Petersburg by investing a fortune in the off-stage activities of the members of the Imperial Ballet, went seriously into the drinking of vodka, and won the non-stop

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for JANUARY “Tt is a high moment in the Revell salon, and the atmosphere is charged with tense, dramatic feeling.” handicap away from a certain Grand Duke who had been trained from birth for the championship, thus carrying the American flag right through to the top. He now leads a regular life, automatically making the Racquet Club by four o’clock every afternoon, but if he ever learns about prohibition, it is going to go hard with him. Mrs. Revell, born van Tassell. Emma van Tassell was a great catch for Julian in 1889, a van Tassell being of the finest old Dutch stock, and much too good for a Revell. In fact, it was this match that opened up the last social gates to the Revell clan. Emma, at the present time, is fairly clean without being tidy. In the old days, she possessed a maid who had a genius for being able to keep her stockings from bagging at the ankles, but the maid went the way of other lost luxuries. Emma is wearing a vintage gown of the House of Paquin, with a real lace bertha, and she thinks she is wearing the Revell pearls, not knowing that Julian had them replaced by “Indetectibles,” the time he was caught with a blonde in a badger game in Atlantic City. A third member, and the most important of the Revell conference, is Judith Revell, called Judy, the flower of this fine old stock—beautiful with a beauty that comes only through breeding. It is a matter of social record that when she made her entrance at the famous Cosden ball, given on Long Island in honor of the Prince of Wales, those who stood near His Royal Highness overheard the Prince exclaim, “Hot Dog!” Judy wears an exquisitely simple black Chanel frock for which she owes Vendel $195.00, making her bill to date, $3,434.50. ; The fourth and last member of this quaint quartette is Emma’s sister, Aunt Mary van Tassell, who is wearing a white shirt-waist and a black 117 and white pepper-and-salt skirt. Aunt Mary, having always had a mind of her own, never seemed to need masculine companionship, and has reached the age of fifty-two, unmarried. As she says of herself, ‘‘Up to the age of eighteen I was called a tomboy—after eighteen I became an old maid and, in my day, that was all there was to it. But, if I had been born in this generation, my dear, I should be clipping my hair, dressing like a man from the waist up, and leading a life that only Havelock Ellis could explain.” She has had a peculiar history. Twenty-five years ago she deserted New York society because she found it dull, and went to Europe, where she made the rounds of continental pensions for nearly a quarter of a century. Returning to America only three months ago, she found conditions that amazed and delighted her. Social life, when (Continued on page 142)

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CRN ECS ONS em a em a 118 HARPER’S BAZAR o 44 = J + — jig & Ltn aeem

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YV / i P (ois » horn 42. SUCHE tlR poe Lruefle / JX [y y 6, Artant- (otted Maitic Maal wil while vite 29 2 ad a Ae. A Rell. ore petite ste | 4

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hc LCR (RI ee tt hm te = 120 HARPER’S BAZAR NEW ACCESSORIES — Here is a Reboux béret that is seen more often than one \ might expect. This version — / \ ’ . v THAT ARE \ is in black Persian lamb and ail broad bands of alternate red SEEN IN PARIS . " nds ernate r and greén breast feathers. REBOUX os HERMES rn oO a po (Upper left) A flat purse of mauve V morocco is seamed with green. The f \ bag below is of “violine’’ morocco. / (Lower left and right) Two bags in gray lizardskin, the left one the familiar sausage roll with padlock fastening. A new purse is made in colored velvet to match the costume and is closed with a handsome jeweled ornament. (Middle) An unusual bag of red morocco has ivory fittings. Below is a matching purse with little silver shield. Purses of aeroplane linen painted with landscapes and fastened with amusing clasps in galalith and silver. (Upper right) Two purses of gold leather, in one combined with black patent leather, in the other silver. POIRET

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for JANUARY 1926 121 A SOUP WITH THE DELICACY OF FLAVOR THAT ONLY FRENCH CHEFS CAN IMPART! ec Pn ; cig Rapier = Hii tiie ee “Siete ee es ke — a as b= Seriets ——$— wemreae It is nothing short of a privilege for your appetite, to give it the refreshment and enjoyment of a hot, savory plate of Campbell’s Tomato Soup. For this is tomato soup with a difference. You will sense the distinction of it at once. There is the nicety and the subtlety of the French touch—the skill which creates with splendid ingredients a genuine “event” for your taste. It is the puree of tonic tomato juices and luscious tomato ‘“‘meat’’, blended with nourishing butter and seasoned, of course, just as your appetite would have it. Cream of Tomato, too, is never quite so appealing as when prepared with Campbell’s according to the simple directions on the label. oO ay , + \ yng. sour a enn ie CAMDEN, NJ, U.S. 21 kinds 12 cents a can LOOK FOR THE RED-AND-WHITE LABEL

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For the South— A swanky top-coat of turquoise blue crepe banded in white to match the youthful two-piece frock. From Bergdorf-Goodman. ERGDORF OQODMAN 616 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK HARPER’S BAZAR THE SMIRK Fannie Hurst’s Story (Concluded from page 79) had leaped into her brain after she had closed the dead, the pretty eyes of the first Mrs. Channing. Miss Bonne was in love with Dr. Channing. ee MSS BONNE, is Hesper ready?” 4 “Ves, Dr. Channing.” “Hesper’s ready! Hesper’s ready! Pretty Hesper’s ready!” called the doll and beat her two small legs in their pink silk socks against the piano bench. Little rogue. Of course she had no right to crown herself “‘pretty Hesper,”’ but who could resist the child! “Come, daughter, father i is going to take you to visit a lovely lady “You aren't afraid, Dr. Channing, with the child just off the steamer, that perhaps she needs a bit of rest first?” “Nonsense, the drive up the Avenue will do her good.” And inside of her, with a drear?ness that was like a plomp of water down a rainspout, Miss Bonne was crying with the drip of tears from her heart: = s going to see Alicia. He’s going to > Alicia. ” “y ou will be dining—out, Dr. Channing?” ““Er—doubtless, Miss Bonne. You have your dinner whenever you are ready. You needn't wait. I will put Hesper to bed.” ‘‘I—you won't keep her out late—the first day she is on shore. Long tiring trip—Dr. Cc hi inning.” “My good woman,” said Dr. C hanning, who had never called her “good woman’ before, “ My alt woman, don’t you worry. And went out, leaving Miss Bonne standing beside a steamer trunk with her hand to her heartbeat that kept repeating, “My good woman. My good woman. HY, Alicia!” said Dr. Channing, and sat involuntarily down on a Savonarola chair of old iron and red plush in Alicia’s impeccably fastidious little drawing-room It was almost a flop with which he sat down. Of amazement at the lovely floating wraith of Alicia coming down a flight of curving stairs to greet him. In mauve and with her draperies flying behind her like a Victory’s and the parchment frailty of her skin, which had shone out even in his desk photograph of her, a glowing petal now, » — some one he id lighted a lamp inside her “Imer! It was as if their hands, meeting once more, formed a bridge spanning the years of e€s- trangement. ws, am glad, Alicia.” ‘And I am glad, Elmer.” Thin nervous palms of theirs, meeting and clinging. It was hard to unclasp the -m. ‘This is my little Hesper, Alicia.’ Hesper the doll, seated now in a rosette on Alicia’s yellow divan and toying with a crystal and silver ball on Alicia’s table. ‘So this is Hesper,”’ said Alicia, falling to her knees and holding out her arms to her. “‘Hesper, dear little child. Here, let me put the pretty ball away for you, darling?” But Hesper the doll drew back. ‘Hesper,”’ said Elmer, “this is the lovely lady in the leather frame on father’s desk.” “No,” said Hesper, and drew back again, this time on a little cry. Poor Alicia, kneeling there beside the child, regarding her with friendly eyes and lips that quirked up so pleasantly at the corners. And as she sat looking at Hesper, tilting her head at Hesper, suddenly, unaccountably, Dr. Channing picked up his small girl and held her close to him, a little away from Alicia’s smile. Sweetheart,” said Alicia, and went around to where Elmer held Hesper perched on his elbow, “you must not be afraid of —Alicia.’ ‘She isn’t,” said Elmer, whose elbow that eld Hesper kept stiffening, ‘‘she’s fatigued, poor darling, from her travels.’ ‘She’s strange, that’s all. Here, sweet heart, is a prettier ball than the crystal one to play with. It’s of onyx and won't break A PALM to create a background for a personality or a group of personalities. Such interiors resemble the houses of antiquarians where there is no prevailing style to bring harmony the many works of art Phis is very interesting in a museum but certainly not ina home, for here the first essential is that the presiding personality shall put something of himself into the decorations Among all the varied styles of past times there are styles to suit every personality. One need only discover which styles best expr ss one s OWN person ility, physic lly spiritually; that is, hoos i be They sat on a little divan shaped like Madame Recamier’s, with carved torches of gilded wood along the back. Alicia with her flesh singing, and her fingers singing, and her heart singing, and Elmer with his finely sensitive Dante-like swoop of face. sitting with his little girl perched on his elbow and darting back every time Alicia leaned. “Sweet little heart,’’ said Alicia trembli and yet not daring to touch Hesper “Go away you! “Hesper!” “Elmer, let her be. She’s strange, that’s all.” * Alicia, it’s eight years since—” “Ves, Elmer.” “Weill let the dead past bury its dead “Ves, yes “ Hesper v was a good wife, Alicia.’ “T’m glad.” “That’s all there is to say—out of the ast.” “Tt’s the future now—Elmer The ticking of their hearts as if against their ears, and Alicia sitting on the edge of her Recamier divan and gripping it with knuckle-white hands. Alicia, whose soul was in her face trying to shine out, but obscured by smirk. Alicia walking down those stairs, smirking her welcome. Alicia smirking at little Hesper, and now Alicia on the couch beside them smirking at them both! “T want to go home,” cried Hespe r. “No, little dear,” cried Alicia, “here is a better ball than crystal. It won’t break. See, dear. Onyx!” But Hesper, child of Elmer, only shied back at Alicia’s lifted smile. And suddenly the heart of Elmer, full of horror, shied back too. Alicia sitting there on the sofa saying softy things through that carved-in curve of a smile! Through that smirk! It was as if Elmer wanted to thrust his body between Hesper and that smirk. If only there was a way to wipe it off. To smear it off. This something that was ob- scuring the Alicia he remembered. The Alicia in the leather frame on his desk. ND sitting there. without perceiving the cause, without suspecting, it began to flow over Alicia that this was not the home- coming she had dreamed. Something was going horribly wrong. Something was between her and Elmer. The child? Was it the shadow of the child’s mother? She wanted to clutch out and hold to Elmer. Literally. And did. “Elmer,” she cried, “I love your little girl.’ And said it through a smirk! The indelible smirk that stained her face. It was like tearing away his flesh from her flesh to get away. He left her standing at the foot of the curve of stairs down which she had come fluttering in her mauve draperies. Smirking. He left her smirking there, with the imprint of his dead handshake lying like an oyster in her palm. It was not yet dinner time when he reached the Ritz. “Why,” cried Miss Bonne. ‘“ You home!” He placed Hesper in her arms. “There, she’s tired.” “Dear—sweet,”’ cried Miss Bonne, and kissed the finger curls where they flowed out of her bonnet. “Will you dine with me to-night, Miss Bonne,’ he said, “‘at eight?” : “Ves,” she said, “at eight,” carrying off Hesper, whose he ‘ad was already a dead weight on her shoulder, to bed. N HER drawing-room of mauve was still \licia in a little huddle at the foot of the curving stairway. There was an unabashed, rather horrible runnel of tears flowing down her naked face. Tears of heart-break. aed all the time that she wept them, she smirl BEACH COLLECTION period. Then it isn’t necessary to conform to absolute authenticity in every detail, but only to respect certain rules which great artists have studied and created. It doesnt pay to be the victim of a shopping mal - to buy one day an Italian lamp, another ly a Spanis h cabinet, a French chaise / “ey in English armchair. This method absol y precludes harmony in the ensemble a1 he aa ition of a frame for the personality In my own work I endeavor to discovet € predilections tT to p ny clients and then P , . ippropriate backgrou them create

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44 JANUARY 1926 y A tH = J DEGREE Prices range from $2995 for the Brougham to £4485 for the Custom Imperial. F.O.B. Detroit. Tax to be added. ‘ . *. Buyers on the payment plan are afforded the savings of the GMAC financing system. . 7 ° General Motors Export Com- pany, New York. Cadillac Motor Car Company of Can- ada, Limited, Oshawa, Ont. I L Its own peculiar public—the largest fol- lowing of its kind in the world—has never been won away from the Cadillac, even for a little while. There is a strain of steadfastness in the American people when they have tested a principle, or a product, and proved it sound. And that steadfastness has never been more significantly exemplified than in the eager enthusiasm which greeted the new go-degree Cadillac, and the phenomenal success which has come to it. In these days of lightning-like and disturbing changes, it is reassuring to recall this national characteristic, even in so slight a matter as the history of a motor car. CADILLAC—DIVISION OF GENERAL (i(heltend e L A No glamor of newness, no specious appeal of any sort, has ever been able to distract public attention away from the fundamental goodness of the Cadillac. It is true that you seem to hear, just now, more ardent praise of Cadillac than ever before. That is because the new Cadillac has given an even more emphatic emphasis to Cadillac goodness and superlative performance. The old thought, which has held so many owners steadfast, is now operating in a new way, and in a wider sphere. The new Cadiilac is benefiting by a national habit of hunting for things that are basically right, and, when found, holding fast to them. MOTORS CORPORATION

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a me ee ene 124 EL MONTE-HICKEY —woven to emphasize the richness of Silk and the Softness of Kasha. Soft Fox trimming blends delightfully with the pastel shadings of the Fabric. A Del Monte-Hickey Concept for Southern Wear that is unusually striking. At your Favorite Shop. & DEL MONTE-HICKEY 246 WEST 38TH STREET, NEw YORK | | MODERN Baron de Meyer’s HARPER’S BAZAR INCONGRUITIEsS Article (Continued from page 83) very much like them. Nowadays, the contrary is taking place—women attempt to look like men. Furbelows and luxurious trimmings have been abolished and simplicity reigns supreme. This, however, does not prevent dressmakers from charging three times as much as formerly. “Mannishness in women’s clothes is nowa- days the height of chic. Yet, I am not sure which is most displeasing, an effeminate man or a masculine woman. Both are contrary to esthetics and good sense.” I was quite anxious to know what the famous Boni de Castellane might have to say on the subject of masculine fashions. He had always been considered one of the best-dressed men in the world, “an arbiter of fashion,” so I mildly ventured to lead the conversation toward masculine attire. This is what I can remember his telling us on the subject: “Masculine fashions change according to prevailing customs. As I’ve just told you, up to the early part of the nineteenth century men wore costumes of velvet or brocade, embroidered and covered with gold lace, which undoubtedly made them look more attractive than they are now. Modern life, however, has forced the human being to adopt unsightly and unbecoming clothes, which make it impossible for a man to look attractive. Personally, I consider modern masculine fashions devoid of any grace and beauty.” At this point I told the Marquis how it surprised me he should feel so strongly on the subject. ‘ Masculine fashions,” I said, “those we are in the habit of wearing, don’t shock me at all. I am used to them. Never having seen men wearing silks and velvets, save at fancy-dress balls, I can not conceive of any other.” “What charm can you, a man of taste, discover in a gray or brown lounge suit,” the Marquis continued, “or in a_ black braided coat worn with checked trousers, with possibly a colored tie to give a note of c he erfulness? “Very little that is picturesque,” I ad- mitted; “yet the really well-dressed man is nowadays undoubtedly the one whose clothes are the least obtrusive.” “A very negative asset,” he replied. “I consider the period of democracy we are living in to be responsible for the dull and unattractive aspect of masculine attire. No marked difference exists nowadays between the master and his servant, in appearance at least, and my valet’s clothes resemble my own. The prerogative of birth is no longer expressed by any outward manifestation of beautiful clothes. Even though hierarchy still prevails in the army, uniforms have lost their color and their magnificence. Officers, for instance, under the old régime, were brilliant and picturesque. Look at them now—they are drab and colorless! Yet even Napoleon, at heart a traditionalist, considering himself a descendant of kings, designed most gorgeous costumes for himself and his staff ‘It is our prosaic age, democracy in fact— as noticeable in clothes as in its social aspect— which has swept away all sense of color from modern masculine attire. Democracy has leveled and standardized the entire world, from below. The King, in England, is nowa- days no more elaborately dressed than his subject, and Trotzky wears the same sort of clothes that I do.” ‘You therefore “that a man’s outward clothes in fact, are of prime importance? “Most emphatically so,’’ he answered. “A person’s character can well be judged by the care taken of his person, for any one soigné, as we say in France, is also likely to be refined and morally cultivated.” “Which implies,” I interrupted, “that constant thought and endless trouble must be taken to always appear spick and span. “Quite so. But then, results are never achieved without trouble. Take shoes, for instance. Nothing is more import ant than shoes. A different kind is suitable for every hour of the day. Shoes should always be made to order and on no account be bought ready made, even if by doing so it may prove to be more convenient and economical.” ““What about trousers,” I asked; “‘is there anything you can say about them?” ‘Of course there is. Trousers should never outline a muscle, and legs should always give the impression of being encased without showing any shape or curve. A man wearing what might be termed a perfect pair of trousers is quite exceptional. And even then, a far cry from the Renaissance _tights and the Louis XV. breeches! A man’s trousered leg is in almost every instance an ugly sight, while on the contrary, in breeches and silken hose, an effect of elegance is almost invariably produced. “The most unattractive garment of all, however, is the everlasting lounge suit. It has, since the war, become increasingly popular, most likely because of its democratic qualities. claim,” I interrupted, appearance, his “Don’t you believe comfort m: 14y partly be the cause of its success?” I asked. 7 “Undoubtedly so. Comfort nowadays is always considered a welcome excuse for ugliness. Our eyes are so used to men w: aring hideous garments that we cease to realize how utterly unattractive a lounge suit can be.” / “But what, exactly, is it you object to in this unfortunate suit?” d “Principally its cutting the figure into two halves without accentuating the waist. Don’t you think a tunic, slightly drawn in above the hips, would be far more becoming?” he’ added. “Possibly,” I replied, been more interested in women’s clothes than in my own, I should have to consider the matter carefully before giving you an opinion on such an important subject.” “The subject of clothes, in relationship to our modern homes, is indeed an importé ant one,” said Monsieur de Castellane, “for nothing looks worse than unsuitably dressed men and women in carefully planned sur- roundings. Though fashions are evolving and constantly advancing, good taste seems to decline, for, though people wear ultra- modern and fashionable clothes, they cling to the past when decorating their homes. The result is lack of harmony, which jis caused by unjudiciously assembling contra- ae elements. A woman, gowned by Callot or Chanel, for instz ance, is entirely out of place i ina big Louis XIV. armchair d@ pavots. To be in the picture, she should wear a formal gown brocaded in gold and silver, an elaborate coiffure and some fine piece of jewelry on her forehead, just as a Louis XV. bergére calls for voluminous hoop-skirts and innumerable frills and flounces. “Period armchairs, though designed for comfort, nowadays are often but a_back- ground for an individual. This individual, however, if dressed in modern clothes, creates an anomalous relationship between himself and such a background which may establish an atmosphere detrimental to social intercourse.” “Do you believe a better atmosphere is created by having clothes and decorations harmonize?” I asked. “Yes, certainly, a more refined one, anyway, for real elegance consists in being suitably dressed for all occasions and always in keeping with one’s surroundings. “T attempted to follow this principle at the Chateau du Marais, where I formerly lived, by harmonizing the materials and colorings of clothes to the silken hangings and the furniture. In shape, the garments worn resembled those which might have been in use at the time of Louis XVI., the “style” of my drawing-room. Nowadays, I find most things strike a discordant note. Men in dark lounge suits or dressed in black evening clothes look like undertakers seated on chairs beautifully upholstered in lovely eighteenth-century silk brocades. The effect produced is deplorable.” “You may be right,” I replied, “though you can’t expect the average man to dress up in an eighteenth- century costume to suit the furniture.” “Of course not; I don’t myself,” he replied, “and herein lies the seemingly unsurmount- able difficulty, for the only possible style of dressing, suitable to the period we are living in, is the democratic style. It enables any one who happens to be out walking to pay a call at a moment’s notice and occupy a comfortable seat au coin du feu. “And to what period does such a comfort- able seat belong?”’ I asked. 5 “To what I call the ‘democratic style’—in this case most likely a leather armchair “Both our apartments and our clothes should be designed with but two objects in view, comfort and suitability, for if furniture were to follow fashions in clothes it might become necessary to constantly destroy most things about us. As this is impossible, we should select from among the treasures of the past what is most suited to our present way of living. “Good taste formerly consisted in a sense of perfect harmony, nowadays no more existent. Modern houses now _ resemble badly organized museums, a mass of distorted affectation, of carefully arranged effects gone wrong. These are the conditions which ruin social intercourse and have a bad effect on conversation. In its turn, this reacts on literature, which has become fragmentary, all broken up, and if I can compare it to music—syncopated.” “but having alw; ays UST as we were finally taking leave and Monsieur de Castellane was he Ip- ing the Duchesse into a long astrakhan coat with an upstanding collar of the same !ur, but in a gray shade, he noticed a beautl- ful string of carved emerald beads she was wearing. “Yes,” she said, “they are lovely, but a (Concluded on page 120)

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126 ISITORS to Palm Beach are cordially invited to view the latest in Fur Fashions at oltre etcay amo eiletae Me lele) om cie: ler enience. lished for their conv The Fashion Beaux Arts Palm Beach, Florida JEK-L Furs A. JAECKEL & CO. Jurriers Gxclusively Fifth Ave-Between 35" & 36° Sts. New York OPENING JANUAI FIRS. 19:2 6 ! | | THE END OF W. Somerset Maugham’s HARPER’S Ba THE FLIG Story AR H T (Concluded from page 100) asked him to stop with me. He didn’t look as though he’d been drinking a lot and I wondered if he were some one the police wanted. If he were, I said to myself, he could hardly be such a fool as to walk right into the lion’s den. **You’d better go and lie down,’ I said. “He took himself off, and when I got back to my bungalow I found him sitting quite quietly but bolt upright on the veranda. He’d had a bath and shaved and put on clean things and he looked fairly presentable. ‘*Why are you sitting in the middle of the place like that?’ I asked him. You'll be much more comfortable in one of the long chairs.’ **T prefer to sit up. near a wall.’ “Queer, I thought, but if a man in this heat would rather sit up than lie down it’s his own lookout. He wasn’t muck to look at, tallish and heavily built, with a square head and close-cropped bristly hair. I should think he was about forty. The thing that chiefly struck me about him was his expression. There was a look in his eyes, blue eyes they were and rather small, which beat me alto- gether; and his face sagged as it were; it gave you the feeling that he was going to cry. He had a way of looking quickly over his left shoulder as though he thought he heard something. He was certainly very nervous. “But we had a couple of drinks and he began to talk. He spoke English very well— except for a slight accent you would never have known that he was a foreigner—and I’m bound to admit that he was a good talker. He’d been everywhere and he’d read any amount. It was a treat to listen to him. “We had three or four whiskies in the afternoon and a lot of gin pahits later on, so that when dinner came along we were by way of being rather hilarious, and I’d come to the conclusion that he was a fellow. Of course we had a lot of whisky at dinner and I happened to have a bottle of Benedictine, so we had a good many liqueurs afterward. I can’t help thinking we both got very tight. ‘And at last he told me why he’d come. It was a rum story.” My host stopped and looked at me with his mouth slightly as though, remembering it now, he was struck again with its rumness. “He came from Sumatra, the Dutchman, and he’d done something to an Achinese and the Achinese had sworn to kill him. At first he made light of it, but the fellow tried two or three times and it began to be rather a nuisance, thought he’d better go away for a bit. He went over to Batavia and made up his mind to have a good time. But when he'd been there a week he saw the fellow slinking along a wall. He'd followed him. It looked as though he meant business. ‘The Dutchman began to think it was getting beyond a joke, and he thought the best thing he could do was to skip off to Surabaya You know how crowded the streets are there; he was strolling about day when he happened to turn round the \chinese walking quite quit tly just be hin 1 him. It gave him quite a tur It would give any one a tur! ‘The Dutchman went straight bacl hotel, packed his things, at boat to Singapore Ot the Van Wyck—all the and one day when he was ha the courtyard in front of the Achin at him for Phe Dutchman The fellow could have s I never like to be too Zoot | open so he one and saw se wal ed a minute, an told me he was = 4 wgain just paralyzed ck his kris into him then, and he wouldn’t have been a hand to d himself. The was just biding his time; saw it in his eyes, there and able to move efend Dutchman knew he going to kill him, he went all to pieces.” why didn’t he go to the he was and he “But asked police?” I IN de M (Concluded MODERN Baron great extravagance, for they are nothing but a intaisie, which is in fashion one day and demodée the next.” This gave the Marquis an opportunity for i few remarks on jewels ‘No fashion,” he said, “is as fleeting as the fashion in jewels Better wear last year’s gown than last year’s ornament. Even a fine rope of pearls may lose its decorative value should the clasp be thought vieux jeu or the gradation of pearls not in accordance with the fashionable whim of the moment. An immense progress has been achieved “ I don’t know. I expect it wasn't a thing he wanted the police to be mixed uy, ii But what had he done to the ; “T don’t know that either. Hy yuldn’t tell me. But by the look he gave y hen I asked him I expect it was something pretty rotten. I have an idea that he knew he deserved whatever the Achinese could do.” My host lighted a cigaret. ; “Go on,” I said. “The skipper of the boat that runs between Singapore and Kuching lives at the Van \\ vek between trips and the boat was starting at dawn. The Dutchman thought it a wonder. ful chance to give the fellow the slip; he left his luggage at the hotel and walked down to the ship with the skipper, as if he were just going to see him off, and stayed on her hen she sailed. His nerves were all to pieces by then. He didn’t care about anything much but getting rid of the Achinese. “He felt pretty safe at Kuching. He got a room at the rest house and bought himself a couple of suits and some shirts in the Chinese shops. But he told me he couldn’t sleep. He dreamed of that man, and half a dozen times he awakened just as he thought a kris was being drawn across his throat. sorry for him. He just shook as he talked to me and his voice was hoarse with terror. That was the meaning of the look I had noticed. Fear. “And one day when he was in the club at Kuching he looked out of the window and saw the Achinese sitting there. Their eyes met. The Dutchman just crumpled up and fainted. When he came to, his first idea was to get out. Well, you know, there’s not a lot of traffic at Kuching and ’ this boat that brought you was the only one that gave him a chance to get away quickly. He got on her. He positive the man was not on board.” “But what made him come here?’ “Well, the boat stops at a dozen places on the coast, and the fellow couldn’t possibly guess he’d chosen this one because he had only made up his mind to get off when he saw that there was only one boat to take the passengers ashore, and there weren’t more than a dozen people in it. ‘“**T’m safe here for a bit at all events,’ he said, ‘and if I can only be he for a while I shall get my nerve back.’ ‘Stay as long as you like,’ I said. ‘You're all right here, at all events till the boat comes along next month, and if you like we'll watch the people who come off.’ “He was all over me. relief it was to him. “Tt was pretty late and I suggested that ve should turn in. I took him to his room to ee that it was all right. He locked the door of the bath-house and bolted the shutters, though I told him there was no risk, and when I left him I heard him lock the door I had just gone out of. ‘*Next morning when the I felt quite was I could see what a brot 7 me boy my tea I asked him if he’d « alled the Du man. He said he was just going to. I he ir him knock and knock again. Funny, I thought. The boy hamm« red on the door but there was no answer. [ felt a little ner- vous, so I got up. I knocked too. We made enough noise to rouse the dead, but the Dutchman slept on. Then [ broke down the door. The mos quito curtains were neatly tucked in round the bed. I pulled them op He was lying there on his back with his eyes Wi > open. e was as dead as mutton \ kris lay ac = his throat, and say In r if you like, but, I swear it’s true, there t a wound about him anywhere. The root empty. “Funny, wasn’t it?” “Well, that depends on your idea humor,” I replied. My host looked at me quickly ‘ “You don’t mind sleeping in that bed, do you?” ” “N-no. But Pd just as soon you'd told me the story to-morrow morning.” CONGRUITIES eyer’s Article from page 124) in the art of jewelry, for in the days of MY early youth, when bad taste reigne: preme, [ distinctly remember crowns of big dalsies, or Christmas roses in diamonds, which, though quite dreadful, were at the time considered the height of chic I have never been able to admire a woman wt ring too many jewels \ certain vulgarity 3 il ways attached to an exaggerat lisplay of gems. In some cases womel!l ould id well to pin a check to their bodi: I ~_ enable one to realize, at a glanc are worth.” eee aa aD SOA HEPA

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i A JANUARY 1926 One Chrysler Drive Makes Other Motoring Dull and Tiresome aN C2 CHRYSLER SIX—Phaeton, $1395; Coach, $1445; Road- ster, $1625; Sedan, $1695; Royal Coupe, $1795; Brough- am, $1865; Imperial, $1995; Crown Imperial, $2095. CHRYSLER FOUR —Touring Car, $895; Club Coupe, $995; Coach, $1045; Sedan, $1095. Hydraulic four-wheel brakes on all Chrysler Four models at slight extra cost. All prices f. 0. b. Detroit, subject to current Federal excise tax. Bodies by Fisher on all Chrysler enclosed models. All models equipped with full balloon tires. me There are Chrysler dealers and superior Chrysler service everywhere. All dealers are in position to ex- tend the convenience of time-payments. Ask about Chrysler’s attractive plan. All Chrysler models are protected against theft by the Fedco patented car numbering system, exclusive with Chrysler, which cannot be counterfeited and cannot be altered or removed «without conclusive evidence of tampering. Nothing so surely emphasizes the vast difference between ordinary motor cars and the Chrysler Six as the new delight you, yourself, feel the first time you drive a Chrysler. Then you realize, indeed, how tired you are of sluggish, un- wieldy cars. Men and women who have driven higher-priced cars, owners of lesser-priced cars—all find in Chrysler’s eager swiftness, magical ease of handling, velvety roadability and riding comfort, a thrill they have found in no other car. Seventy miles plus with silky smoothness;a flashing pick-up with absolute security; amazing economy; responsiveness to woman’s most delicate touch; restful driving and unmatched riding comfort—these are the result of inherent fineness of Chrysler quality design, materials and craftsmanship that give to Chry- sler motoring this new and unequaled delight which we invite you to experience. Your nearest Chrysler dealer is eager to place a Chrysler Six at your disposal. You set the terms for the test—you drive the car, as far and as fast as you choose. You will learn that it takes no more than the first 25 or 50 miles to win you for- ever to the charm of the unique and alluring per- formance that captivated, in its first year, over 32,000 Chrysler purchasers, and today enthuses more than 76,000 Chrysler Six owners. CHRYSLER SALES CORPORATION, DETROIT, MICH. CHRYSLER CORPORATION OF CANADA, LIMITED, WINDSOR, ONTARIO

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128 | PEARL CORAL ORCHID MAIZE PARCHMENT DAYW/N Lhe. & NMarison Avenue New Between poh and 66 Street VYeork> HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN New Novel (Continued from page 111) close, side by side, Mrs. Penethen sewing at the table, Judy a book on her Jap but not reading, and sometimes Miss Midgeley. He felt now that he was a member of the family and so he might tell them what he meant to do. But it was all in reality for Maude; everything was for her. Only when he was caught into the very heart of his dream, when he saw Polchester rising about him, the cathedral in its midst, beautiful streets with avenues of trees spreading to the central square and there a wonderful fountain, its waters sparkling in the blue air, happy people, wonderful children for the moment Maude was forgotten. No dirt, no squalor, no unkindness Foolish words, Maude thought them when she caught a few, but she loved him, she loved him. He would be a great man, the greatest man in the town. Even Lady St. Leath and she also had her dreams. TH Y had, in those first days, only one quarrel, and that was a little one. One evening before supper Johanson, look- ing up at the gilt cage and the bird drooping, said: “T will let that bird go, Maude; you don’t want it to be unhappy. Birds in cages is like wrongly married people. Maude, let it go.” For a moment she was like the old Maude “Tt was a present,” she said quite fiercely. Laughing, he went up to the cage. She sprang forward and stopped him. “Kt's mine. Don’t you touch it He saw that she was angry. his a He turned away. “Well, if you like i It’s cruel, you know. How would you ch it—to beat your hands again and again against the wire? Always | the same prison. But if you like it : Mrs. Penethen, watching him, thought: “Ah, he can be sulky—like an angry child.”’ Maude then was wonderful. She went up to him, pulled his he ad down, and kissed him “Of course you're right. It’s horrid, I didn’t see it that way before.” They went to the door together with the cage. Hardly a quarrel. The light left H& LOVED to tell them about his earlier life, days in Stockholm and the Islands, Copenhagen and the long seashore. He had a great gift for word painting through his broken English, English that now became with every week of his stay less broken. He had imagination and, through it, he could awaken theirs. The waters of Stockholm, the canals, the bridges, the sea. The lights as they swam in a long amber chain over the dark water; the ripples that the steamers made as they slipped like secret messengers from landing to landing; the sudden avenues of dark trees with the band playing; the light on the white walls and the green trees and the blue water no light and no water like that anywhere else Except in Venice maybe. He had heard that in Venice. . And Stockholm drew near to his vision of his ideal town. They were doing things there, men of our own time, beautiful things. Their town hall, for example, was a wonderful place, all modern work, architecture and pictures“and frescos. ‘‘They are keen at it, you see.” But he had not been h: appy in Stockholm He told them terrible stories of how, when he had been a small boy, his mother and he had waited in terror for the return of his father, waited in a little gray flat right up in an immense gray building and the flat was so small and had so little air that it seemed like a cage. They had heard the fumbling at the door, had seen the handle turn, and then the big man with the black beard would come in, quite sober. That made it worse. He beat them out of cruelty. He beat the small boy until the blood ran down his naked body while the mother, tied to the bed-post, hid her face in her hands. And then Harmer John grew too big to be beaten any longer. That was a fine day when at last he fought his father and so liberated his mother. ‘‘ Father and I was sort of friends after that. Friendly enemies. Watching one the other like de zs. There were an understanding between us.” The odd thing was that he, Harmer John, was happy through all of that—some happi- ness deep inside that nothing could touch. Life was too interesting for one to be un- happy “I can understand that,” Mrs. remarked, biting off a thread. ‘“That’s true what you say, Johnson. However deeply you're touched, however sick in body you are, something remains, interested. I could read Marie Corelli if the house was on fire.” Oh, novels! He didn’t think much of novels. But pictures and music and the forest outside Stockholm and men unloading barges and little fruit and flower shops and a funeral going into a church with the door open and the lights over the altar, and two strong men wrestling. Penethe n Then Maude, drawing him back, m € him forget all these things. It was one his troubles that he had so much work to do. ion when he looked at her he forgot it, é forgot it all. He had not known that love burnt like a fire. The heat, the heat and then the chill, like fear! NE evening he was back earlier than usual and washing his hands in his room he heard a knock on the door. He said “Come in,” and there was Maude. She had never before been in his room while he was there. She stepped back. “Oh! I didn’t know. ” she said. “Come,” he said, holding out his arms She came and he held her to his breast He sat down on the bed and she, on his knees, had her arms around his neck and her cheek against his. ‘Dear, I have wanted you so all day. All through my work you was there, standing beside me, waiting for me. Oh, Maude. [ have never known that love was like this, never dreamt of it. She was trembling and he held her closer. as though defying some enemy. The spring light, orange behind the window square, made the chimneys and roofs black, and the sky was so pale that it might not have existed had not one silver star given it life. The room was dusk. Maude whispered, “I love you. I love you. I love you. You are so strong that I don’t think of myself any more. Oh, why can’t it always be like this!” she broke out passionately, turning a little away from him. “It won’t be! It won’t be! I won’t be always like this and I want to be. ’ m better so. “But it shall always be like this,” he answered her gently. “I don’t hope that we will ever change. I love you so that I can never be another man. I know it; I have always known it. When there was other women in Copenhagen I always shook my head because something was missing. It isn’t this time, I said. Not yet. But it will come and I will be patient and wait for it. And that first evening when you came in, at once I knew. In one moment for ever. ““You knew the first second you saw me? ““T knew the first second I saw you. As I came in at the door I saw you, the fire behind your hair. I don’t hope there'll be another moment in my life like that.” Maude sighed, nestling close to him again, her eyes closed. ‘And there won’t be another moment like that,” she murmured sleepily. ‘Oh, why does love start at the top and then it can only go down? Now there'll be marriage and children and it will all be common like other people. I’m selfish. Tl want my way, later, when you are less wonderful She had a vision of herself. She shrank from it, creeping closer to him. But he had no fear. “It shall grow more wonderful and more wonderful as we know each other better and better and our children shall be beautiful, and when we are old we shall be so happy looking back—’ But she closed his mouth with her hand. “Don’t let us talk of the future. It’s now, now, now I want. Love me. Love me Their lips met. They had not kissed like that before. They lost individual conscious ness, all sense of time and place. They were still, motionless, mouth pressed to mouth, as the light faded and all the stars came out. From an immense distance she heard his voice as though he were conscious of some di unger. : “Come down with me. The others—it is time.” ; But she held to him, her body quivering. to. Let us stay. A little longer. “We must go down.” He almost pushed her from him, then, picking her up, yon st her out of the room, his mouth buried in her hair. UT his love did not cause him to forget his friends. Something very important now was to happen to Tom Longstaffe the return of = daughter and his grandson. As the days had passed Johanson’s heart had gone out more and more to Longsté iffe. Longstaffe was the very man he wanted for a friend and all his days he had thought that to have a true friend was the most important thing in life, after love, health, and work Nor even after these things. Something possibly at the end more important than they, at least aside from them, by itself, the foundation stone. Health and work were necessities, love a divine dream, but frie! ship was homely and steady like the beating of your own heart. ; Now he could say to himself: “I have b € given everything -health, work, love, an friend.” His feeling for Tom Longst: uffc really love, the kind of love a man has man—not sentimental at all and only emo- tional at a far depth. He trusted Long absolutely, told him everything, wou Id she (Continued on page 129) for a

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for JANUARY 1926 HARMER JOHN Hugh Walpole’s Novel New (Continued from page 128) with him everything, would defend him anywhere, laughed with him, argued with him, wanted him continually at his side, was always wondering what he was doing, thought often how he might make him happy, and all this he had in return. They were true friends. On a certain day Mary with her boy would return to Polchester. At first Johanson did not understand all that that would mean, then he realized that Longstaffe was deeply apprehensive. aS J ; He reassured his friend, laughing at him, encouraging him. Nevertheless some doubt crept into his own heart. There was even perhaps something selfish in his feeling. He shook his head, then abused himself for a selfish brute He, Johanson, with his own marvelous love story, how could he resent this piece of luck for his friend? Resent it? No. He was delighted. Nevertheless, as the day approached he caught much of Tom Longstaffe’s nervous- ness. It was arranged that he should come along about six o’clock. She was to arrive at the station about five-thirty. Her father would meet her and bring her home. That was an afternoon of pouring rain and as Johanson turned up Orange Street he thought to himself: ‘‘There’s something wrong about this. I feel badly about it. I believe something bad’s going to come of it.” He opened the gate and crossed the sodden lawn as though he were passing into some foreign country. Behind him Orange Street was dimmed with drizzle; in front of him the windows of the rectory were blurred with rain. E RANG the bell and when the door was opened he could see at once that the old housekeeper was in a quiver of excitement. She glittered with her starched apron and cap and whispered in a voice hoarse with emotion: “She’s here, Mr. Johanson, sir. Lizzie’s up taking the tea now.’ He felt as though the house was new to him: with every step shyness gained upon him. But when he opened the door he was at once surprised. The room was bright and almost gay. A large fire was burning, there were flowers in the vases, primroses and daffodils, and the tea table with its silver and hissing urn was alive and friendly. Seated there was a woman, Tom’s daugh- ter: standing in front of the fire was Tom himself and at the window looking out at the rain was a small slight boy with a round head of jet-black hair. Mary Longstaffe had her back to Johanson, but at the sound of the opening door she turned and then, seeing a stranger, rose. Tom came forward. “Old man, this is my daughter. Mary, this is my friend Mr. Johanson of whom I’ve told you.” She held out her hand and smiled. “How do you do? Father has written about you so often in his letters that I feel as though I know you quite well.” Her voice was soft and musical and the grip of her hand strong and honest, but at first he felt that he did not like her. She was unlike her father in that she was largely built, broad, Scandinavian in her very fair coloring, her round open face, and blue eyes: her hair was brushed back from her forehead and parted down the middle. She was not handsome but pleasant, frank, friendly, a little masculine in her lack of subtlety and coquetry, meeting him almost as man to man. He could admire her health and strength, her fine color, her honest sincere gaze, but dominated as he was just then by a type so Opposite from this in grace and delicacy and beauty, she seemed to him like one of the Women in his own country, a kind that he had known all his life, women of the country- side, unsexual, uninteresting, plain. When the boy came forward it scarcely seemed possible that he could be her son. He was dark and fragile, with close-cropped hair, large black eyes, and a small obstinate mouth. He was a proper boy though, sturdy In spite of his delicate build, graceful in spite of his sturdiness; he was quite self-possessed, giving his hand, saying, “How do you do,” and making a funny little bob with his head. JOHANSON was uncomfortable, ill at ease; So also was Tom Longstaffe. The girl and her son were perfec tly possessed. ‘I hope you've had a good journey,” Johanson said, standing in the middle of the Toom which he seemed to fill. , — yes, thank you,” she answered, Smuing up at him. “How do you like your tea? Strong? Weak? Milk?” ; Jn, tea,’’ he answered in a voice of dis- gust. “Oh, not for me, Miss Longstaffe. I’m not keen at it, thank you. I’ve never tasted any in all my life.” ~ They all laughed. ag Seon to talk, telling him about the wh adventures in the train, the old lady “ag would not have the windows open and the countrywoman with the hen in a basket and that wonderful crossing of the river after Drymouth that must always bring a lump into the throat of every Glebeshire native returning home. This last might, in the especial circumstances of her return, have hinted at awkwardness, but she showed no hesitation or confusion. After a while she got up and put her hand through her father’s arm and the two of them stood there together facing the room. That action roused in Johanson the oddest feeling of jealousy. It was so, then. He was to lose his friend; no longer the two of them together but always this third. Nay, he would be the third. He would not be needed any longer and he would come there less and less and at last not at all. Conversation flagged and would perhaps have died when the boy turned round from the window and said, looking up at Johanson: “T’ve got a parrot!” “Have you?” Johanson turned toward him laughing. He would go anywhere, do anything for children and animals. “Where is she?” “Tt’s not a she. It’s a he. show this man my parrot?” “No, dear. Not just now. mustn’t say ‘this man,’ Billy. Johanson.” But he was paying no attention to his mother. He was gazing up at Johanson with eager excitement as though he were seeing him now for the first time. “Why, you’re the highest man I’ve ever seen,” he cried. “How high are you?” Johanson laughed. ‘How high do you think I am?” he asked. “Oh, I don’t know,” Billy answered with a little swagger of the body. “About eight feet.” “No, I’m not so much. And how high are yourself?” “Oh, I don’t know”—dismissing himself before this superior interest. “Do you think you could lift me with one hand?” “T expect so.” He bent down, very gently caught Billy by the slack of his sailor trousers, then raised him slowly from the floor. He held him high in the air, then lowered him again. Billy, whose face while this had been pro- ceeding had been one of deep solemnity, was now in a state of wild excitement. “Mother!” he cried, stamping with his feet on the ground. “Did you see that? He lifted me with one hand. He’s terribly strong, I expect. Can you lie down and have a cart and a horse on your stomach?” “T’ve never tried,’ answered Johanson gravely. “It needs practise, I should think.” “Oh, you could! You could!” cried Billy, dancing about the floor. “I’m sure you could. Will you take your things off and show me your muscles?” Mother, may I And you This is Mr. “Not just now,” Johanson answered, laughing. ‘‘Sometime I will.” “And T’ll show you all my things. I’ve got a train and an engine and a whole rail- way and a cricket bat and a parrot. Will you come now? They’re all up-stairs.” “Hush, Billy,” his mother interrupted. “You mustn’t bother Mr. Johanson now. Sometime he will, I’m sure. Besides, they’re not unpacked yet.” “‘Perhaps they are,” Billy cried, tugging at Johanson’s hand. “Let’s come and see! Oh, do let’s!” But they were prevented. The door opened and some one came in. OHANSON knew at once who it was. It was Mrs. Bond. There is something afterwards to be said of Mrs. Bond who was at this time a very important person in our town; for the moment there is only her appearance as she stood there pausing in the doorway, so pretty, so fragile, egg-shell china, her cheeks pink with comfort, good living, and interest in her neighbors, her hair and dress silver-gray, smart as we in our town reckoned smartness, of the wider world, traveled, cosmopolitan, eagerly friendly in the way of one who is being constantly a friend to people to whom she is at heart indifferent. She moved forward, not seeing Longstaffe, and shook hands with Tom “T came in only for a moment—” She had the prettiest voice and her eyes swam up to you as she spoke. Then she realized th company. “This is my daughter Mary, Mr Bond. She has just arrived. You know Mr. Johanson, don’t you? And this is my grandson Billy.” She broke into rippling smiles. Then in a friendly almost beseeching movement, as she laid her hand on Mary’s arm, looking up at her: “My dear, I’m so glad you’ve come. What happiness for your father! ... And this is your little boy? Mr. Johanson, how do you do?” They all sat down and Mrs. Bond took the field. She had a gift of conversation as no (Continued on page 130) Mary 129 No “off-color” Teeth —no toneless Sums when that dingy film is removed Accept this remark- able dental test. You’ll gain the dazzling white teeth and coral-like gums that make smiles attractive and inviting. ODERN dental science has made important, recent dis- coveries in lightening cloudy teeth. In a few days you can work great changes in the color of your teeth; can give them dazzling whiteness, and your gums the healthy coral tint you envy. If you seek new beauty and new charm, test this new way. Do as millions are doing on den- tal advice. Multiply the value of your smile. Mail the coupon. A 10-day test will be sent you. Beneath the film are gleaming, glorious teeth Run your tongue across your teeth, and you will feel a film, a viscous coat that covers them. That film is an enemy to your teeth—and your gums. You must remove it. It clings to teeth, gets into crevices and stays. It absorbs discolorations and gives your teeth that cloudy, “off-color” look. Germs by the millions breed in it and lay your teeth open to decay. And they, with tartar, are a chief cause of pyorrhea and gum disorders. Tooth troubles and gum troubles now are largely traced to that film. Old-time methods fail in cessfully combating it. Thax’s why, FILM suc- the worst eneny tr tf ¢ ry ‘ You can feel it with your tongue Canadian Office and Laboratories: FREE 10-Day Tube Vail Coupon regardless of the care you take now, your teeth remain unattractive. New methods remove it. And Firm the Gums Now, in a new-type dentifrice called Pepsodent, dental science has discovered effective combat- ants. Their action is to curdle the film and remove it, then to firm the gums. Ordinary methods fail in these results. Thus the world has turned, largely on dental advice, to this new method. What you see when that film is removed—the whiteness of your teeth—will amaze you. You are simply hiding the natural beauty of your teeth. a ae A few days’ use will prove its power beyond all doubt. Mail the coupon. A ten-day tube will be sent you free. 191 Gorse St.. Toronto, Canada oa ays heo se ao GaP ee So cap el ca aaa aa a sv Ge ea A I a te ‘ . I ' Mail this for PAT.OFF. 8 l F REE 10-Day Tube to Péps ad e ni ; THE PEPSODENT COMPANY REG.US. I 1 Dept. 184, 1104 S. Wabash Ave. The New-Day Quality Dentifrice : : Chicago, Ill., U.S. A. Endorsed by World’s Dental Authorities ! BS PM ews cos bc vceniceasenaxdabdecnnans an enecesboee tet ensaraeg eases i ' r J r - Address , . . . i 1 Only one tube to a family. 1968 ‘ 1 Pn iets ip ENP, ae 27

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. . « The creations of Grorce Wueary, America’s Master Trunk Designer, command world-wide appreciation. A te ne oe gee LENE A RE ITI Today, the Wheary Wardrola stands apart; it is the only trunk with cush- ioned top and solid base, built to roll open; it is the only trunk that gives you a// of the travel conveniences created by George Wheary. Beauty and distinétion of appearance are com- bined with “rigid-tested” strength; cumbersome weight is eliminated to give greater carrying capacity. Even its method of locking is distinétive. No well-informed traveler will buy a trunk today without first inspecting the Wheary Wardrola, in those distin- guished stores and shops where the foremost merchandise is displayed. Wueary Trunk Company, Racine, Wis. FARY Cushioned Top WARD R.OLA The Trunk that Rolls Open. \ , ‘C7 \ ‘ \ y) 5 S a Ja i‘\ of }\ Ar lar ww 4s y4N K Y ye a ji / Saf . ; to b\w /|' 4 “ HARPER’S BAZAR HARMER JOHN Hugh one in our town had ever had before she came—something so accomplished, so widely traveled, so informing without patronage, so gentle and yet so bold. She seemed to the natives of Polchester to have been every- where; she was a widow and so a little sad, a mother of three boys and so a little mature, and yet so gay and so young that her widow- hood and maturity were fantasies. She had seen all the world and yet preferred to live and die in Polchester which was flattering to us. She had known French presidents, had had tea with D’Annunzio, and called on Bernhardt and yet took an interest—a very keen and active interest—in our little local affairs. She had charm and tact and smiled and laughed and declared that she loved everybody and everything. Nevertheless this afternoon was not one of her successful days. Billy was sent up- stairs. Johanson sat there and said nothing. Mary Longstaffe was not easy. At first, bathed by the cascades of Mrs. Bond’s laughing chatter, she passively accepted the shower. Then, when she spoke, she was so quiet and gave so little assistance that Mrs. Bond seemed, in a moment, to be left deserted naked and helpless beneath her own fountain of words. OM tried to help, but he was embarrassed to-day, uneasy, shy. Johanson tried to help. He began a long Copenhagen anecdote, but his English was slow and everyone knew what must be the conclusions of his sentences long before they were reached. Silence fell. Mrs. Bond’s eyes, blue like very pale butterflies, danced all over Mary Longstaffe. Up, down! Here, there! Then she rose. “Well, this has been delightful,” she said. “Tactless as I always am, I came right in on your domestic scene. I don’t suppose you'll ever forgive me. Will you forgive me, you wicked man?” She put her little hand on Tom Longstaffe’s arm. He was confused, murmured something. She turned to Mary. “T love your father. He is the only good man I know. The only one. In Spain once there was another. But he, alas... .” She shook her head, then brightened with a brave triumphant effort. “Will you forgive me for loving your father, dear? You will have to share him with a good many now, you know. I am so glad you have come to make him happy. Good-by, Mr. Johanson. You are turning my boys into marvels of physical fitness. I am so grateful. Good-by. Good-by. No, no, you are not to bother. I can find my way perfectly.” But Tom Longstaffe did bother. Johan- son and Mary were left alone. Mary smiled. “She didn’t ask me to go and see her,” she said. “They won’t, you know.” “Do you mind?” he asked. It seemed as though in a second they had become friends. “For father’s sake, yes. I want things to be easy for him. He'll be hurt if they are rude to me. But I mean to stay, to make my own life whatever they do. I won’t slink away. This is Billy’s home where his father was and this is my home where my father is. I love every stick and stone here, Mr. Johan- son. I’ve dreamt about the river and the fields and the cathedral for years. They will like me to be back here if no one else will. Does that sound sentimental to you?” “No,” Johanson answered. “I oft have such thoughts.” He was troubled. He saw how this town that he loved and believed in would perhaps behave badly in this affair and so lose some of its beauty. He did not want that to be. And he did not want the girl to be hurt, nor Tom, nor the little boy. They must not be hurt. He would protect them. But if this town was against them and then, because he protected them, was against him too? He moved across the floor toward her as though already the attack was beginning. ARMER JOHN was holding his first class of middle-aged men. The dark biue blinds were half-way down the windows to keep away the sun but patterns of color lay across the boards of the floor and lozenges of light slipped up the legs of the “horse” and fastened like leeches onto the parallel bars. \bove the patterns of light six men, four fat and two lean, in their vests and trousers, bent and raised, grunted and groaned. It had been the idea of Mr. Cassidy, our leading grocer, only a week ago. He had caught it from his youngest boy who, a day- boy at the school, was a member of Johan- son’s gymnastic class and was so deeply enthusiastic that he had broken the washing jug in his bedroom. Mr. Cassidy, a large jolly red-faced man, as all grocers having to deal with delightful things like honey, dried plums, figs, seed-cake, and orange marmalade ought to be, caught his son’s enthusiasm, forgave the washing jug, and said to Mildmay Walpole’s (Continued from page 129) Novel New the auctioneer that very evening, “Why shouldn’t we? Good for us. I’m too fat a you're too fat. Puff and blow going up-stairs He’s a good fellow, that Swede. I'll speak to him.” He did and here is the iirst cl : all puffing, bubbling, blowing, and with self-righteous approval. Harmer John, in singlet and trousers, his neck and half his chest and his arms bare cracks out his commands. “One, two, three. To the right. To the left. Now forward. Up again. To the left. To the right. One. two, three.” : He loved them as he looked at them. Not precisely as human beings, but as fat to be reduced, knees to be straightened, muscles to be developed, cheeks to be browned. Look at that Cassidy with his belly! How was his heart going to stand all that fat? And little Massing of the post-office with legs like match- wood, no buttocks, no chest, no shoulders no anything but a wispy mustache and an eager pathetic eye! And Carlyon the nursery- man—a giant of a man and brown, healthy clear-eyed! What was he doing with that paunch and that double chin? The devil of it was that he had so little time with them. As it was they had squeezed this hour together with great difficulty! So busy they were! And yet what did they do? With the exception of Carlyon spending their days behind counters, hiding in little rabbit holes toting up their money, hurrying home at night to stuffy meals, stuffy rooms, stuffy beds. (This business of sleeping two in a bed, how disgusting and unsanitary!) If only he could arouse them to the enthusiasm of five minutes in the morning before the open window! But looking at them, at their middle-aged solidities, he knew that it would be no easy task. He must put some fire into them, some beautiful cleansing golden fire that would burn away the dross, the fat, the sweat, the accumulated laziness of years! His face glowed, his body moved in beauti- ful rhythmic time with his orders, ‘One, two, three. One, two, three. Forward. Now down. Up again.... And now a rest! Mr. Cassidy, you breathe only with your nose. Open your mouth. So. Breathe! Breathe, man! So. That’s better!” ass, happy HE room was filled with friendliness and kindliness. As they rested they felt their pleasure with themselves and with him. They were stiff, they were hot, they were fatigued, but they were alive. He was a good fellow, although a foreigner. And really only half a foreigner. His mother had been an Englishwoman and he was engaged to a proper English girl. They looked on him with approval. They admired the muscles of his arms and his great chest. The strongest man they had ever seen and modest with it. Liking the town. Best town he’d ever known, he said, although he’d seen plenty of those foreign places. New ideas were good for Polchester so long as you didn’t upset every- body. And the “quality” liked him. The cathedral people. For a foreigner he was a remarkable man. The hour was over... . He threw up the blind and the window and stood, looking onto the sun-bathed Square. Was there any one in the world so happy as he, Harmer John? Maude, his work, and the beauty there was in the world. And this physical fitness running through him like some mysterious stream of beatitude and comfort. This blessed town and these blessed people. Their kindness and generosity and simplicity. He was moving them all and yet without preaching at them or trying to change them. Simply showing them this good idea of theirs. And when he was married to Maude and they had their little house and a boy or two.... What had he done to deserve such happiness and such love? Wasnt it unfair that he should have all the luck and the work that he liked and the girl that he adored? He would make it up for the others, for the less fortunate. At the very thought, as though he had evoked her, one of the less fortunate entered his vision. She was crossing the Square, moving into the sunlight slowly, mournfully, with a dreary purposelessness. Old Mrs. Eldred. He was conscious of a momentary irritation, a tiny pebble of annoyance break- ing the shining surface of his pool of content. She moved across the Square trailing an um- brella after her. She looked up at the sky as though asking whether it were going to rain, the kind of thing that on a beautiful stainless blue day like this she would do. Then she trailed on, turning in melancholy fashion toward his building. He moved, on an im- pulse too sharp to be resisted, into the next room where Billy Tennant was scrat: hing his round head over some accounts. . - “Billy, if Mrs. Eldred calls I’m not in, see: Billy grinned. “Thought *twould come to that,” he said. h “No, it hasn’t come to nothing. that I’m busy.” ? (Continued on page 132) It’s just

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| y y ger 4 ip a Ty ak ils £3: oe. ‘oh, | TEN minutes a day with these Primrose House Preparations will achieve definite results that you never dreamed could be possible. Rose Leaf Cleansing Cream—Use night and morning to remove all surface impur- ities and cleanse the skin immaculately. Apply with wet absorbent cotton and wash the face and neck with Skin Freshener, $1.00, $2.00, $3.50. Skin Freshener— Increases firmness of the skin and makes it more resistant to wrinkles and flabbiness. $1.25, $3.00. Smoothskin Cream—Gives to fine, dry, sensitive skins a petal-smooth texture and softness. $1.00, $2.00, $3.00. Bleach Cream—Remarkable indeed are the testimonials that have come to Primrose House of the effectiveness of this cream for toning and clearing the skin and removing discolorations, freckles and brown spots. $2.00, $3.50. For Smart Finishing Touches Eyelash Ko-Hul—Wonderfully effective in making the lashes dark and luxuriant. Makes the fascinating shadows about the eyes which cause them to seem large, mysterious, alluring. $1.25, $2.50. Pomegranate Cream Rouge—Gives an entirely natural bloom that stays on all day and may be used for both lips and cheeks. $1.25, $2.50. Chiffon Face Powder—An exquisite powder, delicately perfumed. Unequaled for fineness and clinging qualities, Flesh and Brunette. $3.50. Primrose House Traveling Kit A beautiful metal box with outside finish eae pcs and inside of rich Chinese lacquerr , containing eleven selected Prim- tose House preparations in full sizes. In a black mohaircase with leatherhandle, $27.50 S pe SE A Corner of the Salon in Primrose House —Photographed by Mattie Edwards Hewitt IN PRIMROSE HOUSE OR IN YOUR OWN HOME The Treatments of this Exclusive New York Salon are Available O Primrose House come New York's best known society women to receive an ulti- mate degree of satisfaction in the care of their complexions. Yet no matter whether you are a thousand miles distant from Fifth Avenue, these Primrose House treatments are avail- able to you. A corps of Primrose House scientists and graduate registered nurses work constantly to perfect further their exact methods of preserv- ing and enhancing beauty. In the most care- ful way they have prepared directions for the use of Primrose House preparations in the home. These methods which have proved so wonderfully satisfying to smart New Yorkers, as achieved in Primrose House itself, are de- scribed clearly and simply for equally smart women living far away from New York. Included are directions for the proper use of all Primrose House Creams, Face Powders and Lotions—the finest of their kind—and also the famous Face Molding Treatment that Primrose House originated. This is funda- mentally different from massage. It works directly on the underlying muscles of the face and throat and makes them firm and vigorous, thus aiding in an almost magical way to eradi- cate lines, wrinkles and sagging chin and restore the youthful contour, firm and lovely, of the face and neck. Ten minutes a day in the home accomplishes amazingly good results. At the best department stores and specialty shops, Primrose House preparations and direc- tions for their use await you. Ask for them! But if you cannot secure them, we shall be glad to fulfill your requirements direct. Send for the Primrose House Booklet A wise and interesting little book is ‘‘Here Dwells Youth’’ in which Primrose House describes the effective methods practised in Primrose House itself in caring scientifically for the skin, hands and hair. May we send you a copy with our compliments? vimrose House’ SEAST52™ST, New YORK, Department Bel *Reg. U.S. Pat. Off,

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inne Spa aiagiee en “marie Barfe deafs in futures —_. MARIE EARLE’S business is taking care of tomorrow’s faces. If the Girl-You-Are-Today could take tea with the Woman- You’ll-Be-in-Ten-Years, would it be a happy meeting with a fascinating person or a sad encounter with a tragic someone who had changed dreadfully? Marie Earle says: “Don’t worry about birthdays the years will bring. Don’t fear the days after forty. You can be distinguished, sophisticated, smart, charming—a truly handsome woman. But do face the facts. Effective hats—marvelous clothes—perfect accessories, you can buy them any day, but now is the only time you can purchase the face you will wear with them! Give your 1926 face, your present complexion, the finest care it can have.” Miss Earle has specialized in faces and futures ever since she established an exclusive little salon in Paris years ago. Prominent American society women were quick to appre- ciate her art and her science, and persuaded her to come to New York. Her preparations are made of the finest ingredients to be had, most of them imported. You can give yourself the Marie Earle Basic Treatment to suit your type of skin at home. It means only a few minutes each night and morning. Number One is for average, Number Two for dry, Number Three for oily skins. The Essential Cream is used in each treatment; the Cucumber Emulsion, which makes the Essential Cream twice as penetrating, and a suitable lotion. The Soothing- Freshener Lotion is used for sensitive, dry skin. “The Other Side of the Moon,” Marie Earle’s little booklet, tells all about the preparations and how to use them. Free, including the Diagnosis Blank, which enables Miss Earle to suggest the right things for your skin. Send for it. Marie Earle preparations on sale in the best shops. Or order direct from the Salon, 600 Madison Avenue, New York. NEW YORK HARPER’S BAZAR HARMER JOHN Hugh He went back, closing the door behind him. In his imagination he could see Mrs. Eldred, her old bonnet a little askew, her thin lips tightly set, umbrella clutched in her hand, pausing at the door down-stairs, opening it, then slowly trailing up-stairs. . . . Why was he avoiding her? It was his first piece of cowardice. Back at the window again he faced it. He knew that he had two jobs on hand and that one of these was prospering marvelously and the other was not prospering at all. The one that was prospering was the practical one: for this he had, he saw quite clearly, a positive genius. His arrangement of the different classes, his organization of his different pub- lics, the school, the cathedral set, the town officials, the tradesmen, the beginnings of his outside correspondence (exercises sent by post, directions for fat reduction and so on), his individual cases for massage like Ronder, all this work was successful beyond his most ambitious hopes, and successful because his natural talent stretched out into that direc- tion so that he worked in that field by intui- tion, by native instinct. But behind this work lay another and strangely, obstinately, almost against his will, of far greater importance than the first. With the second work were embraced all his dreams, his visions, his longings. Those dreams of his at night that were of his very soul, those visions that sprang into full glory when he stood beside the Brytte monument in the cathedral, those longings that were all his inner life, his love for Maude, his worship of beauty; a ladder that stretched from the blue plate in his Copenhagen lodging to the full glory of Heaven. T WAS this second work that was not progressing at all. Both Shortt and Mrs. Eldred were failures. He had asked Shortt to draw some pictures for him, his ideal street, his town with the beautiful buildings, the avenues of noble trees, the fountains and the Squares, and Shortt had produced mussy scribbles. Moreover Shortt was always drunk. He had suggested to Mrs. Eldred that she should, with his help, start a small class of girls, a class to discuss the Arts, to consider Italian painting and sculpture, but Mrs. Eldred had done nothing at all. She only complained and protested. He suspected that she also drank. He knew that many people laughed at him for making any advance toward such failures as Shortt and Mrs. Eldred, and he was con- scious that when his dreams moved him he became blinded about people and judged them badly. He thought perhaps that he would always be like that and would make the same mistakes in the future, choosing the Eldreds and the Shortts all over again. He saw too, very clearly, that in this second business of his he would, as Wistons had warned him, have to pull down before he could build up and that, in pulling down, he would offend people and would run into a new stream of contacts, many of them hostile. And yet, although he saw this too clearly, his dream was, with every new day, becoming more important to him than his business. He did not, no indeed he did not, wish to improve people or change them, but his fingers were itching to do things that would prove to them, even on a tiny scale, how beautiful! life might be. It was not that people were lazy or wicked or selfish but that they simply had not seen! Their eyes were closed. He was no better than they, but he had been given an opportunity of seeing. He was sure that it was all so simple. A little cooperation, a little comradeship with fun and good-will, a little throwing aside of personal interests, animosities, rivalries, and the thing was done. But where to begin? He could not with his own hands pull down the hideous brewery at the corner of Market Street, he could not go down to Seatown and... At the thought of Seatown he turned back from the window. During all these months he had intended to go down to Seatown, but every moment had been occupied. Now he had two clear hours. He got his hat, called to Billy to close the place up, and stamped lown the stairs. THE Market-place was busier now. People moved in and out from the dim arcades that were filled with plum-colored shadows. Two or three farmers, their stout legs apart, their hats tilted back on their heads, discussed together. A nurse and a child dragging a toy cart passed along. The warm day played on the dark surfaces of the sleepy buildings. Harmer John, moving slowly forward across the Square, could not rid his mind of Mrs. Eldred. Anything more amateur than he had been in his dealings with her and with Shortt, too. (He did not acknowledge to himself that Maude was influencing him.) Who had ever heard of engaging a besotted drawing master to make plans of an ideal city! He should have engaged some capable effi- cient architect. Capable efficient architect! Walpole’s (Continued from page 130) New Novel The very words cut his dreams into ribbons of air. It was because Shortt was nos effi- cient, because he had also his dreams and visions that Johanson had chosen him. Yes Shortt had had his dreams once, but now sg sodden, shiftless, mean had his life become that his dreams, in sorrowful regret, had spread their wings and left him. Dreams would not stay forever. He was thus thinking, looking neither to left nor right, when, close beside St. James’ Church, he ran into somebody. He stopped abruptly, looked up, raised his hat. It wags Mary Longstaffe. They were in the shadow here and the end of the houses beyond the church ran forward shutting them away from the Market-place. During these last days he had had so much upon his hands that he had not thought of her. He had a sense of shame now because of that. As he looked at her he again felt as though she were a woman of his own country, flaxen, big-boned, upright, clear-eyed, brave, and—unromantic, unstir- ring. She smiled, without shyness, honestly as one man might greet another. ‘ “Good afternoon, Mr. Johanson,” she said. “Tsn’t it lovely weather?” “Yes.” He felt again that he liked her because she was tranquil, calm, honest. She would give good advice, would be wise and temperate in council. “How are the boy? I must come one day and see his treasures.” “Oh, Billy!” She laughed. “You made a great effect on him the other day. He is always speaking of you. He cal’s you the Giant. Do come and see us one afternoon. We are both always in at tea time.” “Ves, I will.” He still held his hat in his hand. He looked straight into her eyes and she had a deep impression of his honesty just as he had had of hers. “I’m very busy and Tlike to be that. I can’t have too much work. I’m so keen at it that I mever can have enough to do. All the same,” he looked at her with a little perplexity, rubbing one hand through his hair, “I want things to happen too quickly. Miss Longstaffe, why is it you can’t make people see what you see, at once—hey, crack, crack—just like that? We had in Stockholm an old clown at the circus when I was a boy, and he went ‘Hey, crack, crack,’ like that, with his fingers and in a moment the girl on the white horse was a princess in gold and silver. Id like to do it too with a snap of the fingers! Hey, crack, crack! And all is beautiful and people isn’t fat any more and no one—” He broke off. “I’m getting preachy like a parson. And I hate preaching, but I’ve gone so far I want to go farther and it’s the next step is so difficult.” “Ves,” she answered, “but perhaps it wouldn't be good for you if the next step were too easy. You'd get conceited. I’m getting preachy, too. How easy it is to be preac hy if you have an idea that obsesses you! Per- haps you shouldn’t be afraid of being preachy but just go ahead. Risk everything. I'm all for risking! We're all so afraid of every thing! Why, before I came down here I was afraid sometimes of, whether the women would cut me. And now I don’t care—I don’t care a little bit.”’ “But they’re not cutting you?” he asked almost fiercely. “Oh, no. Of course not!” She looked at him as though she dared him to doubt her, then with a smile left him and went on her way. AS HE, too, went forward he thought of Mary Longstaffe and considered her with his own Maude. Strange that one woman should move him not at all and that the other with every glance should so fire his senses! His senses! Yes, he was aware that with every passing hour his love for Maude was growing. He must marry her soon. She, too, was aware of that. Their contact now, were it only the touch of hands, stirred with danger. He was unsteady with the physical sense of her and that physical sense seemed to hang like a curtain of flame and smoke between his real spirit and hers. It was her spirit that he loved, but oh! he loved her body too, and he was afraid always now lest some movement, some accident of pr- vacy and juxtaposition should be too strong for them. A year ago he would have said that his control over his body was such that no earthly power or temptation could shake it But now he was not sure. He had been so ignorant then of what that blinding, deaf- ening, all-consuming physical need could be. Old Miss Midgeley knew about this. She was his great confidant now. He told her everything and she understood marv elously. She knew Maude, too. He was not altogether blinded by his love. There were things 1n Maude that seemed very odd to him, English things he supposed them. Pruderies, conven- tions, superstitions, prejudices. Pruceries in the very heart of her love so that she would astound him by her eager anxiety as to what (Continued on page 134)

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loved now pri- trong said that shake been deaf- d be. She 1 her yusly. ether gs in nglish iven- leries vould what for JANUARY 1926 LOOKING FO i FROM OUR Slnniversary by MYRON E. FORBES, President, The Fierce:/irrow Motor Car Company N scarcely more than a quarter century,a new industry has grown to be the largest in Amer- ica. New names have appeared in the nation’s commerce. Names to conjure with— Ford, Dodge, Packard, Cadillac, Pierce-Arrow, and many others. The amazing progress of the automobile indus- try has been due, in large measure we believe, to the broad vision, the friendly helpfulness and the unselfish co-operation of the men engaged in it. But, remarkable as have been the accomplish- ments of these men, they are not yet satisfied. They are looking forward to even greater achieve- ments. They are continuing in their co-operative efforts—that betterments and economies may be ef- fected, comparable to nothing that has gone before. We are proud to have been one of these guiding influences in this industry—an industry that has re-shaped the habits of a nation. We are proud of these broad-visioned competitors of ours, each of whom has contributed generously and unfail- ingly toward its upbuilding and success. “ “ “ Since the beginning, Pierce-Arrow craftsmen have sought to create the utmost in quality, the zenith of motor car value. To these men honor for Pierce-Arrow success is due. On the occasion of this, its twenty-fifth anni- versary, Pierce-Arrow pledges itself to produce even finer cars—to create even greater values. 133

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134 “Americas Best Traveling Companion” te ae hee ve on " Ready... ‘Yy ° OP any occasion with a Mendel “Dust-Proof” Wardrobe Trunk. Safely carries your wardrobe to the journey’s end and provides instant use. Your maid at home could serve you no better. Not a speck of dust or smear of soot to mar the enjoyment of your trip. The interlocking tongue-and-groove steel frame around the two halves makes the trunk absolutely “Dust- Proof,” a protective feature to be had only in a Mendel. And this same steel frame makes your Mendel warp- proof—rigid and durable—good for years and years of service. Another exclusive feature! The gen- tlest push will open or close the trunk, without a rumple of the rug or a mar on the floor. * * * Go to your luggage store, open a Mendel Ward- robe Trunk, examine the “Dust-Proof’ frame; have your dealer explain the value of these exclu- sive Mendel features. THE MENDEL-DRUCKER COMPANY CINCINNATI, OHIO HARPER’S BAZAR HARMER JOHN Hugh Walpole’s New Novel (Continued from page 132) neighbors would say or think. She had little jealousies and rancors that seemed to him alto- gether unworthy of her and she had, ap- parently, a positive hatred for her sister Judy. That strange girl he did not pretend to fathom. She never said anything, only looked oddly and cynically at them both, went about her household work as though she scorned them all. He must confess that he did not himself like her very much. In fine, complications were beginning to arise around Harmer John. E WAS plunging down now into Bridge Street. This was a lovely afternoon and if ever Seatown were to look its prettiest it would be now. But it was impossible for Seatown to be pretty. Once, perhaps, when a few cottages had nestled together at the foot of the wooded hill and the cathedral and castle had towered into the air above them, when the Pol had run full flood and birds had sung in the forest on the opposite hill. These days were long departed, nor would they ever return. Seatown had been for many a day the place of outlaws, nor were these outlaws of the pic turesque and romantic kind. Rather were they the offscourings of the district, loafers, idlers, thieves, and prostitutes. In 1902 a disturbance had been made and it seemed for a moment as though the whole place would be uprooted, but other influences had pre vailed, a few cottages at the far end of Pen nicent Street had been pulled down, and that was all. Disturb Seatown and you stirred a nest of wasps. The foreign strain always prevalent in Glebeshire blood was here paramount. During that 1902 disturbance a mob of wild creatures had penetrated the decent quarters of our town threatening fire and brimstone, swearing that they would burn down the cathedral were they not left alone, pulsing up to the very windows of Lord St. Leath him self. And left alone they were. At once they settled down to their old customs. To do them full justice, they did not interfere with the rest of the town. They despised and scorne| their neighbors, kept their outlawry proudly before them, called themselves de scendants of kings and Vikings, and hummed busily in their own hive. They are gone now and their abiding place with them, and the man now descending Bridge Street was the prophet of their destruction. The fine summer afternoon could do nothing for Bridge Street but make its dirt and dis order the more apparent. The very fashion in which the street tilted down to the river, as though it had not intended to go as far but had been too back-boneless to stay its impulse, gave a slipshod air to the uneven and awkward buildings. Once there had been fine houses here—the doors and portic oes showed that—but now windows were broken, washing fluttered in the sunny air, dirty un washed children tumbled about the steps, mongrels sniffed the gutters As he pro ceeded Johanson’s wonder grew. He was entering into a new world, and a world for which he was not prepared. He had on two occasions been half-way down Bridge Street in search of somebody, but he had not realized anything of this present degradation. He had seen, of course, slums bad enough both in Stockholm and Copenhagen, and Nexo has painted for all the world pictures of that jungle civilization. But those were big towns, marts for the world. The whole of the present world must change before that wild garden of despair and ruin could be uprooted. Here was another question. Here was his own little town, the little place that he had taken to his heart. Here, too, was something that could be altered. The occupied space was so small, the souls con- cerned comparatively so few. A® he descended he had an odd sense that, like Wotan and Loge, he was penetrating into some Nibelungen world. The air thickened, life became furtive and mysterious, faces peered at him from behind dark windows, dogs slipped by busy on furtive errands, images leaning with waxen figures against the walls were inhuman, of some other race than man. The bright blue air fell as though through the opening of a vast encircling well. The sky was brilliant overhead, but the sunlight shadowed and thickened as it fell. He paused for a moment to gain some sense of the district that he was reaching Above him on the left an old Georgian house with a carved doorway and two bow windows on its first floor stretched heavenwards Charming that house must once have been; now it had fallen into slatternly and shabby habit. No sign of life there. He looked up to two attic windows on the top floor High up A superb view there. He did not know why he looked at them or why, having gazed, he earnestly read the number of the house One hundred and three, Bridge Street What told him that that house was to take its place so prominently in later events? Enough that he knew. : But the silence! He would tt have believed, had he not witnessed, that so close to the Market-place, St. James’ Church, the High Street, life could thus change its char- acter. Above his head they were standing in the sun on the market cobbles discussing happily the world’s affairs. Up the High Street the cathedral folks were passing to their tea, soon the cathedral bells would happily ring for even-song, but here, as he stood, the strange purple light enfolded him as though it were a diseased cloud descending from the heavens, as in some story that he had somewhere read, to slay the world He passed onward and downward. Bridge Street fell into Pennicent Street, the main thoroughfare of Seatown. This, more than Bridge Street, had, in eighteenth century days, known a gay and polished life. The street ran beside the Pol and was bounded from it only by a thin gray wall. The waters of the Pol ran sluggishly and with a strange blue iridescence. The houses were reflected in that water, dark, at odd angles, with strange marks of personality, living and sinister things like the buildings in a Meryon etching. ; Here were ruin and destruction, indeed. Once, maybe, these houses had had their gardens running to the river’s edge gay with flowers. Grubby remnants of gardens truncated by the intersecting street remained and in one there were even the ruins of a sun-dial. Little alleyways ran through the houses and behind them. Beyond the open doorways dark passages gaped and shaky wooden staircases could be discerned Here, along Pennicent Street, there was more life than in Bridge Street. The fine afternoon called the people out and, like figures painted on some screen, they hung motionless against the stealthy background, sitting on the river wall, on steps, leaning against doors, slipping in and out of passages. They stared at Harmer John as he passed. Because of his height and breadth and swinging walk he always commanded interest wherever he went. He turned round once and smiled at two children and they ran silently into the house behind them. He spoke to a man leaning against a wall: “A splendid day,” he said, but the man gave him no answer, only stared. & he went anger rose in his heart, a strange confused anger new to_ his experience. He hated and loathed this place and he hated and loathed the indifference of the people above them who made this place possible. Those sleek overfed Canons and their superior patronizing women! Then he remembered that only an hour or two before he had been loving these people and praising them for their kindness; so then his anger swung round upon himself. How was he better than they? He, busied about his little selish money-making schemes, and he had been here for months and had _ not bothered to come near the place. As_he smelt the smells, saw the tattered rags that stuffed the windows, saw the filthy children tumbling in the puddles with the mongrel dogs, there was a great pain at his heart, a pain that in some way, instinctively he knew, would never let him go again. He had stopped, without definite conscious ness, in front of a building rather moré tottery and damp-scarred than its neighbors Some impulse moved him to penetrate the black passage and then, scarcely conscious of his own movement, he started to climb the rickety staircase. Here silence indeed engulfed him. Almost frightened at the sound of his own footfall he paused. As he stayed there in that gathering dark it seemed to him that if he moved higher he was taking a step that would change all his future life Should he go up or should he go down? fantastic fear held him; it was even as though some one laid a hand on his coat and bade him descend. So soon as he recognized this as tear the choice was settled. He moved forward but, even as he moved, he knew that he had taken some decisive step. EACHING a landing he found on his leit After a moment's pause, were under the ished it a closed door. moving still as though he direction of an outside power, he pt open and entered. A room with some o! the panes of the window broken, with a large dirty bed covered with sacking at d « thin torn sheet, a smaller bed by the side of 1t 1n which a little girl was lying, some broke! chairs, some bottles, some dirty plates on 4 table that had only three legs, a tall Ut woman with a long pale face stand! ry the end of the bed, her hand to her throat her eyes wide but not startled, all tl ¢ at once realized. - “T beg pardon,” he said taking off h (Continued on page 130)

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eae a Ww ew ee eee ae ty Ye ae for JANUARY PALM BEACH Here Elizabeth Arden has opened her Salon in a new and picturesque setting—_the Via Mizner. A course of Treatments will prevent your sun- burn from coarsening the texture of your skin. And here you need W aterproof Cream, to keep you lovely though swimming Smart shops all over the South carry Eliz- abeth Arden’s Venetian Toilet Prep- arations, BIARRITZ 2 rue Gambetta, what a charming address that is! An Elizabeth Arden Salon is there, for the smart women who winter at Biarritz know the im- portance of caring faithfully for the skin in sunny climes. The Arden Preparations are sold in good shops all over Europe. CALIFORNIA Press agents of California will prob- ably deny that the California weather can do anybody any harm. But strangely enough the demands of fad ing and despairing women persuaded Elizabeth Arden to establish Salon in San Francisco and Los Angeles, and to pl ice her Preparations on sale everywhere throughout the region— and so you can draw your own con- clusions about that. 1926 —~ - }, like it hot. Some like it cold. Everyone is rushing either north or south. Trunks packed with furs. Trunks full of chiffon. For half the fun of holidays is in looking awfully smart. Are you going South? Or are you going North? Or maybe you are packing to go around the world? No matter where you go—or if you stay at home—remember that a weather change is horrid to your skin. And so—take along a generous supply of Elizabeth Arden’s Venetian Toilet Prepa- rations, and rejoice in the fact that you can buy the ones you forget wherever you step off your train or boat ELizaBETH ARDEN Aas placed her Venetian Toilet Preparations and Babani Perfumes on sale at smart shops the world over re nee wonton ree me A | AMEE RN AN I OC RE LE nae com Care faithfuily for your skin on your travels, to prevent roughness, chapping, dryness and wrinkles Ke) ¢ 4 ELIZABETH ARDEN NEW YORK, 673 FIFTH AVENUE 25 OLD BOND STREET, LONDON 2 RUE DE LA PAIX, PARIS © 1926, ELIZABETH ARDEN 135 CANNES The famous sunshine of the Riviera is all very well in poetry. But on the fragile tissues of your beauty it wreaks ugly harm. And so Elizabeth Arden has a Salon in Cannes, to keep you lovely as this colorful background de- mands. And her Preparations Miss Arden has on sale in every important Mediterranean port. ROUND THE WORLD Almost everywhere that ships go— in every important port of the world — Elizabeth Arden’s Preparations are on sale. Fancy stepping off the dock in Ceylon and finding your favorite Orange Skin Food waiting for you! You can do that at all sorts of places. In Africa, in India, China, Japan, Jerusalem, Australia, Hawaii — everywhere that people go. COLD PLACES If you are packing for places where you will skate and ski, take one warning glance at the Esquimaux’ skins. Do you want to come back to the events of spring society looking like that? Then, guard your skin with soothing creams before and after every snowy excursion. Elizabeth Arden’s Preparations are sold in the winter sport resorts—Lake Placid, Canada, St. Moritz and the rest— all over the world.

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a a pena ene inte eS il seams eee a _— ——— I might say that I have been more than pleased with the goods which I have been purchasing from you. April 15,1925 E.V.C., Peoria, Ill. Justa yearago you sent me seven yards of No. 23 Brown, which I have worn a great deal and al- ways with much delight. Theunusualtextureand appearance of the cloth has several times been commented upon. On one occasion a lady, whom I met casually, looked at the cloth very intently, then touched it and asked me where it had come from. I told her, saying it was hand- woven, and she said: ‘**I thought so. The cloth seemed to speak to me.”’ C.S., San Francisco, Cal. May 20, 1925 The piece of brown flecked with blue was made up by the tailor into what my husband says is the best-looking dress I'’veeverhad. Andit isaconstantreminderof your many kindnesses. Mrs. E. E. A., Brighton, Mass. May 12, 1925 The gray~blue fabric purchased a year ago I have worn steadily once or twice a week ever since. When cleaned it always looks like new, and shows no signs of wear as yet. May 21, 1925 F.S.K., New York Biltmore Grove Park Inn The Weave Shed. Weaving Biltmore Hand-woven Homespun Enclosed please find a check settling my ac- count with you. Noneed to commenton the mer- its of your goods. My father has had several suits made out of your stuff, and I trust I shall find it as satisfactory as he did. A.C. W., Hartford, Conn. May 16, 1925 My Homespun suits are immensely pleasing and stand some very hard wear. W.H.R., New Haven, Conn. April 22, 1925 I have been wearing suits made from your medium weights for sev- eral years and have found nothing, unless it be the more expensive English suitings, which compare with it in both wear and in retaining shape. G.W.R., Watertown, N.Y. June 4, 1925 Biltmore Homespuns are not rough and shaggy—they are rugged and strong, but are as beautiful and refined as only hand work can make them. They are made in every color and shade—every color is absolutely guaranteed,and ef meee mee g Home- spun is returnable if not damaged or cut, The cloth is woven entirely by hand. We have been doing it the same way for twenty- five years and have mever woven a yard of cloth except on looms we have built by hand in our own wood shops. The weaving is all done by native men. We have four weights: **Regular,”’ a very substantial, closely woven cloth, weighs about 7'4 to8 ounces to the yard, 28 to 30 inches wide. ‘Light Weight,’’ precisely the same yarn, but has 300 less threads to the same width and weighs about 6 ounces tothe yard. Woven more loosely and is an ideal weight for la- dies’ suits. *‘Overcoat,’’ threethreads drawn together, making a triple thread. Overcoat cloth is of a wonderful texture and weighs about 14 ounces to the yard. “Scotch Blackface’’— Made of genuine Scotch Blackface wool, imported from Scot- land, Ideal for men's golf suits, business suits and ladies’ coats. All Biltmore Homespuns are precisely the sameon either side. We have seen men’s suits that had been worn twoand three years, then turned inside out and made over. Regular weights Light weights Overcoat weights Scotch $3.20 per yard Seven to eight yards are required for a lady’s suit. Samples costing us 10 cents each will be sent on request. All orders direct to you by parcel post. Industries Asheville, N. C. HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN New Novel (Continued from page 134) “T don’t hope Then he paused. What had he to say? For what reason was he there? The woman said nothing. She made no movement at all. He stood beside the door, smiling. The room smelt musty, of unwashed flesh, stale beer, cabbage, sickness, medicine, bad breath. The sight of the child touched him instantly. He forgot the room, the woman. He adored children always, one as another, good or wicked, weak or strong, noisy or quiet. He went over to the small bed. The little girl was, perhaps, five or six years of age. Her hair, jet black, was scattered over the pillow; her face, tiny for her age like the face of a doll, was peaked with weariness and pain. She was not asleep: her eyes moved drearily from right to left, from left to right. He bent forward and picked her up, then, with almost the same movement, wrapped the blanket about her, sat down on one of the chairs and held her close to him feeling her hot little body through the thin nightdress. The child laid its head quite naturally against his breast and its hand moved forward and caught his. It thought perhaps that he was the doctor. ““What’s the matter?” he asked the woman. “Tt’s ’er ’ead,” the woman answered. “Terrible ache in ’er ’ead. The doctor can’t do nothing. Says we came to ’im too late. She’s dying. Poor worm, too.” The woman burst into low passionate sobs. She still stared in front of her, but the tears trickled down her face as though she were powerless to stop them and did not care. She showed no surprise at his presence nor at his holding the child. It was as though she had known him always. Very gently he stroked the girl’s forehead. Ever since he could remember there had lain special power in the touch of his hands. How many he had cured ere now of headache, neuralgia, and such ills! His hands were strong and gentle, but also something ema- nated from him, something of his own strength and fortitude and tenderness. Over children and animals especially he had great command. The little girl moved at first restlessly; once she looked up and stared into his face as though asking him a question, then, with a deep sigh, she settled down in his arms. His hand moved backward and forward across her forehead. He did not speak nor did the woman. Shedid not move. Over all the house there stood silence. For a long time his hand moved, then, the child deeply sleeping, he took her and laid her gently in the bed. The woman drew a deep breath. “She ain’t slept, not to call it sleeping, for days and days,” she whispered, gazing down at the child. She looked up at him wonderingly. He did not want to embarrass her. He would have liked to give her money, but thought that she might be proud, so he only said: “T shall look in to-morrow, sha’n’t I?” He gave her a bow, walked to the door, turned back once to look at the child, and went out. HE little episode had relieved him for the moment of some of his anger. He must have been in that room a long while; when he was again in the street the sun had vanished behind the houses and long amber shadows engulfed the distance. Then, once more looking about him, his anger came full tide. The dirt, the misery, the degradation! He stood, his legs apart, his arms moving, as though, like Samson, he would pull the whole place about his ears even though himself were crushed in the ruins. “Good evening, Mr. Johnson,” a voice said in his ear. ‘Who would expect to find you down here?” It was Samuel Hogge. Not strange that it should be. Johanson had had an odd sense for the last month or so that the man had an eye on him, watched his movements, followed him, insisted on some strange relationship with him. The very fact that this was the only man in all the world whom he, Harmer John, hated gave their relation some queer extra twist. A tie of melodrama so that he always saw Hogge as some one unreal, out of drawing. This meeting now jerked his passion to a heat unusual to him. This man owned most of these houses. It was due to him rather than to any other that they were as they were ‘You’ve got a nice place down here,” he said turning round upon him. “Charming : g place—healthy and with every modern improvement. I congratulate you.” Hogge stood quite close to him, his hat tilted back on his head, smiling friendly and gently. : “Now come,” he said. “It isn’t all mine you know.” ‘ “Oh, aren’t it?” Johanson was shaking with anger. “You’ve had plenty to do with it though, with this dirt and ugliness and smell. You’re proud with it, are you not? You look at it and smile and say: ‘I’m a fine man, I! I make plenty of money from their sores and sickness and tears. I’m a clever man, am I not? I blind and deafen them up there in the Town Council so that they don’t inquire too much and too often, and I find a Canon or two to buy a house or two and then it all looks respectable. I have the finest slum in all England I have! The dirtiest and smelliest and most dangerous with disease, so that all the children die and the dogs feed in the gutters. I are a splendid man. Every one’s keen at me. I will be decorated one day for the fine things I do.’” 7 UT Hogge was not at all annoyed. He looked at Johanson in the friendliest fashion. “Now see here, Mr. Johnson, don’t get all worked up. And take a word of advice from me. You’ve been abusing me, haven’t you, so you've given me the right in a kind of way to give you some warning. You're a foreigner. You've been in this country only a few months, Every one’s been nice to you and likes what you’re doing for the town. Well and good. Well and good. So long as you’re dealing with what you understand it’s all very handsome. You’re good at the massage business. You understand about it, which no one else in this place does, and it’s good for the town that you’ve come here. I'll grant you that. But you don’t understand everything, and my advice to you is to keep your nose out of what don’t concern you. You begin messing round here and you’re asking for trouble—” “Trouble! Trouble!” Johanson broke in. “You dare to talk to me of trouble and you let this go on, you make money of it, you—” “Very well—very well,” interrupted Hogge, patiently. ‘Grant that I’m a scoundrel. By your beautiful lights I dare say I may be. But I’m not talking about myself. I’m talk- ing of yourself. I’m in no danger that I need to worry about, but you are. You start fussing round in places that aren’t your business and you see the sort of trouble you raise for your- self! Lord! What do you know of English social conditions or the way people live here or want to live? And you've got no poor in your own beautiful country, I suppose? Paradise there, ain’t it? I don’t think.” Johanson answered more quietly. “You think you can frighten me. You can’t. You think I’m talking of things I don’t know. It’s true I’m a foreigner and it’s true I don’t know English social conditions, but I know enough with my eyes to see this are wicked and I’m going to make other people see, too. “And I say you are a dirty scoundrel be- cause you see how filthy this is and encourage it being filthy so you make more money out from it. That is the foulest thing a man can do. Any man would feel the same as me if he could see what I see, and so he shall see! Hogge stepped backwards. He stood, feet apart, his hands deep in his trouser pockets. “So you're going to down me, are you?” he said. “Well, Mr. Preaching Parson, try it and see.” With a nod not unfriendly he strode off down the street. (To be continued in the February issue)

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138 OF that fellours Fickle Fashion ASHIONABLE shoes are created to conform to every changing mode... each new model has its definite place in the wardrobe of Fashion. For this reason, women of discernment realize the advisability of selecting footwear designed and man- ufactured by Andrew Geller. NDREW GELLER 1656 Broadway ~ol] Four Other New York Stores k Made at 240-244 Broadway Brooklyn New York HARPER’S BAZAR THE HOUSE OF ENCHANTMENTS E. Barrington’s Story Continued from page 67) Sally looked at her with pleading eyes of darkest blue. “Mamma, I think Maria should have left this to me. My last thought was to hide it, though I would not write, for ’twas impossible to explain without seeing you. Maria shouldn’t say we are engaged, for how could that be unless you had consented? But he says he loves me, and I love him. Mrs. Siddons wrung her hands in the Lady Constance gesture. Not that she was not dreadfully perturbed, but her emotion must always take the most beautiful, most disci- plined, expression. What on earth would Mr. Siddons say? .Even if a father does not pay the houschold bills, he is still a father, and neither once nor twice had “ Sid” lifted up his voice in the wilderness against the unfortu- nate proximity of that handsome young Law- rence’s studio in Greek Street. Not even the most prophetic parent can foresee the future and if any one had told Mr. Siddons that he beheld the celebrated Sir Thomas, President of the Royal Academy, sought, followed, flattered by the greatest, in the handsome debt-burdened artist of Greek Street, he would have smiled superior and bolted his hall door the faster. But what can a man do against the united women of his household? Nothing. Mrs. Siddons cared little about the future, but she almost adored the handsome irresponsible creature who regarded her beauty and genius as something to be watched, studied, and worshiped as the very exposition of divine loveliness on earth. He was always at the house, hanging about them luxurious as a tame cat, laughing with her and her daugh- ters, nursing and drawing the baby Cecilia, sketching the beautiful three singly or together in every attitude that caught his eye, taking them, one and all, as heaven- sent inspirations for all he ever hoped to offer the world as the fruits of his own genius. It was a family joke that he was in love with the whole family from the mother down- ward, and certainly if any ingredient of that threefold philter had been withdrawn his art would have been so much the poorer. But there was a kind of unwritten law that the love was to be always thus divided, not con- centrated. It was to spread like mellow sunshine over all the happy household, and Lawrence must remain an honorary son and brother, more assiduous, worshiping, and tender than any brother could be, and as safe, as reliable. N VAIN Mr. Siddons had warned and protested. “Tt’s very unlike your unusual good sense, Sarah, to have that young Lawrence per- petually hanging about the house. He’s the handsomest young fool I ever clapped an eye on, and the most inflammable. As sure as I sit here there'll be trouble with the girls. It isn’t in a woman’s nature to resist the way he Jooks at ‘em. ‘Ah, that’s just where it’s safe, Sid,” cried Mrs. Siddons. ‘*The way he looks at them both, as you say. I own if he looked at either with that peculiar expression of his, half ardent, half melancholy, I should have my fears. But he’s just the same, be it Sally or M: aria, or even their old mother—” “Well, all I can say is—take warning! That kind of man goes through the world breaking hearts and losing his own, and the danger is that he really does lose it and thinks every time that he has lost it forever. Don’t I know »kind! He's six times more danger- ous th the average rake, because he'll honestly believe himself in love and the unfortunate object of his passion will see him through his own eyes and believe it too. I'd sooner have a Charles Surface in the house than he. Not half so dang es, This kind always thinks he’s caught the Adorable, and then he goes on to the next. But Mrs. Siddons had never attached any importance to = l’s judgment, considering him rather a dull earth-bound individual, and her daughters were her own charge and not his. Now the blow had fallen ‘; ally, you alarm me more than I can say,” she said gravely. ‘Sure, you mistake Law- rence altogether. I dare be sworn he loves you, but so he does re, and Maria. I trust in God so pleasant and innocent a relationship is not to be spoiled by any foolish coquetry on your part.” Maria listened, hungry-eyed, while the pink on Sally s cheek deepened ‘I don’t know that my mother ever had cause to accuse me of coquetry. I know he loves you and Maria, and ‘tis ni rong I should love him the better for that, but I am his choice, the choice of his heart, and though he and I know there can be no talk of marr ge yet and though there’s no fixed engagement, still ‘Impossible!’ cried Mrs. Siddons again. ‘I had an ill-divining heart as I returned. A ense of misfortune beset me. Sally, I beseech you, view the matter with your own good sense and let it be buried in oblivion. Let ys return to the pleasing innocence of the old days. I can’t face your papa with it. I can’t indeed.’ Silence that covered no consent on Sally’s part. She touched her mother’s hand softly but said not a word. After a while—* Mamma, you're tired, and no wonder. I would not have you troubled now. Let it rest and he shall talk to you and you'll consider. But now, come up-st: - and take off your bonnet and [ll unpack and you'll tell me your triumphs. Put it all away for a while.” ; Mrs. Siddons suffered herself to be led out of the room and presently a closing door and light feet overhead told that Sally had the matter in hand and was providing for her mother’s comfort. ARIA moved to the window again and stood looking out, leaning against the sash and restlessly watching the lime tree and its sparrows. Quick feet on the stairs, and the door opened softly and a head came round the corner, a young man’s head, light and bright and most beautiful. “Has she come, Maria? Am I in time to welcome her?’ Maria swung round and all her face flamed into dangerous loveliness. Well might poor Sid foresee the consequences of such a presence in his house! Let no one take my word for this young man, nor think my description the art of a writer who will have none but stars among his actors. It seldom happens that the hero is truly heroic and I will own that Lawrence might have been home ‘ly and yet as dangerous to feminine peace. But his contemporaries bear witness that Luck had been his fairy godmother and had fallen in love with him herself. Artists fe Ban 1 that they wished no better model for warrior or young god; face and figure alike perfect, an exquisite fencer and dancer. Writers spoke of his quick sensibilities where their art was concerned, musicians hailed him as a brilliant violinist and singer. And women—women knew too well, though they too little understood, his instant susceptibility to charms of theirs, and found him irresistible. And this was Thomas Lawrence, whose pictures are still the jewels of the great collectors. Even now his fascina- tion lingers vicarious in the portraits he painted and the world cannot forget him if it would. “You're never too late nor too early,” Maria said. ‘Always just right. Sally is with her up-stairs and they'll be here presently. Sit down.’ “Was the tour a success? But indeed I've seen some of the journals. What else could it be? Your mother’s a feast for the real Olympians, Maria—not only for the gallery gods. I don’t suppose there was ever such a woman with such beauty and genius com- bined, in all the world’s history from begin- ning to end. Heavens, such elegance! If the Queen could enter a room like your mamma It’s the short torso and the length from kr to ankle that does it. You have it too, M: Sally has it—and makes you three Graces. Graces, indeed! Not one of them had your mother’s great lovely eyes of velvet brown, and Sally’s blue—the real ocean blue—not harebell, and—”’ And mine?” asked the girl, cutting short this rh upsody fi. fixing him with two deep wells of darkness, tragic in their midnight lashes. “Stop! Stay one minute!” he cried, diving into his pocket for a small sketching lock. ‘“‘Maria, you're divine like that— divine. Unbend your upper lip. Let it tremble a little. Your small face—your eyes overflow it with darkness, and the lashes— droop them more. ‘The pensive maid— What is it Cowley says? No—don't stir. I never saw you so lovely.” |S phe the praised eyes brimmed over, the lip quivered in bitter earnest, and pu I up two thin hands for a shield she sobbe could not cease. ** Good God, what have I done! Monster that I am! Down went the block, the pencil after it, and Lawrence was on his knees before her chair. F ‘Maria, don’t cry. My poor, poor girl. “I’m not your poor girl. [I’m nobody s girl.” Her words were breathless with sobs. “Sally has you, and she’s mamma’s t I can’t help loving her myself, and no one no one loves me. “But we all love you,” he protest« 1. “Who in the world could help loving anything so beautiful? Your eyes—O if you cou ee your own eyes, and the stars they are the cloudy lashes when you look up. At n Sally’s mouth is not so exquisite as the tiny dimples you have at each corner— just tl where the lips are so finely cut (Continued on page 140) pe tat Ae

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THE HOUSE OF HARPER’S BAZAR ENCHANTMENTS. E. Barrington’s Story (Continued from page 138) He touched them like a lover, a butterfly touch that set her quivering. “But you know you mustn’t cry, Maria. It makes you ill and then you're not so perfect.” She passed that by, gazing at him mourn- fully with tears gemming the silky lashes. There was a desolate sweetness in her expres- sion that went to his heart. “Don’t look like that, I beseech you, child.” He took her hand and pressed it against his heart. ‘‘When Sally and I are married you shall be often with us and I'll paint you—’ “Cruel, cruel!” she said, and snatched her hand away, drawing back in her chair. She leaned her head against the velvet and fixed him with a silent gaze. How many things it spoke! His heart knew that language too well. Still kneeling he looked up at her, and so they remained for what seemed a long time to both. Presently she rose. He caught her hand and kissed it as she went by, but she never looked back and, passing out, closed the door and left him alone. He came in again at evening time when the family sat about the round table and Maria made tea in the heavy old silver teapot, eclipsed by the massive urn presented to Lady Macbeth by a parcel of enthusiasts. A steam like that from the witches’ caldron, but pete innocent, veiled her face as he entered and her little greeting passed unnoticed amid the general stir. Sid was cold. He would have liked that first evening of his wife’s return to be a family gathering, and Harry Siddons, the only son at home, had never been one of Lawrence’s following. Sid’s pinch of snuff was delibera- tiv e. ‘We scarcely expected to see you to-night, Mr. Law rence,” said he. “Very obliging of you to drop in.” “Bright shines the sun that welcomes Mortimer!” Mrs. Siddons put in, nervously bridging the chasm. But Lawrence was never one to see a rebuff unless it suited him. He drew up his chair and took his cup from Maria and shot a glance at Sally and besieged the eldest of the Graces with eager questions as to her triumphs. ““O that I had seen you!” he said. ‘‘There’s not a performance of yours, madam, that I would miss if incling ition would but carry me. Each one missed is an inspiration lost. Tis to breathe a diviner air, to move in the large utterance of the early gods. O, madam, what has the world done to be worthy of such genius!” His eyes glowed on her, and though Sid grunted, she could not resist the homage of words and look. There is no doubt that Mrs. Siddons, though after a different fashion from her two daughters, was also bewitched and swept off her stately feet into the rapids of devotion and admiration for these dangerous fascinations. It is a singular fact, but true, that in their secret hearts Mrs. Siddons, Sally, and Maria each believed herself to be the object of his deepest admiration, conceal it how he would. Naturally in the mother’s case she admitted the seeking of youth to youth, yet imagined it was the radiance of her own gifts and graces which had been the first magnet to draw him to their circle. Indeed, it may well have been so, and some who knew protested that it was the Kemble type he found irresist- ible whether in either daughter or the more lovely mother, who was but fourteen years his senior when all’s said and done. N ATTERS halted for a few days over the 4 engagement, he pressing nothing, and Sally agreeing that the discussion should be postponed until her mother was better pre- pared to deal with it. It was then that she was called away for a fortnight to help Mrs. Piozzi, whose daughter Cecilia was taken suddenly ill. Sally was the one whom all turned to in trouble though she was none too strong herself from the asthma which troubled her at odd times. She saw Lawrence alone for a few minutes in the drawing-room before she started in the Piozzi carriage. His arm was about her and her head on his shoulder. ‘Mamma has promised to speak to papa when I get back, dearest. I wouldn’t hurry her, for she is so frightened of his hearing it. I grieve for the delay, but she does so much for us all that I couk In’t press he sr, could I? And yet I wish—I wish he knew.’ Was it a dim instinct in Sally’s mind that the thing would be safer when Lawrence was bound openly? Hardly that, and yet—could she ever feel sure of such a wonderful lover until he was all her own? Must not every woman who saw him envy—hate her, for her miraculous good fortune? “My treasure, no, you couldn’t press her. It’s like your sweet consideration for every one. Don’t stay away too long. Don’t over- weary yourself, and remember your Law- rence’s heart beats only for you night and day until he holds you in his arms again. Tenderest, fondest kisses, a moisture in his eyes that matched the dew in her own, and so they parted. It is safe to say there was never a doubt in Sally’s heart as me climbed sadly into the tall carriage at the door. The fortnight lengthened into three weeks and still Mrs Piozzi wrote that Sally absolutely necessary to Cecilia’s cure. “Of Sally I say, ‘she’s all the comfort the gods will diet me with.’ Sally is my darling daughter.” So she wrote and so the time went on. was HE afternoon before her return, Mrs. Siddons was re freshing her memory of the part of Mrs. Haller in the drawing-room, walking up and down, pleading with passion before the marble-topped table in the corner, hurling defiance at the crimson damask cur- tains and fixing the sofa with eyes that implored and threatened. To the full she carried out Garrick’s precept that the man who cannot make love as rapturously in rehearsal to an armchair as to the finest woman in Europe will never be an actor, and therefore she reserved none of he 'r effects for Drury Lane but was as great in her own seclusion as on the famous boards This woman’s genius has almost obscured her beauty in the minds of men, but for the moment, to the one unseen watcher, it seemed that this was genius in itself, supreme and unapproachable. She turned at the end of the long room and advanced, her dente length of limb giving her a goddess-like height which appeared to dilate in her passion to something more than human. The eyes might be velvet in repose, but excited they glared and sparkled in their deep setting like the very jewels of the soul. Her full bosom swelled to her exaltation. She flung up one lovely arm and—but the watcher could endure it in silence no longer. He threw the door wide open and entered, as transported as herself, deep calling to deep. ““Madam—madam!” he panted, and for the moment could say no more. Then: “You needed not even to speak. Your whole body is music, terrible, triumphant, soft as flutes, poignant as violins, majestic as trumpets and muffled drums. In you all the Muses meet! O, madam, in all thi is world is none like you, nor has ever been.’ Descending instantly to earth with the quick transition of the player, she smiled impe rial upon her young adorer. ‘Come in, Lawrence. I did not guess I had a listener.” “But I interrupt.’ “No, I was near done. And besides—come in and close the door. Sally returns to-morrow and I want a word with you. There’s a good deal to be settled before I speak to Mr. Siddons.” The red flushed up in his handsome cheek, and he obeyed, awkwardly enough for a man of such polished behavior. The Tragic Muse perceived it and softened her majesty. the by me here; much must be said and heard.” It is true that Lawrence was always some- what alarmed when Mrs. Siddons dropped— no, soared—into blank verse, yet less than most, for he knew her household ways in- timately. But he had especial reasons for alarm on this occasion, and all his looks implored mercy. **Madam, your most humble and adoring servant Have pity on a lover” ‘My Sally’s lover and my hoped-for son shall never want sympathy from me, but my dear Lawrence will understand that there are difficulties that we must face. Money, though mere dross and distasteful in most connections and specially in this, must be considered, and Mr Siddons is an excellent father and will demand to know your exact pecuniary status.” : ‘Madam, my solitary hope is in you. If you are on my side I must succeed; if not, the failure of all my earthly hopes is certain. And surely one of the strongest of these was to be bound to you by some tender tie which would give me the daily opportunity to feed on your bez auty and genius, and “My dear boy, you rhapsodize, and forget that you speak to a woman who if once pass: ible is now—”’ ‘I won't hear such blasphemy even from you,” cries the adorer, ‘“‘and if any man said such a villainy my fist is ready for him, won ifa woman I should decline her acquaintat And— OULD it be possible that Mr. Lawrence Ww - playing for time while he softer ned the judge-to-be with his blandishments? Who can tell? But Mrs. Siddons could be practical in household affairs. She shook her head and smile 1, but proceeded. Sally returns to-morrow, and though lik the best of daughters she postponed this matter till my mind should be more settled, it is her due that I should now be prepared to lay it before her father. Therefore, ms dear (Continued on page 155)

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SHOWING ORIGINATIONS FOR SOUTHERN REsorTs AND Earty SPRING GOWNS COSTUMES SUITS “PB. Weinstein. TN wenty ‘West Fifty Sixth Street New ( York ope 4 v i HARPER’S BAZAR WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Anita Bees’ s Story (Continued from page 117) she was a girl, had meant a succession of polite and respectable gaietics that bored her stiff. To-day, she finds everything changed for the better r. To put it in Aunt Mary’s own words: “Why, when I was a young thing, men used to get squiffy only at their clubs or at stag parties. We girls never saw any of the fun. Now I find you all getting tight together, right in your own salons, and no end of amusement! And twenty-five years ago, if a man so much as kissed a girl without proposing honorable matrimony, her father and brothers came to the rescue and arranged a military wedding, at the point of a gun. As a result, scandals were scarce and life was anemic. But to-day I find that even the classic excuse for a military wedding isn’t taken so seriously. How amusing! ‘And, in my time, people had to stick to their kind and be bored to tears. I can remember how we girls used to hear vague rumors about the matrimonial career of Lillian Russell, and if we were very, very good, mamma took us to a New Year’s matinée, and let us look at her across the footlights. What nonsense! ‘To-day, a deb can go up to the Colony restaurant, have luncheon with Texas Guinon, and get full details of all the fun, first hand. Delightful!” ND so, ment, after twenty-five years of retire- Aunt Mary has decided to reenter American Society. Aunt Mary’s attitude, however, is not shared by Emma, who still sticks to the old traditions. It was Emma who organized this morning’s session, the subject under discussion being: First: That last night Judy was out again till morning. Second: That having left the house to attend the Henry Abel-Abels’ dinner to the Dexter, she did not next day, her evening the hat- Dowager Duchess of return until 11 a. m. gown covered by the raincoat of check girl at the Hotel Astor. Third: Emma, feeling that this was a bit thick, had gone through Judy’s effects and found in her vanity case a check for two thousand dollars, made out to her daughter, and signed by the name of a strange man. “Who is this Herman Glickman, and why is he giving you two thousand dollars?” demands Emma. “Yes, why did he do it, and what’s his address?” speaks up the ex-Consul General. Judy overlooks her father’s query, which passes unnoticed, as father’s brain seldom retains long enough to follow up a comeback. “T can’t wait to learn, after all that you girls hand out for nothing, what there is left worth two thousand dollars,” says Aunt Mary. Emma now breaks into tears and turns to her husband. “‘Julian,” she says, “Julian, do something! Try to realize that your daughter’s good name has probably gone beyond recall!”’ “Just so,” says Julian, and Judy he speaks. ‘To think that you, my daughter, should so far forget her fair nz ume as to—as to—as to—” “Yes, father, go on. “What was I tz ulking about?” ‘Apple sauce,” says Aunt Mary. “Exactly—best apples in the world—right on the old van Tassell place in Rhinebeck— best hard cider in the—that reminds me— I’m due at the club.” “Sit down, Julian!” says Emma. “We are going to have the truth about last nig ht’ s business before one of us leaves this room!” turning to UDY draws herself up to her full height. ““Well—since last night was a turning point in my life,’’ she says, ‘perhaps it is just as well that you all learn something about it!” ““Go ahead,” can’t make me money’s worth.” Judy withers Aunt Mary. ‘None of you understands me! I loathe and hate our whole existence! I want to be out in the world among people who do things —but of course y« u've neve Tr. ,seemed to realize inact 2 have temperament.’ ““How dic you find that out?’ Mary. ‘It’s obvious te any one who really knows me. Why, I go pericctly mad every time I hear jazz! Every boy Ive ever dz anced with has said that I am full of temperament!” “Oh, dear, what is she talking about?” asks Emma. “You had the same thing when you were a girl,” says Aunt Mary, “only in those days we called it by its right name and the man had to marry you.” Judy overlooks her aunt completely. ‘Tempe rament, mother, is what people artists. ‘Just as often as liquor makes people Ex lgar Allen Poe,”’ says Aunt Mary. ‘What's that? Liquor?”’ speaks up Julian. ‘‘Make mine Scotch.” says Aunt Mary, “but you believe that Herman got his asks Aunt makes “Well,” says Aunt Mary, “all of these dancing boys say that you are full of tempera- ment—now where does that lead us? “What it all means is, that I hay: simply got to express myself. But, of course, you can’t understand! I never expected to get any encouragement from the family—I h; ad to go to outsiders for understanding and sympathy!” “** Outsiders’ meaning Herman Gli kman, I take it,” says Aunt Mary. “Wherever did you meet a person with a name like that?” asks Emma “Mr. Glickman knows, Eddie Goldmark, and Eddie introduced me.” MM. \ all but faints. ‘And who might Eddie be, if any- thing?” asks Aunt Mary. “Mr. Goldmark is the picture magnate,” answers Judy. “Judy,” demands her mother, “who dared introduce you to a motion- picture magnate?” “The Duchess of Dexter.” “And how, may I ask, did this motion- Picture person meet the Duchess of Dexter?” “The Queen of Ruritania introduced her to him in London, and when she came over here, of course she looked him up—” “Don’t tell me that this motion-picture person was at the Abels’ dinner to the Duchess last night!’ says Emma. “He was not! If he had been, we have stuck it to the finish.” “Do you mean to say that you left the Abels’ dinner before it was over?” ““Mother dear, that dinner was We left before the coffee. “Vou walked out of the Abe +1 the Duchess! With z “With the Duchess.’ “What?” " Mother dear, if you want Duc hess’ own words— “Oh, yes! Let’s hear the Duc hess’ own words,” says Aunt Mary. “She learned some good ones from the late King Edward whe n she was a girl.’ ‘The Duchess said, ‘If I don’t get out of this house soon, I'll be all over itch!’ ’ “Best thing for itch,” speaks up Julian, “is a rub with pure grain alcohol—get it in a drug store on Third Avenue—don’t even need a prescription—purest alcohol in the world—can put it right in your stomach!’ “And where, may I ask, did you and the Duchess go when you left the Abels’?” in- quired Emma. ‘We went to a party that Mr. Goldmark was giving to Mrs. Allister Wardley “Not the Allister Wardleys of Philadel- phia?” asks E mma. “Of course! ““And what is an Allister Wardley doing with a-a-a-Goldmark?” gasps Emma. “She took him away from the Countess Menander,”’ answers Judy. Emma staggers to a chair. “T am stronger than you, Emma,” says Aunt Mary, “let me go on with this,” and turning to Judy she asks what happened next. “Well, I met Mr. Goldmark, and danced with him, and he told me that I was fairly bursting with temperament. He said that I would register 100 S. A, i in Holly wood.’ “Ves? And what is ‘too S. A.’ ““S, A. stands for sex appeal, a 100 is the highest they can give you, even in Holly- wood—and you know what a compliment Mr. Goldmark paid me, when he only gives Lowell Sherman 75.” Emma wants} to know if the above-men- tioned gentleman is a connection of the Lowells of Massachusetts and the Shermans of Georgia. “Mother dear, if you knew all about the drama,” says Judy, “‘you would know that Lowell Sherman is a _ perfectly divine actor, and when he played Casanova, seven girls were expelled from Miss Blake- ley’s.” famous motion- might ghastly! di inner to vhom, may I ask? hear the anything at EM™: A, knowing nothing of the drama, is silenced. “Well—Mr. Goldmark said that it would be a crime for me not to have a career—an¢ he said that if I could come down to Florida next month, he could give me a part in a movie, but you know how much chance there is for me to get to Florida, where one has to pay bills, unless one goes on a grand scale, which I can’t.” “T thought these movie queens were highly paid persons,”’ says Aunt Mary. Juli in awakes with a jerk ; “Bring ‘Movie queens?”’ he exclaims. ’em in!” ‘They are highly paid after they . started,” answers Judy, ‘‘and this would Aunt Mary, it’s 4 I would g et worked! Believe me, great opportunity. Just think, twenty -five dollars every day I ‘And how often would you work?’ “Well, Mr. Goldmark says at day a week.” (Continued on page 7414) my start. sreast one —2,

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for J ANUARY 1926 143 he WOMAN who works Youth Miracles on society's most famous faces B discovering the 3 tell- tale places where age first shows on a woman's face, and then correcting them by scientific treatments and exclusive preparations, Dorothy Gray became one of the world’s most famous beauty specialists. What she does and how.

67% of all women past 25 and 90% past 35 reveal one or more of these conditions HERE are three places —weak places—on a woman’s face which un- erringly reveal one’s years. Cor- recting them makes a difference that is almost unbelievable. By developing a unique treat- ment and scientific prepara- tions erasing them, Dorothy Gray became beauty mentor to scores of the most important women, socially and financially, both in Europe and America. Scarcely an important name in the international social register but has yielded to her amazing ministrations. 67% of all women past 25, according to experts, show one or more of these three facial conditions. Almost 90% of women past 35 revea! them. Ordinary beauty methods have failed in correcting them. That is why the battle against age, regardless of precautions taken, has largely been a losing one. Now by the perfection of new and radically different treatments and_ preparations, its been proved, virtually beyond question, that those conditions are responsive to correction. In proof of it experts now point out that those percent- ages do not apply to the wealthier women except in a small degree.

DOROTHY GRAY 5

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Lees s HARPER’S BAZAR WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Anita Story (Continued from page 142) “Judy, you are not only chuck-full of S. A. but you’re a financial genius besides!’ : “T don’t understand it at all,” says Emma, “but it sounds like Bolshevism.” ‘““Speaking of Russia,’’ says Julian, “best vodka in the world—right over on Fifty- third Street! Sixty dollars a case! Grand Duke Alexis has more customers than he can supply.’ Judy yawns and looks at her wrist-watch, which so far has been a total loss to the firm of Carlier. “T’ve an engagement at one- thirty,”’ she says, “‘so you'll please make this inquisition as short as possible. “You're not going one step out of this house,’’ says Emma, “without taking your aunt or myself along.” fother, don’t be stupid!” says Judy. ‘The first place I’m going is to the Joshua Aldersons’ luncheon for Bishop Small, and Heaven knows nothing could possibly happen to me there! Emma cocks her eye at her daughter. “Judy,” she says, ‘“‘now you are lying to me! I know very well that not even wild horses could drag you to old lady Alderson’s!” * Mother,” answers Judy, ‘“‘you don’t seem to realize that last night was a turning point in my life. From now on, I am going to accept every stupid, exclusive invitation that comes my way. ‘ ““What’s all this?’’ asks Aunt Mary. “It’s perfectly simple,’ says Judy. “This morning I went to see one of the brainiest publicity women in New York, Miss Stein- bach. I told her that I was going in for an artistic career and asked if she would under- take my publicity and she said that she would on one condition, and that was, that I give her something to work on. Because, you see, the only talking point she has on me is a purely social one. So she said that I would have to change my mode of life and go to exclusive parties now and then, so as to give her some- thing to get her teeth into. Because she also handles other artists—Ann Pennington, for instance—and she says that as matters stand now she doesn’t see much difference between my career and Ann Pennington’s, except that Ann Pennington knows how to dance.” MMA is too dazed to come out of this tangle of cross-thought without help. So Aunt Mary jumps into the bre: ich “Well, Emma,” she says, “half the women in society are going in for the—mm—Aris, and as far as I’m concerned, I'm all for it! It makes the world a brighter and funnier place to live in. What if a career is only an alibi for being rowdy? At least, it’s better rang Mgr rowdy without one And, as I take it, this Steinbach woman is the only person ci <A ‘ble of keeping Judy in respect: ible company for even a small portion of the day. Put your brains to work, Emma, and give it some thought!” “Oh, dear,” says Emma, “I don’t know what to think—after all that happened to Judy last night—”’ “Well, buck up, Emma,” says Aunt Mary, ““we haven’t yet heard all that happened, and it may get worse.’’ Then turning to Judy, she continues, ‘You have accounted successfully for about half the night. What happened next? I'm dying to know!” ““Well—Mr. Goldmark and Mrs. Allister Wardley and the Duchess and two gentlemen and I—” ‘Do I know the two gentlemen?” asks Emma, hoping against hope that they may be in the Social Register. ‘They were Damon Giles and Spottiswood Irving,” says Judy. “‘ They are interior decora- tors, and the Duchess adores them! Yes, I know,” says Aunt Mary. ‘“‘When she’s out with the two together, she feels she has a man about.” ‘They are artists, Aunt Mary!” ‘Ah, yes—I always forg zet that we are moving in the realm of Art! *‘Well—the six of us went up to the Love Nest.” “Whose love nest?” asks Julian. “The Love Nest is a divine cabaret in Fortv-eighth Street. Well, by seven o'clock, Mr. Goldmark and I were left alone and we had.a long, serious talk “What became of the other Art lovers?” asks Aunt Mary ‘Aunt Mary, have you got to know every insignificant thing that happened last night?” asks Judy. “If anything happened last night that was insignificant, go on and tell your mother. It might cheer her up.” **Well, while Mr. Goldmark was out getting more Scotch—” “Yes yes—” speaks up Julian. ‘A waiter was rude to Spottiswood ‘And what did the waiter do to Spottis- wood?”’ ‘Well, you see, Spottiswood told the waiter to remove an electric candelabra, because he is very sensitive to light effects, and he con- sidered that the Duchess was badly lit ‘Lit!’ exclaims Julian. ‘‘Good for her!” “So then the waiter refused and he called Spottiswood a name. “What name?” “Well, a name the it Means a man interior decorator.’ “Oh, dear,’ says Emma, what you’re talking about into all of this detail?” “T wouldn’t miss at word of it for money,” says Aunt Mary. “And what did Spottis- wood do then?” “Well, Aunt Mary,” says Judy, “he got into an argument with the waiter, and if you have got to know every single word of it, I'll try to remember.” “Go ahead,’ says Aunt Mary, you hold out on me!” Well—Spottiswood was very dignified but he told the waiter that if he knew any. thing at all about history, he would realize that every great man who ever lived was an interior decorator at heart.’ “What?” asks Aunt Mary. ** Spottiswood knows what he is talking about, because he has gone into the subject thoroughly, and he said that when he visited Stratford-on-Avon, he proved to himself that Shakespeare may have spent his spare time writing the drama, but it was not for nothing that his house looks like a hich class gift shop on the Boston Post Road.” es, yes, goon! “Well, he also said that one trip to Mount Vernon had convinced him that winning a few battles didn’t interfere with George Wash- ington being able to put the right rag rug where it was needed. And as far as Napoleon was concerned, any one who had ever been to Malmaison could sec at a glance that he knew where to put a dash of Empire blue to get the effect he was looking for. And then the waiter got rude “Oh, goody! And what did the waiter do?” “Well, he called to one of the other waiters and said, ‘Come on over and look at what just said that George Washington embroid- eres d the Constitution on a tea cosy.’”’ “Delightful! And what happened then? “Well, the Duchess was furious and sent for the proprietor, wino was perfectly charming about it all, but he couldn’t do anything, because the waiter was the personal represen- tative of the prohibition officer in that Dis- trict, so he suggested that as long as Spottis- wood and Damon got on the waiter’s nerves, we had better go to another place. So the two boys and the Duchess went on to Childs, but Isabel Wardley and I had to wait for Mr. Gol Imark to come back.”’ *‘ And did he bring the Scotch?” Every once in a while Julian astou family by a real feat of memory. -who isan “TI don’t know do we have to go “and don’t ” asks Julian. nds his ELL,” says Judy, “‘it finally got late, so we started away, but as wewere going out Isabel fell up-stairs and strained her scar “Her what?” “She had her face lifted two weeks ago, and it isn’t healed yet. SO we had to take her home to put ice on it, and then Mr. Gold- mark and I went to the Astor Hotel for break- fast, and I accepted his offer to work in the movies, but I told him that I would simply have to have money to get to Florida—and then he suggested Mr. Glickman.” “Why didn’t this Goldmark person offer to be your banker, since he is rich, and you are So full of S. A.?” asks Aunt Mary “Mr. Goldmark said that he would be glad to finance my career, but he is crazy about Isabel W ardley, and she is viole ntly jei arene so he wouldn’t dare. And the next best thing was Mr. Glickman.” Emma looks faint “If you want to leave the room for the remainder of this, Emma,” says Aunt Mary, “Til get — story myself and break it to you a little a time.” “No,” says Emma, “my great-great- csiettaticr niatitsedettamend I can stand it says Aunt Mary on Morristown Heights! ‘Then go on, Judy,” “Well, after breakfast, Mr. Goldmark said that the one person who could arrange matters with Herman Glickman was a lady who lives on West End Avenue so we “Wait a moment—wait a moment, says Aunt Mary, “even my old brain is begi ning to weaken! What did you say this lady was?

“She is the lady who gets girls in touch wi Herman Glickman.” “Ww hat’s her —— ’ speaks up Juliar ‘But what * breaks in Emma. ' “Emma,” says Aunt Mary, “if you had the faintest idea of what is being discussed here, I ‘d order you from the room. ‘I’m just as unhappy when I don’t under- stand, * says Emma. “Well, Judy, what happe ¥ then? “We started for West End Avenue to see this lady, and as we were leaving the Astor, the hat-check girl, who is a friend of Mr Goldmark’s, noticed that I was in evening dress and lent me her coat.” ‘The hat-check girl noticed this? And (Continued on page 140)

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146 %, *. me a © ad es 2h . ‘ wre ¢ nh ms "th4 ’ oe ° % a > * vee a ait ‘ et OFF be + * : . . ort # . ‘ mae 4, N ; mb BS SS ° wee ty + ye = , ue * + “a +. e ‘ + ¢ uy &, * - + $ . +. . ‘ >. ee . * ‘ ties. ae ars a i. 2+ Ps * aaa. on ae Po 4°+@ee > hee 27 >. ar & “S +. were ms ‘ acee 4 es ’ ee - +” * oss “ + 7 r ng Z eee wizees rd Pehber Teee ; iit . F404," es aS) " : OWNFIELD interprets the early Spring vogue for the cape-coat in a truly original manner. Ideal for Sports and informal wear. Re- flecting youth’s own charm and giving individuality to its wearer. cAt Smart Shops Everywhere FINGER-CAHN COMPANY, INC. 270 WEST 38TH STREET, NEW YORK JOWNFIELD ALL OUTDOORS COATS * SUITS ~ DRESSES HARPER’S BAZAR WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Anita Loos’s Story (Continued from page 144) where were your own powers of obser- vation? - “Our minds we re on other things.” ‘That’s right,” says Aunt Mary, “I alw uys forget that your minds are on Art. “Well, we picked up this lady at her house, and came back to Mr. Glickman’s place and then Mr. Goldmark had to leave us. So the lady introduced me to Mr. Glickman, and he was perfectly delightful, and in less than ten minutes I agreed to his proposition for two thousand « Jollars..’ “Well,” says Aunt Mary, well brace ourselves and hear the worst. was the proposition?” I hate to tell you, because you'll make a furious fuss, and it really isn’t anything at a ““we may just as What ““No—in these says Aunt Mary. ‘Well, all I had to do was to sign a paper for Mr. Glickman allowing him to use my name and pedigree and photograph in some very high-class advertisements that go only in the best magazines, together with a st: ate- ment that I had been cured of seborrhea.”’ ““What’s—seborrhea?” asks Julian. “You'll never know,” answers Aunt Mary, “because I’ve read those advertisements and they say that only a mother would tell you.” days, I notice it isn’t, HE discussion gets no further, because Emma has fainted and it takes some time to bring her to. As she regains consciousness, she murmurs instructions to Judy to remem- ber her ancestry, particularly on her mother’s side, and finally picks up enough strength to rise to her feet, order Judy to tear up the check, lock herself in her room and spend the remainder of her natural life in prayer “T knew exactly what would happen if I told you,”’ says Judy, “‘and I’m not going to stay here to be insulted by petty minds!” “No,” says Aunt Mary, “why should you, when all the high-class magazines in America will soon be on the job?” Judy turns to Aunt Mary. ‘I must say, I’m surprised at you, Aunt Mary,” she says, “I thought that you would understand.” \unt Mary thinks a moment, right through the sobs of Emma and the snores of Julian. ‘As a matter of fact, Emma,”’ she says, “‘ taking this a bit too do think you are seriously “Mary,” asks Emma, “how could it be worse?” ‘Easily,” answers Judy, “the advertise- ment says in plain English that I’ve been cured of seborrher i! Suppose I had to say I have it yet! ‘Exactly,”” says Aunt g inning to be won around.’ ‘And think of the publicity it gives me wh n I’m sté arting on a career! ‘Publicity!”” gasps Emma. To think that we—!” ‘Oh, mother,” cries Judy, “it isn’t as though I were the only one who ever did this! How do you suppose the Duchess of Dexter got money to come to America? The only income she hi is in the world is rent on her flat in London.’ “She can’t get much for that,”’ speaks up Aunt Mary, “because the view looks smack on the Albert Memoris * By “Of course!” says Judy. “The Duchess signed up for seven thousand dollars. It’s frightfully simple. Everybody’s doing it.” “But Judy,” asks Aunt Mary, ‘when the Duchess got seven thousand why did you get only two?” “Well, Aunt Mary, it’s all a comparative thing. The Queen of Ruritania gets as much as fifteen thousand, but then, you see, she is royalty Now, of course, the Duchess of De xter has a 7 famous title.” ‘Plus the O. K. of the late King Edward,” speaks up ye Mary. “Of course! But with our ancestry, all they would offer me was two thousand.” Judy shoots a dirty look at her mother. ‘That’s just the trouble with American ancestry—we all take ourselves seriously because we date back a hundred years or so! The Duchess of Dexter’s family goes back centuries, and is really worth money in an advertisement.”’ _ Mary. “T’m_be- “Publicity! 7 MMA looks dazed. Proud of race as she is, she can’t seem to think of a comeback to such definite statistics. But a strange glitter begins to light up the eye of Aunt Mary. ‘Judy,” she asks thoughtfully, “‘just exactly who is this Herman Glickman?” “Well, you see, he is very much interested in charities and it’s his job to get the debs to sign up for all the different advertisements, so that they can give the money to their favorite harities.” ‘Ah, yes, answers Aunt Mary. “I met a woman at luncheon yesterday who had sold out to silverware, stationery, bathroom fixtures, dressing-tables, curtains, cold cream, yeast, radios, lace, and radiators. The only thing the public doesn’t know about that woman is that she has a lump o r left knee—and all for charity! In fact, she just bought a new Rolls so that she can dash about more quickly from one charity to an. other.” “But,” says Emma, “T don’t believe that Judy intends giving her check to charity.” ‘Of course she does,”’ says Aunt Vf iry “only her charity happens to be the Pro. motion of S. A. in Florida.” “She can’t go to Florida,” says Emma ‘That is final! She can’t go to Florida with. out the family and we can’t afford to go.” “T have been doing some thinking.” says Aunt Mary, “and I have an idea about th: it And turning to Judy, she asks, “What's Herman Glickman’s address?” ‘Mary,” gasps Emma, “you wouldn’t—” “Tf the name of Revell is worth two thou- sand dollars, the nz ame of van Tassell ought easily to bring five! Emma, by this time, is panicky. She goes to Julian, shakes him by the shoulder and says, “Julian, wake up! Wake up! Talk to Mary! She’s going to sell the name of van Tassell!” Julian comes to. **Where’ll she find a taker?”’ he asks. Aunt Mary goes over to the console table and picks up a copy of a current magazine. As she glances through it, her eye kindles. The advertising pages are glittering with great names, just like the Social Register—only, better than the Register, they have pictures and give details, not only of a lady’s pedigree, but even, in some cases, of her plumbing. Aunt Mary enthusiastically hands the magazine to Julian and explains. Julian takes it in a trembling hand, and after dropping it twice, finally focusses, finds himself staring into the monthly “spread’” of a yeast company. “What’s this?”’ he says, and he reads out, “Famous man about town regulated by yeast! “Oh, yes,” says Judy, “I forgot the yeast company, but they only pay five hundred.” ‘Five hundred for what?” asks Julian. “For any one who’s been cured by yeast.’ ‘All right,’ says Julian, “where do I ine * ha Emma, seeing the members of her clan dropping from her one by one, begins to realize that she is on the losing side of a highly successful revolution. ‘What is society coming to? Where is pride? Where is privilege? Where is prejudice? ‘ “Where is Herman Glickman?” Mary. asks Aunt ‘That is much more to the point.” UDY digs his address out of her pocket- book, and goes off about her afternoon's affairs, which are to end in a scientific demon- stration of the effect of 100 per cent. S. A. on the American male at tea time, aided by a 90 proof substitute for tea. Emma now faces the two remaining mem- bers of her house and begs them not to sell -_ “Don't be silly, Emma,” speaks Aun Mary. “I’ve sud le nly ma ude up my mind Ito see Florida, which I can’t do on my income, in its present state. I haven't had much fun in my old life, and I’m not going to over- look anything from now on! Florida must be divine! I haven’t been so thrilled since I discovered Boccaccio at the age of eleven! Julian, get your | hat, if you're coming with me to Herman’s! Aunt Mary — picks up the magazine, opens it, turns and addresses her sister. ‘Emm: 1, don’t be a fool all your life! Here’s some magnificent coconut oil, excellent for the hair. All it needs is a life-sized re- production of that false front of yours to bring it to the attention of every salesgirl that rides the subway. Come on along!” Emma summons all of the van Tasselb dignity and pride. ‘Never!” she exclaims, “I’ve never used any thing on my hair in all my life.” ‘hen it’s about time you did,” Mary. says Aunt ‘Don’t spoil this beautiful morning by holding out on us. Why, I’m all bt ucked up! I never thought it possible, in this day and age, that our fz amily could mean so much to the community.”’ “Why, Mary, our family has always been among the first to help in any movement that—”’ ; . ‘Nonsense, ” says Aunt Mary, “ou r family hasn’t done a darn thing worthy of anybody's notice since great-grandmother carried water to the Continentals on Morristown H« ights - And, here is an opportunity for you to carry oil to those who are fighting just as hard to keep their hair!” , Emma is dazed, but the argument sounds logical. . ‘ie f y has Aunt Mary continues. If our family fas always been among the first in an are movement of the upper class, how can we He down now?” ei Emma tries to answer, but can’t think of anything to say. Aunt Mary thrusts the magazine into her (Concluded on page 1.48 a

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> . for JANUARY 1926 147 This Gives Back the Days Women Used to Lose —This remarkable NEW way supplants the uncertainty of makeshift hygienic methods with a security that is absolute by providing 3 unique features unknown before wind By ELLEN J. BUCKLAND Graduate Nurse GAY frock to be 4 dinner, a dance, perhaps an worn! a hour’s motoring besides! Yesterday that would have been a problem. Unlike her predecessors, the modern woman no longer But today it comes only as an incident. spends almost one-sixth of her time under a hygienic handicap. Modern science has discovered a safe hygiene for women. women of the better walks of life have adopted. A way that, once you try, will make a great dif- A way which eight in every ten ference in your life. Three important advantages This new way is Kotex, the scientific sanitary pad. Nurses in war-time France first discovered it. It is made of the super-absorbent Cellucotton, covered with specially processed, soft-finished gauze, It absorbs and holds instantly sixteen times its own weight in moisture. It is five times as absorbent as ordinary cotton pads, Each Kotex pad deodorizes with a new, secret disinfectant. Think of the amaz- ing protection this feature alone gives! expense, of laundry. There is no bother, no Simply discard as you would waste paper—without embarrassment. You can get it anywhere, today If you have not tried Kotex, please do. It will make a great difference in your viewpoint, in your peace of mind and your health. 60% of many ills, according to many leading medical authorities, are traced to the use of unsafe and unsanitary makeshift methods. Thus today, on eminent medical advice, mil- lions are turning to this new way. A fair test will convince you of its advantages beyond all question. No other method will ever satisfy. Kotex comes in sanitary sealed packages of twelve, in two sizes: the Regular and Kotex- Super. At all better drug and department stores, everywhere. Today begin the Kotex habit. Note the im- provements, mental and physical, that it brings. Write today for “Personal Hygiene” booklet. Sample of Kotex sent free on request. CELLUCOTTON PRODUCTS CO., 166 West Jackson Boulevard, Chicago pet , Supplied also in personal service cabinets in women’s rest rooms by The West Disinfecting Co. KOTEX PROTECTS—DEODORIZES 65c per dozen Kotex-Supet: 90c per dozen Kotex Regular: You'll appreciate these 3, factors Utter protection—Kotex ab- sorbs 16 times its own weight in moisture; 5 times that of the ordinary cotton pad, and it deodorizes, thus assuring double protection, No laundry. As easy to dis- pose of as a piece of tis- sue—thus ending the trying problem of disposal, Easy to buy anywhere.* Many stores keep them ready-wrapped in plain paper—simply help yourself, pay the clerk, that is all, No laundry—discard as easily as a piece of tissue

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Obtainable at all good stores YARDLEY 3 New Bond Stree LONDON HARPER’S BAZAR LOVE IS NOT ALL Gertrude consumed with amusement at the idea that any woman approaching middle-age could have a lover, or even the admiration of men, no matter what her opportunities or desire. When women are no longer young they excite only the chill indifference of men, is the burden of his argument. That is a typical small-caliber man’s view and induces no surprise. Women far from the centers of civilization, for instance, “let themselves go’’—go to seed, mentally and physically, settle down into comfortable middle-age even before their time. It is the result of low-pressure, tradi- tional standards. (I am well aware that there are “beauty parlors” practically every- where, but they are often rudimentary and the results are not encouraging. Moreover, the majority of the women that patronize them lack mental activity and changing interests without which massage—injurious in any case when overdone—is of no avail.) UT if our imperfect satirist had kept his eyes open he would have been com- pelled to observe, however reluctantly, that a certain type of middle-aged woman— particularly in the greater cities—was still able to hold her own against the youthful hordes in both looks and charm. Science has come to her aid and she hears and reads of it daily; witness the results. I am not alluding to Steinachism, or gland trans- plantation (which this doubting gentleman hilariously offers as the only solution); that is rarely necessary before the age of fifty. All these women are in perfect health and know all the rules of the game. They dress well, exercise, keep their figures, patronize the beauty parlors with discretion, are as active of mind as of body, bored long since with the petty aspects of life that make the woman of narrow life middle-aged at thirty, are temperate and tolerant and know how to relax and rest. They may be women of fashion or of business, authors, artists, actresses, or eternal lovers; the point is they dwell where life is at high pressure, emulation and stimulation are daily food, and opportunities are endless. To say that such women cannot have lovers if they want them is like looking at a mountain and seeing a mole-hill. I have seen women of sixty with their retinues. If my humorous critic has ever been invited to any of those celebrated Sophisticate “parties” —in New York, let us say—no doubt he received a general impression of youth, especially as there are other contribu- tions to befuddlement. But if he had suf- ficient interest or endurance to attend a number of these parties and kept himself reasonably sober, he would discover in time that many of the women were by no means as young as they looked. Grown sons and daughters are left at home on such occasions. Some of these women will never see fifty again and they look thirty. They know how to work and how to play and men accept them at their face value. They may demand nothing beyond comradeship of these com- panions in work and fun, but they have no more intention of growing or looking old than if they were slaves to love. As for women of wealth and fashion, when vanity is augmented by cleverness, and with thousands to spend on their toilettes, they put undiluted youth to the blush. Atherton’s (Concluded from page 8y) Article I have ceased to count the letters I have received since “Black Oxen” was published and I still average one a day. A very few were from women who were inspired by vanity alone. The bulk was from women journalists, teachers, women trying to “hold down jobs.” Their energies were declining under a strain never intended for woman’s frailer physique and they eagerly desired a renewal that they might carry on. Many of these letters were extremely businesslike others pathetic; but all breathed determina. tion to take advantage of this new weapon against ruthless nature, in the hope not only that they could work once more without fatigue but enjoy it with their original zest. Nothing had been farther from my mind when I wrote ‘“‘ Black Oxen” than altru- ism. E I was not even interested in the subject of rejuvenation per se. It was the dramatic theme of the old mind in the young body that captured my imagination and I worked out the story to its logical conclusion, not caring in the least whether I disappointed some readers or not. My publisher suggested that he have a standard letter written, containing necessary information, to save me the trouble of answer- ing a deluge of letters. But I did not expect to receive any, and this is quite true, surpris- ing as it may be. It did not seem possible to me that women would write to a complete stranger on a subject so secret and so personal. How could they know I would not be vain— or villain—enough to show their letters, or even publish them? But my publisher was right, although I declined his services. I have answered all these letters personally. At first I was appalled, but I had “started something,” and as many wrote that I had brought a “new hope” into their lives for the first time, “the greatest message to women of the century,” the least I could do was to answer in kind. During a particularly busy season I merely returned their letters with the address of the doctor best fitted to their needs below the signature. I have rarely had a second letter from any of them, but understand that many have taken one or other of the treatments. Some of the cases have been mentioned in bi-yearly reports to the various medical societies. One woman wrote me that it was my duty to establish a free clinic in every city in the United States, but I leave that to future philan- thropists. As it is, I nearly ruined one doctor I recommended, for he was besieged by women unable to pay his fee, but to whom the treatment might give a new lease if not of life then of energy. As he is an extremely kind as well as conscientious man he told me he was unable to turn them away. My correspondents were scattered all over the United States, England and the colonies; the majority of them, unfortunately, too far from any of the doctors I mentioned to avail themselves of their services. Those resident in large cities, particularly doctors, nurses, and teachers, had been too driven to give themselves the necessary care from the be- ginning, much less been able to rest and relax and play. But as for the other women, more fortunate, of whom in cities we see so many, they are the ones who would smile if my very limited observer of women, and imperfect sati- rist, had published his editorial broadcast. WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Anita Loos’s Story (Concluded from page 1.46) hands and continues “Consider your duty toward this excellent coconut oil, which has stood the test of half the crowned heads of Europe! Can we of the American Aristocracy do better than follow their lead? Think hard, Emma, because your answer’s got to be good!”’ Emma thinks as hard as she can, for this last argument has pierced clear through her armor of pride and prejudice. After as pro- found a consideration as Emma’s brain is capable of compassing, she speaks. Well,” she says, “I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go along with you and I will stop at a drug store and buy a bottle of the preparation you speak of, and I’ll use it, and if to-morrow morning my hair looks improved, I may even consider it my duty, as a van Tassell, to tell the world.” Considering that nothing yet invented by the mind of man could make Emma’s hair look worse next morning, this is as good as a capitulation. And so, keeping her dignity to the last, Emma joins the expedition that is to boost the house of Revell into the fore- front of the winter’s social life in Florida.

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COD DOOD OOF WO DIS YOPOSWHFOSYMF D /7] INC. GOWNS WRAPS COSTUMES SPORTSWEAR HATS + FURS NOVELTIES Ne Os: cAN EXOUISITE COLLECTION FOR PALM BEACH AND EARLY SPRING PRESENTED AMID TRULY PARISIAN ATMOSPHERE NEW SALONS 42-44 EAST FORTY-NINTH STREET NEW YORK ne andl ON THE Robert Hichens’ Novel (Continued from page 115) enlightenment. Ignorance—wisdom—which were the better lot? He was wise about Kit now, and he was glad of that. But this other wisdom? He had little appetite at dinner. The evening was hot, even sultry. And he dined out-of-doors, very late, in the courtyard. Because it was Sunday there was a crowd of people from Paris dining. Outside the high railing stood a line of motor-cars. The waiters had much todo. Nevertheless, Jack’s old friend managed to find time for solicitude. He feared that the dishes Jack had chosen were not to his liking. He feared that the wine was not quite to Jack’s taste. Could he bring something else? Madame would be distressed if Monsieur was not perfectly satisfied. All these people from Paris, though of course most of them belonged to the very best circles, were not so important in the eyes of Madame as those who were staying in the house. They naturally came first. Would Monsieur not allow him to bring some other dish? He could strongly recommend— But Jack stopped him. The food was per- fect, but the fact was Jack had little appetite. It was really too hot to eat. Then instead of the Chateau La Rose might the waiter mix for Monsieur a Sauterne cup? He had a special recipe No, Jack was more than grateful, but he was really not thirsty. He would take a cup of extra strong coffee—nothing more. Not a cigar? Well, yes, he would have a cigar, a big one. The waiter moved off on his slightly bent legs to fetch it. The courtyard was full of voices, and full of women in wonderful hats. Many of the diners were typically French, but some were Ameri- can. Glancing round Jack felt very lonely. He was the only person dining alone. It seemed almost a disgrace to be alone in the midst of this festive assembly. And he imagined that people were looking at him with a wondering curiosity, were asking them- selves why this man could get no one to dine with him. Was there a reason? Had he done something? Were people reluctant, perhaps, to be seen in his company? He caught the gaze of a dark woman with a dead white face fixed upon him. She had ¢ big black hat trimmed with white camellias. and had more camellias, real ones, fastened in the front of her pale-green gown As Jack looked at her she slightly lowered her full white eyelids, glanced away, and smiled faintly. Jack felt repelled by her. He was sure she was a beastly woman, one of the type he particularly disliked who knew too much, everything in fact, and who looked upon all men as just simply animals. He hated such women. They put men too low down. They esteemed men as less than they really were. Since the war surely men had a right to And then Jack remembered many episodes in the war not strictly connected with fighting, and a sense of confusion swept over him. What a moral muddle the world was! The waiter brought him the coffee and the cigar, and looked at him, Jack thought, rather curiously before going to attend to the diners at another table. Jack saw him presently serving the woman in the green dress and her companions, another very smart woman, and two swarthy and opulent-looking men. She of the green dress said something to the waiter and then they both glanced at Jack, and the waiter, bending discreetly, made some reply. Jack felt absurdly irritated and _ self- conscious. He was all on edge to-night and disliked being looked at. He had a sensation of being transparent, as if his envelop were of glass and all the workings of his mind could be seen through it. He was convinced that the woman who had spoken about him was a demi-mondaine, though why she should be interested in him he could not imagine. A hatred of such women, unreasonable in its intensity, suddenly filled him, and he hastily finished his coffee and got up from his table. Without glancing again at the woman, he left the courtyard, passed through the hotel, and went out into the enclosed garden on the other side of the house. HE garden as usual was deserted. No one ever seemed to go there, and hitherto Jack had only walked round it once or twice. Now he sat down on a bench in a small circular graveled plot, surrounded by low hedges of laurel and sheltered by old trees, and slowly smoked the quite enormous cigar which the waiter had brought him, and again wondered whether Antoinette Durier was still at the Asile Vert. Oddly enough the glances of the woman in the courtyard seemed to have made him feel more in love with Antoinette. She was so different from other women, from such women as that temptress in the camellia trimmed hat, who could not tempt Jack. She had none of their arts, none of their blatancies. Really she was unique in her straightforward simplicity. He thought of her as almost strangely distinguished, and wondered about HARPER’S SCREEN BAZAR her origin. She had implied that she belonged to the pavements of Paris. Yet, to him she showed no trace of coming from them. He did not know Paris well, but he had a very definite idea of what it was. And he would ¢ ertainly never have guessed that she was a Parisian For, like many Englishmen of his rather sturdy type, he connected Paris in his mind with all that was artificial, hectic, frivolously improper. But of course must be a quite other Paris. He must not judge by the streets and restaurants, the Montmartre cabarets, the theaters, the music- halls which catered frankly to the bestial side of men. Doubtless Antoinette belonged to quite another Paris, the refined, intellectual artistic city which had a great love of beauty and form, of wit and mental vitality, the city whose taste still led the world even under a Republican government, a city which put an Anatole France at the head of literature, a Debussy high up in music, a Bartet at the summit of the theatrical profession and—he hastened to add—an Antoinette Durier above all the stars of the screen. At the moment when he was thinking this, Jack was aware that some one had come out of the hotel into the garden and was approach- ing him. He saw in the distance a vague figure. As it drew nearer he perceived the shape of a very big hat at the top of it, and heard the rustle of a dress. Then the smoke of a cigaret, scented smoke, tickled his nostrils, and a delicate but penetrating perfume crept about him. He guessed, and got up from the bench he was sitting on. As he did so he recognized the woman in the green dress sauntering toward him over the grass alone. For an instant he stood still, angry, uncertain what to do. Instead of feeling gratified by the chance of an adventure he felt hot, impatient, absurdly shy, and almost desperate, like a creature trapped. He knew at once that he was being pursued and he hated the pursuer. This woman must have taken a fancy to something of him, to his looks, perhaps, or his strong figure, or his fair Englishness—he did not know or care what—and have resolved to gratify her caprice by making his acquain- tance. Evidently cofite que cotite she meant to know him. HE rustling became a little louder, the shape of the huge hat showed a little more definitely, the delicate perfume began to mean more in the semi-darkness of the garden, Jack had just a moment to think. And in that moment, despite his anger, his sense of some- thing not unlike male shame, he found time for a brief mental debate Antoinette was probably still with Krahmer in the green solitude of the Asile Vert at the edge of the Forest. He was here all alone. An adventure was evidently being offered to him, being thrust upon him. For such a woman as this who was coming toward him no doubt had the power to do what she pleased, even though she was in the company of others. He guessed her one of those ruling demi-mondaines who give way to all their caprices, who do with men what they like Should he take the opportunity now being offered to him? Should he fall to this adven- ture? Or should he respect his new feeling for the woman he had seen first on the screen, although she was causing him at this very moment the torture of jealousy? Antoinette was doubtless with Krahmer being fascinated by music. Why should he, Jack, deny him- self companionship? : The woman came up. She was walking slowly, with a rather noticeable movement ol the hips. As she passed by him, outside the laurel hedge, she looked at him with her large, unnaturally bright eyes. And with her look she asked him a question. She went slowly on toward a part of the small garden more distant from the hotel. Jack knew, of course, that she was expecting him to follow her, to speak to her. But the provocative look in her eyes had abruptly brought his mental debate to an end. And as she went away from the hotel he turned softly and went toward it. Without looking round he reached it, went In, and at once mounted to his bedroom. There in the darkness he stood near the small window, and in the garden below him he presently saw a woman’s figure returning to the house. It passed beneath the window rather quickly and disappeared. He had paid his tribute to Antoinette But he was obliged to acknowledge to hims¢ If - the payment had not cost him very mu¢ 4 Although he was still young he despised ane She might distrusted the huntress woman. be physically attractive, but something deep within him revolted from her. So hi refusal had not been expensive. Still he had paid his tribute, such as 1t Was, to Antoinette. And how was passins these hours? She might possibly be alone the Maison Blanche. Yor a moment he thought of defying all the conventions and paying her a visit at that unholy time. But (Continued on page 152)

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In the morning his friend, the waiter, in- formed him that the famous Madame Diane de Carnier had dined at the hotel on the previous evening, had been much struck by Monsieur’s appearance, chic, and distinction, and had asked who he was. Jack inquired why the lady was famous. The waiter, with evident surprise at his client’s dark ignorance, explained that Madame Diane was the famous demi-mondaine who had been connected with some of the greatest men in Europe. He began to run through a list of notorious names. But Jack stopped him. “‘Women of that type don’t interest me at all,” he said, in his stiffest manner. The waiter looked genuinely amazed. Jack left him alone with his amazement. HAT day Jack had decided to do one of two things. Either he would go to Barbizon to look up Alonzo Leri, or he would go again to the Maison Blanche to visit Antoinette Durier. Something pushed him _ toward Barbizon, but there was something else which seemed trying to hold him back. He wanted to know more. But his uneasy curiosity surely implied distrust and he had an odd, boyish longing to trust. His disbelief in women, he began to suppose, was quite as absurd as had been his former belief in them. Antoinette had indicated, without actually pointing out, the absurdity of massing in- dividuals together, and endowing them all, without inquiry or any real attempt at judg- ment, with the same qualities. No doubt there were sex qualities, but probably they were fewer than he had been inclined to suppose. Women were neither all Kits, nor all what he had once thought Kit to be. The wise course was surely neither to believe nor to disbelieve but to find out for yourself by investigation. Then why not go to Barbizon? But there he would only hear another man’s point of view if he heard anything, whereas if he went to the Maison Blanche he would be further on the way to establishing his own. He resolved to go to the Maison Blanche, and he went there that afternoon. But the old servant who opened the door told him that Mademoiselle Durier was away. She had gone to Paris by a morning train, and would not be back till the evening. Rather disconsolately Jack left his card. As he came away from the house, which now seemed to him melancholy and deserted, he wondered whether Krahmer had gone to Paris with Antoinette, or whether he was working at his ballet in the Asile Vert. He felt sure that Krahmer was a hard and de- termined worker. Although Jack had never quite liked him and had begun, in jealous moments, to dislike him unreasonably, simply through jealousy, he could not help feeling a respect for Krahmer which was tinged with admiration. Krahmer’s easy and complete self-possession had made an impression on Jack. His talent was obvious. He looked and seemed quite definitely a somebody. And though he was so artistic, and “ruled out” games, and played for dancing women bathed in flame-colored light, he was undoubtedly a male man. This obvious maleness, combined with the inherent delicacy and instinctive subtlety of the artist, made Jack afraid of Krahmer. He possessed a combination of qualities which must be attractive to women. Certainly he was by no means good looking, and his figure, the build of him, was heavy, but he didn’t seem ever to think about that or to have any doubts about himself. Jack was sure that if Krahmer wanted anything he would just go for it, without hesitation or any timorous doubt lest he were not intended to have it. Krahmer was not an airman, but he had an airman’s_ self-possession freed from the impudence that is born in airy heights. And he had an intellectual equipment which probably belonged to few airmen. ACK had begun to realize in Fontainebleau that intellectuality in a man _ probably meant a great deal to a certain type of woman. His own lack of that quality was beginning to trouble him severely. He stood now in the sunlit road looking toward the Forest and considering whether he would go to the Asile Vert and then make his way to Barbizon. For, since Antoinette was in Paris, the small trip to Barbizon seemed indicated. It was something definite to do, and Jack longed uneasily to know more. Antoinette was not there to help him to greater knowledge; he would, he now felt he must, seek it elsewhere. The only question was about Krahmer. Finally he decided to go to the Asile Vert and he made his way slowly toward it. Krahmer had told Jack that he worked in the morning and at night. The hour was mid- way between his two working periods. If Hichens’ (Continued from page 150) HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel he were in Fontainebleau he might be at leisure. But he was not in Fontainebleau. In answer to Jack’s ring, the Chinese man servant came and informed him that Monsieur had gone to Paris for the day. Jack left a card and departed. Now there was no mora doubt in him. He would seek out Alonzo Leri. He could not go on in the dark. He had surely a right to know what other men. who didn’t care for Antoinette as he was beginninz to care—as he did care—what other men knew. He was not going to Barbizon to pry into secrets, but simply to make himself acquainted with what was evidently common knowledge among those who knew Antoinette well. Near the Palace, in a patch of shade, he found a victoria for hire. He got in and tol4 the fat, dark-haired coachman to drive t5 Barbizon, and to stop at the house of Mada-ne Duval. He had given up the idea of riding in the Forest with Leri. He could do that another day. Now he was in too much of a mental hurry to take the time to change into riding kit. , It was a little after four now, and the vast Forest was dreaming in the heat of a windless afternoon. To Jack already jt seemed like a wonderful friend who had bezun to take possession of him, who was becoming necessary to him, from whom he would be sad to be parted. Never before had he felt in such a curiously intimate way the influence of trees. And he remembered a story told him of a British Prime Minister, who had near his house in Scotland two great and venerable trees, and who believed, had come to believe, that these two trees were exceptional, had some strange consciousness of him, missed him when he went away, were mysteriously glad through all their branches, through all their whispering leaves, when he returned. Believing this, their owner never omitted to say good-by to the trees when he was leaving for the South; and on his return his first visit was always paid to them lest they might feel neglected. When Jack had heard this story he had thought it fantastic and even a little absurd. But now he thought of it with sympathy, for he had come under the influ- ence of trees. When he went away he would miss the Forest. And with a pang he thought of his departure. And suddenly he realized how short a time remained to him in the Forest. He had not been aware of the flitting of his holiday until now. He _ had forgotten London, the usual way of his life. The spell of forgetfulness had been upon him. He had been like a man enchanted who thinks that his holiday time will last forever. How would it be when, very soon, he had to go back to London? An ugly feeling of dread stole over him. What was the good of his expedition? Why was he going to Barbizon? These people he had met in the Forest could have no perma- nence in his life. Madame, Krahmer, the Russians, the young South Americans, they would all melt away from his sight like apparitions fading into the shadows of twilight. Already the Russians had gone. No doubt he would never meet them again. And—Antoinette Durier? OON she was going to Southern Tunisia to work for her master, the machine. Her life and his lay completely apart; and their meeting had been fortuitous. Their speedy parting was certain. There was no proba- bility that they would ever meet again. Her life lay among people with whom he had really nothing in common. She was French, he English. They had none of the same traditions, probably scarcely a shared taste or idea. And yet he was drawn to her more than to any other woman. Ever since he had met her his mind had been fixed upon her, to the exclusion of almost everything else. And now, at this very moment, he was worrying about her like the devil. The fat brown horse, with sleek, barrel-like hindquarters, trotted lethargically down the long, shady road cut in the Forest; the fat dark coachman nodded on his perch as ll dozing; and Jack asked himself what was the good of this journey to Barbizon. But he had undertaken it, and now he would go through with it. Whatever he learned, whether goo or bad, pleasant or unpleasant, could not matter after all. This was merely a holiday episode of no account in his life. He ha forgotten, but now he remembered. Soon he would bid the Forest good-by, and with the magical trees would fade out of his life the magical woman, who had reached out to him from the screen, and who held him with a firm, though indifferent, grasp in the reality which sometimes seemed to him like 4 performance, designed for the benefit of 4 hidden public. This was an episode which, for some Un- known reason, had to be pieced into the puzzle of his life. Without it the puzzle (Continued on page 153) ee SSUES SESE a PEE RNS POT ita gt

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more lonzo e had who ininz men ) pry mself imon nette e, he | told ‘e to dame ng in that ofa lange | the of a y it ezun ming d be > felt lence told near rable lieve, had issed yusly h all rned. “d to How oO go him. Why le he rma- . the ) her, was ae Thue We edie ene ale es Palla et rasan PPR PT Pe for / ANUARY 1926 ON THE SCREEN Robert Hichens’ Novel (Continued from page 152) would not “come out.” The conversation at the club in London had been the prepa- ration. Then had come Kendrick’s falling in love with the girl of the pointed nose and the little yellow whiskers of pinned-on hair; ack’s solitude in Paris, his casual visit to Fontainebleau undertaken merely to pass an jdle day, the porter’s advice to him to go to the Hotel Mirabeau, the attraction of the hotel, the old waiter’s interest in him which had sent him to the cinema, “Madame’s” pity for his solitude, the invitation— and then, at the end of it all, Antoincite. The journey to her had been surely designed, and in profound ignorance he had followed the way marked out. ; “Voila Barbizon, M’sieu!” The fat coachman was suddenly awake and inting with his whip. Jack stood up and fooked, and saw the long street of the famous village. TH! house of the Widow Duval lay on the right-hand side of the way. Jack knocked, was answered by a girl with china-blue eyes, and inquired for Monsieur Alonzo Leri. As he was asking the question the thought came to him, “‘He has gone to Paris, too!”’ But it was not so. The girl said that Monsieur Alonzo was out painting in the Forest. For a moment Jack thought of giving up his quest. The boyish desire to trust again came to him. Perhaps it would be better to go on in the dark. And anyhow very soon the Forest episode would be over. “Has Monsieur Leri gone far?” he asked the girl, who stood in the doorway with the china-blue eyes fixed steadily upon him. “He is somewhere in the Forest near Rousseau and Millet, Monsieur. He is paint ing trees. When he paints it is always trees.” She paused. Then she added with a smile, “Tt is not trees which are lacking here.” “Have you been here long?” said Jack. “Long, Monsieur! I was born here. I have always been here!’ “What is it like in winter?” “Tt is beautiful in winter,” she said, with, he thought, a touch of defensive pride. “T will go into the Forest. Perhaps I shall come upon Monsieur Leri.” “Tt is straight out there!” she said, pointing up the street with a narrow, girlish hand which he thought matched her eyes. “Au revoir!” he said, smiling at her. “Au revoir, M’sieu!”’ She smiled too, not impudently but in a simple, friendly way. He thought of it after- wards as a Forest way. He told the coachman to put up. During his talk with the girl he had decided to stay and dine in Barbizon. He would eat ¢ruites au bleu in the restaurant he had just passed on the edge of the Forest, drink white wine, give himself up to the place and the hour. He would not think any more of the shortness of his holiday, of London, the Stock Ex- change. He would pretend he was a free man, free as Alonzo Leri and Miguel Peranza. Sufficient for his day should be the good thereof. As he moved away the girl called after him in a thin, clear soprano voice, “Monsieur knows where Millet and Rousseau are? Jack had glanced through his guide-book and knew. He waved his hand. “T know—I know!” * ALONZO LERI! A-lon-zo Leri! Hulloh!” Jack’s voice rang through the Forest. He dared to shout at the top of his voice, for no one was visible where he stood except Millet and Rousseau, whose powerful bearded aces loomed out from the rock at his side, calm, unheeding, occupied, it seemed, like the Sphinx, with the contemplation of eternity. “Alonzo Leri! Hulloh! Hulloh!” From the Forest depths came an answering Shout in a warm tenor voice, which sounded to Jack like “ Ay-yah!” He answered in his way and, treading over a deep carpet of leaves, sandy and indefinite, surely the leaves of many autumns, followed a tiny, uneven track, and presently came upon ti alone in a nook backed by sun-bitten rocks, seated before a large easel, bare-headed, bare-armed, his shirt opened all down the font, perspiring gently, and eagerly painting @ group of gigantic beech-trees. He turned his head and flung back his hair as he heard Jack’s step, and a friendly smile lit up his glistening brown face. 5 [ guessed it was you—something in the ne he said, without getting up from WS painter's stool. ‘‘ You did not care to ride? No, I see! Well, for once I am doing a little work,” r be Istay, shall I disturb you?” asked Jack, Shaking the offered hand, which was stained here and there with paint. Wha 0. Tam not nervous, I am not shy. at is the use of being shy? What I can do ren do before any one, before your Arch- shop of ( anterbury or Mistinguette. What do you say to it?” He leaned his head toward his right shoulder and half closed his eyes, looking suddenly stern. Jack stood beside him and stared at the large canvas in silence. From where he was he could make nothing of the picture. He saw huge daubs of color, blobs of paint glistening coarsely in the sun- rays, a muddle which might mean trees, another muddle which might mean a fore- ground, a chaos which might conceivably be intended fora sky. And he did not know what to answer. Suddenly he felt that Leri was watching him. He looked; the painter was smiling, was almost laughing. His big black eyes were twinkling; his white teeth were gleaming; his big lips were twitching. “T know!” he exclaimed. “You think it is— He ended his French sentence with a well- known English word, much in vogue with the British workman, and long since introduced into polite society by a brilliant Irish play- wright. Jack laughed. “‘T don’t say that, but I can’t make it out.” “‘No, because you have your nose in it. Go back!” He waved an arm. “Right away! Judge for yourself when you are in the best place.” Jack obeyed and stepped back; and as he slowly retreated, the picture—he thought mysteriously—began to take form, to dawn upon him, till it lived. Then he stood still. ** Ah—that is the place for your eyes!”’ said Leri, watching him with a certain sparkling inquiry. “Ves. From here it’s the Forest. —yes, it is the Forest.” Leri looked almost boyishly pleased. “Can I paint?” Jack nodded. ‘But how on earth can you know that you are painting right? It looks hopeless to me from where you are.” “T can tell,” he returned, and vouchsafed no more explanation. “Sit down,” he added. “Or lie on the ground. It is warm. Produce your pipe. Let me get on.” “Right!” Jack stretched himself on the ground, his head on his hand, his pipe in his mouth, his soft hat pulled low over his eyes, and Leri went on painting. “Talk if you like,’ he remarked presently. “I’m quite happy as I am,” returned Jack. By Jove ND he spoke the truth. He was giving himself to the Forest, with which Antoinette would always be linked in his mind. She might belong to the pavements, but he had met her in the embrace of the trees. She had come to him first as a shadow in the night, pacing alone, watched but not knowing it, accompanied in her nocturne by the whisper of the fountain. She remained with him not as a shadow, but as a curiously elusive woman, with her unconscious eyes, her quietness, her fragmentary ironies, her curious snatches of what he supposed was truth. Presently he would ask Leri about her, but not now. Now he would dream of her in this dreaming afternoon, far away from his world, in the sultry quiet of the Forest. Jack did not know how long it was before his companion heaved a deep sigh and dropped his right hand. “It’s enough!” he said. any more.” He lifted his voice. “ Pierre—Pierrot!”’ he cried. There was a rustle in the bushes on the right, and presently a small bright-eyed boy, with a tangle of brown hair thrusting out from a cap which had known much wearing, and a pair of very short but unmistakable trousers, appeared. Finished!” “* Bien, M’sieu.” The painter’s paraphernalia were packed up. Pierrot shouldered his burden. Leri stretched his bare arms toward heaven. “When I work—I work!” he said. “But it I am terribly fond of idleness. “T cannot work is so seldom. And you?” ‘I’m getting very fond of it here,” said Jack. And a cloud came over his face. ‘‘What is the matter?” said Leri. “‘T was thinking that I shall soon have to go back to my work in London.” The painter had buttoned up his shirt, and they now set off toward the village following Pierrot. “How long do you stay?” “T only have four weeks altogether.” Leri looked at him with rather sharp inquiry. “TI could not take a holiday alone,” he remarked. Jack explained how Kendrick had “let him down.” ‘Then I should have taken a pretty girl, or found one in Paris to keep me company in the Forest,’ said Leri. (Continued on page 154) GOWNS, WRAPS, ENSEMBLES of superlative smartness Importers and Originators Lemon for the Hair After Shampooing —the Finest Rinse I’ve Ever Used **Next time you wash your hair, whether bobbed or long, rinse with the juice of two California lemons in a wash- bowl of water, as I do. “Soap forms a curd which stays on the hair, no matter how frequently you rinse it with plain water. 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ON THE Robert “Pretty girls can be great bores,” said Jack, in an elderly manner. “But I should not be searching for intel- lect,” replied his unabashed companion. They had now come to the painters’ rock and Leri stood still. “Those fellows could paint,” he said. “But I do not want to paint like them. We must find our own way in painting and life. If they were alive how they would hate the work of the moderns, what we are doing now. We are far away from ‘The Angelus.’”’ He went up to the rock, stretched up and touched the bearded faces. “TI feel they are condemning me, but I don’t care. I condemn no one. Let every one take his own way. Whatever may be said, the fact is that each one understands himself better than he is ever understood by another.” HEY went on toward the village. Jack learned that Peranza was away for two or three days on “a little adventure,” and realized that his company was welcome to his new acquaintance, who gladly consented to dine with him. They went first to Madame Duval’s, where Leri showed Jack several of his pictures, all of them characteristically unfinished. “T am like Gustave Moreau,” he explained. “T never can finish anything. I get tired, and pass on to something else. And so it is with my loves. A few days, a few weeks—and on down some other road, some new path. The faithful learn little of life. They confine themselves to one or two experiences. It is a mistake. Experience is fed by variety. But I think, perhaps, you are one of the faithful.” And he glanced shrewdly at Jack who suddenly felt reserved. The gap of nation- ality was wide between the two young men, and Jack knew it. Nevertheless, he liked the careless frankness and pagan sincerity of Leri, which suggested to him a house with all the doors standing open and every corner lit up by the sun. They did not dine at the restaurant Jack had noted on entering Barbizon, but at Les Charmettes, in the middle of the village on the right of the road, not far from Madame Duval’s. There in a shady courtyard, flanked by a small hotel, and leading on into an unpre- tentious garden, they ate at a round table covered with a red and white cloth. From a tank near by their trout were taken alive. Leri, Jack soon knew, was a lusty drinker and loved the good yellow wine of France. He chose a mellow Sauterne, with just a hint of grape sweetness about it, and when dinner was over, and the sky above the Forest was spangled with stars, and small lights glim- mered here and there in the trees of the court, they sat with their wine before them and discussed many things. Leri told Jack much of his life in Paris, concealing nothing. It had evidently been a turmoil of what some people call “forbidden pleasures,’’ culminating in the bal des quatre arts which he full-blooded gusto. “And now,” he ended, almost pensively, ‘“‘T am in retreat, like a naughty priest.” Jack couldn’t help laughing. “T can’t see where the priest comes in.” But Leri insisted, “‘ Yes, yes. I am here in the Forest en pénitence. Often I go to bed at eleven.” He added other details of his regenerate behavior ‘*So—you see! As Krahmer says, people come to the Forest for different reasons. He comes to work.’ “But you work here!” “Yes, a little, sometimes. But really I am here en pénitence. 1 shall never be a real painter. I have talent, but I have no ambition. My ardor is for life, not work.” He lit a big, red-brown pipe. “Work doesn’t fascinate me d la longue, as it does Krahmer and that strange Antoinette.” At last her name had been mentioned between them. Ever since he had been with Leri, Jack had been meaning to speak it, had been seeking for just the right way of bringing it into the conversation quite naturally. But he had not found the right way, for he was afraid of the obvious astuteness of his companion in matters of love. Almost with the sharpness of a woman Leri would detect sentiment in a man. Jack had been certain of that and so had kept silence. Now he was startled, but he believed that he did not show it. “Mademoiselle Durier! But why is she strange?”’ he said. Leri lifted his glass of yellow wine to his lips and drank. “You don’t find her strange?”’ he asked. He was now in a completely unbuttoned mood, made thoroughly careless by wine, rood food, the freedom of the starry night, and the Forest. ‘“*T know her so little.” ** And—you don’t find her strange?” described with E WAS oddly persistent. Jack looked across the table at him, and wondered whether there was not a dancing light of Hichens’ (Continued from page 153) HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel

irony in his eyes, as he put up a han stroked his little black A oe ad onl “She strikes me as thoroughly ir certainly,” said Jack. “She’s unlike all other women of her cl said Leri. “Well, but what is her class?” “But surely you know all about her?” His expression now suggested that he thought Jack was pretending ignorance. “T only know that she’s a very fine and evidently popular, film actress.” : “Oh—that! But to be sure you live in London, not Paris. Antoinette need never have taken to the screen. She had an exceptional position in the half world.” Jack felt a hot wave of indignation go through him. But he managed, he believed to look quite unconcerned. Leri was a gossip, a scandal-monger. Being quite un- troubled by morals, he no doubt was ready to credit others with his own indifference to what Jack still thought of as right and wrong “Really!” he said, taking another sip of wine, and forcing a smile to his lips. ‘Yes. I don’t know what she came from. I’ve never bothered to ask. Anyhow, she hasn’t a trace of vulgarity.” “*No— indeed!” exclaimed Jack. “Har” Leri looked at him with a sudden curiosity which warned Jack to be careful. *“*She’s lived among cultivated, clever men for years,” Leri continued, after a pause. “‘And French women have a genius for— what shall we call it?—for picking up the best, for surrounding themselves with the right atmosphere. They learn what is useful to them through every pore, and drink it in all over. D’you understand?” “Ves—quite.” “Besides she has immense natural talent. She’s proved that. And I suppose the possession of it pushed her eventually to work. Every one laughed about it when she began, thought it was one more caprice, you know. Her name was worth something to the film people, so they were glad to pay her to have a try. And then she went on. She’s got tremendous obstinacy under all that charming mask of indifference. She made them let her act as she chose at last, and the result was triumphant. A clever Dutch Jew who admired her, and who ran a big film company, started her, I believe. He saw there was money in her for him, and I believe he’d dropped a lot over her. Being a Jew he evidently saw his way to getting some of it back. Anyhow, she practically lives for the screen now, and makes all the bourgeoisie weep by her delicate paroxysms of self- sacrifice and virtue. It’s a bizarre world, but it’s good to live in.” idividual, aan ass,

E SPOKE carelessly, but his experienced eyes were fixed upon Jack. ““But why was her name worth something on the screen before she’d ever acted?’’ asked Jack. ‘‘How was it known?” “Why, because she was a famous demi- mondaine, of course.” That was it! We don’t that kind of thing in London.” “Oh—the saintly English!” “But why bother with me?” “T mean that women in London don’t become celebrated merely because they— merely for that.” “Well, in Paris they do.” “Tt’s all so different in Paris,” said Jack, with a grimness he simply could not conceal. To tell the truth I’ve never been in ‘Should I have much of cried Leri. England in my life,” said Leri. like it?” “Probably not. bottle?” “Ves, do. And we'll drink to the dear bourgeoisie who all love Antoinette’s cinema virtue. But she is really the queen of travesty. She is perfectly natural in her art, and she feels what she is doing, while she is doing it, though she may laugh at it after- wards. The fact is the stage and the screen are untrue to life and that is why they draw us all. But in the untruth the great artists seem to be true. Otherwise they are small, not great.” oe “Why should untruth appeal to us all? said Jack, with a severity of which he was unconscious. ‘Because all smiling. The waiter uncorked another bottle. “And so the atmosphere of lies is Ur natural atmosphere. I ama liar. You area liar. The waiter there is a liar.” ““M’sieu?” said the waiter, a thin youth, with a retreating forehead, and hair cut e” brosse. “ Aren’t you a liar, Raoul?” ““ Mais oui, M’sieu. Il le faut.” “And a truth teller, too, since you ac knowledge it. Give him a glass of wine, he added, in a low voice to Jack. “We are all good friends here in the Forest.” (Continued on page 155) Shall I order another men are liars,” said Len,

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The one requirement is that you have a telephone of your own; for the work is carried on in your own home, over your own telephone. _We furnish you with a list ot past readers of Harper’s Bazar as well as likely readers. Hz irper’s Bazar, as you know, is one of the smartest magazines published and that is why, no doubt, so many discriminating women are now acting, with great success, as its representatives. For full particulars write to MARGARET DUNBAR Care of HARPER’S BAZAR 119 West goth St., New York ON THE SCREEN (Continued from page 154) “‘ And all liars in the midst of the trees!” Jack thought, with a sudden sense of some- thing like desperation. He poured out the wine for the waiter. As he did this his hand shook slightly. Leri noticed it. “Why, you’re shaky!” he said. Jac k could speak he added: ‘Ah, my old boy, I believe you have come here en pénitence, as I have.’ He lifted his glass and they drank to the dear bourgeoisie. When the waiter had gone he exclaimed, “You are a good comrade! Here I have told you everything, all my life in Paris, all the dreadful things I have done, and you have told me nothing! It’s not fair. You are English. You just sit there opposite to me, and you listen, and you criticize me, and you think, ‘My God, what a fellow!’ and you give me no chance to say ‘Shocking!’’’—he said this word in English—‘‘to you. But I say that is not fair.” With the coming of the second bottle— or was it the third?—the wine seemed sud- denly to have mounted to Leri’s head. A recklessly impudent expression came into his face. He leaned across the table and tapped Jack’s wrist with his right hand. “T know. You don’t tell me, but I know why you like being in Fontainebleau. You are after Antoinette.” An angry flush spread over Jack’s face. ““Pooh! I scarcely know Mille. Durier!” “What of that? You want to know her much better.”” He spread out his arms. va is not the Forest that holds you. It is she! But believe me, my old boy, you are safer far with the Forest.’ Jack forced himself to laugh, though the laugh was singularly mirthless and came with difficulty. “Why?” he asked. with Mile. Durier?”’ Before “What's the danger “Call her Antoinette. She is Antoinette to all Paris.”’ ““What’s the danger—I ask you?” “Inquire at the Asile Vert, my old boy!” Jack got up. ““What’s the matter?” “Tt’s awfully late.” “Late! Why it cannot be more than ten o’clock! Waiter!” “*M’sieu?”’ “The hour. What the devil!” “Tt is a quarter past ten, M’sieu.”’ “There! Sit down. Tell me the truth. I a told you everything. Now it is your turr He laid hold of Jack’s arm. “Come now!” “T really must go, Leri.”’ “Why? Where are you going? To bed at ten on a summer’s night? But that i is a crime against the Holy Ghost! But— “Tl come again. I'll sit up all night if you like. But now I’m going. Suddenly Leri looked sulky. “Tt isn’t good! Here I am all alone and you leave me. What am I to do?”’ ‘Finish the wine!” “Alone? You tell me to drink alone. But that is swinish!”’ “Get the waiter to help you! in desperation. “T don’t drink alone with waiters,’’ said Leri, with abrupt dignity. “Well then— “T know! I will come with you. I will go to Fontainebleau. Where is the—what did you—the carriage! Get Monsieur’s carriage! En voiture! En voiture!” He imitated the howl of the French guard, putting his hands to his mouth. And Jack had to give in. He had to take Leri with him to Fontainebleau. cried Leri. * said Jack, (To be continued in the February issue) THE HOUSE OF ENCHANTMENTS (Continued from page 140) sir, I must beg you will be c andid with me that we may concert together— Candid, madam, as the sunlight, as your own soul, indeed I will be.” He caught her hand in both his, and held it, gazing at her with that passionate melancholy which Mr. Siddons had disparaged. She could not guess what was coming and half prepared to with- draw her hand, especially on the words that followed. “T have made a mistake so terrible, so—so horrifying in its enormity that I scarce know how to explain it and no condonation is possible. Madam, I loved, I love your Sally with all the devotion of a ‘certain side of my nature, but not with the whole. That whole is reserved for another.” Mrs. Siddons withdrew her hand with decision. It could not be supposed possible —and yet— He understood her motion and leaned for- ward so that he almost appeared to kneel. He hurried his words out. ““Madam, in Sally’s deplored absence I have been thrown much with Maria. I know not— how can a man explain these windings of the heart. But—in short I have discovered ’tis THE PARIS Maria I love, with all the unbounded, un- sounded passion of a nature, alas, too pas- sionate for control.’ Mrs. Siddons stared at him, her mouth slightly open, like the most undistinguished mother in England. “Good God, Mr. Lawrence, you're mad!” was what she said. ““Mad indeed I am, and bad—if it be bad- ness to inflict pain on the most angelic of human creatures. But what am I to do? Surely Maria’s mother will admit her to be as deserving of love as even Sally, and if I say her whole heart is mine—”’ “But it has no business to be!”’ cried Mrs. Siddons in much agitation. ‘Why, this is the most painful, unheard-of proceeding I ever experienced in the whole course of my exis- tence. 1 was prepared to mention Sally to Mr. Siddons, for she is equable and sweet-tem- pered and better formed to meet the trials of life. But Maria—all fire and weakness and nervous energy, and health as frail as a cob- web—I would no more face him with it than I would walk barefoot to York! O Lawre nce, you have shockingly abused our hospiti ility!"’ (To be concluded in the February issue) MODE CRYSTALLIZED (Concluded from page 98) Reboux’s, which I see worn more often than you would suspect. In its original version, it is a béret, with a triple band of alternate bright green and red breast feathers running round the head, and a tam-o’-shanter crown of Persian lamb stuck on one side. It is often done in red, green, and black velvet instead of feathers and fur As Young As Your Eyes HUS—and rightly—is your age judged first, Madame! Cleanse and nourish the skin about your eyes, therefore, if you would be ranked with the youthful. Your eyes cannot look young in a setting that is wrinkled, puffy—old ! 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