Harper's Bazaar 1926-03

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IN LONDON 7 * OVEL BY _— eo ¥ d TAM PICO te ee ne EPH HERGESHEIMER hes > A NEW EXOTIC N nning Ol 7 4

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c America's mos t famous dessert AND of romance—proud and haughty dons —brave matadors—lovely senoritas—the gayety of lurid color everywhere;—Spain. How the old grandees, epicures in the art of food would have enjoyed Jell-O. Its delicious pure fruit flavor and sparkling crystaline colors would have greatly appealed to their discriminating tastes. But today Jell-O is within the reach of even the modest purse; in our recipe book you will find many suggestions for economical desserts and salads. THE JELL-O COMPANY Inc. Le Roy, New York © 1925 by The Jell-O Compery, Inc

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BM poke) Sth Rall Harper's bazar Number 2561 soth Year The Avis Fong 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 poursuites de la part des créateurs et de l’Association des Arts Plastiques et A ppliqués en France et a4 l’Etranger. BARON DE MEYER SENDS Us SomeE Hats T THIS time of year every smart woman feels the cosmic urge for at least six new hats. She gets a far-off look in her otherwise charming eyes and murmurs to herself, “‘T simply must have some new hats—perhaps something rather more extreme than I usually wear. All my hats look stodgy to me. Yes, perhaps a bit more extreme than I usually wear.” In this issue Baron de Meyer has sent us some of the most amusing—and smart—hats in Paris. You will be interested to see that there is no prescribed crown or brim that characterizes them. They are all quite different and have decided individuality. A CLEVER MODE N PAGES eighty-four and eighty-five are a series of little odd jackets by which a daytime or evening costume may take on an entirely new character. Several of the Paris houses have designed costumes with these little jackets to go with them—at this time of year an odd mode of this sort gives a little fillip to your wardrobe Moves IN MoToORS EVERAL leading automobile makers have told us that “the woman always buys the car.” The magnificent male may come with full intentions of buying what he deems fitting, but the lady invariably makes her choice and has excellent reasons for it. On pages ninety-eight to one hundred and three in this issue are shown motor-cars that appeal to women, with reason. These are the newest and smartest cars of the season, each chosen because it fulfils some definite motor need. NEXT MONTH: THE Harper’s Bazar is published r vice-president; Joseph A. Sexe treasurer; Austin W. Clark, secretary, and dependencies, $4.00. In Canada, $5.00. In foreign countrie subscription has expired it is best to renew it at once, using the bla first copy to reach you. Entered at the New York Post Office Spring Millinery Number MARCH, 1926 © over, “Aprés la Pluie le Beau Temps,’’ by Erté “Tampico,” A New Exotic Novel, by Joseph Hergesheimer Illustrated by Henry Raleigh “Direct Word from Paris,” Cabled Information about the New Collections. . . . . “Health,” The First of a New Series of Articles, by the Countess of Oxford PN III ones cerca cert tacts or iG: SERENE CAE O eT aa oh ess “Jewels,” by Baron de Meyer Photographs by Baron de Meyer... “‘Mayfairest of Them All,” A Romance of Two Real Bohemians in Old Chelsea, by Alfred Noyes Illustrated by Everett Shinn Portrait of the Countess Starzynska. “Why Clothes Are Not Changing,” ee imei s Paris Letter Drawn by Reynaldo Luza. oer Drawn by Me ME oa as a enue eee ree Lea Drawn by PRONNE DVR... .. 6. oo occas “Why Girls Go South,’”’ The Last Episode of a Débutante’: s C: areer, he Anita Loos A Oe PN os 65. Wk oe an ele Wane wlaamrarenene Clothes for Southern Travel Photographs by Baron de Meyer... .. Drawings by Bernard B. de Monvel.... 1.0.2.0... 0c ccc cece eees Gold Does Glitter,” Exposing the Parlor Socialist, by Fannie Hurst Illustrated by W. Smithson Broadhead . “When a Woman Buys a Car,” A Portfolio of Smart New Cars Drawn by Raymond eres SEE Oe AOE Khoa Lh SRR ne UT OE Drawn by Grace Hart. Drawn by Samuel Davis Otis... 0.0.0.0... cece cece ce cnc eeueees “Harmer John,”’ Continuing a Legend of Beauty in a Small English Cathedral Town, by Hugh Walpole SNE DT Be ON io iia ola 5 ew Cap ohne nude sade ewer “The New Lingerie,’ That the Paris Dressmakers are Making EMIS OF TTI BGR 5 oso oo oe sncin cn kins os evnrsenivearers “On the Screen,”’ The Conclusion of a Romantic Episode in the Forest of Fontainebleau, by Robert Hichens Fg re ae Last Minute Sketches of Advance Models from the New Paris Collections... . Snapshots taken at St. Moritz and Palm Beach... .. PARIS OPENINGS NUMBER 119 West 4oth Street, New York City. Single copies, 50 cents. Se atk Eeame 68, 60, 70, 71, 72, 73 59 Page 60, 61, 62, 63 64,65 66, 67 .79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 86, 87 84, 85 88, 89 go, OI 92,95 93,94 96, 97 98, 99 100, IOI 102, 103 108, 109 110, III 1onthly in the U.S. A. by the Internstional Magazine Company, Inc., William Randolph Hearst, president; C. H. Hathaway, vice-president; Ray Long, ; early subsc ription in U nited States .00. (All subscriptions are payable in advance and at the full price.) W hen you receive notice that your enclosed. When changing an address, give the old address as well as the new and allow five weeks for the as second-class mail matter. Copyright, 1926, by the International Magazine Company, Inc. (Harper's Bazar). Harper’s Bazar is fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted either wholly or in part without permission.

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HARPER’S BAZAR “The amazing and disconcerting thought seized Bradter that he had very little to do with making Vida happy: objectively, that was, because of his efforts or wish. Vida, it appeared, took from life what she wanted and was oblivious of the rest. She hadn’t asked him for advice or thrown herself dependent on his love.”

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for MARCH 1926 THE FIRST Chapters of TAM PICO (La CALENTURA) An Exotic Novel By JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER Illustrated by HENRY HE tank steamer William R. Sims came up through an uneasy cross gray sea to the low jetties reaching out from the mouth of the Panuco River into the Gulf of Mexico. It was, Bradier reflected, almost always unpleas- ant—the entrance to Tampico: governments in Mexico, since Tampico had become important, had changed too rapidly to allow the solid and slow ac- complishment of harbor improvement. Govern- ments in Mexico! Govett Bradier smiled faintly. The sharp rolling of the tank ship had stopped abruptly: it was completely smooth in the Panuco . . . as though it were a viscid river of oil. The William R. Sims, any one would be forced to admit, was being brought safely, with a Mexican pilot, to the end of her voyage. Govett Bradier told himself that he was glad; the events, no, the event, that waited for him here would not have allowed him another peaceful day’s delay; and yet even that realization was—how could he describe it? Yes, it was slightly dulled by a deep, it seemed an incurable, weariness. The malaria. Yet now he didn’t want to go on with that. His determination, his journey to Mexico, were signs, unanswerable proof, that he had overcome the malignant fever in him. At last he had escaped; he was free, normal. He would, then, think no more about it. Except to remember to get, at Tampico, before he went on to the sea terminal, a fresh supply of quinine. But it was necessary for any one on the Mexican Coast, in the fierra caliente, to have quin- ine. It was a common precaution. T OCCURRED to Bradier that he had better have one final glance at his packed and as- sembled baggage: a habit of forgetfulness had lately settled on him. The reason for that was, of course, the fact that for more than a year and a half he had had nothing to do; it was natural that his thoughts should have grown vague in the Alianza offices in New York, where they knew only a little about oil and nothing in the world about Mexico. There had been, really, nothing for him to do there; his presence had been but an excuse, complimentary; a period through which he had been carried while he was recovering from the malaria. Govett Bradier: knew the world of Mexican oil; he was fully aware of what its opinion of him, in the present and future, must be—a strong figure broken by labor and responsibility and malarial fever. The deduction was, of course, wrong. The pioneer activities of the Alianza Corporation, through which he had been of peculiar value, were over; a time of consolidation had followed; a period in which it would be difficult for him to find a place; but such a place existed. The rebellious months in New York had made it impossible for him to believe that his usefulness, his practical force, were at an end. There was that other complication in what re- ? RALEIGH mained of his career, but that wasn’t public yet: no one on the Sims, in Tampico, or—with a single exception—at the sea terminal, knew of it. And that, too, he would overcome. The ship had practically ceased moving and he could hear voices—Spanish—from the wharf. They were in and it was time for him to go; a steward in a white coat appeared and carried up his bags. At the railing, high above the land, he gazed out over the Alianza terminal. SENSE of familiarity, of authority, enveloped Govett Bradier; this, once more, was _ his sphere, the field of his authority; here, none the less actual because it was kept from the public knowledge, his power was absolute. In the past he could take a peon and put him over a machine shop; at necessity, more than once from mere ex- pediency, he had had men, well—killed. He wouldn’t do either of those things to-day, he thought; his power had become implied rather than executive. But it hadn’t essentially diminished. He was like a commander, returned to view the scenes and peaceful results of his victories, with an honorable but no longer serious wound. There were quick firm steps behind him and he turned. It was John Paradice, the terminal superintendent. “Govett,” he exclaimed, holding out a broad hand, “what luck brought you back?” He added, but not seriously, “I hope it is luck. We had cables from New York, of course, and your messages on the Sims; but they all neglected to tell us why we were so fortunate.” Govett Bradier thought, he will know quite soon enough. ‘“‘There was nothing to tell you,” he proceeded. ‘While I’m here I am absolutely pri- vate. You have everything like a park.” He made a comprehensive gesture toward the terminal. ““Yes,”’ Paradice agreed, “‘it’s pretty good .. . inside our wire enclosure.” Turned toward the shore Bradier smiled. maulipas isn’t entirely well-behaved yet?” The other answered, ‘“‘ Not completely; we are flying our pay-rolls to the field, and when there’s an accident—” He stopped significantly and Bradier made no further comment. None was needed. Govett Bradier inquired: ‘‘How is Zacamixtle?” He was asked if he meant the wells or the girls; and, with a flash of old spirit, of largely departed youth, he answered, ‘‘ Both.” “T understand splendid,” Paradice assured him, “though I haven’t been down for a long while.” “Ta- RADIER remembered that he had always been puritanical, a man closely married, of the new, the consolidating, era. ‘Louisa insists on your staying with us,”’ Para- dice went on; they had left the ship and were walk- ing toward the office of the Mexican Customs. 61 “The Bolivar was the café Bradier had seen from the Imperial.” “T told her I had every intention of making you.” But Bradier explained that that would be impos- sible. ‘I must go on up to Tampico and see Lentz, though I haven’t any special purpose in that; and then, if you'll send me, I'd like to keep right on to Chorreras.” Paradice was clearly disappointed. “We thought you'd have dinner with us, anyhow. But I know too much about you to try persuasion. You can go up to the city whenever you want, and, naturally, to the sea terminal. How do you want to travel, by San Gerénimo or down the Lagoon?” Bradier replied, ‘‘May I have the Celia?” T WOULD only be necessary for him to let the boat master know when— ““Corew and Vida were in Tampico last week,” Paradice added. ‘I thought he looked deviled, but Vida was as cool as usual. More like a boy, with her hair that way, than a mother. Though I must say I like it . . . on some other man’s wife.” Govett Bradier replied that he had nothing to fear where Louisa and her hair were concerned; only death would part them. ““You always were a sinister individual,” Paradice asserted generally. ‘I believe you more than half deserved your old reputation among the Mexicans, for being the worst bandit on the coast. It was Vida who first told us you were coming. Ap- parently she knew nothing else either.”

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62 AMPICO, since the Ebano days, had been a peculiarly dangerous, a treacherous city, a place of bitterness and greed and desperation, of secret and implacable powers. Nothing was what, at a glance, it appeared to be; practically nothing said there could be counted on; speech was ulterior and motives covered at the cost of murder. It was the field of private warfare, of attacks planned in London and Holland and New York and executed surreptitiously in Tampico, by writs at law and gunmen and bribery. And outside the great or- ganizations, the English Eagle and the Dutch Crown, Govett Bradier’s corporation, there was the infinite multiplication of individual struggle for success, for oil—the lying vendors of fabricated leases and worthless ground; old drillers from Texas hoping for capital, certain of ultimate success; Mex- icans with properties black, they said, in seepages; men from outlying camps, Taxpam and Chiapas and Toteco, with secrets—for sale—the reports of great masked wells, wells capable of flowing a hun dred thousand barrels and pinched to nothing. (oe BRADIER knew them all, he had engaged or discarded them in the Alianza offices by day and in corrupt rooms at night; in the monte and native quarters where the personal risk was at least as great as the urgency of the gathered information; he knew them almost in stantly, by type or recog nized individual. Yes, it was no better than it had been, rather worse, he thought; more of it. The danger was as palpable as the dust always in the air and once, but no more, he had been a part of it Bradier wanted, rather than to seek it, to avoid danger; the future must be as long, as uninter rupted, as possible. And how different it would be from the past. He was standing at the window of his room in the Imperial Hotel, looking down over Tampico ... how hap pily different! On the left was the blue facade of a Chinese restaurant, the Ciudad de Pekin. Di rectly in front of him, over the roofs, he could see the open gallery, with Moorish arches, of what undoubtedly was a café. It must be directly across the street from the Louisian. That had always been popular, but he had preferred the Opera, with its compartments divided from each other and from the dancing floor, the extraordinary decorations on the wall and stage for special occasions. He had gone there night after night, with Estrella and Soledad, any number of girls, and men from the field, and danced in his boots. All that was so long ago, in the swift march of late events, that it seemed to belong to another world, another man than himself But, looking back on it, he couldn’t understand his passion, his conviction that the course of events could be changed. His mistake had been to exag gerate the importance of men. Why, they were no more than sticks, straws, in the great impersonal current of universal cause! They had no single power or dignity or permanence, they were without authority even in their own desires and ends. Men were preposterous. E HAD come to this realization only the past year, when, for the first time during maturity, he had been able, forced, to objectively regard hu- manity. Bradier had never thought highly of it, and now he was merely amused by the pretentious spectacle of life, the laughable conceits of indi- viduals. What, actually, except to the person in- volved, did it matter who lived and who died, presi dents or peons or the heads of corporations? What did it matter if an oil-well went to salt water or flowed thousands of barrels a day for thousands of days? The spirit of contention had died in him utterly; it was too ridiculous—fighting over pipe- lines and killing over leases. “Teresita gazed at the wadded paper and then at Govelt Bradier. ‘You will come back,’ she told him posi- tively. ‘I will see you again, here.’” The room had darkened rapidly, and, turning from the window, he continued the unpacking of the few things he would need in Tampico; he’d see Lentz in the morning and before noon be on the Celia, a remarkably fast launch for Mexico, and reach the sea terminal for dinner. Bradier’s thoughts became less orderly, bright scraps of memory floated through his mind; the return to Tampico had brought back an astonishing lot. What, for a mo- ment, engaged him was the realization that there wasn’t a man in the whole of Tamaulipas and Vera Cruz whom he wanted to see, or who really wished to see him. His course had been too arbitrary, too solitary, to gather intimates; a long while ago he had learned to depend on no one. All that he had required for his relaxation were men to drink with and orna- mental girls. Until the last month of his late stay in Mexico he had had no social life at all: the cocktails and dinners of the Colonia del Aguila had seemed trivial—when he got drunk he got drunk He had been pointedly critical of what were re ferred to as love affairs with married women in the American and English colonies; the futile indul- gence, he had insisted, of an impotent discontent; verbal affairs on the veranda of the golf club and at teas! Proceedings that didn’t justify the dignity HARPER’S BAZAR of shooting. Women without passion and men without courage. Candy in the corner. And the dances in hurriedly cleared reception rooms husbands mopping their brows, their wives with company clerks at the punch-bowl, tepid wit. He was, at once, amused by the echo of his old vehe- mence. The pleasures of people were characteristic of their abilities; there was no conceivable reason why clerks should not enjoy themselves like clerks, or why women without fire should burn. HE gallery of the café across from the Louisian was filled with a diffused rosy light; Bradier couldn’t remember its name or ever having been

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MARCH 1926 for in it. Sharply awake, at last hungry, he decided to go out for some supper, he’d wander without plan. The Bristol used to have the best food in the city, but that was in the past; the Louisian would be safest for a broiled parguito and bottle of dry Spanish wine. The restaurant was crowded and he was fortunate to find a small table back against a wall, where he gave his order in a temporary semigloom—a girl illuminated by a small spot light was singing on the dancing floor. Her singing at all was a piece of pure impudence. Yet her dancing was no better; she moved her body with an awkward indifference, smiled sweetly, and resumed a place at a table with three young Mexicans. A familiar voice behind him said: ‘‘ Etta’s a very nice girl.” It was Adam Deas, a rotary driller, a part of Bradier’s former Tampico life. ‘God damn it,” he went on, sitting, ‘‘it’s something to see you here again. You look thin but still able.” He said to a waiter, ‘‘Two copitas, Martel. What are you after, Bradier? I hear the Alianza’s going into the north field, but you’d deny that—it would admit too much about your damn works at Chor reras.”’ Govett Bradier replied that he was after nothing of general interest. No, he told Deas, he wasn’t going to stay in Mexico; he wouldn’t take Lentz’s position if it were offered to him; he’d had too cursed much office in New York. Adam Deas gazed at him briefly, and Bradier knew what was in his mind: men didn’t come to Tampico for nothing. Bradier ordered the glasses cf brandy renewed; but this would be the last, excesses were dangerous for him, for any one in the tropics. Adam Deas pushed back his chair. ‘‘We had better go over to the Bolivar, before Etta sings again: the Opera, where you did your light drinking, is as dead as a sailor’s mission.” The Bolivar was the café Bradier had seen from the Imperial; a steep flight of steps led up to it, broken midway by a space where an attendant checked hats and sticks. The room above was long and narrow; at one end there was a railed gallery, hung with Spanish moss, and the other was occupied by the limited orchestra. The floor was crowded with dancers, the tables correspondingly empty, and Govett Bradier and Deas waited until they could find an unoccupied place. The girls, Bradier decided, were not as engaging as they had been in the past; their dresses were cheaper; a great deal of the charm had departed. He wouldn't stay here long. ITH that determination he felt a hand laid softly on his arm, and he turned—it was Soledad. It surprised Bradier, how glad he was to see her again. Her dress, at any rate, upheld the best traditions of past extravagance; but she was definitely older; she was getting fat. ““Govett!” her voice pronouncing his name kept its fascinating twist. “Yes, Govett,” he assured her; ‘‘and nothing like dead yet. But tell me, what are you doing here?”’ She replied, proudly, that she was managing the Bolivar. The proprietor, she hesitated for less than a second, was her friend. He was Sefor Jimeno, a veritable Spaniard of Bilbao. She indi- 63 cated a small dark man standing unobtrusively by the entrance. A smile passed quickly over her painted lips. ‘‘Do you remember, Govett, how when you left I was going to kill myself?”’ He corrected her, ‘‘ You were about to kill me.” It was all the same to her then, she answered. She spoke to Adam Deas and led them to a table, ordering, with a sudden harshness, a waiter forward. ‘““You can’t sit like this,” she added; ‘‘ when this dance is over.’”’ With her arm around a girl’s slim shoulders she addressed Bradier. ‘‘ This is Teresita; she has been here no more than twice; and I’m sure, Govett, you will be nice to her. And, Teresita, you'll be polite to Mr. Bradier, naturally, for you are a very well-mannered and quiet child.”” Before taking a chair she bowed gravely, first to Bradier, then to Adam Deas. He said, “I believe Soledad told the truth, I have never seen this one here before. Teresita,” he demanded, ‘‘have you any English?” ‘“‘No,” she replied, “‘no English.’”’ She spoke to Deas, but she was gazing at Bradier. “I have a friend,’ she went on, ‘“‘her name is Chepa, and if you would like she could sit with us.” Deas answered, ‘‘I hope so, for there’s no pay for me in this.”’ Govett Bradier was, for the moment, intent on the girl Soledad had brought up to him, but he kept his interest covered, it had seemed to be no more than a fleeting look. She was at once strange to him and familiar—how well he knew such small dark girls made from Spain and Mexico. How com- pletely, in the past, he had liked them. This was very largely because of their discretion and unfailing politeness; and their curiously reticent but vivid emotion. Obscure figures, public girls in cheap cafés, they were still not, in any obvious sense, public; and they were not, God knew, cheap. He had seen Soledad refuse twenty gold centenarios for no more than a dance, a turn around the floor. They weren’t free, they were never loud; there was an innate delicacy in their acts and movements. No one, certainly, could call them angels; their sultry and mixed bloods smote them with coarse- ness after the first vitality of youth; but they were probably, Bradier considered, of their kind the best girls in the world. They had the rare, and not always appreciated, ability for pass.onate attach- ment, and were capable of a fidelity unstained by self interest. (Continued on page 159)

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64 HARPER’S BAZAR COMPAGNIE FRANGAISE DES CABLES TELEGRAPHIQI NEW YORK PECUTIVE Orces : 26 Brosn Si NEET Teiapremt, Brose (880 PO BT. (arwere ota! tearwone 1600 BROAD , BUS CIRCLE - jou, ear Tim Manners be follouiing MESSAGE is receised via FRENCH TELEGRAPH CAB. on the back hereof, which are ratihed and agreed to. J98 sec 66l~ en, Iniormaltore ame LE TAILLEUR AYANT EVOLUE CE SONT SURTOUT ODES MAIN INT SUR ROBES TON ASSORTI STOP POUR LE SOIR ODES wouSs from Thor EES BEAUCOUP DE BRODERIES LEGERES ET RICHES ABANDON TRES NET DE LA PERLE QUI EST OP BEAUCOUP DE COSTUMES DE SPORT &S ar, e a : . | HOMME =D UR TON ETUDIE SPEC ad These First Authentic Statements, Direct from the Heads of Leading Paris Houses, Give a Clear Idea of What Will be Shown in Paris this Spring DRECOLL * GENERAL line still youthful. Skirts short, waist-line at the top of the hip. Abandoning godets and circular dresses, replaced by softly full effects giving corolla-like (morning-glory) impression. Bodices more elaborate, often with lace inside the neck-line. For afternoon some draped dresses. Bloused effects sometimes given by special cut. Materials, great deal of lace, chiffon but less printed chiffon, satin, and taffeta. Light colored trimmings. JENNY “ ABOUT same silhouette as mid-season. Some flounces making soft flare at bottom of skirt. Printed chiffons. Pastel colors. Beaded dresses combined with plain material. A few three-quarter black coats worn with several different dresses designed in harmony with them. Long sleeves for day wear. Very short skirts. LELONG GES PLUS TRAVAILLES SSELINE IMPRIMEE GARNI © THIS spring I have revealed to the public a little more of my philosophy of fashion. I have pointed out that my kinetic design, which many inter- preted last season to mean flare and other incidentals of the silhouette, is merely a method which I am using to move toward an ideal. I call this ideal absolute style. By that I mean style so attuned to its moment that it perfectly expresses the spirit of its time. Absolute style is, of course, unattainable, but the nearer we approach it the fewer will be our failures in fashion, since women turn instinctively to style which best expresses them. Absolute style is approached through the kinetic method of dress design, i. e., design in motion, since the spirit of any age is manifested by its pace of living. That pace constantly changes. Every world event has an effect, however slight, upon it. It follows that the silhouette of one season will not express the spirit of the next, and that the art of dress design that takes into consideration the pace of living will best meet the instinctive style demands of womankind. Guided by this philosophy, I have this season produced a silhouette of extreme simplicity, almost the essence of simplicity, gained by subtle and most difficult cutting. At the same time MESSAGE in received via FRENCH TELEGRAPH CABLE smb stds Wehctuegebch red dre : : it is a very feminine line, one that sweeps away completely the masculine ple, neuvhtel 2 iaigd ela Ndl influence and extends even to tailored costumes. In materials I have FICHE TER BAD RES. TED. 18 BY COLLECTION IM A MMBER sponsored an innovation, using in addition to the usual soft woolens and 7 VE PURINE CRS CON WEAR 1H WER OFFICE OF A SUM silks a stiff fabric—taffeta. A stubborn medium in which to drape the WITH EQUAL G00 TASTE modern line but one which has yielded to the kinetic method. For sports LUCIEN LELONG costumes I am also using a new and exceedingly fine jersey woven ex- clusively for me. It is my habit to use colors created specially for my own collections. This spring I am emphasizing a water green and a special pink called Rose Matignon. I am using no more of the marrons and browns that were popular during the winter. Waists are frankly shorter, with the shortness not concealed by cut as it was last season. Frequently Fo reduce the righ of errors or delays, please fle any answer to this message I produce a bloused effect. I have abandoned the boat-shaped décolleté. - =o i by Telephone for Cablegrems FREE OF CH) Finally, my recent American tour has resulted in my collection in a number

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for MARCH 1926 65 | WESTERN UNION i bed at 40 Broad Street, New York , B 436 oK e paris 105 1/40 j CO Dely it fer the CLT SELBAZAR : 534 YY obit Ke 7 fow (ahaha newro WA COLLECTION SE GRAND BLOUSON DANS aa P hou ET AMPLEUR D OLS SOF BASSE DERR of frocks that the business woman can wear in her office or at a smart luncheon or tea with equal good taste. My embroideries are the newest I ever had. I have attained some mosaic effects with cut rhinestones and precious stones specially made for me on my ideas, particularly on evening gowns, which I regard as the most important detail of my collection. This mosaic stone effect is also carried out in my day gowns, an unprecedented thing in fashion. MoLyNEuXx © STRAIGHT line. Using printed crépe de Chine dresses with woolen material coats. Featuring bright colors, red, green, pale pink, pale green, periwinkle blue. Black coats worn with colored dresses. Black and colors mixed. Sports coats fur-lined; for example, green woolen material coat lined with bright green painted fur. Also pink kasha coat lined with painted pink fox. Lots of dyed fox. New cashmere material from India, sometimes checked, sometimes plain. Evening frocks embroidered and beaded, combined with plain tissues. Deep pinks, glorious colors, a few black and silver dresses, printed chiffons embroidered with fine paillettes. All dresses very short, lots of plaits and panels. Jean Patou © TWO new fabrics for this summer, taffeta and “fleur de soie.”” The return to taffeta will bring back a more feminine mode because of the necessity of using it in conjunction with chiffon and crépe Georgette. Using much printed chiffon and for the morning English men’s materials. In sum, the tailor suit having finished its evolution, we shall have principally coats designed to complete dresses of matching color. For evening printed chiffons and many light but rich embroideries. Important to mention very definite abandoning of beads which are replaced by paillettes. Many sports costumes, almost all with men’s sweaters of a color scheme especially studied for the Parisienne. PREMET © MY COLLECTION will feature straight silhouette with much bloused effect in the back and fulness in the front. Many belts and girdles. Short skirts, waist-line low in back mounting toward front, long, tight sleeves, collars leaving the neck free. Little capelets or flying capes to complete each dress. ‘Tailleurs with plaid jackets and plain skirts. Sports frocks have sweaters with skirts of chiffon or Georgette crépe. My materials are black satin, taffeta, many Scotch plaids, Georgette, and wool mixtures. Colors, pastels, especially blues and chartreuse green. Evening gowns, paillettes in pastel colors very rich, and others in plain colored satins mak- ing frock background for jewels. More than ever I am making youthful P «TLT SELE 46 models easy to wear, giving freedom of movement. WorRTH BE USED «1 LO \ LA “ LOTS of tulles, mousselines, and other light filmy fabrics will give the silhouette softer lines but retain a distinct sports note even for afternoon and evening gowns. Printed materials are coming in favor and are used for tailleurs and three-piece suits. Foulards will be seen for all occasions. Black is coming back, but will not predominate. All colors will be used, with chestnut, blond, and black outstanding. Great variety will mark collection this year, giving more freedom for personal expression and not compelling adherence to hard and fast lines. L

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HARPER’S BAZAR ‘* Most men and women eat, drink, and sleep too much THE COUNTESS OF to keep their minds active or their bodies healthy. Nothing surprises me more than to see how much OXFORD AND ASQU ITH my friends and contemporaries consume at their meals, or how careless they are as to what they swallow.”

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Hi MARCH 1926 for The kirst of a New Series By THE COUNTESS OF OXFORD AND ASQUITH HEALTH If I am not Writing for the Lower Classes I am Writing for all the Others, and | am not at all Sure That the lenorance Among the Poor ts More Conspicuous Than the Recklessness Among the Rich Let not the sun go down upon your wrath —Epw. 4: 26. EOPLE who do not read their Bible often do not realize the common sense of the injunctions both of Christ and his apostles, and if the clergy were to lay more stress upor. this they would be better in their sermons. In quoting this simple sentence I am not going to write upon Love, or Forgiveness, or any moral aspect of the verse; I propose to take it as a text upon Health. “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath” is not the counsel of a visionary, it is a practical prescription for restoration; a corrective, or form of physical healing. Something remote and ideal makes a stronger appeal to most of us than what is simple, practical, and at hand. I remember President Wilson,when he received the Freedom of the City of London in December, rg1S, saying to me at the Mansion House, where we were waiting in the interval before the public luncheon: ““Whenever I say anything sensible, Mrs. Asquith, I am told it is not practical and I am called an idealist. Is it not more practical at this moment, when half the world lies in ruins, to prepare for Peace than for War?” Believing as I do that the League of Nations was the only fine idea that emerged out of the horrible war, I answered: ‘If the world had any insight there would be no gainsaying what you have said, Mr. President, but for the time being it seems to have taken leave of its senses.” OOKING back upon this conversation to-day, no one will deny that much commercial, finan- cial, and political trouble would have been averted if all the nations had combined to carry out the Presi- dent’s appeal. Weapons of war may be obsolete by the time they are needed, and who can say if the next war will be in the air, on the land, or under the sea? It is not only unquestionably right but it is much more practical to prepare for Peace. But in vain may you beg, plead, beseech, implore, and supplicate—nations are like individuals, and men who are convulsed with rage are usually blind of heart. The word idealism when used by stupid people is a term of contempt. It conveys to them something they will not believe in and do not want to do, and they hope to hide their selfishness by posing as men of the world and not to be hood- winked by any such balderdash. What is good enough for the rest of mankind is good enough for them, and instead of saying fiddle-de-dee! (or as the book has it: ‘“‘Pish! pho! stuff! bosh! figs!’’) they say with great solemnity: ‘There will always be wars as long as the world lasts and as long as men’s tempers are what they are!” I do not agree, because the same was said about dueling, and even in my lifetime men’s tempers have improved. In old novels you read of people “being thrown into a ferment,” “their gorge rising,” “a light foam playing on their lips,” and the Psalmist talks of “‘gnashing of teeth.” Few, if any of us, have witnessed these sorry exhibitions, and it is for this reason I say men have acquired more self-control. It is not men’s tempers alone that make war. It is not so simple as all that. It is national tradi- tions, old controversies arising from rival claim to envied possessions; jealousies, ambitions, vanity, and—beyond all—long drawn-out quarrels which probably could have been easily adjusted had they been bravely discussed at an earlier period. If nations in times of excitement were led by men of discernment, anxious to find the truth rather than to score a triumph, instead of by agitators who, from a perverted religion and trucu- lent ruffianism, foment the quarrel, war would be made more difficult of achievement. Agitation in individuals upsets the digestion, just as much as it inflames a nation, and who can hope to sleep well or suspend judgment when the heart burns? We all know that hot blood engenders high words, and endless examples could be cited to show how much the body is affected by the mind. Every child is taught to say it is sorry after an exhibition of tantrums, and it should be the same with those who presume to be not only their elders, but their betters. A good night’s sleep may bring wisdom in the morning, and health is more important than dignity. In the long run what preys upon the mind is injurious to the body and there is nothing so harmful to both the nerves and the constitution as the poison that comes from revenge or the despair that follows upon remorse. Toxicology— or the science of poisons—is insufliciently studied by doctors and healers. My doctor—Sir John Williams—once said to me: “You are not a robust woman, but you have the best sort of bad nerves. *I am afraid doctors will not be able to do much for you in life, Mrs. Asquith. Why don’t you try to observe the health and habits of other people and in so doing learn something about yourself?” From that moment I concentrated upon his advice and commend it to my friends, as, instead of being vetted like dumb animals and abusing their doctors for unsatisfactory results, they could by intelligent information assist in their own cures. Not being in any way medically qualified, I can only write on what I have observed in the health and habits of other people and what I have experi- enced myself. If any one versed in medical science reads what I am writing and ‘answers back”’ (as the nurses call it) I shall be incapable of giving him satisfaction, and it is mere than probable that if courtesy demand a reply my vague and un- certain explanation may cause irritation. ATURE appears to me to be more anxious to heal than to destroy, and—except in cases of epidemics—most of our ailments come from self- indulgence, lack of observation, insensibility, and avoidable bad habits. I am not writing for the poorer classes, although they are careless and waste- ful, because they have not enough money to build big windows or buy good food. Light, ventilation, heat, and diet are commonplaces for the well-to-do, the lack of which accounts for many of the ailments of the poor. To compensate for these drawbacks, however, the poor—when not out of employment— have an enormous advantage over the idle rich (of whom one can say they are an insignificant minority to-day). This advantage is work. Regular work is more healthy than any rest-cure. There is rest in regularity and a pride in achievement that make both for good health and high spirits. In- deed, without paradox I can say that work is almost the only certain pleasure to be found in life. There is an unaccountable feeling of satisfaction in work, both while it is going on and when it is over, that makes up for all the bad plays, dull balls, blank days, lost races, long speeches, platitudes, and fallacies that fill the days and warp the nights of many intelligent people addicted to pleasure. Most of the minor ailments—particularly among women—debility, anemia, nerves, vapors and indigestion—come from lack of occupation. This was noticeable during the war when females who had never been tired of discussing their symptoms worked like beavers, and what with little sleep and less food added fifty per cent. to their general health. EGULARITY of habit is like rhythm in music, and if you are musical you will know what that means. I find the rhythm even of a barrel- organ in the mews often rather stimulating, and there are few things more exhilarating than march- ing in step to a military band. It is an exhilaration not only felt by the soldiers, but exemplified by the people that you can see any day of the week, accompanying drums and trumpets along the high- roads and on the pavements. The reason that small children clamor to hear the same story told in the same words is that the regularity or rhythm gives them a sense of security. If doctors had the wits to suggest work instead of rest their recommendations would have immediate results. Unfortunately it is the fashion among medical men to-day to say we are all overworked, and their safe but mistaken guidance finds many a fool to follow them. From my own observation I can truly say few, if any, normal beings that I have ever known have been hurt by too much work. If I am not writing for the lower classes I am writing for all the others, and I am not at all sure that the ignorance among the poor is more con- spicuous than the recklessness among the rich. Most men and women eat, drink, and sleep too much to keep their minds active or their bodies healthy. Children are seldom as greedy as grown- up people and know with greater precision when they have eaten enough. Nothing surprises me more than to see how much my friends and contem- poraries consume at their meals, or how careless they are as to what they swallow. It is an undisputed fact that the more you eat the more you want to eat, and starvation—though not recognized by doctors—is a safe cure for half the maladies that attack mankind. I do not think there are any societies to prevent people from over-eating, but it is high time that some of the enthusiastic fanaticism leveled against alcohol should be enlisted against meat. Coming, as I shall later, to the question of drink, I can only say I have met among my tee- total friends men who, while preaching abstinence, were far from healthy, being both corpulent, noisy, and gluttonous. The rich and vain, finding themselves growing fat, empty their stomachs once a year in Germany, but having thus salved their conscience and dimin- ished their weight they (Concluded on page 156)

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68 HARPER’S BAZAR Tae. | Se aes nek . f 7 } ay , ) f /} f 7 ) ) f f ‘ Kote f sry sri } Hack’ If OLS VV Forc tia Sf Tf ih S O44 Ne s 44424 f Sf fe ey i if ¢ fC £C Fh et ES Aw tx % A ee se ; ; thf XW Cf? boi X t

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for MARCH 1926 By WUBELE BDEPOSE This new hat from Reboux in fine black milan straw with a huge striped taffeta pompon in beige and brown may be seen any day in Paris at the Rits. BARON DE i — . a cdl REBOUX JEWELS As This Age of Limitless Luxury Advances Jewels 18 rue Vaneau, Paris. LOTHES and jewels are a constantly renewed preoccupa- tion. They are all-absorbing, easily the most vital matter in every woman’s life. A single jarring note mars any harmony; wearing the wrong kind of jewels, for instance, is among the worst of offenses. To find the suitable place for a brooch is no more the simple matter it used to be. It has be- come one of the modern problems. . The once fashionable cameo brooch mounted in gold filigree work, fastening the collar at the top of a row of buttons, is a thing of the past (how convenient it must have been to know it belonged there and nowhere else). A brooch nowadays must give the impression of securing a drapery or of fastening a flower. It often decorates a hat. It is a glorified safety-pin, which, though more elaborate, is meant to serve the same purpose. Nothing under the sun seems really new in the way of adorn- ment. The difference of presenting it produces its novel aspect. Exquisite and improved workmanship makes yesterday’s fashion look modern to-day. Fashions in jewels have, in recent years, undergone almost more changes than have clothes. Quality, size, and profusion are a la mode, in fact extravagance. The same woman whose diamond ring worth three thousand dollars was the cynosure of all eyes some twenty years ago now Take on a New Importance displays on her finger a stone of fabulous size and luster, easily worth from fifty to a hundred thousand dollars, for money, to-day, is found by most people for what happens to be in fashion. In these hectic and troubled times, however, ex- penditure, apparently extravagant, is often but a matter of investment. A fortune invested in diamonds is money safely placed. It is a far cry from the piéce de corsage of some fifty years ago to our modern sophistication in jewels. Such an ornament would have consisted of three wild roses trembling on shivering wires, combined with a center motif from which hung fuchsia- like drops and pendants. Such an elaborate piece of jewelry, mounted in gold, could be taken to pieces, the three shivering roses forming separate hairpins and the remainder becoming an important-looking brooch, as well as a pair of long earrings. Unending were the combinations to which such ornaments could be subjected. Worn by the Winterhalter type of beauties, they were placed in the center of a low, décolleté bodice and were thought, at the time, as lovely as our most modern jewels. A grande toilette would be completed by a few rigid golden bracelets set with a sapphire or a pearl (surrounded by brilliants, of course), by a marquise ring made up of small stones, by a 69

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ruby or a sapphire (also surrounded by brilliants), and by a few “half hoop” rings in colored stones. These rings were all displayed on one hand. They were extremely “elegant,” the word ‘‘smart” not having been invented. This period was one of make-believe, when smallish diamonds mounted in heavy silver settings, or in griffes, were meant to give importance to what was indifferent in size and quality. Large stones were rarely used; they were considered too con- spicuous. (oe - ITH the advent of Cartier’s, about 1900, such ornaments became hopelessly démodé. Luxury was gradually becom- ing very fashionable, and it had its immediate effect on jewelry. It became almost an obligation to have one’s jewels reset by Cartier, the vogue of the house dating from this period. The pearl collar, collier de chien as it was called in French, was in those days worn by every woman with any pretension at being smart. As luxury increased, and Cartier’s artistic work developed, pearl dog collars were transposed into diamond collars. These were, of course, more rigid, higher, and even more uncomfort- able than the pearl collars, though they were smart, and even beautiful because of their exquisite workmanship. A well-known Anglo-American duchess, possessed of an unusually long neck, set the fashion of very narrow bands of diamonds fastened at the side by a diamond bow. She used to wear them high up, almost under the ear. Of imitators she had many, but of swanlike necks, like hers, there were but few. Just as no one gave distinction to the pearl collar as did its originator, Queen Alexandra. Jewels from now on gradually became less formal looking which, however, as luxury increased, did not prevent their rising in cost proportionately. What up to now had often been sheer make-believe became reality. Large stones would be made use of where an effect had formerly been obtained by settings only. It became increasingly fashionable to have one’s jewels set in platinum, a metal up to then hardly used for such purposes. I remember seeing the first chain of evenly-matched diamonds set in this new metal. It was called un sautoir en diamants and was worn in the day, quite a new departure. Though certainly beautiful, these chains, at a time when single stones were still encased in settings of silver so as to enlarge their aspect, seemed a tremendous extravagance and a waste of good stones. However, people soon got used to them, and such luminous and sparkling lines of diamonds, reaching down to the waist, had a tremendous vogue. They were very lovely and would still harmonize with present-day jewels. Diamond chains in 1926, when seen at all, are made up of narrow bar- like stones with square edges and look like narrow, uninter- rupted luminous ribbons. Though diamonds cut this way have an unusual and novel aspect, they don’t seem to sparkle half as much as the old-fashioned sautoir of some twenty-five years ago, which used to be composed of evenly-matched round stones. .o ge EARLS, strings of pearls, be they real or imitation, are nowadays a necessary complement to every woman’s cos- tume. They have been decreed suitable for every hour of the day—morning, noon, and night. One string of pearls, at least, be it long or short, is obligatory. Most women, however, wear two or three, or even more, strings, of different lengths, and when particularly smart, of different sizes. A long string of important-looking pearls is duplicated by a second string of equal length but of much smaller size. The two strings are worn together. It gives an informal look to valuable neck- laces, which is often desirable, especially when they are worn with sweaters and woolen garments. An informal look is also produced by having a small pearl threaded in between large ones, a style, however, which has been fashionable for quite a long while. A fine row of evenly-matched pearls, strung pearl to pearl, is, however, far more classical and gives the pearls an added luster derived from the reflection gained by the close- ness of the gems. The single row, for many years the non plus ultra of elegance and good taste, somehow has lost its aspect of distinction and has taken on a rather dowdy look, while, on the contrary, the rather antiquated style of wearing g:aduated strings, four or five of them, hanging down to the waist in front, is gaining favor. A pearl necklace is meant to be a decoration and this style is quite the most becoming of all. It gives the wearer a HARPER’S BAZAR rather old-world distinction which, combined with ultra-modern clothes, is at present most desirable. However, not all the pearls one sees are genuine. Far from it. Since Mademoiselle Chanel imitated her own priceless neck- lace, because she considered her plain-looking gowns required decoration, and started selling Chanel pearls for such purposes, strings of pearls have become a universal fashion. They are worn by rich and poor indiscriminately. A woman nowadays buys a different kind of pearl necklace to suit the different gowns she buys, as she would a scarf or a bag to complete an ensemble. Impossible to imitate and recognized at a glance as sham are diamonds. They cannot be imitated. There was a time, some thirty or forty years ago, when one despised what then were called ‘‘Cape diamonds.” Nothing but old Brazilian or Gol- conda diamonds were in demand. Now these same “‘old stones” don’t seem a patch on the magnificently cut new diamonds which, even if the market is not flooded with them, are never- theless seen not only at jewelers but also on women, not neces- sarily wealthy but possessed of money to spend. In olden days diamonds in their natural condition, arriving from Brazil or India, mostly retained their original shape after they were cut. This was done sparingly, in order not to diminish their weight. To-day, on the contrary, one sacrifices surface, in order to obtain the maximum of quality. Diamonds used not to be as profuse as they are now. The difficulty of working mines and the complicated transportation had to be considered. Besides, South African mines were less prolific. Gradually, finer and larger stones were discovered and greater attention was paid to perfecting the art of cutting them. Handwork, until then almost exclusively made use of, was replaced by electrical contrivances. Results achieved were vastly improved, became more exact, and more rapidly accomplished. Better workman- ship gave the maximum of luminosity. Clee DIAMOND should neither be too flat nor should it be too deep, and the “surface table,’ a designation for the flat part on top, should be in proportion to the size of the stone. A properly and scientifically cut diamond should have sixty-four facets. Should the size of the stone, however, not permit of this quantity, the number of these may be reduced to thirty-two and for very small specimens even to sixteen. Some twenty years ago, Cartier, always great at innovations, started using very narrow, elongated diamond bars with square edges. This new looking stone harmonized particu- larly well with their modern settings and their style of work. These bars, in their next evolution, became the square-cut diamond. This is the way the fashionable “diamond with the emerald cut” originated. This modern square cut is more especially adapted to stones of finest quality and of exceptional size and beauty. The finest emeralds come from Colombia, in South America. Formerly, even the most valuable ones seemed full of imper- fections, while newer emeralds of good quality, those to be seen at rue de la Paix jewelers, are limpid and almost pure. Again, as with diamonds, the size is sacrificed in cutting these stones, so as to eliminate defects as much as possible. Rubies are much neglected, are not a la mode. The real secret of this neglect, however, is not so much the advent of the reconstructed ruby, which is supposed to have depreciated the real article, as the impossibility of finding even a ten carat true pigeon-blood ruby, and, at a time when specimen stones of unusual size are super-fashionable, even a ten carat stone makes a poor show. The best sapphires come from Kashmir. They are of a warm, velvety blue. Those from Burma and Ceylon, though much lighter and more luminous, are less prized by connoisseurs. Oriental pearls, as well as those from Australia, are rising in value every year, and I am told that a perfect Oriental pearl of exceptional luster, weighing sixty grains, is fast becoming the rara avis in precious stones. OME one asked me recently which stones I considered to be most fashionable for rings My reply was that un- doubtedly the most prized of ail was the square-cut diamond, and that any stone, of course of finest water, weighing above twenty carats, was most acceptable. A large square emerald came next in popularity, followed by a specimen sapphire, by a pearl, and lastly by a ruby. The modern fashion of im- mense single stones, mostly oblong, or square and worn in solitary glory upon a finger, is comparatively often met with. These huge stones, generally of purest water, might easily be

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for MARCH 1926 - — ——oe Senses cenbcbakaiatadddeceigitmamantes . a ee _ : ——— ——] ‘ | ‘ | ' | | 1} ‘ i | F | 11 : i Cr is i | CARTIER CMC LCN, | } thee 1] } » A circular comb for a short-haired coiffure, | which has two large bunches of orchids in ii] diamonds speckled with onyx placed on each Hi | . . ' side, 1s worn across the back of the head. The | flowers nestle in the hair above the ears. |

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72 HARPER’S BAZAR } — C//, C OL, RUNA Kat {( wilh Sea the yf OWS Clones

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for MARCA 1926 | canal || || | 1 1 || : 1] : | Q | {| : | E i| ; | ee | | | 1] | | | 1 | | 1] | || || {| | i} | | || ti 1] 1 } called “Kohinoors” or ‘‘Regents,’’ for they are in the same class for size—and often for quality too. Having become so numerous, in spite of the fortune they represent, it might be difficult to find a name for all. The modern diamond bracelet, a solid mass of stones, derives from the wide band of gold, set with a cameo or with a center- piece of small pearls, fashionable in 1865. No women, in those days, would have considered it good taste to wear more than one of these Victorian ornaments on one arm, while in 1926 no one is surprised to see half a dozen wide bands of diamonds looking like a gauntlet, all massed between wrist and elbow. Strange to say, the obedient eye always gets used to prevailing fashions. Bracelets seem never to have been as popular as at present. It might almost be asserted that bracelets have taken the place of tiaras and necklaces. Given the choice of any ornament, a woman nowadays will unhesitatingly select a bracelet. When worn in numbers, they should be specially measured to the arm, and shaped accordingly; those for the wrist being smaller than those meant for higher up on the arm. It is in better taste to keep to one color in stones, not to wear bracelets set with multi-colored stones, all on the same arm. It is always more becoming to wear nothing but chain bracelets, on one arm, mixing them possibly with bracelets of the bangle style of whatever magnificence, than to wear them in combination with the modern diamond band bracelets, which when worn in numbers fit very neatly, one above the other, and don’t seem to harmonize with any other shape. Watch bracelets are mostly enthroned in solitary glory on the left wrist. The actual watch should be set in diamonds, even for day wear, while the wrist-band is of black moire. For evening wear, however, the watch and bracelet entirely com- posed of diamonds, or possibly combined with a wrist-band of pearls, is far more elegant. Cabochon emeralds are worn as much as ever, in fact every kind of emerald, smooth, ribbed or carved, is tremendously fashionable. The latter kind is distinctly Indian in character and is called the “talisman” emerald. It is much used in com- bination with diamonds and onyx, especially for unusual looking ornaments of almost barbaric splendor, these however tempered by good taste and the present-day exquisite work- manship. (Concluded on page 167)

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74 , a } FUPP?CO ciffe (a DEMEYER + HARPER’S BAZAR L = y L \ Two hats by GINA-MARY Posed by Iler Royal Highness Princess Marina of Greece ICC ano Soule

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for MARCH 1926 75 REBOUX REBOL REBOUX ALEX Jade ~ green Velvet Black ard White Lace

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76 By ALFRED MAYFAIREST OF THEM ALL A Romance of Two In Old Chelsea Real Bohemians EVERETT SHINN Illustrated “Somehow, that one moment impressed Sylvia.” NOYES | HARPER’S BAZAR 4 ie. Py® Pg y _ rw tO. aoe vi ea +t . , 7 tLe “A feline neighbor told of the bacchanalian revels that accompanied fashionable amateur; but in Mayfair he wore the halo of the artist. The common spectacle of bluff triumphant in art and literature is a very misleading one to les jeunes, who often overlook the fact that the bluff of one season is never that of the next. For several years, however, a well-advertised coterie of Chelsea had followed Anthony Graham, even to the point of adopting those wonderful violet-winged collars upon which he had so daringly grafted a suggestion of the old-fashioned stock. But perhaps an even greater proof of his success was the way in which he established the smart artistic catch- word of his hour. It is to be found cropping up in the most unexpected corners even now, five years after its birth, an eon as these things go. It was Anthony Graham who did it; Anthony Graham, who decided that the common words of appreciation had been staled by usage, and that nothing could be more banal than to speak of anything as beautiful, or noble, or strong. Words like these belonged to the rhetorical Victorian period—and the retort by Jimmy Marston (of whom you will hear presently), that so did food and sunlight, was merely evidence of Jimmy’s middle- class mind. Henceforward, in Graham’s coterie—and, incidentally, with the help of a cabinet minister’s wife or two, this coterie simply assumed that it comprised every one of im- TT: THE studios that really counted Anthony Graham was regarded as a merely

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MARCH 1926 for —_ — > SS lene EM a eh. ee tae + the flight of the lovers. portance—the only correct word of appreciation was amusing. You applied it on all occasions, to every kind of play, picture, or book, if you wished to express approval or interest. The moment is still remembered when Anthony Graham (with the “effortless superiority of the Baliol man”) remarked audibly at a revival of Ibsen’s ‘‘Ghosts” that he thought it “distinctly amusing.” It passed along the stalls like electricity. Within a month, there was a transvaluation of values among the young men in violet-winged collars and their bob-haired admirers. You heard them murmuring, “ Amusing —quite,” before Winterbottom’s dreadful picture of “Lazarus Coming Forth.” In view of this unanimous acceptance of Anthony Graham’s leadership among the violet wings, it is easy to understand how Sylvia, fresh from the country, with the woodland sweetness clinging to her hair and innocent hankerings in her heart after the artistic subtleties of the metropolis, was ready to accept him as at least a notable figure in the world of art; and, at last—perhaps bewildered a little by his own obvious admiration of herself— to accept him as her husband. It really all began with his wish to paint her portrait; but, after her engagement, she was distressed to find that his devotion to her was relegating his art to the background. “You have done no work for six—seven—eight months,” she said to him, on their return from their Italian honeymoon. ‘“‘T’ve been to the studio only three times since we were engaged,” he replied cheerfully. Then, with an air of graceful self-depreciation, he added, “Perhaps it’s all the better for the cause of art. It will give Jimmy a better chance of going ahead She described how she had seen Sylvia posing as the wood-nymph of Marston’s now famous picture.” with his own work. He used to waste a lot of time talking, when I was there.” “Jimmy? Who is Jimmy?” It was the first time Graham had mentioned his odd friend, and Sylvia was vaguely conscious that Graham was only mentioning him now by way of preparation for her own visit to the studio. She was sensitive to tones and inflections, and Graham’s off-handedness had evoked the very feeling that he wished to prevent. “Poor beggar,” Graham continued. “I wonder how he’s getting on. He was absolutely down and out when I first came across him. Of course, he was very young; and he had that childlike indif- ference to all the ways of the world, a sort of innocent shamelessness which some artists—of the unsophisticated sort—keep all their lives.” “And surely some of the (Continued on page 144)

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- 8 HARPER’S BAZAR i ne an THE COUNTESS STARZYNSKA in a Patou gown i a ETN a DOT te ER LE an a A BAe

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for MARCH 1926 79 GEORGETTE THE NEWEST HATS FROM PARIS HAVE INDIVIDUALITY AB MARTHE COLLOT GEORGETTE : (Above) A round little hat of navy blue straw has a supple turned-up brim like that of the hat we choose to call a “Spanish Sailor.” The ruche around the edge is of navy blue taffeta ribbon finely plaited. (Above, middle) Crépe satin rib- bon, in light gray, is used for this hat, with the dull and bright sides showing alternately. The manner of folding the ribbon produces a rather odd square hat. (Left) The sort of hat the Pari- sienne has the true gift for wearing. Beige ribbon, closely fitting, and entirely covered by softly falling ostrich feathers in shaded beige and shades of dark and light brown. (Above, left) Very fine black panama molded as if it were soft felt follows the contour of the head in back, and tips into a little brim in front. The ornament is a red goose quill, tipped with black. ray & G , MARTHE ys” COLLOT

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80 Patou is making exactly the right hats to go with the typical Patou frock. The hat shown below is of light mauve grosgrain ribbon, inset with mauve velvet. WHY PATOU HARPER’S BAZAR Another small sports hat is of pink grosgrain, with its crown molded by having the seaming cut at intervals to give to the hat its charming close-fitting line. CLOTHES ARE NOT CHANGING Parts Is Ruled By Two Considerations, the Active Conditions of Modern Life, and the Desire of All Women to Look Young, So the Limits of the Mode Are Narrow f 7 \ “\ ‘ . A PATOU 2 rue de la Paix, Paris. GAIN we are on the threshold of a new clothes season. By the time you read this, the Paris collections will again have been shown and widely reported. But the spring mode will still be waiting confirmation in order to take its place in the costume history of our own times. Paris spreads its wares in February, but the mode holds its breath in suspended animation until the smart woman comes back to town and makes the selection which becomes the fashion of the spring. Nothing can hurry this decision nor determine it beforehand; but we can all have a shot at foretelling what it will be, and some of the prophets are certain to be right some of the time. By Marjorie Howarp There are two things we can do just now—predict what the leading couturiers will make, and have a guess at what their important clients, who really influence the mode, will choose out of the makings. The first is simpler, because the chief designers are good enough to let us have a strong hint of the plot beforehand. On pages sixty-four and sixty-five their advance information is tabulated for you. The second is more difficult, because we have to observe, size up, compare, philosophize—in other words, do some real thinking. WHAT LIMITS THE MODE OU will notice in the information on page sixty- four that none of the couturiers stress sen- sational novelty. That is because they are still ruled by two things—active conditions of modern life, and the desire of all women to look as young as they feel. So that the limits within which the mode must be created are fairly narrow. But don’t worry; for within these limits (largely imposed by ourselves) they can be counted upon to give us tempting clothes that will have an unmistakable air of newness. I don’t know how they do it, but I think it must be another manifestation of “‘ French genius.”’ People will be able to see that your spring clothes are not makeshifts from last year, if that consideration means anything to you. We do love novelty in America; much more than the Frenchwoman loves it. I don’t hear her say, “T like that model, but it’s so old,” a comment I constantly overhear from American shoppers in Paris. The Parisian says, instead, “I like that model because I have proved that that style is becoming to me,” or “I think I’ll choose that one because there is nothing radical about it.’’ Perhaps the Parisian would accept novelty more readily if she could afford the money for experiment that the American spends without a thought. Most of the clothes closets in the United States would show a staggering number of failures; bought because they were “pretty,” never worn, given away finally to country cousins, if any unsophisticated enough to accept them may be found. Eventually, perhaps, they find their way to Greenland’s icy mountains or India’s coral strand. IIll-considered buying of unwanted clothes is one of the biggest economic leaks we have. The Frenchwoman, on the other hand, really considers so long before she makes her purchase, that she can wear her final choice and wear it out, secure in the knowledge that it was right in the first place. She does not in the least mind being seen over and over again in the same costume. After all, the reason is not far to seek. It is youth that longs for and must have change; and in America youth, real youth—teens and early twenties—plays a far more significant réle, in fashions as well as in other things. French fashions are primarily conceived for women, not girls; the unmarried girl still has no official place whatever in the scheme of smart life. Hence, French fashions are primarily concerned with the problem of accentuating the youth of their clients, for in France the woman who is recognized as a real élégante is seldom very young. There is a general impression that it takes a long time for a woman to learn the intricate business of real elegance. Antoine, the smart coiffeur, once told me that, in his opinion, it was impossible to achieve it before forty. PERIOD INFLUENCE AS a matter of fact, clothes have not changed fundamentally for a good many seasons, and they are not going to begin this spring. As long as we continue to be led by the sports influence in the daytime and the dance influence at night, considerations of practicality, or clothes that we can live in, must come first. There is no use in the designers’ tying (Continued ou page 86)

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for MARCH 1926 81 The new heavy silk fabric “tiflis” is used, in black, for this simple, almost tailored, The Eton collar and full cuffs are of embroidered rose crépe satin afternoon frock. and white Georgette. This much elabora- tion does the Parisienne allow herself. LELONG MAKES THE AFTERNOON SIMPLE FROCK PARIS PREFERS Fundamentally, this frock is most simple; the details of workmanship give it its distinction. The fabric is beige Georgette crépe, and there are bands of brown Georgette crépe inset as trimming, and forming the small collar and the cuffs.

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HARPER’S BAZAR A slim and charming dance frock LESS FORMAL EVENING Across the back of this light gray is of light green Georgetie crépe, Georgette crépe frock is a full with its round neck-line retraced V7 ; athered , left swinging : FROC KS FROM gathered apron, left swinging . ah ° aN? d AL — ° . on . by a V like alittle vest. A belt of open in front. The apron is strass holds the frock tightly. bordered with a band of gray fox. WORTH

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for MARCH 1926 TWO DISTINCT TYPES OF “LITTLE” FROCK FROM PATOU This is exactly the sort of smart little frock one expects from the house of Patou. It is a simple tailored frock in two pieces, made of bois de rose crépella, with collar and cuffs of beige rose crépe de Chine, cut with a mannish simplicity. The skirt has godets falling in light plaits that give movement at each side. An afternoon frock that also bears the unmistakable marks in silhouette and manner of Patou, is of white, red, blue, and mauve printed mousseline de soie. The skirt is all godets in front, but perfectly flat and rather tight in back; and there is an under-dress of bright blue crépe de Chine and cream lace. 83

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ee —————— = >> — Ses Sr Gee SEs SE Za waite ~— > - * MARTIAL el ARMAND ODD LITTLE JACKETS GIVE CHARACTER TO COSTUMES FOR STREET AND SPORTS The jumper above is of silver lamé patterned in a herring-bone design, and the belt and collar are of silver. It is made for the Queen of the Belgians, with a gray silk crépe skirt. An amusing little jacket made of brown duvetyn has a design that resembles a game of dominoes achieved by sewing rose-tinted pearl buttons close together over a large part of it. Black ratine—it is a long time since we have seen ratine used this way—is made with a slight flare, and a gilet effect is produced by buttons placed, three together, down the front. HARPER’S BAZAR TALBOT MYRBOR (Right) An interesting jacket of “etamine,” a Rodier fabric like light-weight homespun. The fabric is a mixture, showing a faint plaid in its weave, of beige-gray and dull pink. The fabric that makes this jacket was made especially for Goupy. It is a soft thick woolen material, meant to replace jersey, in beige and brown. This is really a pull-over.

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for MARCH 1926 85 / \ /, 4 // \ Bia oe } I) hy YVONNE DAVIDSON 9 JACKETS WORN OVER SIMPLE EVENING GOWNS TRANSFORM THE GOWN AND CHANGE ITS SILHOUETTE Yvonne Davidson has designed these sleeveless coats to be worn over simple thin evening frocks. This one is of black chiffon with a yoke effect made by iridescent paillettes, black and gray, applied to the lower part of the bodice. This coat produces an interesting silhouette. Another jacket made by Yvonne Davidson is worn over the same dress with an entirely different effect. It is alittle redingote of black silk net, embroidered in jet and coral beads. This model is caéled ‘‘ Coro- mandel”’ since it reminds one of the Oriental screens now so smart. (Left) Over the frock of mauve mousseline de soie and gold lace at the right in the sketch, a transparent tunic-jacket of mauve mousseline de soie may be worn to make it look like the frock shown on the left. The tunic has long petals to the hem-line, changing the silhouette.

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86 For this model Chanel uses one of the patterned tweeds in browns which are so good at present. The white piqué vest is springlike and extremely smart. A CHANEL SPORTS FROCK up a lot of expensive material in “‘picture’’ gowns, because women simply have no chance to wear them. The French designer, however, is invariably a student of the past, a respecter of tradition, with a very deep knowledge of costume history, so largely the history of France itself. Once in a while one of them dreams a bit, and imagines, for example, how charming the present slim figure would look in an Empire gown. If he is of a romantic disposition, and his house is rich enough to afford experiments, he proceeds to translate his dream into material. So we have a periodic Directoire revival. Before the war, when the dollars and cents in- fluence of French fashions was nothing like so wide- HARPER’S BAZAR ceca Silla sath? spread and engulfing as at present, a Directoire inspiration caused the waists of the upper ten thousand (who alone were vitally interested in French fashions) to go from normal to high in one swift leap. We all remember when it happened last time. But what was the result in the spring of 1924? The collections that season were definitely tinged with Directoire color; but the real spring mode hardly felt the effect at all, because during the time that elapsed between the presentation of the February collections and the acceptance of the definite mode by the smart women of the world, the vultures had swooped upon the idea, which might have been so subtly and delicately inter- preted, commonizing it at once with their “costume” ——

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for MARCH 1926 PARIS NOW WEARS THIS TYPE OF EVENING FROCK JENNY This evening frock is typical of the frocks Jenny makes this time of year. It is of rose crépe lamé, embroidered blue, red_ beads. in green, and 87 DRECOLL A rather important evening gown of black chiffon velvet is embroidered with strass. The lower part of the skirt has crescent moons, edged with a line of strass embroidery, 5 7 » cut out of the fabric, models, taken far too literally from the plates accessible to all. The important client took one look at them over a raised and very cold shoulder, and promptly ordered beige kasha made on simplest sports lines. She simply refused to look like a comic strip, and that was the end of that. So we may definitely discount costume clothes for spring. The designers like headlines as much as the rest of us, and have no desire to lose their reputation for creative ability. But they have to be business men as well, and they realize that experimentation, with prices of materials at their present level, means sinking a lot of money, much of it “‘spurlos,” with no possibility of salvage opera- tions. A sensational novelty has one chance of showing a white satin under-frock. success to nine of failure; while good wearable clothes, suitable to the active life of the modern woman, can count upon a satisfactory sale. The undoubted vogue of certain designers is really due to their tenacity in making what they like themselves, because they have studied smart life at first hand, and realize the limitations of its conditions. Even such designers as these, with one finger continually on the pulse of the smart world, appreciate the necessity of the element of sur- prise. Sometimes their surprise works; sometimes it falls flat. I am thinking of Chanel’s tiered paillette frock in August, and her coq feather trimming last February. Both were innovations for her. Paillettes took (Concluded on page 158)

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HARPER’S BAZAR ) A white satin evening gown made by Worth has the left side of the bodice slightly bloused; embroidery in strass begins at the shoulder, widens to the waist-line, continues down the godet. Worth makes this evening gown entirely of black tulle. The skirt is bouffant and on one hip is a beautiful goldfish in SILHOUETTES FROM coral, gold, and jet. The tail of this fish continues to the hem. PARIS EVENINGS White crépe is used for this Lelong evening gown, trimmed with gold and blue embroidery in a mosaic design of fine beads. A narrow scarf from the shoulder is attached at the low waist-line.

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for MARCH 1926 a r~ “Tiflis,” a new heavy silk fabric, in white, is used for this wv Lelong gown made extremely decorative by many large flowers embroidered on it with exquisite workmanship in turquoise. Apricot mousseline de soie is banded at the neck, waist, and hem with the bright side of apricot satin. Deuillet raises the PARIS EVENING GOWNS waist-line in front to give the gown a lovely up-sloping line. Another Deuillet evening gown in periwinkle blue mousseline THAT FLARE de soie has embroidery of extremely small paillettes in coral and light cerise. The narrow scarf is of the material of the gown. —— a

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By ANITA HARPER’S BAZAR Loos “The leading blonde made Judy look like a dim shadow in a bad light— and he had stitched every inch of his costume with his own fingers.” WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Last Episode: Spotlights and Wedding Bells Drawings by RatPpu BARTON continues to puzzle the soothsayers of May- fair. Admirers she has in squadrons, but a mere successful marriage is much too easy an accomplishment to interest a deb of Judy’s beauty and talent. In fact, she sent Winnie Valentine packing from Palm Beach when every other debbie in Florida would have given her best Charleston step to get him. Since then, she has divided her time generously between Count Swazy and Sherman Bennett, that charming actor of villainous réles who has thrilled us all with his art as a naughty stage lover. However, even these two beaux have not been able to keep the attention of Judy, and her recent appearance in the revue of The Toolchest Playhouse has added one more notch to her record of varied conquests. A reception was held in the ultra exclusive Revell home after the opening of the new Toolchest Revue to celebrate Judy’s stage début, and for the first time, the haut monde and haute Bohemia trod together the sacred Revell carpetry, to do rever- ence to Thespis. Truly, when such goings-on occur, social history is in the making. S XCIETY NOTE: The career of Judy Revell CENE:’ The sacred Revell salon during the reception to celebrate Judy’s triumph in the theater. Judy, flushed and beautiful, is receiving con- gratulations from all sides. Every one within ear- shot is praising her extravagantly. Those out of ear-shot are not praising her so much, while a fringe around the outskirts of the crowd are speaking the truth—but they are all speaking of Judy, at any rate. “Everybody in New York” had come, to do reverence to Art, but most of them are leaving early, because a rumor is afloat that a man who occupies a penthouse on a new building in Park Avenue is at the peak of an unparalleled career of scooping out free liquor. Nobody knows who he is, but the Duchess of Dexter believes his first name to be Jake, as she heard one of the waiters call him that the last time she was there. The Duchess, having started the news about Jake, is leaving, taking with her the cream of talent from the Toolchest group. UDY is not sorry to see these fellow artistes go, because they have put her through a rough ordeal this night. When rehearsals for the revue started, Judy looked over the girls of the cast and realized that she had nothing to fear in the way of rival beauty. A couple of them had a certain distinction, but, take away their monocles, and they lost even that. Thus, feeling secure in the field of girlish charm, Judy had paid little attention to what went on. She disdained the Toolchest ward robe department, whose creations were being fumbled up out of cheese-cloth, radiator paint, and bits of linoleum, and had ordered her gowns from Fifty-seventh Street, studying them with much more care than she did her lines. Standing in the wings at dress rehearsal, she suddenly saw something that threw her into a panic. As she glanced across the stage, there appeared another brunette, so gorgeously lovely that Judy realized something was radically wrong, somewhere. She turned in terror, and bumped into a flaming blonde in a gold and silver robe de style

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MARCH 1926 for 91 “This column admits to a bit of snobbery which is gratified by intermarriage between our old American families.” that beggared description. Then, in a daze, Judy saw other beautiful girls appear as if by magic, and finally the truth began to nose in on her. The Toolchest Players were no fools! As lookers, the girls of the organization were not so much—but the boys were magnificent! So when dramatic necessity called for beauty, the director simply cast the girls as boys, and vice-versa. The leading blonde, Albert Castlewood, made Judy look like a dim shadow in a bad light—and he had stitched every inch of his costume with his own fingers, whereas Judy’s cost so much that she will be annoyed by the bills for years and years to come. Judy was so vexed that she would have quit right then and there, but she conferred with her publicity agent, who advised that if she quit then, it would only be good for one set of front-page pictures in the newspapers—whereas, if she first opened and then quit, they could land them twice. UT to get back to the party—the departure of Albert Castlewood with the Duchess, in a way cools off the evening for Judy’s father, Julian. Julian was present at the Toolchest opening—but he fortified himself to bear the disgrace of his daughter’s appearing in public on the stage, with a bottle of Mexican mescal (a sort of triple-strength gin) which he bought from a sacramental wine depot in Hester Street, whither he was led by a taxi driver, and which cost him six dollars, a renunciation-of the Christian faith, and a quick clasp to the bosom of Judah. As a consequence, he slept through the entire revue and failed to see his daughter disgrace the fine old family name, but, as luck would have it, he came to just in time to see the gorgeous blonde make her final exit, and gave three cheers. An usher succeeded in quieting him, but couldn’t convince him that Albert Castlewood was not Peggy Hopkins Joyce, so Julian stumbled out of the theater and into the nearest florist’s, where he ordered the most expensive (Continued on page 150)

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for MARCH 1926 WHEN IN EGYPT DRESS PARISIENNE DOES AS THE A sports dress for Egyptian wear is made by Redfern of leaf- green surah silk, made interesting by smocking at the hips and cuffs. Collar and cuffs of darker green. (Left, middle) Jean Patou, who designs excellent riding-habits, makes this of beige-gray linen impeccably correct, and without deviation from classic lines. (Left, below) This lemon-colored tussore silk three-piece costume from Chantal is admirably suited for the Egyptian climate. The short jacket is slightly bloused. Light-weight wool jersey is used for this Chantal two-piece cos- tume for Egypt. The jacket is rose color, and the skirt ts beige and gray and rose plaid. 93

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HARPER’S BAZAR COSTUMES FOR EGYPT MAY BE SMARTLY PICTURESQUE Jane Régny has solved the problem of what to wear when you ride a mile on a camel. Itis a costume of kasha toile with a trouser-skirt, encrusted with red wool braid. Egypt as a resort has developed interesting sports clothes. (Left) A cape in two shades of leaf-green kasha cloth designed to be worn with the Redfern frock shown on page ninety-three. The lining is of lighter green surah silk. This type of pictur- esque yet smart costume is perfect for the Orient. (Right) Jane Régny makes this cape espe- cially for riding, and uses for it the hand-spun bure that the Egyptian uses for his burnoose. The cape and hood are lined with red wool, and thereis a heavy edging of red wool braid.

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96 By FANNIE HURST —— a ee “Therese was as modern as to-morrow. She played Stravinsky and owned a Matisse. ' She was full of litle i copper points of light. Her ; copper-colored eyes. «A ' shock of copper colored j hair that made her docked head look like a chrysan , themum.’ a GOLD DOES All Illustrated by W. NCE, on her twenty-first birthday, so it happened, when the with her father considered he yelled at her in the presence of two butlers, a Russian wolfhound, and an Airedale terrier with the straightest forelegs in three bench life in house Therese became what pretty unendurable, shows, to get out and go live with her damned views! “That is exactly,” said Therese, who was straight as an arrow and firm-lipped with conviction, ‘‘ what I intend to do,” and rose from a dinner table that had one hundred and forty-four poppies-in- Decem- ber blazing in a gold Tiffany bowl in its center, and thirty-six American Beauty roses with three-foot stems in rock crystal vases at either end. HARPER’S BAZAR Th at But Glitters Gold Does Is Not OMITHSON The roses helped to obscure from each other the two persons who had been seated at a table far too vast for them, so that in order to get an eye-to-eye word with her father, Therese was obliged to fairly shout along the flank of about twelve feet of Cluny lace, gold-plate, Venetian glass, soft little hiss of wine in goblets with etched sides, the two butlers, the Russian wolfhound and the Airedale the straightest legs in three bench shows. “You're a fool, Julian,” said Therese. ‘There isn’t a wise man in America to-day with millions, who doesn’t see the writing on the wall, and who isn’t either giving his fortune away or dividing it among his employees.” with You see, Therese was as modern as to-morrow. Glitter GLITTER Gold BROADHEAD There were three books on the little reading-table of the rooms she kept by the year in the Freelance Club down in Macdougal Street: ‘‘Ulysees,” “Tender Buttons,” and a pamphlet of the Gurgieff Institute. She played Stravinsky and owned a Matisse. She called her father by his Christian name. Always had. And dared to call him a fool. To his face! ‘“‘You’re a fool, Julian,” repeated Therese to the ninth biggest millionaire in the Empire State. “The gong for your class has sounded and you haven't heard it.” ““And you talk like Upton Sinclair, who calls a spade a bludgeon, and who thinks that capital punishment was invented for capitalists. You

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for MARCH 1926 be) tw QeuTHSo BROADHEAD. a eee 97 belong to the school of Harold Bell Wright, Eddie Guest, John Roach Straton, philosophers who preach that the rich are all rogues and the poor are all pure. ‘““And you, my dear Julian, talk the typical de- fense lingo of monopoly. You are afraid to look the poverty you create in the face, except by writing, in the name of charity, checks that may partially at least succeed in checking public opinion and in placing you in the philanthropist class. Otherwise, not a single capitalist of you living in this Million- aires’ Row could place his head upon his lace and linen pillow to-night without nervous hydrophobia and the jolly horrors.” “You're of age, Therese, to-day. Nobody is trying to hold you prisoner in this Millionaires’ Row.” ‘One of the reasons I am dining at home to-night, my dear Julian, instead of at my club, as usual. Spirit of birthday festivity and all that kind of thing. Another is to tell you two bits of news. First, I’m going to marry Roger Pulliam.” ““He’s a cad, a four-flusher, and a pauper. Also, not to do the young man an injustice, a professional W. W., in the I-Won’t-Work of the alphabet.” sense ‘Your usual estimate, Julian, of any man who opposes the tyranny of capital and the viciousness of monopoly.” “What has Pulliam ever done to oppose us ex- cept shout from soap-boxes and get sentimentalists like you to manipulate him out of prison and then try to ingratiate himself into the homes of capital, whenever so much ‘as a crack in the door is opened to him?” “Tt is useless to go over all that again, Julian. I’m going to marry Pulliam. We’re going to live in a model tenement. We’re going to work together. We're going to fight—you and your kind—together.” ‘Pulliam won’t fight. He only fights women like you with his teeth and eyes, and wins.” . HE second bit I have to tell you, Julian, is this: the twenty-five thousand you were good enough to give me for this birthday, and the forty I have to my checking account, and the eight hundred thousand from my mother’s will that I come into by right of this same birthday, makes almost a million. I intend to give that away. To establish a fund. Roger and [I start our married life penniless.” “Umph! Does Roger know that?” “That’s my engagement present to him. I am telling him to-night. I’ve been working on my scheme of a distribution-fund for three months. It’s my surprise!” “Umph. And Clint?” “Clint what?” “Does he know?” “What?” “That you’ve thrown him over.” “Nonsense. Clint has never even asked me. Clint? What have we in common? All I would ever venture to talk about with him would be polo, Princeton, puttees, and pearls.”’ “Of course, I beg your pardon. Fie on a rich young man with family and principle and breeding! The rich are all rogues and the poor are all pure! Roger Pulliam dragged himself out of a sweat-shop, went broke in Long Island real estate, and then took to soap-boxes and socialism because his talents didn’t work out along real-estate lines.” “‘Defense psychology again, my dear Julian. You refuse to part with your millions and you cannot very well part with the philosophy that goes with keeping them. Besides, another hole in your argument is that Clint, even while he may be paralyzed with admiration, has never asked me the vital, the palpitating question. That must be Roger’s ring now! Don’t retreat, darling, I’m seeing him up in the music room.” (Concluded on page 126)

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98 HARPER’S BAZAR aL) RMANDIE {No ~ i & Few RENAULT AN Low and easily accessible, this model of the Renault is particularly =\ attractive as a lady’s car. This town and country car is one of the many smart types of cars that have superseded the limousine. For = long trips this car is luxurious and restful; shocks even in rough country are scarcely perceptible, according to the Renault tradition. WHEN Women are Mechanically Inclined, But Every Woman Demands Elegance A WOMAN BUYS A CAR of Line, Smartness, and Unerring Performance in Her Motor OTOR-CARS have, this season, reached M the point where they are almost a matter of personal whim and taste. A lady may well wonder what car she shall wear this spring; the motor industry has now produced cars of such uniform excellence, of such perfect performance, that it is almost a matter of choosing one’s type and sticking to it. The automobile manufacturers themselves say that every good car is a good car, and that the selection of a car must be determined by some feature that suits one’s particular need. Many manufacturers have set themselves to achieve excellence on certain points, and these points are the outstanding features of that particular car, that recommend it as new and interesting and, perhaps, as its designers claim, the best for that certain performance in which it has specialized. Several of the automobile companies have endeavored to achieve, in a manufactured car, the quality of a hand-made, custom-built car. The Wills-‘Sainte Claire Company is one of these; it is the definite aim of the Wills Com- pany to manufacture in quantity a small car, one that the owner may drive, one convenient in traffic, and yet of sufficient wheelbase to allow ample body dimensions. Within the comparatively small dimensions of this car the Wills Company states that it presents the quality and power of a large custom-built car. Added to this is an extremely simple motor, and one of utmost precision The Wills Sainte Claire body is the result of a peculiarly interesting process; small clay models of the cars are made and treated with aluminum powder, these are then photographed, because photographs bring out all unpleasing

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for MARCH 1926 99 ROLLS-ROYCE In this roadster the Rolls-Royce Company has produced a classic not affected by the changing lines of changing seasons. The body lines have the simplicity that characterizes every Rolls-Royce car, long, straight, and distinguished. This model, called “‘ Piccadilly,” is known as the ‘‘clubman’s roadster,” but it is a car for the athletic woman too, who drives her own car to the country-club and yp demands of it perfect ease of operation. It is of a size easily handled, and like ieee every informal owner-driven Rolls-Royce, may be chauffeur-driven for longer trips. “Tt wore a great shining bonnet, and flying over the crest of this great bonnet, as though in proud flight over the heads of scores of phantom horses, was that “Ts. silver stork by which the gentle may be pleased to know that they have just escaped WS death under the wheels of a Hispano-Suiza car—’’ Never once did Mr. Arlen tell us just which model of the Hispano-Suiza the gallant Iris March drove, which is a fell shame, but we think it was this one. The color of cream with stedfast straight lines, and a collapsible top—undoubtedly a car built “ pour le sport.” HISPANO-SUIZA

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WILLS SAINTE CLAIRE When the Wills-Sainte Claire Company made this cabriolet roadster, they made, first, a car of great power, unhandicapped by weight, a car of speed and precision, as simply operated as possible. Then, it is an extremely smart car, with that elegance and fineness of line that the smart woman demands in a motor. The Wills Company feels that it may compare this manufactured car to the classic custom-built cars. highlights and bad lines. After the model has been changed until it displays no more undesirable lines and angles in the photographs, a cast is taken from it, and the car is made from this final perfected model. Above on this page is shown the Wills Sainte Claire cabriolet roadster, a car with particular appeal to women, easily handled and extremely smart looking. The coach-work is exceptionally fine and beautiful, every detail finished with meticulous care; the gear shift is kept free by having the emergency brake on the left side another feature that recommends this car to the woman driver. This car defiantly compares itself with the ex- pensive foreign cars. The Rolls-Royce car, now made in this country as well as in England, has now behind it the traditions of the old Brewster carriage-makers of America, since the Rolls-Royce company has incorporated the Brewster Company in its industry. Brewster has been carriage- maker to American ladies for generations, and now the same beautiful coach-work and appointments are going into the Rolls-Royce cars. The Rolls-Royce roadster shown on page ninety-nine is known as the ‘‘club- man’s roadster,” but it is a car for the woman who likes to drive herself to the country club and who prefers the independence of a self-driven car to a large car and chauf- feur. Made according to the Rolls-Royce formule, this is a very powerful car, but with an extremely easy gear shift, easily handled by a woman. There is a compartment in the body that will hold four golf bags. The Renault car for 1926 is similar to the models shown in previous years, but has new qualities of comfort, safety, and power. The clutch is of such sensitive action that a woman may drive even for great distance without fatigue. The steering post is built according to the Renault tradi- tion so that the shocks of even rough driving are not felt in the steering-wheel. The acceleration of the Renault is another point in its favor as a woman’s car; this is so great as to permit of full range of speed on high gear; this coupled with the fact that the four-wheel brakes are of powerful action, without strain on the driver.

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for MARCH 1926 101 ee. =o Pi ZL CC CCCAAY é The Lincoln “town and country cabriolet” is essentially a woman’s car, of the semi-formal chauffeur-driven type, suitable for town and very smart indeed in the country. The low-slung body, the running- board low to the curb, recommend this car immediately to women. The back is collapsible, leaving an open car with a three-sided windshield to protect the rear seats—a feature most desirable for country use. make the Renault a car that a woman likes to handle herself, as well as ride in. The particular model shown on page ninety-eight is a town and country model made on ‘‘stream torpedo” lines characteristic of the Renault. It is an excellent car for long trips, high-powered, can do eighty-five miles an hour if one likes, with the motor of exquisite precision and smoothness that dis- tinguishes the Renault. Looking at the replacement parts of the Hispano-Suiza car is like looking into Cartier’s window. Each part is a jewel exquisitely made, a marvelous piece of skilled hand- workmanship. The model of the Hispano-Suiza shown on page ninety-nine is an ideal car for the sportswoman. It is comparatively light in weight because of the extensive use of aluminum in its construction, and it has actually hundreds of fewer parts than other foreign hand-built cars. One of the outstanding features is the remarkable accel- eration of the motor, an excellent point in tight places in traffic, another is the extraordinarily rapid brake action. The Hispano Company states that this car can be stopped, by its special brake motor, more quickly than any other automobile made. The steering gear is another interesting feature, and a factor for safety in a car so high powered. The operation of the steering wheel is scarcely perceptible to the hand, a complete turn being possible with the little finger. The Lincoln “‘sports cabriolet” shown on this page is a type of car that is having increasing popularity, espe- cially among smart women, because it is smaller than the standard cabriolet and has a compactness and grace of line not possible in the larger car. This sport cabriolet has a body by Le Baron, and is painted to match the grass-green tanager from Ecuador. Grass-green is used for the body of the car, while the molding encircling the rear door is painted the red-brown from around the eye of the bird. The trimmings on the chassis, body and _ radia- tors, are in brass instead of the usual nickel. The top is fully collapsible, the front and side glasses acting as windshields, a decidedly smart type of open car, formerly seen only abroad. LINCOLN

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102 HARPER’S BAZAR | } | | | | | | | | | j | if } | ! | | - - = = A SI | L Suhre THE PIERCE-ARROW FIVE-PASSENGER COACH FOR THE WOMAN DRIVER This type of owner-driven car, with no division and roomy although it encompasses a compara- between the driver’s seat and the back seats, can. lively small space. The usual straight-molded of course, be a chauffeur-driven car too, but it is essentially an informal car, not too heavy for a woman to handle, and extremely comfortable Pierce-Arrow line, without a break from hood lo back, gives a particular dignity to this car intended for general, and therefore informal, use.

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for MARCH 1926 ’ 103 ) Si td FOR MOTOR TRAVEL, THE CUNNINGHAM SEDAN IS THE CHOICE OF MANY SMART WOMEN This type of enclosed car is favored by the woman who takes long trips by motor, who motors from town to country, from North to South. It is the luxurious and commodious car that will accommodate all small luggage a woman wishes to take for a week-end trip, her maid, and a brace of Pekingese. This car is built to be chauffeur-driven; above it is shown that it may be driven, with equal dignity, by the master. There is a fifty-gallon gasoline tank for long trips.

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{ i | | : } 104 HARPER’S BAZAR By HvuGH WALPOLE el, is! ; | ’ TA.SKiInNERE ry HARME “Johanson saw instantly, with a sense that this was fate and prearranged by an Young Boultewood was laughing in that idiotic way of his.” interfering Heaven. JOH A Legend of Beauty in a Small A RésuME OF THE PRECEDING PARTS: NTO our town, an old cathedral town in south- ern England, on a December night in the year 1906, came Hjalmar Johanson to find a lodging place in the home of Mrs. Penethen. Johanson wished that the people of Polchester might be more beautiful, stronger and happier— and to this end, as a small beginning, he started a gymnasium. He dreamed of a time when beauty and light would spread through all of England. A young man with a vision he was. With childlike sincerity Harmer John, as the whole town called him, responded to the beauty of the vain and selfish elder daughter of Mrs. Penethen; and before long they were engaged, Maude yielding at first merely through personal vanity and the desires of the moment. But although she was incapable of appreciating the fine, true worth of the man, she did give herself over to a consuming love for him. Johanson’s work progressed rapidly, and _ his ideals seemed at last to be bearing fruit. His classes were becoming very popular, he had some private clients—among them Canon Ronder—and he was asked to give a lecture in the Town Hall. The town had come to accept him whole-heartedly. Nevertheless, many dark clouds threatened Harmer John’s plans. One of his first friends in English Cathedral Town Illustrated by T. D. SktpMmoreE “town had been the Rev. Thomas Longstaffe, the jolly, kind-hearted rector of St. Paul’s. And now Tom was having trouble with his narrow-minded parishioners, because his daughter, Mary, had returned home bringing her fatherless young son with her. Johanson’s loyal companionship with Tom began to make ugly talk in the town, and Maude Penethen’s shallow jealous nature made her one of the first to link his name with that of Mary Longstaffe. Harmer John’s frank and outspoken truthfulness tended to make trouble for him. Mrs. Bond, an influential center of the town’s social gossip, became angry with him; and Canon Ronder showed himself for the small-minded, self-seeking person that he was—especially in his uneasiness at the possibility of any intimacy between Harmer John and Ambrose Wistons, the stern ascetic rector of a small nearby parish. PART S1x ND now it was the night of the lecture and the right kind of evening for it, fine and dry but not too warm. By seven-thirty, there was a thick stream pouring through the doors into the vestibule. Here you bought your tickets. The unreserved tickets were the ones that sold. It was understood. that the “‘quality”’ had bought all the reserved seats weeks ago and then when Tommy Probyn, a tall, haggard man, the owner of the “curio” shop near the Cathedral, who was superintending the ticket selling, announced that this was not so but that there were three whole rows of reserved seats still for sale at only a shilling more than the front unreserved, there was the trouble of sitting with the ‘‘quality,” perhaps cheek by jowl with Mrs. Combermere her- self! No, happier in the balcony (front three rows 1/6, fourth and fifth rows 1/-, sixth and seventh 6d). The sixth and seventh rows were very quickly filled and by the rowdy element. But the rowdies were to-night good-tempered; from the very first you could tell that their strange cries, frag- ments of song, and violent whistling were all tuned toloveandadmiration. To-night, atleast, they had come to praise Cesar, not to bury him. It struck eight o’clock, and a moment later Canon Ronder appeared on the platform. How did he always work his miracle? How did he contrive, so easily and with such ready grace, to throw his spell over them all? In a moment of time he had the hall in his hands. A smile, a little joke, an intimate allusion to something known only

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for MARCH 1926 “In a voice full of pain Johanson said at last: ‘Oh, Mr. Wistons, show me how to keep her and yet be honesi, show me how!’” among the townspeople, his voice cultured but not superior, and the whole appearance of him, so smart, so bright, so kindly! No one in our town could approach him at this game! In five minutes he made the whole room feel that it was all his doing that Johanson was there at all, and that it was the very best thing for Polchester that Johanson was there. It was as though he, Ronder, had gone out into the highways and hedges of the world and had found, after infinite trouble, the very thing that Polchester was needing. No one else in Polchester had known—only Ronder. And he loved Polchester so dearly that no trouble was too great for him did the town benefit from his labors. And here, as many of them knew already but as all of them would know after to-night, was the best thing that Polchester had ever had. He stepped aside, looked toward the door and then, as Johanson came in, waved his hand. His face was one happy beaming smile. The hall broke into a roar of applause. It The rowdies in the gallery stamped their approval. A clapped again and ‘again. It cheered. hush fell. platform. He was dressed in a singlet, white cotton trousers, and white shoes. His face, neck, shoulders, arms were a dark red-brown. He stood very simply and quietly and, with a shy smile, explained that, as many of them knew, he was not a very great speaker of English. So he would speak slowly and he hoped clearly, but if any one in the back of the hall could not hear, would he please say so. And then some one cried from the gallery: **Aye, Harmer John, we will,’ at which every one laughed. Johanson stepped to the front of the E EXPLAINED then, slowly at first and afterwards with greater confidence, what it was that he had come there that evening todo. Some of the things that he said have become now such com- monplaces to every one throughout the world that it 105 would be very uninteresting to recapitulate them here. But at that time in our town it was all new to us and had even a spice of adventure, daring, and almost impropriety in it. Johanson had at his right hand a blackboard and over this he threw some charts. First a chart of the interior of the human body and a chart so decent and proper that it was quite impossible to tell whether it were male or female. Nevertheless this public exposure of the human mechanism was something of a shock to one or two of our ladies. Then he showed us muscles and nerves and arteries, all very clearly and in language that a child could understand—did in fact under- stand, because Mrs. Bond’s youngest boy was heard to declare that there was nothing new in all that stuff. He knew it all by heart. Then, putting aside his charts, Johanson explained that five minutes a day in the morning before the open window would work marvelous results. He showed what harm obesity could do to the heart and enumerated the muscles (Continued on page 114)

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106 HARPER’S BAZAR »§ s*. Zz F Ay i Pol 5) VA iP b Vionnet confirms her theory with a A nightdress of rose crépe de Chine has Not all of Madame Vionnet’s models are chemise of white crépe shaped with for its only decoration long lines of hand in crépe de Chine. The delightful one godets outlined in deep cream lace hemstitching. above is of thin flesh-colored silk voile. Like all the lingerie which Vionnet A slender model is made of pale yellow A nightdress of pale pink crépe de designs, this nightdress of white crépe crépe de Chine with incrustations of the Chine has an incrustation of the crépe de Chine is charming in its simplicity same material. set on in the pattern of a Greek fret. MADAME VIONNET EXEMPLIFIES HER THEORY OF THE NEW LINGERIE

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or MARCH 1926 TELE; | J The UR grandmothers said “body linen,” our mothers ‘“underclothes”; it is with my generation that we begin to be able to say lingerie without swallowing first. I don’t know what the younger generation of Americans calls it; perhaps they wear so little that it is not worth while giving it a name. They have steam heat indoors, even in their buses, and outdoors they all seem to have fur coats, the pelts from animals of varying social position, from the alley up. Dressing lightly underneath seems a matter of necessity in such conditions as these. In Paris, I assure you, it is another story. A good proportion of the inhabitants have nothing but their indignation against the climate to keep them warm in winter, and it takes courage and a good circulation to follow the decree that underclothing shall exist mostly in the imagination. Less and thinner lingerie seems to be the slogan, but this is but a recent idea after all. I remember the first lady whose evening gowns I sketched on returning to Paris immediately after the Armistice. It was still very difficult to get coal, but this intrepid Parisienne was wearing a pair of lace panties under her dance frocks, and absolutely nothing else. She was a princess, but even so the artist and I were very nearly shocked. At the moment of this startling ex- perience, we were in the midst of the corsetless vogue. We got over it as we get over everything, and only perfect thirty-sixes, and under, now dispense with their flexible girdles, usually of silk elastic. Frenchwomen always, ex- cept occasionally with evening dress, add what for some reason or other we call a “brassiere,” or words to that effect. The French word, soutien gorge (support- throat) is not much more sensible. A small bust is extremely desirable accord- ing to Parisian ideas, but there is far less attempt to disguise its natural form than is made in America, and the Greek ideal—as high as possible—is still the standard of beauty. The French are quite shocked at the pushing down and flattening processes that go on among Americans, NVARIABLY the soutien gorge and the girdle are worn next to the skin. I believe a few women wear in the day- time the “‘mold,” or one-piece combina- tion of brassiere and belt, which is an American invention. I have seen soft supple pink satin ones at some of the smart lingerie-makers’. Before they were thought of, Chanel used to sell long brassieres which buttoned on to the corset-belt all round, so that one might be as smooth at the sides as the trunk of a silver birch. The defined waist-line demands this smoothness; that is why it was not generally successful. Figures of any shape, except the numeral I, achieve a certain amount of thickness at the top of an elastic belt; this is as in- evitable as second teeth. Hence the persistence of the top-of-the-hip belt-line, and the beltless silhouette. Over the girdle and soutien gorge, the Parisian wears either a two-piece or a one-piece garment, brief as a boyish bob, narrow as a needle. The two-piece consists of a chemise and culotte, the latter usually worn over the former, and by the fit of this garment round the waist, or below it, you may know the rank of its maker. Inexpensive ready-made ones re- sort to elastic. The dearer kinds depend upon adjustable buttons on a very narrow yoke or band. The made-to-order ones 107 NEW LINGERIE Modern Manner of Dress Has Made Sheer Chic Lingerie a Necessity from really first-class lingéres are miracles of fit- ting; cut exactly, they neither tie nor bind, and the material is tested first so that there shall be no shrinkage in cleaning. And this is the beginning and the end of French dessous. For transparency is no longer shocking; it is chic; and bulkiness is ana- thema. An occasional lace-trimmed slip, coming from well under the shoulder and stopping above the knee, may be an addition to certain chiffons, but petticoats are as dead as red woolen undershirts. A few chilly people demand wool next to the skin as the leading article in their winter creed. For them, there are impalpabilities of rose-flush gossamer wool, chemise and panties. They are comforting at St. Moritz, and a very present help on shipboard. We used to put stockings of the same under our beige silk hose, but they made our shoes feel too full, and ail but a few fragile hothouse flowers have given them up. Most women prefer the frankness of a chiné wool stocking, and then they adapt their daytime wardrobes to suit their hosiery. There are some really remarkable lingéres in Paris; some of them in unpretentious little apart- ments, hidden up dark staircases, but with lists of clients taken straight out of the Social Register VIONNET A deshabille that is practical and still not a tea- gown has been designed by Vionnel. It is made of violet chiffon velvet lined with cerise crépe satin. Vionnet has made a charming pajama suit of cerise crépe satin lined with violet, with trousers so extremely ample that they look like a skirt. and the Almanach de Gotha. They hardly ever send out a ‘“‘trousseau”’ without a coronet em- broidered over the initials. Certain convents still keep their inmates busy with exquisite needlework, which must be an agonizing contrast to the type of underclothes worn by the makers. Some women are lucky enough to possess the services of the old- fashioned sort of maid, who occupies her leisure hours in the manufacture of delicate fragilities for her lady. Nearly all the famous dressmakers have their lingerie departments—these are the sources. MONG the Paris dressmakers, Madame Vionnet has the most radical ideas about lingerie. She sincerely believes that the person who makes the gown should make the things that go under it. ‘‘Each of my gowns has its line, based on the lines of the body,” she explained on the day that I went to choose the illustrations for this article, “and the dessous can ruin what goes over them.” She was doing three things at once, as she stood in the lingerie salon surrounded by shallow trays of exquisite undergarments, while one by one the lovely films of voile and cr:pe were held in front of her, as she waved the chosen to the right and the rejected to the left with the authority of a Radamanthus. All the time, she was really engaged in selecting a new man- nequin, and a procession of nervous girls, hastily inducted into Vionnet gowns, un- dulated, turned, and gesticulated in turn. Between her frank criticisms of walk and pose,she talked of lingerie, while the chosen pieces were posed for us by Roberte, the slimmest and loveliest of the accepted mannequins; and it takes a very slim and lovely mannequin to look well in the few inches of pale pink nothingness that constitute modern lingerie. 4 HEY do beautiful needlework in many of the European countries,” she continued, inspecting the shadow- embroidery on a diaphanous chemise. “The convents are full of experts; the Swiss in her snow-covered chalet, the Italian peasant in her low stone doorway, is never without a scrap of linen and a fine needle in her hand. But it is only in France, only in Paris, that we find cut. The others would have remained content with the same patterns forever, repeating them over and over again. “You will always find the same colors in Vionnet lingerie,” continued Madame Vionnet. “Three shades of rose: pale, deep, and medium; banana yellow, and white. Our materials? Crépe de Chine and triple voile, in the same though we have made some pretty things in flowered chiffon on a black ground.” Decidedly these Vionnet things have cut. Look at the combination sketched by Luza in thinnest flesh silk voile, with edges of Valenciennes lace. Above the knee the culotte is shirred on a draw- string, which is just a tiny roll of the material itself. The shirring has to be adjusted each time by a clever maid, but the thing is immensely flattering to a pretty figure, and imponderable as a caress. Another, “very Vionnet,” in palest rose crépe de Chine, is set with the familiar triangles put in with stitchery that makes you realize that you are buy- co lc TS, ing eyesight. Some of the models are without any break in the line—these are to wear under beltless frocks. Others put a thread of embroidery or hemstitching where the waist-line of the gown is supposed to be; (Concluded on page 158)

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108 By ROBERT HICHENS ON THE SCREEN The Conclusion of a Romantic Episode in the Forest of Fontainebleau Illustrated by Joun L HE horse trotted briskly along a broad high- way, evidently a main road, bordered by groves of beeches and oaks. Now and then, but not often, a motor flashed by, its lamps not yet lit; now and then a bicyclist flew past them. Once an enormous char-d-banc roared upon them from the distance, and thundered toward Fontaine- bleau, monstrous, blatant, alive with staring heads, from among which came out suddenly the shrill sound of some horrible instrument of brass, cutting the stillness of the forest like a sharp edged weapon. Night was not yet, but the day was rapidly declining. Darkness was on the way. The breath of evening stole out to them from the fastnesses of the trees, softly pungent with piny odors, and bringing to them an intimate feeling of leaves and ferns and mosses and undergrowth. And the silence that the char-d-banc left behind it was so deep that Jack forgave it and was almost grateful to it. Mademoiselle Durier was silent now and he did not make conversation. conventional effort. The nearness to him of this quiet woman in this environment moved him more than he expected, and indeed too much, made him want dreadfully to be able, as he phrased it in his mind, to “believe in women.” horribly tiresome sentimental need in him, which he could not get rid of. He supposed it was a symptom of great weakness in him. And now that he knew what he knew about his companion, that it should be roused by her, elicited by her, was absurd, almost grotesque. Nevertheless, strongly feminine, so intensely, though unostentatiously, woman, that she overpowered his knowledge of her, reduced him, apparently quite without effort, to a mush of mere feeling in which his mind became sluggish, almost refused to work. He knew her now to be a very successful, and apparently very deter- mined, member of the Parisian demi-monde, but he felt her just then as the ideal woman whom he had first seen in the garish picture-house sacrificing herself upon the screen. And the feeling was so strong that the knowledge had no strength. And the swallowing up of the one by the other brought danger to Jack in the Forest. After they had driven for perhaps half an hour along the broad main road bordered on both sides by densely growing trees Mademoiselle Durier said something in a low voice to the little neat boy on the box. He turned his head, showing the black bow tie, and nodded. **T was telling him to take the next turning to the left,’ she explained. ‘‘That brings us into a real forest road, a path almost. I dislike main roads.” “*T am sure you do,” said Jack. The small boy pulled a rein, cracked his whip discreetly; the horse headed round to the left; the carriage rolled off the highway. Suddenly the noise of its wheels was muffled. night seemed closing around it. He was incapable of a That seemed to be a she was so Suddenly a soft Overhead the sky AGATTA HARPER’S BAZAR “Krahmer had not spoken to Antoinette, and even now he only looked at her. But hard blue eyes asked her questions.” his was blotted out by a ceiling of leaves, to which rose on either hand walls made of tree trunks. They were passing over a soft surface which gave them the feeling of tan, though it was not tan, through a narrow corridor of the Forest. The evening odor of pine trees was stronger here. The air was resinous in the twilight which hovered on darkness. They seemed to be traveling toward a deep solitude. “Isn’t this better than any main road?” said Mademoiselle Durier. “Yes,” said Jack, in a low voice. “Is Franchard far off?” “Oh, no. We shall be there in a few minutes.” HE light carriage swayed slightly, and he felt her body touch his. And the momentary touch gave him a sense of intimate pleasure in the odorous obscurity of the Forest. But immediately after- wards he was thinking. “Intimacy! This is the end of it. A few hours and I shall be gone. Nothing will come of all this. This woman and I have nothing really to do with each other. We don’t even know each other. We are strangers. There is complete separation be- tween us. Then why are we here? What is the good of it? Why did I come?” The way grew darker. Night was already among the trees in the depth of the Forest, and seemed to compel an intimacy between Jack and his compan- ion, causing him to be aware of her in a new way, as a sequestered human force, concentrated on him, energizing only for him. And the home of that force, her physical body, had suddenly taken on for him a strong and intense meaning. It was not that it attracted him sensually as it had not done before. Jack had never been able to feel that Mademoiselle Durier was a sensual woman. It was rather that he, or perhaps rather his body, felt as if it knew her body now as it had not done before. The soft road which muffled sound, the guarding trees, the darkness round them, the deep solitude through which they seemed journeying toward a solitude deeper still, joining together, like con- federates, seemed of set purpose to be forging a link between them, a link which made for intimacy. He wondered whether she felt it as he did, and, if so, whether she was glad of it. Then he remembered what her life had been. Solitude with a man must mean very little to her. And he felt foolishly igno- rant, foolishly innocent, as he compared his knowl- edge with hers. She had no doubt left the main road a very long time ago, and passed along innumerable by-paths with brilliant and intellectual men. What was comparatively new to him was probably a very old story to her. As he realized this the carriage again swayed slightly, and again her body touched his. This time his body stiffened with a sudden impulse of reserve. Immediately

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for MARCH 1926 109 afterwards she said, ‘‘I hope you don’t dislike this little expedition with me?” “Of course not! How could I?” “You might; I do not suit every one. I am too peculiar.” Jack felt she had given him an opening. “You are peculiar, I think,” he said. “‘But it’s just that—” He paused. ~ Teor" “Tt’s just that which made me wish to know you.” “And you were going away this afternoon without even intending to say good-by to me.” Jack was silent. “What did that mean?” she asked, after a pause. “T haven’t gone,’’ he said. “No. And that again must mean something.” “Perhaps I'll tell you at Franchard, if you will be frank with me.” “People often tell me I am too frank,” she said. “Look!” She was bending to the right and gazing before her into the Forest. “Look on your side.” Jack obeyed, and saw in the distance of the darkness a ray of light which looked a long way off. “That is Franchard, ” she said. A few minutes later the track widened, the trees gtew less closely together, in front of them a vague open space appeared, like a clearing in the Forest, with two or three roads leading to it from different directions. On their left was a paling, beyond it a small building in which lights glimmered, for now the night was at hand, though not yet fully come. Beyond, in an enclosed space set with bushes and chestnut-trees, two or three kiosks with thatched roofs, and a much larger wooden building, came in sight. The small boy pulled up his horse. A stout woman with a friendly face stood at the opening in the paling. A waiter, whose conven- tional black evening suit with greasy tails looked bizarre in this lovely woodland place, stood near her with one delicate hand on a square wooden table. A small yellow dog came to greet them, curving his body and showing the whites of his eyes. Jack got down and gave Mademoiselle Durier his hand. Then he told the boy to put up and have a meal. “We shall be here for at least two hours,”’ he said to him. Mademoiselle Durier walked into the enclosure and he followed her. T WAS nearly a quarter to nine when they sat down to the dinner which had been cooked after their arrival. Mademoiselle Durier had told the waiter to serve it in the kiosk farthest away from the house, a thatched roof resting on four small tree trunks, open at the sides, and containing a white varnished wooden table and green chairs with wooden arms. Just outside, by the paling of the enclosure and a little fir-tree, were two straw arm- chairs facing the clearing, which was shaded by big trees dotted here and there, not growing closely together as in the surrounding forest. In the dis- tance, beyond the meeting roads, was an unshaded piece of ground given up to the cultivation of vegetables. To the left, but out of sight of the kiosk, was all that now remains of the famous hermitage of Franchard, an ancient stone wall against which a guard’s house had been built. The gorges of Franchard were hidden in the night. Since their arrival Mademoiselle Durier and Jack had been strolling near the isolated restaurant among the trees, waiting for the summons to dinner and talking, but not intimately. Mademoiselle Durier always seemed at her ease. Shyness was evidently unknown to her. But Jack had been unable to release himself from self-consciousness. The difference between his original conception of what his companion was and his present knowledge of her seemed to lie in his mind like a pzralyzing weight. It was not her fault that he had made such a tremendous mistake about her. He allowed that to himself. She had played no part to him except upon the screen—or if she had he was not aware of it. On the screen she had deceived him. But surely any fine artist has the (Continued on page 128)

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HARPER’S BAZAR 110 EE SERS RA a TT BN

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1926 MARCH for

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112 The winter vacation, North or South to one’s temperament, according has become an established institution. Mrs. Fal de Saint Phalle on the golf course at Palm Beach. SeyP.o mio WOOLENS OR GEORGETTE? OR SAND? TAKE BOTH SNOW LET’S Miss Marjorie Oclrichs, daughter of Mrs. Marjorie Oelrichs. HARPER’S BAZAR Gazerre Mrs. Cecil Singer at the Ever- glades Club, Palm Beach. AT ST. MORITZ PALM THE SOCIAL IS BRILLIANT AND BEACH SCENE

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113 for MARCH 1926 A more delicious vegetable soup cannot be made ! It is the literal truth that finer ingredients cannot be bought than are blended in Campbell’s Vegetable Soup. It is just as true that the use of more ingredients would not produce a better soup. Thirty-two are required to create a vegetable soup ‘‘masterpiece’.. And Campbell’s use that number. Greater skill, more experience, higher finesse in blending are not obtainable. For Campbell’s French chefs are the world’s acknowledged experts in soup-making. We invite you to the enjoyment of such a vegetable soup. 2 Fp, CAMPBELLSOUP Compan CAMDEN, N.J., US-A- 32 ingredients 12 cents a can “* LOOK FOR THE RED-AND-WHITE LABEL Le

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114 that with most of us are never exercised at all. Old stuff this! Yes, but not for us. We seemed to be that night in the very vanguard of human progress. What if, for an instant, a blinding vision of a new world flashed before us? We were not so mad as to hold it and thus threaten our daily security. But, fleeing, it left something in its train. AVING explained very simple exercises with diagrams he paused. “And now,” he said, looking up at the ropes and rings that had been slung from the ceiling, ‘myself and one or two friends shall try and show you by exposition what I mean.” "He bowed. Frantic applause. He retired to the back of the stage. He bowed again. A little pause and his companions entered Walter Pearce, Harry Pearce, Franklin, and the Tennant boy. At the sight of these well- some known faces the hall broke into renewed applause. These were our own, our very own. Every one knew Walter and Harry, had known them from birth, and their father, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers before them. Walter (working now in the post- office) was a short thick-set youth with a round brown face and of great strength. Harry was tall and slim, paler, more graceful than his brother. Robin Franklin was a young giant in the coal business; of young Tennant, having been earlier introduced in this chronicle it is only necessary to say that this was the proudest moment: of his life They were all dressed like their master First they went through a drill of the exercises of which Johanson had been speaking. Had he some miraculous gift of grace and beauty of movement, something quite beyond his natural strength and fitness? Would he, if one could see him now, rouse in one that same sense of excitement and battle and mystery? No one, through all this strange time, no one was indifferent to him; love, hatred, con- fidence, scorn, the reaction always came. To-night, of course, there was no hatred and when, at the last, the young men swung through the rings and formed a pyramid on his support the rhythm and the grace were so perfect that every one in the hall jumped up and applauded. His friends vanished and he stood once more alone on the platform. He stood there for a moment, hesitating. He did not look glad or triumphant, but puzzled and distressed. He wanted to say something. The words came to his mouth and he forced them back. The pause was long enough to be awkward and make every one uncomfortable. Mrs. Bond said after- wards “that really she did not know where to look.” Then quite abruptly he broke out: “Thank everybody for their kindness,” and with a sharp little bow turned and vanished. Thun- derous applause followed. There were re- peated shouts from the gallery: “Harmer John! Harmer John! Harmer John!” He did not appear. The floor broke up into excited little groups and, in the first enthusiasm for a remarkable experience, social difficulties were forgotten. Something true and something beautiful had been created there before their opening eyes, as though it were a bud bursting into flower or a fountain unexpectedly revealed, and they were trium- phant and also a little sad, as though unfore- seen truth had jostled settled conviction Mrs. Bond talked to Mrs. Tape of “The Cathedral Arms” with charming friendliness. Young Lady St. Leath, her eyes lit with pleasure and happiness, talked with the Precentor and little Bentinck-Major. “But it was beautiful! Beautiful!” she could be heard crying. Every one lingered as though they expected something more to occur. The room slowly cleared. Two old women ap- peared with brushes. Perry could be seen, monumental, waiting for emptiness and silence. Where was Johanson? Would he not come round and join them there? They wanted to congratulate him. Vaguely Mrs. Penethen, who knew him now, felt that something was wrong. At the end his eyes had been fighting something or some body. She with her two daughters waited in the vestibule of the hall. He had promised to escort them home. But when they were in the house again he was not there. He came in very late and only Mrs. Penethen was up, reading. She was going to speak to him, but when she saw his face she only said ‘‘Good-night,” and when she heard his door close blew out the lamp and went up herself to bed. OUR days after the received this note: lecture Johanson Pybus St. Anthony Dear Mr. Johanson: You will perhaps remember that you promised me that you would come and have some supper with me one evening? Would next Wednesday suit you? There is a con venient train that leaves Polchester at 6:30 reaching here at 7. The Rectory is easy to HARMER JOHN Hugh Walpole’s Novel New (Continued from page 105) find, up the village street and to the left at the top of the hill. I am looking much forward to seeing you. Yours truly, Ambrose Wistons. He was surprised at his own pleasure at receiving this letter. He had but just been through three of the most disturbed and uneasy days of his life. His discomfort had been so sharply acute that he had been utterly unlike himself, silent, morose, pre- occupied. And preoccupied with what? He did not know. With something that stole like a dark cloud from the thin horizon toward him. But Wistons would resolve his trouble. He knew at once as he saw that handwriting on that page that it would be so. The cloud retreated. He was himself again. Then he was aware of Maude. They had taken their evening walk and now were under their dark embosoming tree upon whose thick texture the stars were like silver buttons. E kissed her as though he had found her again after along absence. She surrendered herself at first with that light sigh of abandon- ment, as though this were the one moment for which she lived, that he had come so especially to connect with her. Then she seemed to recollect. She drew away from him sitting back against the broad wall of the tree, looking at him critically. “You have been queer these last few days,” she said. “Have I?” he said. He was lying full length on the grass. As she looked her gaze altered, more intense, flooded with an inten- sity of longing and passion and desire, a strange intensity for Maude’s light fickle eyes that were not meant to hold so much. She bent forward and kissed him, first his mouth and then his eyes. Afterwards with a queer humility that he had never seen in her before she took his hand and kissed it. “‘T love you so much and sometimes you’re so queer and such a stranger. What are you thinking of when your eyes are so far away? You aren’t seeing me at all. It’s your silly old dreams. I Aate your dreams. They are what make you so queer.” He laughed again. ‘Why should you hate my dreams when you are part of them?” “I’m not part of them. I want to be part of them.” “You're part of everything that I am. You can’t not be whatever I am.” “T’m not yet. You haven’t got me yet. Perhaps I'll marry some one else.” She sprang up and stood, light footed, fairy shaped against the giant tree. I’m free. I’m not any one’s yet.” He leaned forward and caught her, held her between his hands, then drew her down to him. “You are mine. You are mine. You are mine. Don’t pretend. You know it. My heart is in your body and yours in mine. Come more close, more close. Now are you mine? Have I caught you for always... for ever?” No one ever came that way. The silence was absolute save that once and again the leaves of the tree gave a little shiver of exquisite comfort. T was time to go. They rose and moved slowly down the field. She was supremely happy. She felt her power. It seemed to her that she could do anything with him that she pleased. She scurried in her brain to find something. She knew that he did not care for dancing. He had never yet taken her to a dance, so she said: “T want you to do something.” “What is it?” “Promise me before I tell you.” “Certainly not. That never for anybody.” “Oh, you must. It isn’t something you'll mind.” “Then tell me what it is.” “Promise me first.”’ “Maude, don’t be so childish. what you want.” He knew that she was pouting and he could feel her hand stiffen against his arm. “Yes, you’re so fine with your words. You say you'll do anything for me, but then when I ask you a little thing—” “T shouldn’t promise God Almighty any- thing without knowing it first. That takes my freedom.” She was reassured. He still loved her best, better than any one in the world. God couldn’t get more from him than she could. She pressed tightly the muscles of his arm again: “I want you to take me to a dance.” He laughed aloud. They were just entering the quiet and deserted street. “Oh, is that all? Why, of course I will.” “‘But you don’t like dances.”” Her triumph seemed too easy. “No, but I’d do more than that if it gave you pleasure. When is this dance?” Tell me - world. “Tt’s next Wednesday. It’s the Bible Class of St. John’s.” “Why, of course He stopped. “Oh, no, I can’t. I’m terrible sorry. I have an engagement that night.” “You can change it.” “No, I can’t. It’s important.” “More important than me.” She drew her arm away, tossed her head, walked faster, gaining a little on him. He could change it, but he knew with an instant surprise that he did not intend to. He had a reverence for Wistons that made it seem an impertinence to bother him. He was obstinate too. He felt that swift resentment at the interference of women in men’s affairs that every man born into this world has felt at one time or another—and often felt with the woman he loves the most. Her whole body was shaking with anger and he knew that their first real quarrel was upon them. He was desperately sorry: he wanted to take her in his arms, stroke her hair and tell her how sorry he was, but he would not change that engagement. “You needn’t hide who the engagement’s with,” she said. “I know well enough. You needn’t lie to me about it.” Because he never lied about anything it gave her especial pleasure to say that. She could the more admire his marvelous honesty set up like an altar in the middle of the jungle of hatred that she was feeling. “You know that I never lie,” he answered quietly. “It is with Mr. Wistons, the engagement. I am to go to supper there.” “*I don’t believe you,” she retorted. ‘You are going to that woman.” She had never ventured so far as this, she had never loved him so much and she had never felt such a delicious excitement. Jealousy was a human emotion that he had never felt. He could never feel jealousy of another human being because he believed so intensely in liberty. If you loved another human being how could you take’ their freedom from them? They gave you as much as they could and you took that and treasured it. But the rest—if you took it by threat and extortion and tyranny how shame- ful you must be. But although he did not understand jeal- ousy he did, because he loved her so much, understand Maude. He caught up with her. “Darling, don’t be angry. I shall take you to one dance after another, but Mr. Wistons are the man I have most reverence for in the He’s not my friend like Longstaffe, and if he were my friend I would ask him to change the engagement, but we are not on such terms. He is very good to give me an evening. I promised him to go when he asked me. Now I have written and said I should go that evening. I don’t hope you shall be angry and make us both so unhappy.” She turned on him a face under the lamp, cold, hard, gleaming like a cut and sharpened stone. “Yes, you have plenty of words. You can talk a lot but when it comes to doing some- thing you're selfish, that’s what you are. You never think of any one but yourself. And you're so stupid. You're so simple. You don’t care what people say about you or what they think. You're engaged to me, but you go to that woman’s house every day although she’s had a baby when she wasn’t married, and you don’t think of me and what people will say—” “Of what people will say?” he answered. “What does it matter what people say if you haven’t done wrong yourself? And they will say anyway. Were you a saint from heaven come down to earth they should talk all the same.” “Yes, you mayn’t care, but what about me? Am I not to mind?” They were close to their door. her, put his arms about her. “Maude darling, we must each of us have some freedom and we must trust one another. The Longstaffes are my friends: I can’t be unkind to them or disloyal. You have friends I don’t like, Hogge for an example. But you must have your freedom too. Only while we trust one another we can have our freedom. If the trust goes then the freedom goes with it, but if the trust goes then we are no more together. If we don’t trust we don’t love.” She turned from his embrace. “Will you give that woman up? Will you promise never to see her again?” Her voice shook, quivering with the intensity of her feeling. “But Maude dear, I can’t. Her father’s my true friend. I love him and would never give him up for anybody.” “T’m not speaking of him. of her.”’ “But he loves her. I couldn’t give her up without leaving him too.” “Then you won't?” “Give up my friend? No. “Then it’s over. He stopped I’m speaking Never.” : Do you see?” With a HARPER’S BAZAR trembling hand she opened the door don’t love you. I hate you. tell you.” The door was banged. ; af It Ss all over, I ) He stood there, his heart aching for love of her, he had never before felt so tenderly about her. But his purpose did not change and he knew that it would not. NEXtI day they were reconciled. I} had been their first quarrel and it was over. but everything was not quite as it had been. Her power over him had been questioned: she would not rest now until she had com. pletely asserted it. To assert your power completely over another human being js to condemn two souls to permanent impri ment. He felt the change in their relation and it was with a heavy heart that he set off for Pybus St. Anthony. He was experiencing that loneliness belonging to lovers who are too confident. We are so close together that not God Himself can separate us—one body soul, and spirit. Then, in a moment of time, a word, a phrase pokes up its ugly face and there is no relationship at all—strangers in a strange place. He was the only traveler to alight at Pybus St. Anthony. The little village was dead and bright like a picked bone as he walked up the sunny hill. Maude was still with him, walking beside him and saying, “‘Am I not of more value . . . ?” ; He turned to the left at the top of the hill, walked down a little by-road and saw the rectory. He opened a white gate sorely in need of paint, pushed up a weed-stained drive and saw the rectory, bare, four-square, unadorned, impersonal. The old servant ushered Johanson into Wistons: study. It was exactly as he had anticipated it—abso- lutely spare, distempered white, a table, a crucifix, a photograph of Leonardo’s “Last Supper,” a wall of grimy and disheveled ooks. Wistons looked pleased to see his visitor. For the first time in their acquaintance there was something warm in his greeting. They talked a little trivially and very soon went into the other room for supper. Wistons did not apologize for the food, which was bad—poorly cooked turbot, cold beef, and hard potatoes that clung sullenly to their jackets, apple tart with pastry of lead. Wistons did not apologize and Johanson did not consider it. He ate heartily and happily. His mind had cleared. His de- pression had retreated like a defeated enemy. They achieved during the meal that relation- ship that was to last to the end. It was not so personal as friendship; it was rather the frank intimacy of two human beings who recognize in one another those two great qualities, reality and honesty. Whatever the future might bring they would always meet with interest and, cataloguing in their minds the true human beings they had known, they would remember one another. FTER supper they went out into the little garden. The moon was a sickle of apricot, the scent of the flowers lay thickly on the evening air, peace flowed like a river down the hill. They sat on two old shabby garden chairs and Johanson faced his problem. ““T must settle it now,” he said, leaning forward and staring at the sky that flowed above the sharp wall of the garden like a stream of pale lemon-colored water. Tiny clouds of gold moved on a faint wind. Wistons, a true observer of men, studied his face as he talked. Although it had in the curve of the mouth and the determination of the chin a man’s character, its roundness, the simplicity of the blue directness of the eyes, the buoyancy of the brow had still the happy unclouded kindliness of the boy who has not yet learnt to distrust. The brows drew together in perplexity as 4 boy’s might. Wistons knew that the man was face to face with the first real trouble of his life. ‘I must settle it now, but what is it I must settle? Sometimes I fancy that I am inventing all my trouble, making it up like 4 story. Perhaps you shall tell me that, sit, when I have finished, but I don’t think you shall. When I first came it was all simple. I was lucky and got my work quickly and made friends. No man ever was helped so fast in a foreign town. Shouldn’t I then be satisfied? Here I had my work that I could do and I was not lonely and then I fell in love and was loved too. Should I not have been happy, sir? But I was. I have always been happy. y “But from the first there’ were something more. There was two things. First I dont hope you shall think me foolish. There has always been a place I dream of in my sleep. I saw it first as a little boy when my father had beaten me and I slept because I was tired. It were always the same place, 4 house, empty but for a few things, very clean and shining with sun. Long stairs with the (Continued on page 116) son-

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116 sun gleaming on them, open doors and mirrors with green trees reflected, running water. I myself placed some things there, a statue of Donatello, the Leonardo ‘Virgin of the Rocks.’ There was always birds singing, water running, trees, and a line of hills. It is so real to me I could tell you of the marks on the walls, the hollow in the hill and the thin white road out of my window. I were very happy there. “Secondly there were the Cathedral. You know the Brytte monument and the young man who made it? I seem to have known him and spoken to him. And when I were with him I had ideas that I couldn’t control my own work, the gymnastics and the rest, was unimportant and didn’t matter. I wanted what he too had wanted, to make a beautiful place with beautiful people. Just one place, or one street even, or one house. But that were not my business. My business were clear—to do my work and mind my own affairs. ‘Then when I fell in love everything was lost in that. I had never been in love before. I loved her the moment I saw her, but for some time I did not know that she loved me and then 4% +n she said that she did—oh, sir, wasn't I happy? For a time I seemed to have everything. I sang all day and every one else was singing too. My work grew and grew; every one was more kind and more kind. All was made clear and straight for me. Perhaps I were too happy. I had suspicions of being too comfortable. I don’t know what it were, but I began to dream again and then to watch the people around me. I saw that some of them were for using me, not badly, you know, sir, but for their own purpose, not caring for me and my work for what was good in it but only for what helped what they wanted me to do— Do I make it clear?” ‘Perfectly,”’ said Wistons. ‘Then there came two things. I have a friend, my greatest friend whom I love as much as one man can love another. His daughter came home. She had once been unhappy and unfortunate here. You know of course, sir, who I mean. People were cruel to her. I had not thought they would be so narrow or so self-righteous. Perhaps I am not to blame them, but they are hurting her because they like to hurt, not because they are shocked by what she did. It makes them feel better to make her feel worse. “And then there were Seatown. I went down one afternoon. Oh, sir, it is terrible, the dirt, the walls tumbling, the windows broken, the smell, the rags. In such a town as this, so beautiful, so old, so happy, to have such! ‘It is only a little place, one street, fifty houses. One day would pull it down. I was made unhappy by that. You told me once I couldn’t build before I pulled down. Per- haps that is true. But what right had I to say anything? It were not my business. | am a stranger. And deep in my heart I don’t wish'to change people. | am _ not confident enough of my own goodness to teach others. But if we were all at it together not because we were better than others but because we all saw the same thing to do and set about to do it! “Then the lecture came. It were a success, you know. I was happy for most of it, seeing my friends there pleased in front of me, but at the last when I came to make a speech I were in a moment ashamed. What was I doing, standing there glorifying myself? This wasn't the work I intended. I wanted to make a speech speaking of Seatown and all working together for one beautiful place that the world might see and so make mor beautiful places. But I was frightened. | knew I should make some angry, should lose some friends and most of all disappoint my girl. I wasafraid. It ‘was the most shameful moment of my life and I went from the lecture and hid myself. “After that everything was clear. Certain in the town made me see that it were not my business to say anything were wrong with the town or the people in the town. One im- portant gentleman told it me quite plainly that I must give up the daughter of my friend if { would go on to be a success here. Then my girl—she is Miss Maude Penethen, sir, and I lodge with her mother—she and she wants me to be the the town has ever seen. That she must have success for me, you understand, not for herself. She wants everybody co like me, you see, “With every hour from the lecture I see more clearly | must make a choice. I must be quiet about Seatown, I must not see my friend’s daughter, | must do what certain gentlemen and ladies of the town tell me and then I shall be a true success here. I shall marry and have money and build a big business, later perhaps in Drymouth and then in London. I know I can because I have that practical gift. But if I try to change anything, be myself and keep my integrity is young greatest success HARMER JOHN Hugh Walpole’s Novel New (Continued from page 114) and freedom, I am ruined here and so it will be everywhere. Always the same in every place. And perhaps I shall do nothing in the end. Just be a failure, you see. But if I work here at my gymnastics I must do good. “And Miss Penethen she won’t love me if I’m not as she thinks moral, if I am friends with people who she thinks are wicked. She must be happy and see me happy too. I understand her so well. She is young and beautiful and she is proud of me. If she’s no longer proud she don’t love me. ‘So I must do what every one tells me or I lose my work, my girl, and my friends. And for what do I lose them? For a dream, an idea. And why should I meddle with other people? But how can I live and not be honest? How can I live and not be honest?” He ended with that despairing cry. H®* had poured out his words tempes- tuously, but Wistons had understood him. ‘This question of honesty,” Wistons said at last, “‘aren’t you making too much of it? it is not, I think, of such overwhelming importance these days. Your trouble comes down to very little if you look it in the face. To get on, to make a good job out of the material world, to put money by, to live on twenty-four hours a day according to a sharp materialistic pattern, to study success as an art—all of that is the point in these days when God has been proved a liar and all religions a sham. Where’s your trouble? Stay here quietly, do what you're told for a year or two, give up ridiculous dreaming, get power and position and then, when you're really strong in the place, pull down Seatown if you like *You!” said Johanson. that!” “Well, why not? What do we think honesty when, to take only a small example at this very moment, one of the principal dignitaries of my church is neglecting his ecclesiastical duties (for which by the way he is quite decently paid) in order to earn easy money by writing sensational articles in the daily press? The thing is as old as the world. You wish to give up your home, your job, your love because one or two old houses are falling into ruin and a lady of your acquaintance has not been sufficiently called on. Folly!” Johanson answered, “Why are you so bitter about life? Has every one always dis- appointed you? Have no one been true or honest?” ‘I am not bitter,’”’ Wistons answered. “I was putting a point of view to you that many very people hold, and with much justice | dare say. You are a fool, Johanson; you are giving up something for nothing— for nothing at all save certain defeat. What can you do in this place with your reforms? You are a foreigner. I told you before and I tell you again that they will not let you take one single step against their will. And why should they? This is their town, they have built it on certain moralities, certain social laws. Those moralities and those laws make them safe. They have to protect their wives, their children, their earthly property, their heavenly souls. You come from outside and attack them. Why should they not defend themselves?” ‘IT will not attack them,” Johanson answered fiercely. “1 told you I would not wish that. I have no right, as you say, and no desire. But I must honest. I must not be something that [ am not. I would say to them, ‘I think in this way and in this but that are only mysel/.’ I must not lie about myself.” Yes,’ answered Wistons, “but you are against them and the things you want may seem to a few othe rs lesirable and so a little group will grow and that group will not be contented, as you are, with simply stating their ideas. They will want to put them into practice. Then hostilities begin whether you wish it or no.” “It is more simple than you suppose,” Johanson said in a little while. “I have no doubt what it is right to do. I must not agree to what | know to be wrong, I am not to interfere with others but my own integrity is to be protected at every cost. At almost every cost ‘Here is the struggle, you see. I love that girl, Mr. Wistons, with heart and soul and body. If I for a moment look over the wall and see myself without her it is terrible, standing alone in the world. Once that were possible. I did not mind to be alone but now that I have been close to her to be alone will be a terror. IL love her body but much more | want her for my companion, some one who knows my troubles and I knows hers, some one I can always talk with, some one who is true whatever else may happen, some one who knows me and loves me although they knows me. Some one half me and I half them. ‘*She is not very wise perhaps, she is young. You to advise good She can’t think of two things at once and she must have some things or she is angry; and she values some things falsely. We shall quarrel—perhaps often—but my heart shall be hers and hers mine. I love her so that if I can’t have her I can never be intimate with any one again. You love a woman as a woman and a man as a man, they are two things quite different. But I love her as man and woman together.’ HEY sat in silence. After a long time Johanson said, almost timidly: “What am I to do, Mr. Wistons? am I todo? I can’t lose her.” “And must you lose her,” What Wistons asked gently, “if things go badly with you in the town? Doesn't she care for you more than that?” ‘She is very young,” Johanson answered. “And she is jealous. She loves me I am sure but she has been spoiled. She wants her way. I know that if we was married a year or more I could control her, but now, if I don’t promise not to see my friend’s daughter, I’m afraid her jealousy shall, at some moment, separate us. She is so young.” ‘Then go on for a year with your work,” said Wistons, “be married, keep quiet for a while about Seatown. That will come right if you wait. There are othe rs besides your- self who are moving in that. “‘ And give up my friend?’’ Johanson asked. “Oh, you can be diplomatic about that. Go there a little less, not see the daughter privately... “But they are my friends,” Johanson broke in. ‘“‘Do you think at once they would not see that I was as the rest of the town? ‘Yes,’ I say to them, ‘I love my girl and she doesn’t like that I come here. So we meet in secret, you understand?’ Oh, yes, they understand! Only a little flush in the face, a little dropping of the eyes, but Tom Longstaffe’s heart is hurt forever and I have been false to my word. No, no— No, no, no.” ‘Then,” said Wistons quietly, “you must persuade the lady you love, explain to her. [f she loves you— “If she did not love me,” n, ‘I could perhaps. But she are jealous be- cause she love me. Jealousy is so strong that the one who has it cannot reason. They can only cry out like they have been wounded. It is not themselves but a disease in their stomach like a cancer. And when it is cured they wonder they have had it....” He sat there, his hands clasped tightly together. In a voice full of pain he said at last: “Oh, Mr. Wistons, show me how to keep her and yet be honest, show me how.” ‘There is no way to show you. This is something you must fight out with your own soul as I have had to fight it out and many anotherman. Your real life is at stake now.” “You believe then in a real life?” Johanson said urgently. ‘‘My dreams aren’t all mist, my desires not all untrue, there is some- thing—” “‘I believe,” said Wistons, “that if God Himself came flaming before us here in this poor garden and commanded us to put away our superstitions, to bury our beliefs, to abandon our little shreds of ideals, to think only of the material life because there was none other, to know that Christ Jesus was a sham and a fake, to practice selfishness and gain and worldly success, to put heaven away from our eyes and to pray no more, I believe that behind this thunder there would be a still small voice comforting us and bidding us still believe— ‘If the spirit of man is a delusion and a joke, then it is a joke of so much greater power, glory, hope, and comfort than any serious word. that I will go to my grave feeding it, caring for it, giving it all I have. ‘Il know how loose words are,” Wistons went on quietly after a little while. “‘ What have | said that means anything or that can’t mean anything you like to make it? But what I know is that there is more in life than anything that men can do or say, that there is an immortal spirit whose his tory, whose struggles, whose victories and defeats give the whole meaning to this life which is only one short paragraph in the book of that greater life. These are our fle shly conditions and we must obey them, but through them, always, we must be waiting, listening, for- ever at attention to catch the movement of that other life. Your honor, your courage, your self-sacrifice, your gentleness, kindliness, if you lose these things 3 you had as well be a sheep’s carcass hanging in any butcher’s. The it | know to be true. Then he added: ‘There's a storm coming. I’ve felt the thunder over the hilt long time back. The breeze has gone.” Johanson broke ” E came over to Johanson and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘C ome into the house and drink some bad coffee. Johanson stood up. ““No, thank you. I think I'll be off. I’m HARPER’S BAZAR going to walk back and I'll not be caught by the storm.’ Wistons answered, “Very well. I keep you.” He added slowly: “I’ve not been much help to you. It’s my fate never to help the people I want to, but I doubt in this whether any one could help you much. It’s your own fight.” “Ves, it’s my own fight.” ” Johanson shook himself like a dog coming out of water. “But you have helped me. Immense. I don’t know which way it will be, but whatever w ay it is I shall never forget what you have said.” Wistons nodded his head. “Allright then. Come up again some time. I shall always like to see you. I wish you luck.” : They shook hands and Johanson strode away. won't HE sky blackened, the stars vy: anished, and a little underground breeze rustled along the ground like a creature whispe ring news; a distant mutter grumbled behind the hill. But he was not conscious of the scene nor of the coming storm. As he left Pybus behind him, so too Wistons faded. It was true that Wistons had helped him but rather by listening than by his own words. Wistons was no humbug and no loose thinker either, but for that very reason he could not understand Johanson’s aching love for Maude. There was all his trouble, all his problem this night. He was going to lose her, he was going to lose her! He saw her with marvelous clarity as he strode across the plain. True and deep love is not blind: it sees defects and weakness with an intensity that is part of its agony. He knew that she was spoilt and shallow, ignorant and vain, that she would not be able to endure the tests of unpopularity and poverty and hostility, that her code of morality was harsh, limited, stupid, that her view of the world was provincial and ignorant, but he saw also beneath all this most truly that she was a child capable of infinite tender- ness and goodness were she only loved long enough and wisely enough. Give him one year and he would change her so that her own mother would not know her! He would make himself so necessary to her that when at the last the test came she would endure anything rather than leave him. But now—seeing her only for a short period of the day, not sharing with her those loving hours of the night that bind human souls together as no other power can do— the least trouble, a flash of jealousy, a refusal on his part to go her way in some social matter and she would be off riding ferociously on the wind of her outraged vanity. And then he would lose Maude. You might fancy that she was worth but little if she were so easily lost. But she was as yet but half created. Every lover has the thought that he is creating the one he loves, not in his own image but in something far more beautiful and divine. He would not have loved Maude so dearly had she not needed his tender care. Love is only half love if it is not half maternal. He felt the first warm drops of rain upon his face. The little breeze had gone and the air was so close that he seemed to be packed within an iron cage. The thunder cracked across the plain, a god snapping his giant fingers. The cold pale face of the lightning swerved like a turning mirror across the earth and he saw a white world, bare, chill, and dead. Then the thunder burst , cracking again and again inside his brain, as it seemed. The rain descended like whips and the ground hissed like snakes. In that instant he saw Maude, lovely, untouched by the storm, her hair uncovered, her arms out to him. He caught her to him, stumbling to the ground, and murmured as he caressed her cheek: “‘ Darling, darling it’s all over. Stay with me. I give up everything for you. What is anything else worth if [ haven’t you? Come closer. Come closer. Love me terribly. Yes, yes. I will do that and that and that. I will do any- thing, everything. Only stay with me, love me. I will shelter you. Come here under my coat. No one shall touch, no one shall hurt you. Yes, yes, I will do all you tell me. No, I have given up my dreams. They worried you, so I threw them away. . Love me, love me, love me. Put your hand there on my heart. Here, [ will lay my head between your breasts— So. Now close my eyes as you kiss them. Slowly, slowly. Don’t sigh, darling. No trouble shall ever come to you again. Come closer, closer so that the rain does not touch you. Now let your heart beat with the beating of mine. So. Both of us together. Now we are one body and one flesh. No one can separate us. Have no fear. Have no fear. . The lightning flared across his eyes. He was on his knees alone and the plain was like the plain of the moon in its desolation. (Continued on page 115)

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for MARCH 1926 om Oia S N’AIMEZ QUE MOI NARCISSE NOIR NUIT de NOEL CARON CORPORATION, 389 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.

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118 Maude was not. He had betrayed himself for her and the reward was not enough. He knew, absolutely, that it was not enough. Maude had come to him, had crept into his very spirit, but the betrayal of himself that had invited her had changed her into dust He struggled to his feet. The rain was coming down in a joyful flood dancing in the plenitude of its power. He was soaked with it so that he became part of it. The thunder was remote; the lightning palely trembled on a far horizon. He stretched his arms, raised his head to heaven He knew that his crisis was finished and for ever. Not for God Himself could he betray the Godhead in himself, far less for man. It was as though a thief had come in the night and tried to steal, as he slept, the only treasure that he had and he had waked in time. He had realized Maude utterly, possessed her completely, and it had not been enough. Nor would anything else be enough to com- pensate for the loss of his immortal part. He gazed about him bewildered like a man who had been sleeping. He pressed the back of his hand, washed with the rain, against his eyes. The crisis had been so swift. He did not know how long he had been on his knees. It was truly as though Maude had been there. He had possessed her, had triumphed with joy, and then had known that desolation of betrayal and dismay at his unexpected loss All this, it might be, in a second of time. He did not know. It had been like a revelation and his whole life was settled by it. As the rain washed his face he felt the strength rise within him like a flood. It was so wonderful to see his purpose so clearly. Yes, he would love Maude no less, he would keep all the love in the world that he was permitted to keep, but he had been given his scale of values, values mortal and immortal. He walked on, triumphantly, through the rain I‘ WAS not very long before many people noticed a change in Harmer John. It was not that he was less pleasant or friendly but rather that he was sterner and something more preoccupied in his thoughts. But the true change in him was made mani fest to Ronder earlier than to any one else in the town. The massage was finished and Johanson was about to leave the bedroom when Ronder with that charming, friendly smile of his, warranted to put dragons at their ease, said: “And now, next lecture?” Johanson, putting his things away in his small bag, said: “‘Oh, I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” Ronder shook his head with the greatest friendliness. ‘‘Come, that won't do. We are all expecting it, people are demanding it. Besides,” he drew near to Johanson and put his hand on his shoulder, “it is necessary for the town. You are now a factor in the town’s progress, remember. You are no longer a private citizen.” “Am I not?” Johanson straightened him- self. “‘I shall have my liberty though, Canon Ronder.”’ It was then that Ronder felt the change in the man. There was something in Johanson’s eye, voice, the squaring of his shoulders that caused Ronder to wonder whether after all he had known the man at all. And the thought that was to be common in the next weeks to many of his fellow citizens came to him. After all, with these foreigners, you never can tell! “Your liberty, my dear fellow! is threatening that?”’ Johanson smiled. “That’s all right then,” said Ronder. “‘We must see about a date. If I am to take the chair for you again, as I should very much like to do, it won’t be so easy to find a free date within the next month or two. It’s extra- ordinary how things pile up! We should have it before the weather gets too warm and be- fore the children’s holidays start. Let me see!”’ He stood in his handsome dressing gown and furred bedroom slippers, delicately considering. ‘I’m in no hurry , sir,” said Johanson, taking his bag and turning toward the door. “‘My mind’s not clear yet about what I shall say. It shall be necessary to go a little farther than the last time.” Again that new note in the man’s voice! Ronder did not intend to stand any non sense; it would be as well to put down that furred bedroom slipper he ' and now! “Come, come,” he said. “What do you mean by ‘that? If I’m to ‘take the chair for you I must know what you intend to say. You re not going to plunge into controversial matters, I hope.” my dear fellow, what about the Why, who “Nobody.” OHANSON turned from the door, smiling with all his accustomed warm friendliness. “Canon Ronder, you've been very kind to me for a long way back. I would like to do HARMER JOHN Hugh Walpole’s New Novel (Continued from page 116) always as you would wish me but I must be myself. I can’t be another. I see life as I see it, and I see this town as I see it. I can’t see it another way. ‘Now, my dear friend,” Ronder came up to Johanson, placed his hands on his shoulders, and the two faces were so close to one another that Johanson could see the little curling hairs in Ronder’s ears and the tiny red veins (and later they would be purple) that ran down on either side of his nostrils. “‘We are friends, are we not?” ” said Johanson, shoul le “rs ever so slightly “And have been friends ever since we first met, I think. We both love this town and we have both of us -ertain gifts that we can place at her service. Now, there are things that you know that I do not, and there are things that I know, knowledge of the world a little perhaps, that you have not yet learned. You have not, I am afraid, taken our little talk of the other day to heart as I should have wished. I am not asking you—as indeed how could I—to cease your friendship with any one here, only to be a little more discreet, a trifle less public—” “You are alluding to Miss Longstaffe?” Johanson moved away from Ronder’s touch. “Oh, why mention names? My good fel- low, you won’t take this amiss I know. It is only because you are a stranger here—” “But I prefer to mention names,” Johan- son interrupted. He paused a moment, then continued: ‘Canon Ronder, you are a clever man. You understand the world. Do you not realize that if some one have a friend whom they know to be good it is when all the world try to part them that they stick the closest? Tom Longstaffe was and is and ever shall be my friend. His daughter I hardly know. I like her, yes, but all women are rather shadowy to me just now because I love one woman so much. But Miss Longstaffe is a good woman, I think, and courageous and honest and she has a dear little boy. Do you think I would give up my friends because they are abused by people? Why, no! You would not yourself!’ “But no one is asking you to give them up,’ Ronder answered impatiently. (Lord! how tiresomely simple the fellow was!) “Surely you can be as friendly as you like with them without being for ever seen with them in public? That's all I ask. A little discretion. Your friends here want people to look up to you, to admire you. If you are to do good work in the town you must show every one that you put some value on morality and decent living. You are entering on a public career. It is not as though you were a nobody. Miz any eyes are upon you “Tt is not true,” Johanson answered slowly, “T am seen often with Miss Longstaffe in public, but speaking to me this way, Canon Ronder, will assist me to be so. I am not a boy. I have my pride like another man. Were you the best friend I have in the world, Canon Ronder, you should not dictate to me my loyalties. Good afternoon.”’ And before Ronder could shape his next indignant sentence Johanson was away. moving his big UT he could not be preoccupied with Ronder nor with any gossip that there might be in the town. His one thought was for Maude. In some way he must persuade her sufficiently of his love of her and of her absolute need for him so that, whatever troubles might come, she would not be able to leave him. Give him only time! Give him only time! Could he only make her under- stand that he not only did not love Mary Longstaffe but that she was hardly more than an acquaintance, and if then after that he might show her that she, Maude, was the first, last, and only love of his life! But with it all he was not very clever. He had had but little experience with women, his honesty (a quality not universally practised by lovers) was forever in his way, and he did not know that Maude, like most women, lived on little assurances and demonstrations. He could perhaps during those important weeks have chained her to him forever had he been a little less single minded, a little more subtle. But he was not subtle; he was not clever at perceiving the things that people wanted him to be, do, or say. And yet he was wise enough to understand the real spirit that Maude had; he under- stood it better than anyone, including her mother. He understood it better than any one ever would again. The divine spark in Maude at this moment was a small quivering flame, but it was alight. He could have fanned it into a fire that would have made her a noble woman. Poor Maude! She also had had no experience of love. She did not know what this strange bad confusion of feeling—of jealousy, selfish- ness, unselfishness, physical desire, maternal tenderness, passionate surrender, autocratic domination, weariness, and excitement might be. For the first time in her trivial vain little life she encountered love and it was not love exactly as she had thought it would be; it was love with difficulty, love that needed great qualities of unselfishness and charity and patience. Those qualities had not as yet grown in her to sufficient stature. She was in a thousand moods a day. Before he came home from his work she sat up in her room listening for the sound of his step. Her heart beat thickly, her cheeks were hot, her throat dry. She loved him so terribly that all she wanted was to stay quietly beside him and feel him to be there. When he came she would be so good. She would not say one word that would irritate him. She would not mention the name of that horrid woman. . She would not tell him the gossip that she had heard in the town, that he had quarreled with Canon Ronder or that the men in Seatown were going to duck him in the Pol. These things had disturbe1 her terribly, she watched his popularity rise and fall with the breathless anxiety of a farmer watching his weather-glass. But she would not say a word. She would only tell him that she loved him and loved him and loved him. And then when she had been with him two minutes out it all came. All of it. How some one had said that he had spent all the day in Mary Longstaffe’s room, how some one else had said that he and Mary Longstaffe were planning to run away together, how again she had heard that if he were not careful and kept his tongue quiet he would lose all his clients, how this, how that—Out it all came in an angry tempestuous flood ending always with: “And you don’t love me. I know you don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t behave so.” HEN first she had said that it had delighted her to see the look of astonished pain and surprise in his eyes, as though he were truly amazed that any one for a moment of time could doubt his love. But she had now said the same thing so often that it was impatience rather than pain that his eyes showed. His love for her was so clear to himself and so patent, it seemed to him, to all the world that he did not know how to make it clearer. He sought Mrs. Penethen in his trouble. That wise woman had made hitherto no comment. She knew his trouble though before he came to her. They took a little walk together to the Cathedral and then round to the green paths under the gray walls. Between the trees, heavy now with the bright green leaves of the new summer, the waters of the Pol flashed and sparkled in broken segments and squares and circles. Once and again the Cathedral chimes came softly down to them like the very voice of the summer trees. Mrs. Penethen always dressed in the same fashion when she went out—a black or a purple bonnet, a dark cloak that fell in straight folds like a knight’s mantle, a white collar and white cuffs to her black dress. She seemed like the foundress of some mysterious order. “You may have to take her away,” she said, looking at him with her soft gentle eyes so unlike the sternness of her figure. “Take her away?’’ he repeated startled. “Yes, it may be the only thing. Here she must be the wife of somebody, that is her great determination. If things go badly with you here it will hurt her dreadfully. In another place she won't mind so much because she won’t hear so much.’ “You think things are going to go badly with me here then?” he asked. She stood still looking at a splash of river intensely blue between the curve of the leaves. ‘I don’t know. But you're too strong to be beaten into the shape they want and it will take you years to beat them into anything. Do you know that you can’t change people?’ “Oh, you can,” he answered eagerly, thinking of Maude. “If you care enough.’ She shook her bonnet. “No, you cannot. I never changed my husband. He learnt to keep some things out of my way and I learnt not to bother him with questions. That’s the most married people ever learn.” ‘But Maude is so young. If I have her only long enough with me I can make her see and feel in her very soul that I love her.’ He stopped for a moment, took off his hat and felt the sun on his head. “It’s that. That she can think I don’t love her. It’s that that beats me. What should I do, Mrs. Penethen? Tell me what I should do. “T love her so that no other woman can be even thought of. Can’t you persuade her of that, Mrs. Penethen? Can’t you make her see that she has so much reason to be jealous of the moon as any other woman?” “Jealousy isn’t reasonable,” Mrs. Penethen answered. “Any one will tell you that. was jealous once of my husband and a girl in a grocer’s. She was ugly and stupid, but HARPER’S BAZAR I hated her. _I’d have poisoned her sugar and flour for her if I could. I never knew whether had reason or not. Jealousy’s a thing to make you ashamed of yourself if anything ever was, but it’s a thing you're to be pitied for, too. Maude’s jealous. Can’t you see that woman less than you do?” 3 “JT don’t see her very often,” he said, “But her father’s my best friend. The people here all cut her. Wouldn’t you stand up for your friend?” ‘But if you have to choose between her and Maude?” “Choose!”” he burst out. “But that’s ridiculous. I don’t hope that you, too, think that I - in love with her!’ “No, Ido not. But just now, things being as they are, I think you’re a little t too honest about it. Why tell Maude when you've been there? There’s no need. I heard vou two or three days ago saying you'd just come from there.” : “But why shouldn’t I say nothing i in it?’ ‘Bless the when there’s man!”” She shook her head ironically. “Don’t you know anything about women? They'll put up with anything if it isn’t set right in front of their faces. All they want is the permission to cheat them- selves. They don’t bless a man for too much honesty I can tell you.” He stared about him in a kind of dismay. “T don’t understand it,”’ he said. “It should all be so straight with me and Maude. I love her, heart, soul, and body. So I have always done. I will give up anything to her, every thing I have— “Except what you think to be right,” said Mrs. Penethen. “Yes,” he answered, “TI’ m not worth Maude’s having if I lose that.” “T don’t think women care much,” Mrs, Penethen said. ‘What they want is to have a man, all of him, head to toe. Most women, [I believe, would rather have a man of poor character and have all of him than a man of good character and only a bit of him. I don’t know. It’s hard to say. But what I’m afraid of with Maude is that she'll get into one of her tantrums and fly off and find her- self engaged to somebody else before her head’s clear and then still be too proud to come back to you again.” He stopped and stood there in the sunlight bareheaded. She saw that he was dreadfully troubled. “Oh, Mrs. Penethen,” he said, “I mustn’t lose her. I mustn’t. Life without her would be such pain. Oh, help me not to lose her! You're her mother. Tell her. Advise her.” All her heart went out to him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “For just now,” she said, “I'll advise you. Don’t at this time see the other lady too much and don’t tell Maude when you have seen her. And don’t get into trouble with the people here before you’ve married Maude. You've only got to wait until October. When you're married if you have trouble she'll have to share it whether she likes it or not. And that will be good for her too. She looked up whimsically into his face out of her soft gray eyes. OHANSON stood in his bedroom, his head through the open window, looking up at the fiery stars. Fiery they were to-night, some of them as restless as though they were intolerably excited and the steady ones shin- ing with an extra gleam. Maude had gone to supper with those tiresome dull people, the Boultewoods. He couldn’t abide them, mother, son, and daughter. He felt strangely as though they menaced him in some way. They! Those flat-faced cows! He was in an ill temper to-night, knowing that Maude had gone out to supper with them only to irritate him. She had asked him to take her to the house (it was at the south end of the town) and then when he had eagerly agreed she had told him laughing that young Boulte- wood was coming to fetch her and that he could accompany the two of them if he liked. She was always teasing him in this way now, and behind the light superficiality of it there was something serious and restless and angry. Oh, why could she not be quiet and trust him and see that he loved her! Why must she be forever probing him and defying him and relenting, scolding him and forgiving, vehemently accusing him and then passion- ately repenting? He took his hat and walked out. He thought he would go round toward the south of the town and perhaps he might meet her walking back. ; On the south side of Polchester overhanging Seatown there is a little public garden. In 1906 it was a very small and overgrown little piece with a tiny battered rococo templ and some stairs and rain-washed garden seats. Now, as every one knows, the efforts of Cc assidy and others have c hange: 1 it into a fine public park and once again, after more than a hundred years, the streets beneath it have (Continued on page 120)

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we ww mw. for MARCH 1926 119 UTMOST LUXURY Luxury, in the new Chrysler Imperial, 1s by no means only the obvious luxury of rare beauty and gorgeous appointments. Of course, it is all of those, and in addition, the rarer luxury newly created by sheer engineering ability out of the soundest of all time-proven engineering principles. For in this car, inspired originality and untram- meled imagination have brought new results out of commonplace things. It was so when the first Chrysler two years ago changed the entire trend of this great industry toward Chrysler design in the medium-priced field. Once again, existing conceptions must be re- formed, this time in the field of costly, cumber- some Cars. From now on, fine car performance must be mea- sured by this new Chrysler standard—perform- ance that comprehends a great increase in horse- power, in speed capacity, and in every phase and detail of road ease. Engineering Has Created New Luxury When you ride in the Chrysler Imperial—and only then—you realize the luxury of motoring when the engine is so insulated from both running gear and body, by resilient blocks of live rubber, that there is no power pulsation apparent. The engine is so finely balanced, so symmetrically designed, and operates with such vibrationless smoothness that it seems as if nothing further would be accomplished in this direction. The most costly cars—which are the only com- parison for the new Chrysler Imperial—will all seem deplorably sluggish after you have ridden in this latest Chrysler creation, for its vitality and flexibility, its 92 horse-power and its speed of 80 miles and more, are qualities to make you marvel as well as to delight you. The new Chrysler Imperial is literally as fine as money can build, in its luxurious body types as Well as its unprecedented performance. All Chrysler closed body designs are created by Chrysler engineers, and executed by Fisher. Che New The Imperial Sedan, Seven Passenger AS FINE AS MONEY CAN BUILD UTMOST LUXURY FOR 2 to’7 PASSENGERS So MILES PER HOUR Q2 HORSE-POWER From the radiator on through the hood and body, the roof and fenders, all the lines flow together into an ensemble of captivating beauty, which is totally new, totally different and yet distinctively Chrysler. The car is low. Its exquisite grace gives the im- pression of fleetness, and at the same time there is the impression of rugged stability and tremendous strength. In such a car, you expect the finest in the obvious things like upholstery, furnishings and fittings, and you get it in the Chrysler Imperial, where most of the interior equipment has been produced to Chrysler’s exclusive design. No Chassis Lubrication —A Great Contribution When you drive the Chrysler Imperial there will be no sense of sharp jolts or being thrown no matter how rough the going. You never have had such an experience in a motor car. This delightful surprise is the result of an engi- neering advance that not only means better spring mounting, greater ease, absolute silence in spring operation, and the minimum of road sounds, but CHRYSLER IMPERIAL the elimination of chassis lubrication — an invalu- able improvement. Chrysler engineers have eliminated all spring shackles, shackle bolts and bushings which in even the costliest cars are prone to wear and become noisy and which must be frequently lubricated. They anchor the springs in blocks of resilient live rubber which envelop and cushion the spring ends and which never require lubrication. Spring leaf lubrication also is eliminated by tailored spring covers, which retain the lubricant so that it functions for thousands of miles. Nor is lubrication required for the hydraulic four- wheel brakes, which were pioneered by Chrysler engineers two years ago. Time has only served to demonstrate the braking satisfaction and efficiency of the Chrysler hydraulic system. Chrysler’s Advanced Engineering Features Chrysler engineers have developed an electric fumer, controlled from the dash, which instantly vaporizes the fuel for starting in cold weather. Furthermore, by a simple control on the dash, all the exhaust heat can be diverted directly against the intake manifold from the moment of starting, enabling the engine to reach operating efficiency without spitting and sputtering. An air-cleaner excludes road dust and grit from the engine; a gasoline-filter of Chrysler design keeps the carburetor free from water and dirt; the carburetor is equipped with a simple but precise adjusting device, the first of its kind and exclusively Chrysler; and an oil -filter, original with Chrysler, cleanses all the motor oil as the engine runs. As fine as money can build—the utmost in luxury — The highest ideal has been reached—an ideal that hitherto was associated only with cars of the cost- liest type from Europe and America and which, even at any price, lack the great fundamentals of performance which now make the new Chrysler Imperial supremely luxurious. Any of the more than 4000 Chrysler dealers will gladly give you a demonstration. CHRYSLER SALES CORPORATION, DETROIT, MICHIGAN CHRYSLER CORPORATION OF CANADA, LIMITED, WINDSOR, ONTARIO

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120 HARPER’S BAZAR HARMER JOHN Hugh Walpole’s New Novel (Continued from page 118)

become fashionable. From it you can no He laughed. “A fine friend I’d be, Miss longer look over and down to the small cluster —_ Longstaffe, loving your father and your son of Seatown lights, for Seatown is no more. and being a friend of your own and giving yoy But to-night Johanson looked down. The all up for the town’s gossip. Would you think one Seatown street showed its straight line that of me now?” 7 7 of scattered lights and behind that line the “But it’s serious,” she went on. “There’s others lay coiled like the eyes of watching another reason. Don’t think I don’t com animals nested lazily inthe warm night. The everything. I do. There’s the lady you's place had a stranger fascination for him than engaged to. She doesn’t like your knowing anything else, save the Cathedral, in Pol- me. Forgive me if I’m poking my nose in chester. He knew that in some fashion it where it oughtn’t to be, but you mustn’t make was here that his destiny would reach its her unhappy—” , crisis. In some fashion too that little bunch He was silent a moment before he answered of dirty houses would be his test and he fan- “No, I mustn’t. But I’ve had all this out cied that as he looked down those eyes looked — with myself. I can’t give my friends up for up, lazily, contemptuously, but with some nobody. I can arrange that those who don’t shadow of apprehension. like one another don’t meet, or be tactful He turned away: it was not with Seatown you know, about speaking of them but where that he was occupied to-night but with Maude my heart is there I must be loyal. Maude —always and forever with Maude. shall have that. She must it we are to be He turned, saw first the little temple black happy.” CoO uU iB Ri iL RS against the milk-white sky with stars hanging é = - . ~ . . to its roof like birds, and then, close at his H's face seemed to her sterner and older side and quite unconscious of him, Mary than she had ever seen it as he now Longstaffe. looked at her. “ You know, Miss Longstatte His first sense when he realized that she had that shoe shall very soon be on the other ] [ \ | | q IR al ) not seen him was to slip away. Here was leg. It will be whether you and Tom care = danger, the course against which even Mrs. to know me, not me you. [ shall in a little Penethen had warned him. Then, ashamed time be the most unpopular man in Pol- a> UD | I ; of his even momentary hesitation, he went up chester. . . .””. He shrugged his shoulders, := to her. “Tt shall be new to me, that experience wa ye hp Aly wr, ee 4 a I Yih

fl Ndi fl aig My “thy %

is D> 4 z “Miss Longstaffe! All alone!” he said. Men have always liked me and I like to be eyes. She covered her melancholy with a “Do? Nothing! That’s just it. I won't ~ * > smile as she turned to him, giving him her be under their orders. If they ask me whether ra WY RA~A |= qa _ . hand. their town is beautiful, I shall say, ‘Yes, it is = PY “Ves,” she said. “It was so lovely a night beautiful but your slum is filthy.’ If they == = posi z that I couldn’t stay indoors. Father has ask me, ‘Are we not fine people?’ I shall say, == ~*~ | B ir, a) += gone to some meeting and isn’t to be back till ‘Yes, but you can be finer, and me too.’ If “al Fe eleven. Then we shall share our family they say, ‘You must lick Ronder’s shoes,’ = zx i = cocoa.” I shall not. Lama foreigner. Very quickly, a a i = They walked up and down the little garden _in a night, a foreigner is a suspicious person ~~ oo 2 ; > path together and at once, as it always was First I was good because I were pleased with sz a \) . - with them, they reached a basis of frank everything and had no opinions. So it might = im. i comradeship that Johanson knew with no have gone for a long while. But I saw Sea- = = other woman in the world. town and the way they treated you. And Fs m “T have been a little sad to-night,” she | they wanted me to be a sort of clown and turn =- | it said. “Anything very beautiful has some- somersaults for them. But I shall make one = = thing sad in it of course, because it is un- beautiful thing, somewhere some place in the A ead attainable I suppose—beauty. It slips away town, and then they’ll kick me out. I know =. from you so quickly. And then on a night it.” zs = like this the time when I was happy here ““Yes, I see that,’’ she said. “ You must be rar = comes back so sharply. Of course [have my — yourself. We are alike in that. Well, here’s o£ lover stil]. He never leaves me. luck.” a > SOUTHAMPTON HYANNIS he had that accident. More, because then it ing Heaven, that these were Maude and young = was often difficult for us to be together. Boultewood. There was nothing to be done = pis Why, ” she said turning to him, “do you think Young Boultewood was laughing in that _——-s I could ever stand it with all these cats here idiotic way of his like a braying ass. Maude EV = R YyY me H | | G : behaving to me as they do if he wasn’t at my —_ was quiet, walking swiftly. “‘ Perhaps she is side all the time?” hurrying back to me.”’ He had an instinct to A PPE RTAI N | N 'C) : “What do you mean? That you can see push Mary Longstaffe into a doorway. Any him—definitely?”’ thing to prevent the meeting. But he did not s{@) LADIES SPORTS “Of course. More definitely than when move. His companion, who did not, of he was alive. We do everything together. course, know Maude by sight, went on: “Well N DB) ‘ae) >) R ECT Oh, but what is it?” She turned to him then, Ill wish you good-night. I’m so glad A almost passionately. “‘Do I cheat myself? that we met like that. It was the greatest Of course I don’t see him, nor hear his voice _ piece of luck—” E Qu j |=) I . 1 = ™ I but, most of the time, he does seem to be Maude saw him. Her eyes shone. She there. Only there are the intervals. There was about to stop. Then she saw Mary a

was one this evening. I dread them so much. Longstaffe whom, by sight, she knew well At those times I feel that it is all a sham. enough. Her face sharpened. She looked at There is no Lance. Billy is all that remains of him, raised her head defiantly and walked < wv him.” quickly on. all = HEY walked a little while and then she E CAUGHT as though from a long way 3 Z S said: “I’m so glad I saw you to-night. off the words repeated: ‘‘Well, 1 must = =, You were just the person. But we mustn’t say good-night—” ; = = =s meet very much just now and you must come He dragged himself back. “Oh, no, Miss == = 7 to our house less often. I’ve been talking to Longstaffe. I'll see you to your door. It’s = 2 father about it. almost my way home, you know. Ps “T must? Why? ” Johanson asked. She talked perhaps and perhaps he answered = = “a “Because it’s doing you harm. We are her. He saw men as trees walking and the .—- B2=z marked people at present. You’ve got your clouds frustrated by a cloudless sky, rolled = = business to build up and it would be really baffled at his feet. He could think only: “ serious for you if your reputation were dam- must see her to-night. I must explain to her. ahi aged by knowing us. I sha’n’t be here for so I can’t go through the night without having Alin ol i ot Hy “Aaype ss = very long, I suppose. I can stand it, but — seen her.” . = = = when father loses his congregation through But when he reached the house it was dark _= = 7. me it is time I went away again. It’s hard. and silent. He held the candle high in the —s I have only father and Billy and Lance. I kitchen but its quavering light showed no don’t want to interfere with any one. Only figures and from all the place there came no f\w

to be left alone with my three. But they sound. He went up to bed and lay there won’t permit it. And next time I go father through the warm night struggling with his will go too, leave the work of his life. I distress. As always his window was open ought never to have come—and yet, I don’t and his blind up, but the stars could not help | know, father and I have had some wonderful him. No one from outside could help him. | days. So,” she said, staring down at the Maude and he must fight this out alone. | Seatown lights, “you won’t come to our He went, as lovers always do, round and house very much just now—will you please?” (Continued on page 122 NU,

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for MARCH 1926 Primrose House Creams, Lotions, Rouges and Powders, The Last Word in Beauty Luxury Rose Leaf Cleansing Cream Removes all impurities and cleanses the pores. Apply twice a day with a pad of absorbent cotton wet with Primrose House Skin Freshener, cleansing the skin until it glows with exquisite freshness. Four sizes: $1.00, $2.00, $3.50, $6.00. Skin Freshener A mild, refreshing astringent for toning up the skin and making it resistant enough to prevent the flabbiness so likely to come through illness, worry and fatigue. A fine fresh vitality is induced by bath- ing the face and neck with Skin Freshener after cleansing with Rose Leaf Cleansing Cream. Apply with a firm pad of absorbent cotton wet with Skin Freshener. Three sizes: $1.25, $3.00, $9.00. Smoothskin Cream A perfectcream for thesensitive, fine skin, inclined to dryness. Smoothed gently over the face and neck, after cleansing with Rose Leaf Cleansing Cream and washing with Skin Fresh- ener, it gives a petal-smooth texture and softnesstotheskin. Four sizes: $1.00, $2.00, $3.00, $8.00. Face Molding Cream This is one of the mest important Primrose House preparations, basic- ally essential to the Face Molding Treatment originated by Primrose House. Itisrich infine oils which give nourishment toskinand tissues. Four sizes: $1.50, $3.00, $5.00, $8.00. Chiffon Face Powder Delicately perfumed, light, clinging as the down on a butterfly’s wing, blends imperceptibly with every skin. Flesh and Brunette. $3.50. Pomegranate Cream Rouge Gives an entirely natural bloom and may be used on the lips as well as the cheeks. It is especially desir- able if the skin has any tendency to dryness or chapping. In twoshades, light and dark, and two sizes. Pocket size, $1.25. Boudoir size, $2.50. 121 fe well Youth Everywhere / On the Dressing Tables of the Ultra-Smart— there indeed dwells youth! HE fashionable woman of today finds an ultimate degree of satis faction in the preparations of Primrose House, New York’s most exclusive beauty salon. They meet every beauty need of the intelligent, modern woman, these Primrose House creams, lotions, face powders— these exquisite prepara- tions for the skin, hands, eyes, and hair, that are used in Primrose House itself. In Primrose House, they meet the fas- tidious requirements of New York’s social leaders. A list of Primrose House patrons would read like a list of Monday night boxholders at the Metrcpolitan Opera. A still more important point, how- ever, is that Primrose House prepa- rations are sold in the best shops throughout the country. It is not only in New York, but everywhere, that they are found on the dressing tables of the ultra-smart. Write for Booklet For discriminating out-of-town women espe- cially, Primrose House has prepared a little booklet describing the methods used in Primrose House so successfully for the proper care of the skin,the handsand the hair. It is filled fromcover to cover with genuine and helpful beauty in- formation. We shall be delighted to send you a copy upon request. vimrode Houde At your favorite store or sent postpaid from Primrose House on receipt of price. SEasT52™ST. (New Yorn, Department B-3

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_ i) i] COLORS BORN OF SUNSHINE And now it’s the Meadow- brook Girl. 3 Not since the long- ~gone, innocent day s of Gi bson Girls and Christy Girls hi as Ameri ica agreed upon a name for a distinc tive type of glowing we pe —that vivacious girl wl who lends such color to the co-ed section at the stadium. So naturally, so spontane~ ously that even the makers of Meadowbrook in Cali- fornia were unconscious of its origin, a synonym that speaks flattering volumes has been coined for her by those who best know the . ? . city s most admired type. In the great Avenue stores * of New York, in those ex~ clusive little sports shops that line the foyers of world- famous hotels, in the better stores everywhere, a name was needed for such a gi 1— and Meadowbrook ideally fitted! Me. ‘lo appreciate this unique tribute to the artistry and grace of these sports hats that are made in colorful, play-loving California, ask to see them at that particular store which you depend on for the best. California SPORTS : HATS Town and Country SIMON MILLINERY COMPANY Meadowbrook Building, 989 Market Street, San Francisco Eastern Sales Office, Louts STRAUSS & Son, 65 West 39th Street, New York City HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S JOHN New Novel BAZAR (Continued from page 120) round in a circle. If he would give up Mary Longstaffe, mind his business, and do what he was told by his superiors, Maude would love him. If he didn’t she wouldn’t, and if she didn’t , Could he endure it? After a little troubled sleep in the morning he got up and went out. When the last stout client had departed, with merely a nod to old Billy he hurried away. He found Judy alone in the kitchen. She stared at him defiantly; her sleeves were turned up and her brown arms rested on the table as she looked at him. But he had no time to waste on Judy. ““Where’s Maude?” he said. “In her room,” Judy answered. Then quickly and almost under her breath as though she were ashamed, she went on: “Look here, don’t see her to-day. She’s cross to-day and I’king to be. She’s patting herself on the back because she’s got a griev- ance. Leave her a day or two and she'll come round.” But he hadn’t even answered her. He was up the stairs and knocking on Maude’s door. ‘Maude! Maude!’ waited, then “Maude! Maude! HERE was no reply. He he knocked again. It’s me—Johnnie.” At last her voice, cold and sharp, came to him: “‘ Well?” “Please speak to me for a moment. you.” The door opened and she stood there. “‘ Yes —what is it?” “Will you not give me ten minutes in the box-room?’ The box-room was a small place on the floor above round the corner from Mr. Fletch’s bedroom—strange, odd-cornered with some dusty bookshelves holding dustier magazines, two old chairs, a table and a cupboard piled with forgotten relics. Mrs. Penethen’s house was not well suited to lovers. There were two sitting-rooms, but Miss Midgeley had one and Mrs. Penethen the other. But the lovers were never interrupted in the box-room. They had come to look on it as their own. She looked at him sternly. ‘Very well,” she said. They went up together without a word. She stood in front of the slanting window, the gray clouds rolling behind her as though she had evoked them to assist her grandeur. For she was grand. She was fully conscious that to-day she had the power: the whip was in her hand. She was pleased that there was going to be a scene. As with most women when they are in love the thought of recon- ciliation after bitter words was intoxicating. She was already playing her part in that second consoling drama before the first ruth- I beg less one had begun. But, beneath this, was a torturing love for him, a determined ob- tinacy and a raging jealousy. He spoke humbly, looking up at her in the way that she liked best with eyes that adored her. ‘Please, Maude, whatever we say we mustn't be angry, either of us. Do you see that? Don’t you agree? No? For us to be angry would be terrible because we love one another. We can talk quietl like friends, can't we? You see, I didn’t know she’d be there, Miss Longstaffe I mean. I knew you wouldn't like it, our being together. But we met by chance.” “T don’t care,” meet. care.” “No. No. Of course it mz utters. Every- thing matters that gives you pain.’”’ He came to her and put his hand on her sleeve. She drew away sharply. He pulled himself up, standing close to her, looking with love into her face but no more attempting to touch her. ““Maude, listen. Let us be married soon. Very soon. Next week perhaps. All our troubles come from this that we are not to- gether enough, only a little of every day, but when we are married then we shall know -” *Married!”’ she brok in sharply. “A nice time we should have if we were married and a pretty sort of husband you’d make if you went on as you've begun. No, thank you. When I have a husband he shall be some one I can trust. “Not that!” she answered, ‘““whom you You can be with who you like for all I he said flushing. ‘Not that, Maude! Say what you please, but I am honest with you. I don’t hope you'll deny that. You must not. Other things I’ve been wrong about. I’ve been stupid, I don’t understand, I’m a foreigner She caught up that word. ‘Yes, that’s it. You're a foreigner. I don’t understand you nor does any one else. You come here and every one’s kind to you and then you begin to criticize everything just as though you’d been here all your life. You know better than anybody, you do. You take advantage of every one’s kindness.” She had worked herself up now finely and he saw her, in a flash of understanding, almost exactly as she was. Drawn up against the window, her lovely hair and eyes, the perfect proportion of her body under her thin sometimes summer frock, the pouting movement oi lips, her little hands clenched, her youn breasts heaving she looked even more the child than she was. He saw the child. adored it, worshipped it, but he saw bene: ° the child something ancient and perma nent, obstinacy, jealousy, hurt pride. She was already a woman in her more dangerous attri- butes. Oh! if h could but catch the fleeting child and hold it in his arms and keep it and make it secure! But there was the danger also of his own obstinacy and anger. She could rouse him and irritate him more eas sily than any one else in the world because he loved her more. “Maude, darling,” he are fighting air. What are we quarreling about? About nothing at all. ecause you saw me wth Miss Longstaffe. I’ve told you that was an accident. How do you mean— not see her again?” “Not see her again—not go near to her, have nothing to do with her.” He moved his body impatiently. her said quietly, “we “We've had all that out before. I can’t give up my friends unless they are false or do you harm intentionally. Can’t you see that, Maude? I don’t ask you to give up the Boultewoods although I don’t like them. What will we be, both of us, when we are married if we give up all our freedom? We shall be slaves the one of the other.”’ ““Oh, yes,” she retorted furiously. ‘That's right. It doesn’t seem funny to you to com- pare my friends who are decent respectable people with that woman who’s a “Stop that!’ He caught her wrist. His face stared into hers and it was a new face for her to consider, cold and resolved. The boy’s half naif, half humorous twist had gone from it. Let me introduce to you, Miss Penethen, Mr Hjalmar Johanson from Copen- hagen. Yes, some one quite new. She realized it. She was excited and frightened. “Oh, you're hurting!” He caught her ar wrist and held that too. “You shall drive me away from you if you talk like that, Maude. Let’s have done with this foolishness. We love one another. What is all this quarreling over? We will give in to each other always when we can, but there are some things we must not ask the other to surrender. Now kiss me and have done with this.” She broke into passionate crying, crumpled up into his arms, had her scene of reconcilia- tion that she had desired, but beneath their demonstrations of love two other persons, darkly habited, crouching low in their caves, muttered— E HAD, at the same time, other troubles. He paid the first instalment on the new rooms to Fletch and was entitled now to enter upon them when he pleased. He went and looked at them. They were fine rooms, deso- late with torn wall-paper and straw-scattered floors. They were fine rooms and he knew what he could do with them but he was con- scious that he had taken them too soon. Business was falling rather than rising. Of course one must expect that the summer would be a slack time; it was difficult in the warm weather to — people to care about physical exercises. But the preparations for the autumn season were not progressing as he wished. He had gained during the last month no new clients in the town and in- quiries, in answer to his leaflets, had come in very slackly from the country. But worse than any of this was some odd change in himself. He was not working and thinking and planning with his old enthusiasm. It was as though he had lost much of his inter- est in himself and had transferred it to some- thing outside himself. He stared at his Donatello and Leonardo photographs as though he would drag their souls from them. He stood in front of the Brytte monument in the Cathedral, studying every line and vein of the beautiful marble as though he had him- self worked at it, and again and again he seemed to feel some one at his side, some eyes upon him, some hand softly on_his shoulder. To make something beautiful, to form something in the town that would flow like water in a flagon into his empty spirit. : ; Thirdly, he felt an altered attitude in the town. He had burnt his boats with Ronder The weather was too warm, the for massage just as present. Then when C assidy one aiternoon | spoke proudly of Polchester, saying that_it was a perfect town, no town like it in England, Johanson pulled him up sharply. “Lord, of course. Canon thought, man! Don’t you see how beautiful it might be! How ¢ -an you be contented? Don’t you see. But Cassidy didn’t see and went away with an aggrieved expression. y Jor was he, Johanson, as amiable and light hearted with every one as he had once been. He was haunted always now by a desire that they did not share and so he was a little (Continued on page 124)

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LONDON: 25 Old Bond Street for MARCH 1926 The EutzABETH ARDEN Treatment makes your 123 skin healthy—and so it grows lovely, too ; ' ; ' : saeco Se catiiestentiies etna caaaeenieie Rn A A A A ELIZABETH ARDEN has based every step of her Treatment on some fundamental need of the skin. By arous- ing swift circulation, by stimulating every natural function of the tissues, her method encourages a naturally healthy skin—which is clear, firm and smooth o cREAMs will transform the skin. No cos- metics will conceal its blemishes. But Elizabeth Arden’s method of scientific care— because it improves the tone of the skin, stimu- lates the tissues and supplies their wants—will make your complexion fine in grain, elastic in quality, soft and fair. For these qualities are present in every skin that is healthy. Elizabeth Arden’s Treatment begins with a thorough but gentle Cleansing with Venetian Cleansing Cream. This step removes all dust and impurities which clog the pores and cause blackheads and coarseness. Then the Toning — with Ardena Skin Tonic and Special Astringent —closes the pores, tones and tightens the skin, and firms the muscles of the contours. Finally the Nourishing—with Orange Skin Food or the delicate Velva Cream—keeps the skin cells full and firm and so prevents and corrects lines and wrinkles. These three steps fulfill the important needs of the skin. They should be a part of your daily home treatments, each morning and night. A ry A Write for a copy of “THE QUEST OF THE BEAUTIFUL,” Elizabeth Arden’s book on the correct care of the skin according to her scientific method. ELIZABETH CARDEN recommends these Preparations for your care of the skin: Venetian Cleansing Cream. Cleanses thoroughly, and soothes the skin, leaving it soft and receptive. $1, $2, $3, $6. Venetian Ardena Skin Tonic. Tones, firms and clarifies the skin. 85c, $2, $3.75- Venetian Orange Skin Food. Rounds out wrinkles and lines. Excellent for a thin, lined or aging face, and as a preventive of fading and lines. $1, $1.75, $2.75, $4.25. Venetian Velva Cream. A delicate skin food for sensi- tive skins. Recommended also for a full face, as it nourishes without fattening. $1, $2, $3, $6. Venetian Muscle Oil. A soothing and penetrating oil, which restores sunken tissues or flabby muscles. $1, $2.50, $4. Venetian Special Astringent. Lifts and firms the tissues, tightens the skin. Important for the treatment of a fallen contour or flabby neck. $2.25, $4. Venetian Pore Cream. A greaseless astringent cream which closes open pores, corrects their laxness and refines the coarsest skin. $1, $2.50. VenetianAmorettaCream. An exquisite protective cream, Prevents roughness and chapping. A becoming powder foundation. $1, $2. Poudre d’Illusion. Powder of superb quality, fine, pure, adherent. I//usion (a peach blend), Rachel, Ocre, Minerva and White. $3. Loves and slippers, slippers and G gloves, two most essential arti- cles in our feminine attire! On which shall lexpatiate? Evidently slippers have their charm, a great one, but think of the elegance and delight of a new-made pair of gloves, not too tight, not too large, and cut in the softest of chamois leather. And then, as you are going to Europe, let me tell you one thing. Over there, I speak from experience, your flirts won't try to rob your handkerchiefs, no; but the devils may get bold enough to steal your gloves. A souvenir, a love-token, as the expression goes, and on the whole if you are robbed, better leave something worthy of your good taste and reputation of a femme 4 /a mode. I knew an Italian Prince who once granted me the rare favor of having a look at his collection of gloves. Heavens! There was an abundance of these gloves, of all sizes, colors and fashions, gloves for the town and gloves for the country, for after- noon teas and for the opera, yellow ones, dark ones, white ones, all the tints and hues imaginable. I noticed alittle brown pair fit for the sweetest of hands, sad eee who had the chance of wearing it. The Prince looked at me and sighed very deeply. ‘‘The Baronne de Follebiche,’’ he answered. “‘And this other one?’’ I went on, showing a black pair trimmed with white stripes. The Prince sighed more and more deeply: **Madame de Sandoval.’” And then, my dear, I perceived in a corner one single riding glove, which indeed looked very much like those I wear myself. This time I did not ask or say anything, and actually still wonder if I was pleased or not with my discovery. ay Elizabeth Arden’s Venetian Toilet Preparations and Babani Perfumes are on sale at smart shops everywhere ELIZABETH ARDEN NEW YORK: 673 FIFTH AVENUE CANNES: 3 Galeries Fleuries PHILADELPHIA: 133 South 18th Street © Elizabeth Arden, 1926 SAN FRANCISCO: 233 Grant Avenue PARIS: 2 rue de la Paix PALM BEACH: Via Parigi BIARRITZ: 2 rue Gambetta BOSTON: 24 Newbury Street ATLANTIC CITY: Ritz-Carlton Block DETROIT: 318 Book Building LOS ANGELES: 600 West 7th Street WASHINGTON: 1147 Connecticut Avenue

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124 Marie “this is the essentiat» ereamn~ MARIE EARLE explains that the Essential Cream is just as surely the normal food for the skin as milk is the natural food for a little child. The Marie Earle treatment is simple and reasonable—you will like it and believe in it—any woman would. The Creme Anti Rides, a cleansing and nourishing preparation, is the basis. (In English ask for the Essential Cream.) Use it each night, first for a thorough cleansing. Then put it on again and let it feed your skin. Don’t wash your face ever. Alkaline soap and hard water dry the skin disastrously. Marie Earle supervises the mixing of the Creme Anti Rides herself. It contains only the rich vegetable oils which the skin absorbs, and no com- mercial mineral oils. All her preparations, made after formulas used by her uncle, who was a skin specialist in Harley Street, London, she mixes herself. (Powders, com- pactes and bath soap are prepared according to her for- mulas, in France. Marie Earle’s salon in Paris became familiar to promi- nent American society women, who persuaded her to come to New York several years ago. Her clientele has been truly exclusive. You are privileged now to ask her advice, quite without charge. Send for her questionnaire and answer it. She will tell you what your skin needs to make it most beautiful. Salons in Paris, in Washington; in New York, 600 Madison Avenue. Her preparations are on sale in quality stores—write for a list of them. Or order direct from her. The Essential Cream in generous jars, $1.90 and up. arte Carte’ W YORK PARIS Reprint of the Marie Earle advertisement which appeared in this magazine, December, 1924 HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN New Novel (Continued from page 122) separated from them. Sometimes he had an impulse to start to work with his own hands at some street corner, to clear dust from here, to chip off with a hammer some ugliness there. He saw himself possessed with divine power, raising in the space of a night at the top of Orange Street a statue. Such a statue! A figure more lovely than the Praxiteles, more human than the Donatello “David,” more significant and urgent than the ‘“ Winged Victory!” All the Polcastrians to wake one morning to find it there! And then how they would start to rebuild their city; first all the windows and doors in Orange Street would be cleaned and shining, then down with the brewery at the market turning, then to limbo with the Town Hall, now for widening the High Street, that great sweep up to the Cathedral broad and shining with trees on every side, then . . . Laughing, he would come out of his dream. He was almost home. And walking back he had cut every one. They would notice and speak of it. No matter, when they saw his statue! T HAD its origin, as catastrophes between lovers so often do, in tiny things, but those tiny things were small symbols of fundamental differences. Johanson had bought Maude a little pres- ent, an old French silver box; he had found it in a small shabby shop behind the Market- place. It was curiously worked with cupids and wreaths of roses. He had bought it for her because things had been going so wrong between them during the last days. He could not understand it. Some one must be supplying her with false information because on every evening of his return she had some new story against him that, during the day, she had collected—story of his carelessness, his unpopularity, his stupidity. There was some enemy at his yack Moreover the incessant scenes were weary- ing him. They were interspersed with re- conciliations and every reconciliation seemed final as though there could never be a quarrel again and then two hours later there would be accusations, recriminations, miseries again. Every quarrel in one fashion or another at tacked his devotion to the Longstaffes they beat up, one after another, like waves against the rock of his loyalty. But here neither his love nor his pity for her made him yield an inch: he had an obstinacy about certain things that was as hard as it was dumb. His love for her through all this trouble did not alter at all. He realized that her anger with him came from her love for him, but at mo- ments now a sort of despair of their future together came over him and then, on the other side, the desolation of his life without her. a ie He gave her her present. She was in her room and standing at her door. He caught her to him and kissed her hair, her eyes, her mouth. As he did so some strange terror invaded him. He saw at once the old dis- satisfaction in her face. There was going to be a scene. He was tired, the day had been difficult and the air hot and thundery. To- night there must not be a scene. He could not endure it. HE thanked him perfunctorily for the present, barely looked at it, went in and laid it on her table. Then she returned and leaning against her door, her hand on her hip, regarded him ironically. Her eyes, though, were not ironical. They pleaded with him as though they said: ‘Don't mind the rest of me. I love you but I’m lost. I’m always saying and doing things I don’t mean and don’t want to say and do.” “Is it true that you said that to Mrs. Bond?” she asked. “Mrs. Bond?” he repeated bewildered. “What Mrs. Bond?” “What Mrs. Bond?” she answered. ‘How many Mrs. Bonds are there in the town? One’s enough, I should think.” “Well, what about her?” he asked gently. “What about her? Oh, nothing. Only I wanted to know whether it’s true that you told her to her face that her boy was hope- less.” ‘Hopeless? No, I don’t think I told her at. “Well, whatever you told her you’ve ruined yourself in that direction. She only happens to be the most important person in the town, that’s all.” ‘I’m sorry,”’ he answered, still very gently. “But what’s made you bring all this up to-night?” “T only thought you'd like to know. It’s important, isn’t it, if you make enemies of all the chief people in the place?” ““Maude, Maude,” he went up to her and put his arms around her. “Aren’t you tired of all this? Why can’t we be happy together? What's come over you lately? We were so happy and we ought to be happy still.” “Oh, yes, of course it’s all my fault,” she broke out, drawing away from him “Tes never anything you've done. We're supposed to be going to be married, aren’t we. ad all the same I’ve got to stand by and see v0" ruin everything without protesting, [/ vee think I am you're wrong.”’ “T don’t hope I am ruining everything,” he answered her slowly. “But if I am can’t you tell me of it in a friendly way? Let's be friends, Maude, whatever happens, and not forever this anger as though you hated me.” “Sometimes I think i do hate you,” she answered quickly. ‘You're so stupid and conceited. You don’t see what every one else sees, that you'll just have to leave the town if you go on like this telling every one what they ought to do. Well, I’m not going to leave the town, I can tell you, so if you leave the town you leave me.”’ And all the time her eyes besought him: “Don’t believe this. I don’t mean it. Take me out of this. Help me to escape.” Very distant thunder rolled as though some one were moving furniture there in the empty depths of the Cathedral. “Now,” he said sharply, feeling as though the thunder were rolling in his own head, “you've got to tell me, Maude, who's putting you up to all this. Who tells you every day things against me? There’s some one behind this—”’ “Oh,’’ she answered scornfully. “If it’s hearing of all the stupid things you do you needn’t think it’s any special person. One’s only got to listen for a moment to any one.” “T didn’t know,” he answered quietly, “that my affairs were of so great importance to every one. You must exaggerate in that, Maude. But it’s your friend Mr. Hogge who tells you these things; I know it quite well.” “Tf you know it, why do you ask me?” Maude answered. ‘“‘At any rate he’s fond of me and doesn’t want to see me give myself away for nothing.” Hogge, as he had long known, was his real enemy in the place. Any mention of him roused some cold deliberate anger in his heart, the worst and most dangerous element in him. “We have indeed gone far from one another,” he said sternly. ‘If you can listen every day to lies from a man like that about me, how can we trust one another? What has happened to you, Maude? How can you be disloyal, you... ?” “Ves,” she answered furiously. ‘You can put my bad man against your bad woman. You can leave me for hours because you want to be with a woman who’s disgraced herself and has the cheek to come back here and stare every one in the face. That’s what you do and then you dare to talk to me!” E caught her, held her for a moment rigid in his hands, then shook her, crying toher: ‘“Youstopthat! Youstopthat! You drive me crazy! You’ve no decency! You want a good beating, that’s what you want.” He let her go; she stumbled, caught at the door, ran back into her room banging the door behind her. But a moment later it had opened again and she appeared there quivering, shaking with passion. They were both so angry that they did not see one another but only images of themselves dis- torted. She screamed at him. ‘You brute! You’ve beaten. ... You've beaten... hurt.... I’m done with you, you cad. You don’t belong here. We all hate you You’re a foreigner. You don’t belong here. here! You'd kill me one day. Yes, you would. And then you’d be hung. Yes, for killing me. You cowardly brute! No Englishman. . . . No Englishman. . . . It’s V’'ll never be alone with not safe with you. 1e W i ‘ not safe. No English- you again. You're NE og She rushed past him down the stairs. He followed her. fe saw in a confused mist the old kitchen, Mrs. Penethen, Judy, Miss Midgeley, and Fletch. And he saw Maud in the midst of them crying out. He watched the ring of startled faces, the eyes amazed, the heavy motionless bodies. He heard her shrill, sharp like a parrot’s screech. : “He hit me! Mother, he hit me! Dont let him touch me!” Then he saw her, the mist clearing, the kitchen clock and the china plates jumping at him, make a movement, snatch something from her hand and throw it furiously (and awkwardly as women throw). He knew it was the ring (the funny old silver one) that he had gi en her. “I’m done with him! I'll never speak to him again! You're all witness. He beat me. ... I’m done with him.” ' She rushed past him back up the stairs He stood there for a moment looking at the stupid faces. Then he went and got his hat from the wall and without saying a word to any one went out. (To be continued in the A pril issite) voice,

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for MARCH 1926 anal © Stein & Blaine | Stein 8 Blaine A CREATIVE HOUSE New ‘York 13 and 15 West 57th Street

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— GX f vi ) hy Ww \ pp \ A NYS DN \ \) N/A SVAN MODEL BY MANGONE MODELS MAY BE OBTAINED AT THE BEST STORE IN ANY LARGE CITY HARPER’S BAZAR GOLD DOES GLITTER Fannie Hurst’s Story (Concluded from page 97) “Clint is worth thirty of him, Therese. Of course, you are going to do as you like, being your father’s daughter. And so am I, ultimately. About my millions. But, even with all your fine convictions, and antago- nisms to me, you’re not so much more than a youngster. I'd like to feel that a fellow like Clint is going to take care of you—he’s worth thirty of that parlor socialist crowd, Therese—” “And so are you, dear. In millions and other things,” said Therese, and kissed her parent, who had a handsome square mustache mounted on a handsome face ruddy with excellent port and eighteen holes a day. ‘And you're a dear, too,”’ said Therese. “A vicious old capitalistic republic-breaker of a dear.” OGER PULLIAM was sniffing into an- other gold Tiffany bowl full of white hyacinths that stood on a grand piano in the music room, when Therese came in upon him with a soft little rush and two hands from behind over his eyes. ‘“Tt’s you, because you smell like spring- time,” said Pulliam, and turned face about and took her in his arms and kissed her. He was a narrow young man, with long white teeth and fingers that drooped like icicles, and a frond of black hair that did the adorable thing (to women), no sooner it was cast back by the long nervous hand, of dropping down again over the high white forehead. “Roger, dearest,” said Therese, and stood on tiptoe and looked up at him with her two palms against his chest. She was suddenly all full of little copper points of light. Her copper-colored eyes. A shock of copper- colored hair that made her docked head look like a chrysanthemum. Warm lights gleam- ing into her skin. When Roger regarded her, everything about him let down a little. His mouth into a slight pucker. His eyelids, so that his eyes became slits. His height, as if to crush her more completely against him. “You darling! I love you when you smell like all the spring flowers in the world.” “No, no dear. I never use perfumes. Those are Julian’s white lilacs you smell. His daily florist bill would keep a family of five for a week.” “Just the same, I love spring smells all about you.” “I’ve told him, dearest.” “What?” “About us.” “Good!” “He took it standing.” “No row?” “Nothing much, dearest. And as if it mattered, anyhow.” “You mean, it’s fixed?” “Of course, Roger. It’s been fixed since the moment I made up your mind for you, that you were to love me.” “You sweet beautiful!” “I’m going to turn a model tenement that I've picked out down in First Avenue into a paradise for us, dearest!” ‘A what?” ‘He never turned a hair when I told him that, dear.” “Told who?” “Julian. He wouldn’t dare, old darling that he is. He knows in his heart it is the only clean, decent way for two young people like us to start out in life. Free. Free of taint. Of wealth. Free of money ground, as you put it the other night in your speech, from a section of society over which another class happens to have momentary control. I’m reading the Carl Marx and the Kropotkin volumes you gave me, dearest. They are helping me to see the light. I’ve already two lawyers at work on a Foundation Fund for my eight hundred thousand, dearest. My gift to the people is my birthday gift to you, too. Dearest, I feel free. I feel clean. I feel worthy to love you.” “You're crazy, darling,” said Roger Pulliam slowly, and twirled her rather thoughtfully away from him. “Your eight hundred thousand isn’t going to be a drop in the bucket to alleviate the misery you talk about. The job of your true socialist is to spread his theory, not to add, by his own example, to the undesirable state of poverty.” “But, Roger—” ““T want you, Therese, to the odor of spring flowers, not to the reek of the stinks of poverty es “But, Roger— “T’ve struggled too hard all my life to climb out of the disease of poverty to consent to your putting into practise a theory that won’t help the situation by an iota. How many capitalists do you think are going to turn over their fortunes because you give up yours? How many poor families out of the millions of them are going to be helped because you are planning to drag us both down to their level of misery? The trouble with you, dearest, is that you are impracticable. That is why you need me. To keep a balance and prevent you making an adorable little idiot of yourself And me.” j ; “You mean—what is theory from the s ”ap- box is quite a different matter when it be: omes practise from the kitchen sink?” : “No, the only freedom lies in the eman: pa- tion of misery, but I want to start with the emancipation of me! I want to be free of misery!” “Oh,” said Therese, and sat down a little weakly on a Heppelwhite divan and regarJe4 him as if seeing him for the first time. “T want to show you, dearest,” said Roger and crossed to sit down beside her and take up her hand, “I want to show you the side of me that loves the smell of spring flowers: the side of me that poverty has suppressed = the—” “T see it,” said Therese. “I see it now Only I want you to go. Now—please.” “But Therese, dearest—” “Roger, please—go—” “T want to tell you, dearest It was an arm’s reach over to a petit point bell-rope that yanked. A butler seemed to walk immediately out of a wall draped in a Flemish tapestry that depicted a triumphal ride of Charlemagne. ‘Peacock, Mr. Pulliam is leaving.” “T was about to announce Mr. Clinton Miss Therese.” “Oh, I see. Well—I—very well.” “But, Therese—”’ : “Show Mr. Pulliam out, down the left stairway, Peacock. Show Mr. Clinton up the right.” LINT wore a monocle. It was rather too bad if you felt that way about monocles. Therese did. Besides, he had two nice blue eyes that matched when one was not squinted with the monocle. He came bearing a first edition of Shelley for a birthday offering, and a curious old-gold collarette set in topaz, that admirably fitted the orange and copper effect of Therese. “You're a reckless extravagant scion of the idle rich,” said Therese, whose color was high, and who sat back and regarded him like a defiant chrysanthemum swaying in a storm. , “Blessings on your name day,” said Clinton and kissed her hand and adjusted the collarette about her throat and collapsed rather bone- lessly on the most over-stuffed chair in the room; crossed his spats and squinted in his monocle. “What a disgusting Elizabethan way-to put it! But speaking of name days, I’ve given away every cent I own in my own name on my name day. And I hope to own more of Julian’s some day, to give away with it. I’m going to live in a model tenement ’n every- thing. On my own. Alone.” “Two can do it as cheaply as one.” “Ha,” said Therese, in what was meant to be an ironic cackle. ‘You! I don’t exactly know your views on the rich-and-the-poor-of- it-all, but I take it that we'll have to build a monocle-holder over the sink for you, if you decide to inhabit my tenement.” “Oh, not necessarily. I can change it into two lenses and give myself a headache in the eye that doesn’t need glasses, for the sake of the verities or the unities or whyever it is that one should wear two lenses when he only needs one. We'll change it into the pince-nez shelf over the sink instead. Does that help surmount an insurmountable difficulty? Let’s get married and go house-hunting for 4 model tenement with a pince-nez shelf over the kitchen sink.” “You—in a model tenement! Behold me, holding my slim sides with laughter.” “Unseemly!”’ “Why, your club dues would support 2 family of ten for a year.” “Good club affiliations don’t necessarily queer a fellow, Therese. I’ve noticed that sometimes fellows who are members of the Racquet Club of America are made of Just about the same stuff as the members of the Pressing Clubs of America. All that glitters is not gold, but gold does glitter!” “You've over two million in your own name. Inherited, too!” “What’s ina name? Introduce me to your lawyers. I’ve long had a notion of my own for throwing my golden minnows back into the ocean and starting in to fish on my own “Clint!” “T’ve an idea for an article that ought to pay our first month’s rent, if we don’t go in for too fancy a model tenement,” said Int, screwing in his monocle. “What?” 4 “I’m not much farther along than th title, but hang it, I do like the title!” “What is it, you darling?” “Parlors for Socialists.” ne “Let’s furnish ours, Clint, in a first € lition of Shelley and a pince-nez shelf for monoc les!

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DEL MONTE-HICKEY WHEN SHE LAYS ASIDE HER FURS . .. the top coat is a necessity for those earlier days of Spring —one of many suggestions now at your Favorite Shop! on o DEL MONTE-HICKEY 246 WEsT 38TH STREET, NEW YORK ON THE Robert Hichens’ HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel (Continued from page 109) right to deceive in her art. Nevertheless Jack, while accusing himself of folly, sentimentality, and persistent self-deception, could not help also bringing a silent accusation against her. He was a self-deceiver. Because he wanted to find certain virtues in certain women he would have it that they existed, even though the evidence was all against that. But she was strangely deceptive, not in what she said, but in what she seemed, so deceptive that even now he could not entirely get rid of his romantic notions about her. And the silent struggle within him, between conviction and a desire so strong that it still felt about for weapons with which to fight conviction, made him ill at ease. He could not be simple and natural with her who seemed to be both. He felt guilty, because something within him was persistently accusing her of guilt. And this part of him fought against the common sense of the whole of him and set up in him con- fusion of mind. On the round dinner table the waiter had set an oil lamp which gave a smoky orange- colored light and made of the kiosk an in- timate homely place, beaming gently in the darkness of the Forest. The ray had drawn them in from their wandering, and had roused in Jack a great longing for a home. He dread- ed the St. James’s Street flat which was all that waited for him in London. And this dread set him wondering about Mademoiselle Durier’s life. Was there no loneliness in that? Had she no desire to be at rest in some per- manent intimacy, as he had? Or did she, like Krahmer, prefer the eternal pilgrimage from one “intelligénce”’’ to another? HERE was no one else dining at Franchard that night, and as they sat down under the thatched roof between the tree trunks Made- moiselle Durier told Jack that midday was the time for customers there, and that except on Saturdays and Sundays the restaurant was usually deserted at night. ‘Delightfully deserted!” she added. “Whenever Tini Grau and I want to get away from home and yet be by ourselves we come here to dine. Don’t we, Henri?” She addressed the waiter who was giving the 2m two plates of steaming vegetable soup. ‘Mais oui, Madame,” he replied, with a worshipful smile. “Henri knows my tastes. soup excellent?” ‘It is, indeed. What would you like to drink? Is the champagne here good?” “T don’t know. I have never drunk champagne here.” “Shall we try it to-night?” He fully expected her to say no. As champagne was the usual wine on such occa- sions she would, he thought, certainly refuse it. But, after a moment of apparent hesita- tion, she glanced at him and said, “If you like; I leave it to you. I drink very little of anything.’ : Jack called for the wine list and ordered a bottle of Perrier Jouet. Looking delighted, the waiter hurried away to get it, leaving them alone in the Forest. That was what Jack felt directly the man had gone, that Antoinette and he were alone in the Forest like two people, man and woman, camping out. And a sudden, boyish longing for such a life in the midst of wild nature with a woman who was his assailed him. A tent in some hidden place among the trees at the edge of a small clearing, which by day would be sun- bathed, a tent, his woman and solitude! How wonderful it would be to have such a life! Now isn’t this “How your eyes are shining! What are you thinking about?” asked his companion. ND, driven by impulse, Jack told her, without of course putting her in the place of the woman, “But,”’ he added, “one has to rough it in a camp. And many women wouldn’t like that. I’m sure you, for instance, would hate it.” ‘Sometimes one has to go through hard- ships when making films,” she said. “‘I may have to in Tunisia when October comes. Ve are going South beyond Tozeur and Nefta.’ ; ‘How I envy you!” Jack exclaimed. “Why not come with us?” she said, in a soft and casual voice. At this moment the waiter came back with the champagne. When he had poured it out, taken away their soup plates and departed, she said again, ‘Why not come with us? “You don’t mean it! “Then why say it? What would be the use? I am not a chattering fool wasting my life among polite pretenses. ‘But how could I come? Even if I were free—and I work for my living in London — how could I travel with a film company? ‘There would be no difficulty about that if I chose that it should be so. He remembered that she was a “star.” And evidently she did not forget it. “It is my own company,” she said. “Do you mean to say that you really wish me to come? The waiter came back with fried slices of lemon. ‘They know I never take sauces here,” she said, as she picked up a bit of lemon and squeezed it gently with her long finge rs. ‘Do you really wish me to come? “Film people are not very interesting company in the long run. It would be very charming to have a companion who was not in the business. We shall only be gone two months.” “Why do you tempt me?” he said, almost angrily. “Well, what would life be if there were no temptations? Just think! Would not the dulness be unbearable? And the man who is never tempted is never wanted. Would you like never to be wanted?” if Again he thought of Madame Diane and the silent pursuit in the garden of the Hotel Mirabeau. Just how was he wanted? That was the question. Jack had not a very good conceit of himself. He had never been a conceited man, and Kit’s behavior to him had rather diminished than increased his self- esteem. He could not believe that a woman so talented as Mademoiselle Durier was interested in his mind. He possessed no talent, such as Krahmer possessed, to fascinate her. But apparently there was something in him which held attraction for certain women. Was it that which drew Mademoiselle Durier? Was she a Madame Diane in a different envelop? Although Jack was not clever, not intellectual, not talented, not mentally or spiritually remarkable in any way, he was neither a coarse nor a very animal man. He was a strong-bodied manly man with a - deal of wistful sentiment in him. And j was that wistful sentiment of his which moon food, which wanted an answer to its call, which had in the past idealized women and had met with disappointment. And it was that, too which was inclined to shrink from certain things in women to which many men eagerly respond. “T think we all wish to be wanted,” he said slowly, in answer to his companion’s question. He hesitated. Then he added, he felt forced toadd: “But it depends rather in what way.” “In what way?” “Well, one can be wanted i in a good many different ways, can’t one?” dle and HE waiter placed a steaming dish of ra- gout and another of mashed potatoes. before them. Jack drank some of his champagne, and found it cold, dry, and good. “‘T will help the ragout,’’ said Mademoiselle Durier. ‘You needn’t bother to wait, Henri.” “‘ Bien, Madame.” He went away after bestowing upon them an almost benedictory smile. “‘Isn’t it good?” she asked Jack, after she had helped him. “Isn’t this the real cuisine bourgeoise? ‘I know very little about the cuisine bour- geoise. But this is delicious.’ He looked out into the Forest and sighed. The night was deepening around them. There seemed to be green in its darkness. And the trees were always companions. On the meet- ing roads no traffic went by. The moon was still veiled by the gray clouds that Antoinette Durier loved. The stillness, the silence, were only broken now and then by the movement ol Henri’s quick pattering feet on the warm earth of the enclosure, by a faint sound of distant voices from the house of the restaurant’s patron. “IT don’t think I could be of much use to you as a companion,” Jack said at last, as she did not answer his question. “W hy not?” She sipped her champagne, but, he thought, like a woman who didn’t care much for wine, who drank it now probably only to keep him company. ; ‘I’m not a bit clever. I’m not artistic or interesting. And you have always lived with brilliant men.” ““How do you know that?” He realized at once that he had made aslip, and reddened. He looked at her across the table in the lamplight and saw that her steady and Bagh © eyes were fixed on him. Who told you that?” she said, with a certain inflexibility, as if she meant to know. “Tsn’t it true?” he said awkwardly. “Tt may be. Did Leri tell you?” “You are well known, a star as they call it. Naturally clever people admire you. | realized that at Madame’s, when I first met you, and at Mr. Krahmer’s.” “You don’t want me to know who told you. Well, what does it matter?” ACK drank some more wine. His body was beginning to feel different under the influence of the food and the champagne, more at ease, happier, perhaps a little more (Continued on page 120)

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wish > and ere,” . and Sting very > not two most ‘e no the ho is you and Totel That 200: 1

Hichens’ SCREEN Novel (Continued from page 128) for MARCH 1926 Robert reckless a! nselfconscious. And his mind, . infection, began to think that lip had not been so unfortunate. ypening, made by his own in- Why not take advantage of it? catching t! perhaps hi Here was advertenc« “T have n told things about you, he said. “You a public character. You're the Madame Bartet of the screen.” _ " “Madame Bartet has retired into private life.” “But not so very long ago. I suppose the tradition of her acting is still alive in Paris.” “Yes. No one has taken her place.’ “hageon that’s what some pe yple call you. “The t of the screen. And you’ve ‘things about me? heard many “Y t I don’t know aioe they are es. ‘Do you are? “Yes. It’s no business of mine, I know, but I can’t help « aring. “Why do you care? “Because I[—Well, it’s like this. In the cinema house I heard some one, a young French officer it was, say of you, ‘Quelle charmante femme!’ And his comrade answered, ‘Oui, une vraie femme!’ And I imagined you to be that.” ; “A true woman. But w hat is a true woman? That is the question. She was silent for a moment. up his glass and drank again. “A question that I think it would be very dificult for any man to answer,” she said at last. “Well, I have not heard what they told you about me. But I know what it is, and it is perfectly true. Jac K pic ked HERE was no defiance in her voice, no hardness of resolute assertion. And there was no hardness in the face and the quiet steady eyes turned on him. “Every one who knows about me knows it. Why should I pretend? But I never do pre tend. I have never pretended with you. “No, you haven't. Henri reappeared with pale yellow pan- cakes which softly enveloped strawberry jam. When he had hurried off—he walked quickly from habit—with the remains of the ragout, the vegetable dish, and the plates they had used, she said, ‘‘I suppose you are what is called a Puritan. Isn't it so? : Something in Jack hotly resented this conception of hers “I’m sure I’m not, you think so? “Why should * he said. “Simply because I feel that, now you've been told, you think me a very wicked woman,” she said, apparently without any irony. “Just the contrary of what a true woman ought to be. The latter part of her statement was so absolutely true that Jack hadn’t the insin- cerity to deny it, but he did deny the first part. : I’m not such a cad, such a self- as to attribute wickedness to you,” he said. ‘Besides, what is wickedness? Who is to define that? I used to think I knew what wickedness and goodness were before I went into the war. But since then all the values seem to have got mixed up. And I’m too stupid, perhaps, to know any more. All I know is—” He stopped, hesitating. “Do tell me,” she said, rather earnestly. “All I know is that, being what I am, I want—well, it’s really more like seeming to need, like a man needs food—certain things, and I don’t get them And not getting them ‘Please, righteous cad, makes life seem rather beastly at times. And, to tell the truth, you seemed to typify just those things for me on the screen. That’s how it was ‘And that’s why you wanted to know me? es “You remember I told you that I only did those things in films!’ ‘Oh. yes. I puzzled over that a bit.’ They had finished the pancakes now, and the champagne was very low in the bottle. ‘Finish it,” she now said. “I don’t want any more I'm not very fond of wine, though I suppose I ought to be, being what am.” She smiled slightly, looking at him. He lifted the bottle and poured out the remainder of the wine into his glass. ‘But I’m a very hard worker now,” she added Set that down to my ¢redit.”’ Oh, don’t—please don’t think I’m nticizing you!” he exclaimed. H® DRANK his champagne and put the glass down empty ‘But you wouldn't why should you?” ‘I don’t think I should mind your criticiz ing me. That would mean simply that your eas and mine about certain things happened »be different. And why should they not he care if I was. And different? I never wish to force others to think as I do. Besides, one can’t do that. But I do not want you to dislike me. As I told you, I am not the screen woman. You ex- pected me to be in real life what I appear to be in the films. I’m not that at all. I am quite different. I don’t spend my life in making absurd sacrifices for people who have misbehaved. I don’t give up my lovers to other women out of altruism. I don't adopt every orphan who has been deserted by a bad mother. I don’t spend all my money on undeserving paupers and parasites, and give away all my prettiest hats and dresses to girls who wish to catch husbands. I don’t think it necessary to be faithful and devoted to a man who is a brute simply because he once fancied he loved me. No; I take a more practical view of life. On the screen I am usually a charming fool. Off it I am a fairly intelligent woman. That disappoints you, | know. But perhaps when you became accustomed to it I mean to the fact that a woman can see things in their true light, even be practical, and yet have some feeling, even feeling for romance—you wouldn’t dislike it so much. Let us go and sit out in those straw chairs. Let us get away from this roof, now we have finished.” HE got up and they went out into the en- closure. But she did not sit down in either of the chairs just outside. Instead she picked one up, refused Jack’s help, and told him to pick up the other and bring it outside the paling. He obeyed, and followed her to a quiet place under an enormous beech tree, a little way from the roads though in sight of them. There she put her chair down on the dry soft earth partly covered with trodden leaves. “Here we can imagine that we are sitting outside our tent,” she said. “You'd get very bored with me in the wilderness,” said Jack. “How do you know yourself a bore?” “T don’t know that I ever thought much about it till I met all of you here; I mean you, and Madame Karovsky, and Peranza and Leri —and Mr. Krahmer.” After a slight pause like Mr. Krahmer.” “T really don’t know whether I do or not,” said Jack, trying to be strictly truthful and not to be sw ayed by prejudice. ‘*He’s been very decent to me. But he’s not my sort. As he said the last words intense depression assailed him. He knew now. There was no loophole by which any more hope might enter tohim. She had tol 1 him what she was. ““Not my _ sort! Close sympathy, the sympathy forged by similar tastes and desires, similar aspirations, a similar outlook on things—that was what a man wanted in his life, what Jack wanted, what surely every man wanted. A woman of his own sort to under stand and be understood. The woman on the screen was surely that woman. And the woman off the screen—the same and not the same—was not. Jack felt very lonely And he leaned forward under the beech tree in the soft darkness and said, “Do you ever feel lonely?” He wanted to know. “T shall in Tunisia if I am there alone with the company,” she said. ‘‘Not when I am working, but when I am resting. When I am resting I shall need some one who talks my y languag e.” ‘And you ‘Yes.’ “But I don’t talk your language “How do you know that? But even if you don’t, perhaps I could teach vou to.” As she said that he thought of Madame Diane, and, urged by a memory, he looked into his comps inion’s eyes. And in them he saw or fancied he saw for an instant, the same look as that which had met his under the huge hat wreathed with camellias. And—it was ugly, that!—he saw women on the trail, alert, bristling with alertness. Jack had a conscious ness of traditions reversed which was tragic. “*T should like to try,” she added. He felt beneath her quietness, her softness, a pressure, and realized that her attention, her purposeful attention, was concentrated on him. Something told him that she meant him to do the extraordinary thing, to go with her and her film cempany to the desert of Southern Tunisia. The hand in the velvet that? Do you think she said. “Do you to come!” ask me glove was slowly stretching out to take him away from the Stock Exchange. “T can’t think why such a woman as you are should bother about me at all,” he said, trying to speak lightly, with a touch of care- less indifference ‘Are you sure you can’t?” ‘What can you see in me? , Continued on page 130) odes

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130 The “flair” of the flare is admirably depicted in _ this ; winsome three-piece suit from 3 See ee FR, ao 5 i] i ‘ . f creators of town and tailored coats, suits and costumes renowned for their originality, verve and youthful charm. Write for name of nearest shop which carrie “House or OUTH" attire our fashion mailed you ** Success in Dress,” publication, will b on request SCHULMAN 224 Wes1 be — re = & HAUPTMAN NEw 35rn STREET, YorK ON THE Robert Hichens’ HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel (Continued from page 129) “T don’t see an artistic “T should rather think not.’ “But I see a very useful sort of man.” “Useful?” “There are a good many things in life besides the different ways of playing a valse of Chopin.” Again a very unmental look lived in her eyes. And Jack saw artists with their art dropping from them, like discarded clothes. “The legend of the artist which is propa- gated for the benefit of the public,” she con- tinued, “‘is as far away from the truth as the advertisement which says of a pill that it cures all mortal diseases. Most artists are animals with a gift, like the talking dog.” “Tf that is so then I suppose the rest of us are animals without a gift,” said Jack, not without bitterness. At this moment the tinkle of a bell came to them through the darkness. It sounded like asummons. Mlle. Durier got up. “Oh, we had forgotten our coffee!’ she said. ‘“That’s Henri calling us.” temperament.” , jAck got up too, and they went toward the enclosure, leaving the chairs behind them. They found Henri, with a small hand bell, looking anxiously into the night under a chestnut tree near the paling. When he saw them he said reproachfully, “I took out the coffee, Madame.” “Where is it?” “As no one was there I took it in again, Madame. I'll fetch it.” “Bring it here. We'll have it on this little table in the open.” He hurried to fetch it, and returned fol- lowed by the cheerful looking woman who had greeted them on their arrival, and who was now evidently anxious for a little conversation. While they sipped their coffee and deux fines, she told them that she had lived at Franchard for twelve years, summer and winter, and was never tired of the Forest. Her husband had been ill when they came there first, but now he was strong and hearty. Yes, it was very quiet in winter, with few people except on a fine Sunday, but she liked a quiet life and preferred not to have neighbors. “Neighbors always want to know all one’s affairs, M’sieu. One is better without them. There is no water here; that is the only draw- back. We have to get it in from Fontaine- bleau. But for the rest we have everything we want. I would not leave the Forest for anything. Her round face was eminently cheerful. Her eyes looked serenely contented. Her manner was eager and unselfconscious. She suggested comfortable energy without any subtleties, any complications. Such a wo- man was the antithesis of Madame Durier. But no doubt she could make a man happy. And Jack listened to Antoinette’s conversa- tion with her and wondered how it was that the two women seemed to understand each other, to get on together. But perhaps the reason of that lay in Antoinette’s remarkable simplicity and directness of manner. What- ever her life had been, and was, her “ways” were simply wonderful. Presently a rather loud bass voice called something from the lighted house. Instantly the woman turned, and with a quick, “‘ Pardon, Madame! C’est mon mari!” moved away and left them. “There’s domesticity for you!” said Mlle. Durier. ‘The real thing in isolation.” Jack made no rejoinder. For a moment she looked at him closely, and a nuance of tenderness softened her face. Her mind just then was saying with the certainty of ex- perience, “I know what that man wants!” She pushed away her empty cup. “It’s really night now.” et “Shall we just taste it—night in the Forest? A few steps and we lose all this.” ITH a slight gesture she indicated the lit house, the enclosure with its chestnut trees, its kiosks, its wooden room hung with orange and green balls, its chicken run, its yard where a little way off their carriage was stand- ing. He got up obediently. It was difficult to tell from his expression and manner whether he wished just then what she wished. His way of getting up at once, his demeanor indicated only that for that evening he was in her hands. For that evening! As she looked at him in the shadows—they were away from the lamp now—she wondered whether she could keep him in her hands for as long as she wished. She had thought so. It had seemed so to her. But somehow at this moment she was not sure. They walked out into the open space before the restaurant. There she stood still and seemed to be listening. Behind them, some- where in the house, there was the unmistak- able sound of “washing up,” notes of china and running water from a tap. The horse in their carriage whinnied. A cock crowed faintly in a smothered voice, like a bird troubled by a dream. And these sounds were encircled by, held in the arms of, a profound and immense silence, the vast silence of the almost motionless Forest. “Which way shall we go?” said Mlle Durier. E The horse whinnied again behind them, and then—it seemed far away—Jack heard a faint “Clip-clop! Clip-clop!”” Somewhere on the hard main road, a horse was trotting through the tea , “Anywhere,” said ack. “Everythi here is beautiful, and thee not a soul poe “No. Franchard is still like a hermitage in spite of its restaurant and its guard-house.” She walked on slowly toward the cleared bit of ground in the distance facing the res- taurant beyond the meeting roads. To reach it they had to cross the highway which leads from Franchard to Fontainebleau, not straight but with one sharp turn at right angles. As they were traversing it the “clip-clop” of a_horse’s hoofs sounded louder, and in the distance, approaching them, they saw two yellow lights. They went away to the left of the open space, and descended into the darkness of the Forest which skirts the gorges of Franchard till they came to some big rocks scattered among the trees. There Antoinette stopped with an air of decision. “Let us sit here for a little while,” she said, GHE sat down on a flat rock and Jack sat by her side. There was a silence in which both of them were listening for forest sounds in the night, and Jack was wondering what was going to happen between this woman and him before they parted. When they were nearing the restaurant on the soft Forest road she had asked him two questions. (For though put in the form of a statement by her, “And that again must mean something” had been really a question.) He had said that if she were frank with him that night perhaps he would answer those questions. She had been very frank with him. If there had been a compact between them she had fulfilled her part of it. Was he going fully to carry out his? “Have you ever been in the Forest at night —I mean off the highroad —till now?” she asked him, at length breaking the silence “Yes. When Leri went to the Asile Vert after I left him I went for a long wander in the Forest. That night I felt I had to go somewhere. “Why didn’t you come in with him? What was really your reason?” “‘T was afraid of finding you there.” Jack said it deliberately, not impulsively. She made no comment on his remark. It was evident to Jack that she did not intend to push the matter of her friendship with Krahmer any further with him. Probably she guessed that the tongues which had spoken to Jack of her life had not left the pianist out of it. “Did you stay long in the Forest that night?”’ she asked. “It seemed so. time.” But I didn’t reckon the HE left that topic and began to speak about the future, telling him something of her own affairs, with great simplicity and quite without any unpleasant egoism. She had recently formed her own film company and was going to make several films on her own account, the first being a picturesque render- ing of a Tunisian scenario written for her by a famous young French writer. This was, as usual, a story of self-sacrifice, but with several incidents in it which were novel and unexpected. She and her producer were going to try to surpass in romantic realism even the wonderful effects in “‘Atlantide.” And she described to Jack what they were trying to aim at, and with subtle artistry led him away from Europe to the African wilderness, steeped him in an atmosphere glowing with a beauty that was strange. But all this was done with a purpose he did not at the moment fully realize, though perhaps an under part of him suspected it. But anyhow he was too fascinated to worry about that. She set before him a life of effort, of solid hard work, often exhausting and sometimes even perilous. But it was a life full of enterprise, oddity, variety, and fascination, not on the level, not pedestrian, a life that leaped and plunged, that had possibilities of stark failure and big rewards. And while she talked to him, quietly and earnestly, and without any trace of self- consciousness, he compared this life with his on the Stock Exchange. And he thought of her invitation and of his refusal—for his rejoinder had been tantamount to a refusal—and of his angry exclamation: ‘“ Why do you tempt me* She was tempting him now. The lure of it all was tremendous. He was, of course, goings back to London on the morrow, going back to the Stock Exchange, to the office in Austin Friars, to the shining desks and the incessant sound of the telephone, to the confabulations (Continued on page 132)

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Sheridor 548 FIFTH AVENUE at 45 thST New York» OUR ONLY STORI ON THE Robert Hichens’ HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel Continued from page 130) about new companies with his partners, and the interviews about investments with his clients, to the evenings at his club, the dis cussions on political questions seldom fully understood by those discussing, to Torring- ton’s Jew stories, Mervyn Smith’s prophecies about the next war—in 1928—to Langston’s praises of Dean Inge, to his own persistent expression of disbelief in women, to his St. James’s Street flat, his pipe, and his whisky and soda. And this woman, who was sitting beside him on the rock, whose soft breathing he fancied he could just hear among the enclosing trees, was going across the sea to work out strange schemes in wonderful places. And she had asked him to go with her. AS SHE went on quietly talking, describing 4 what she was going to do, drawing word p'ctures of the places she was going to visit, like an accomplished metteur en scéne who had already visualized with sharp intensity and completeness what he intended eventually to produce triumphantly, Jack felt a great long ing to break his bonds, to do the wild thing. He saw himself with Antoinette walking through villages of dried earth and palmwood, followed by half-naked brown children cov ered with amulets and beads, on horseback galloping over flat spaces toward a huddle of tents in the sunlit distance, by night under palm-trees with a golden moon hanging low over shadowy sand dunes—always far away from the gaze of civilization. (The film com- pany his arbitrary mind eliminated.) He saw himself sharing with Antoinette an absolutely unconventional life. He had been offered that life. He had still only to stretch out his hand and he could take it. He would go back then to London—to pre pare. Of course people would think him mad. His partners would remonstrate with him. His friends would laugh about him, and talk about “another good fellow gone wrong.” Among those who knew him there would be a consensus of opinion. The verdict would be “damned fool.”’ But the question which was in Jack’s mind, and which persisted there, was whether the sensible man or the damned fool has the best of it in life. Antoinette was luring him. But she was doing something else, too. She was subtly eliminating his conception of the successful demi-mondaine who had lived on men, and was replacing it by another, of a hard-working woman, a toiler in a comparatively new and, to him, very curious art, which required of its votaries fatiguing efforts, endurance, some- times even physical courage, and which had no heard applause of the public as its reward, though its success or failure depended upon public favor or was caused by public disfavor. It was a strange phase of art, life behind the scenes and often in the midst of wild nature. Jack remembered the discussion of the cinema in his club. He had not realized there what producing a big picture meant. Antoinette was teaching him, and he was forgetting the Ww aiter’ s words and the demi-monde. ‘I envy you!” he said, when she stopped speaking “Why? “Your life is so much more interesting than mine.” ‘*T don’t know about your life. You haven't told me “What's the use of talking about unin teresting things?” “But I should like to know.” Her voice sounded full of sympathetic interest. It awakened in Jack the old craving, essenti: lly part of him, for a woman’s affection in his life, a woman’s active sympathy. Kit had been an egoist, had scarcely even pre tended to be anything else. So far as Jack knew she had been “straight,” in the con Antoinette was and did not pre ventional sense of that word not “straight” in that way, tend to be so. But she was far more sym pathetic, far more interested surely in a fellow’s life than Kit had ever been. Yet Jack hesitated to let himself go. Suppose Antoinette were only playing with him? She saw the hesitation, though it was very dark where they were, and touched his hand, which lay palm downwards on the rock, gently with hers “Do tell me. Then I can think of your life, imagine it, when I am in the desert near Nefta and you are in the city of London.’ ‘The dulness of it will give you the creeps, I should think. But here goes!’ ND he opposed a picture of his life in 4 London to her life lived for the screen. While he was speaking he was alertly conscious of their absolute isolation in the silent Forest. The night was windless and fra- grantly warm. Franchard was hidden from them. The highroad on which they had heard the clip-clop of the trotting horse was out of sight. It was as if all life, but their own, had sunk away from them, for the life of the trees was so surreptitious that it only served to create an atmosphere about them, not of life but of deep peace without any sadness in it. And Jack’s consciousness of - Forest, and of all that Fontainebleau had already begun to mean for him, made him gee his life with dispraising eyes. The beauty all about him here had let loose in him a spirit which had long been latent, rendered perhaps inert by the thunders of war. And that spirit looked critically upon his normal way of life; and that spirit expressed itself in his narration of that life to Antoinette. ‘And in the evening the club, and then home to the flat I told you about, and a pipe and a whisky and soda,” he concluded presently. ‘‘What do you say to it all?” “You have your friends.” “But what are friends? Mostly people you just happen to knock up against in the ordini iry way of life, and who don’t happen to dislike you. Most of one’s so-called friends hips don’t amount to much more than th: at. “Friendship, of course, isn’t enough for a man. But surely you have a mistress?” ‘No, I haven't.’ He saw her look at him with an expression of surprise, but she made no comment on his reply. “You're surprised?’ “Well “Oh, I know! You can’t unde erstand. Probably you think me aie half a man,” he said hotly. “But it isn’t so. And then—was the silent Forest re sponsible or was she?—he told her about Kit. ‘That'll kill any interest she takes in me!” he said to himself as he told her. “And better it should! I don’t care, let her know me just as I am.” Something—he did not know exactly what was making him angry, inclined to hurt himself, and to show himself wounded to her. “Another fellow cut me out. That’s how it was. And since then I’ve felt so dis- gusted the ut Tve kept clear of women—even in that way. “T don’t think I have ever known a man who needed a woman in his life, closely and ee in his life, more than you do,” she said, when he had finished. “But not the kind of woman you have described.” “Oh, she was quite a good sort. I wasn’t * he said. running her down. She’s quite all right really.” ‘That may be. But I know the type We have it in Paris, too. I call it the student’s type.” There was a light touch of disdain in her voice. “How unhappy you would have been with ’ she added. “Oh, I don’t say that.” “Do you mean to say you don’t know it?” “Well “Of course now.” “Now? Do you mean since He hesitated. ‘Let us say since she very suitably married her flying man. But he knew she had not meant just that. her! you do. You must know it ACK heard a slight movement and, as in the carriage when it swayed, her body just, but — just, touched his. I don’t regret it all now, “But a thing like that fellow’ Ss ad He pulled himself up just in time to avoid the eternal “belief in women,” and substitu ted for it “interest in life for the time being ‘Aren’t you getting it back?” she said. “Out here. But I don’t look forward to London * ‘Anyhow you are clear of It’s much better in love to see to imagine what isn’t. If you can’t love what is there, but only what is not there and what you choose to imagine, your love will never be worth having. But do you know that you, if once you could love without illusions, you would be a lover in a thousand? ” he said hurriedly. does take away 4 illusion now what is than Vhy?” he said, with an excitement he didn’t try to hide. ““Why?” : “Because you're a boy in the body of 4 man. I don’t mean that you have the igno- rance of a boy. I mean that you have 4 boy’s freshness of heart and eagerness ol mind. No Frenchman of your age could ever be like you. The average French boy far more of a cynic than you are, of sixteen is ger believe in although you think you no longs women—whatever that may mean. (It means nothing to me.) It is almost im credible to me that you have been through the War.” “Why incredible?” : “Because it hasn’t left its ugly mark on rou, , 2 “But you don’t know what I like crore oT hat doesn’t matter. The ugliness, the brutality, the dull frightfulness—dull dull'— of modern warfare haven’t succeeded in effacing your morning. And as to ad disappointment over that girl, it (Continued on page 134

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Delicacy decrees this fragrant aid to beauty No. 4711 Eau de Cologne: exquisite in odor, with an exotic charm that adds unmis- takably to woman’s powers of enchantment. No. 4711 Eau de Cologne: highly bene- ficial in its astringent qualities: and essential as a protective base for cosmetics. No. 4711 White Rose Glycerine Soap: Pure, mild and soothing. No. 4711 Bath Salts: Nine delightful perfumes. Refreshing; exhilarating. Fau de Cologne Made in U. S. A. by MULHENS & KROPFF, Inc. 25 W. 45th Street Branches: New York Chicago San Francisco “©\C Ee SO” ON THE Robert Hichens’ HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel (Continued from page 132) bobbed girl,” he saw a faint smile go over her se nsitive lips, ‘“‘you can lose that when you like.” “How?” “Do you suppose I haven’t had disap- pointments, too? Jack remembered the spasm which had contorted her pale face when she had been wi atching the tango in Krahmer’s studio. ‘I expect you have,” he said. “Everyone who is courageous enough to enter into real human intimacies—real ones— must have disappointments. Second-rate people instinctively avoid such intimacies. But some of us are not second-rate, and we don’t shrink from the big things because of the evil chances that may come in their train. When I have some big disappointment I don’t sit down in the ashes and throw earth on my head, and disbelieve—whatever that means—in all men. No!” “What do you do?’ ‘Travel awav.” He said nothing “Do you know what I mean?” “Perhaps I do.” ‘That requires some courage, of course. Life tries to hold some of us fast in the web of custom. There are always voices to say, ‘You cannot do this, or that. It is impossible. Tt is out of the question.’ And the things hat are impossible, that cannot be done— they are just the things worth doing.” ‘Are they?” “T at least think so.” “You've done many of them, I expect.” “Cannot you do one?” ‘ You_mean—go to Tunisia in October. I wish to God I could.” “Don’t you think you would forget your disappointment out there?” A CRUEL question came to his lips and 4 he did not reject it. He had to put it to her, for something in her drew him on to an unreserve which was perhaps rather hers in him, than his own. “Tf I came would you forget yours?” At that moment he was thinking of the pedigreed bulldog and 1 Krahmer. ‘es!’ she said, simply. ‘Then he hesitated, looked at her and went on. “Then I'll do the mad thing and come!” he said He felt a sudden violent heat go all through him “No, I mustn't He got up quickly “Why, why do you find just the way to— Look here, I simply can’t. I’m not free. It’s like this. I’m not a bit rich. All the money I have I make by working. Four weeks’ holiday a year is my allowance, and a few days at Christmas, and the days when every thing in London’s shut. How can I throw everything up? My partners wouldn’t stand for it. Besides one of them—he’s really the boss of our concern—will be away in October, and I must be there.” “T don’t think so. I think you're afraid of what people will say. If you do come with me to Tunisia your partners and your friends will think you’ve lost your head over me, that you’re next door to mad perhaps. But when you go on board the ship at Marseilles, will you care? She stopped, but he did not answer. “When the ship puts out to sea and you leave Chateau d’If behind, and the air begins to get warmer, and the sea has a deeper blue, will you care? When you see the coast line of Africa, and the mountains guarding the lakes of Tunis, and * idi-Bou- Said white as snow on its hill looking across to Carthage—will you care? And when we go down into the South, and the feathery crests of the palms—the first palms of an oasis—come up above the horizon line, and we set our feet in the shining sands, and the sounds of civilization drop away behind us as we follow the track of the caravans—will you care?” “Good God, no! It isn’t that!’ “Then what is it? What is it really? “T can’t believe you would care for it if I did come, care for it, I mean, in the way whic h would make my coming worth while.’ “When I wanted to dine with you I chose Franchard for our dinner. Don’t you know why that was? ** Because night?” ‘Yes. All the others go to dine at ‘Les Charmettes’ in Barbizon when they think they want to be quiet. There is always some- body there to see, and to be seen by. But who is there at Franchard? “T can’t see why you should care to be alone with a fellow like me. She looked up at him, but not provoca- tively. He had no feeling that she wished him to take any brutal advantage of her situation with him in the darkness of the Forest. On the contrary, he felt a conviction that she did not. ‘Come with me to I can’t!” he exclaimed. nobody ever comes there at Tunisia and you will know. I’m not what you thought me. I’m not your wonderful woman of the screen I’m not an absurd idealized image. I’m a very real woman, who doesn’t live by givin, up but rather by trying hard for personal happiness.” “And you really think you could be hz appy with me? “Yes, very happy, now that you know what [ am, and are not full of illusions about me. “You’re an extraordinary woman!” he s-id. ““ Why?” “You keep your hypocrisy for your art, and your truth and reality for your life. And at one time I thought it was just the contrary,’ “Are you coming? Only two months! It isn’t very much to lose out of a lifetime for the sake of what is called madness. You can be sane afterwards for years and ye ars. “T might want to stick to insanity. She got up from the rock, and put her hands lightly on his shoulders. Her rather long pale face was very close to his, and her eyes looked steadily into his with a sad and eager expression. “You promised to tell me something jf | were frank with you. I have been very frank, so now you might tell me. Why were you going away from Fonts 1inebleau without com- ing to bid me good-by? “TI didn’t promise exactly—but it was because of Krahmer.’ “Oh! He felt her hands grip his shoulders more firmly. ‘And why didn’t you go? He was conscious just then of internal strife and of a definite giving up. And the giving up seemed to violate something precio:1s in him. “T wanted to come here with you and I’m going with you to Tunisia. A*™ HOUR later Antoinette Durier and Jack turned away from the gorges of Franchard to make their way to the restaurant and the waiting carriage. It was between ten and eleven o'clock, and Antoinette remembered the little driver with the black bow necktie. ‘The poor child must be longing for his bed. But if you aren’t sleepy you can come in at the Maison Blanche and stay for a little while. It’s so warm that we can sit out in the garden by the fountain. I drink tisane before going to bed and you shall have some, too. It will quiet your nerves. “How do you know that my nerves need quieting?” “T do know.” She spoke with a hint of kind, almost motherly, satire and put her arm gently through his. “Tt’s so dark. treading.” Jack pressed her arm to his side. He was feeling tremendously excited, and she knew it. The changed future—he felt the future as a thing existing, deliberately transformed by his will that night—beckoned to him i imperiously. He did not know how he was going to get through the time of waiting that stretched between now and October. Antoinette had spoken of him as a boy that night, but the boy seemed, at any rate to him, to be swallow- ed up by a turbulent rush of manhood now that he had put indecision from him and made up his mind to do the mad thing. He had decided already that he would leave Fontainebleau on the morrow and go back to London and warn his partners on the Stock Exchange that he would have to be away from business during the months of October and November. How they would take it he did not know. What explanation he would give them he had not decided. At the moment he didn’t care about the dull de- tails of life. He was out for romance. In the twinkling of an eye the flatness of his life had been transformed. And it all seemed to him so incredible. This had been waiting for him and he had not known it. He had even tried to turn away from the gift Fate had offered him. But he had not been able to turn away, because he had been meant to accept the gift. Already he looked back at his hesita- tion, his indecision, as folly, seeing through the eyes of another. He had told Antoinette that he must start the next day for London, and she had not tried to dissuade him from going. In her instant acquiescence she had, he thought, once more — her unlikeness to other women. She had, as if naturally expressing I don’t know where I am her character, taken the sensible view. How easy such a woman must surely be to live with! Her extraordinary charm was com- bined with and not detracted from by unusual And she showed no distrust n, - common sense. of him, no uneasy fear that in Lond more among friends and business interests, might change his mind and give up the gre at expedition. He had said he would come with her to Tunisia and quite evidently she (Continued on page 130)

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LR for MARCH 1926 135 A G H | l H d l : reat Hyg p een ma vin: . onal D t T : that Your Daughter will be Spare hat ie.” he art, . nial ; : om This remarkable NEW way, by banishing the insecurity y.” ; ths and uncertainty of old ways, and by providing an all- = tt) can important easy-disposal feature, solves woman’s oldest be hygienic problem, exquisitely, thoroughly, amazingly ther her and if I nk EASY DISPOSAL m- and 2 other important factors was lore nil the os I’m and int ~ No laundry. As easy to tte @) dispose of as a piece of aaa tissue—thus ending the trying problem of dis- his posal. me ttle in ane me, eed ost By ELLEN J. BUCKLAND tly Graduate Nurse re IKE most other things, woman’s Each Kotex pad deodorizes vas greatest hygienic handicap has with a new secret disinfectant - yielded to modern scientific attainment. Think of the amazing protection Hy ° . is fez re c > xives! his There is a new way in personal hy- this feature alone gives Utter protection—Kotex ly. giene. A way scientific, immaculate and Easy disposal—simply discard (2) ae te aes ed positive that ends the doubts and uncertainties of There is a i aie lai la times that of the ordi- ad the now discarded sanitary pad. Under former here 16 nO bother, nO expense, ‘ nary cotton pad, and it the 4 é ria ; . dry. Simply discard Kotex as you would deodorizes, thus assuring “ conditions, the average woman spent almost one- fe f ti siiitianh miniiaeaiaaia double protection. ati : . . c . a nie -e11e—— Wy > Z ass nt. ut sixth of her time in embarrassment ... often in es a ee nd fear. Today the gayest of sheer frocks, the most You can get it anywhere, today id exacting of social urgencies hold no terror for the If you have not tried Kotex, please do. It will 0 modern woman. make a great difference in your viewpoint, in your oa Almost 80% of all women in the better walks of peace of mind, and your health. of life have adopted this scientific way. The women 60% of many ills, according to many leading ild of tomorrow will never know that the most trying medical authorities, are traced to the use of un- at of hygienic conditions is other than an incident in safe and unsanitary makeshift methods. le- their lives. Thus today, on eminent medical advice, millions he 4 : 2 : + r rnin this new way. ad Factors that changed the hygienic oe eee oe aad im habit of the seal A fair test will convince you of its advantages ed , beyond all question. No other method will ever sat- ” md This new way is Kotex, the scientific sanitary pad. isfy. Kotex comes in sanitary sealed packages of G) sal ype A Se Ay, Nurses in war-time France first discovered it. It twelve, in 2 sizes: the Regular, and Kotex-Super. At ready-wrapped in plain he is made of the super-absorbent Cellucotton, cov- all better drug and department stores, everywhere. cual oon tis one et ta- — ° . ae 2 : > . , ° 7 ° rap . . ch ered with specially processed, soit-finished gauze. Today begin the Kotex habit. Note the improve- is all. It absorbs and holds instantly sixteen times its ments, mental and physical, that it brings. Write - own weight in moisture. It is five times as ab- today for “Personal Hygiene” booklet. Sample of vet sorbent as ordinary cotton pads. Kotex will be mailed free on request. ht, her CELLUCOTTON PRODUCTS CO., 166 West Jackson Boulevard, Chicago ing ow a Kotex Regular: ual Supplied also i 1 b 65c per dozen led aiso in personal service cabinets ust nmn“,- igi No laundry—discard as ¢ 7] > es . er dozen * . ° he West Disinfecting Co. PROTECTS—DEODORIZES . ‘ easily as a piece of tissue pat me she

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136 HARPER’S BAZAR | ON THE SCREEN Robert Hichens’ Novel (Continued from page 134)

ir ? 1) ; ; r iS

=a @ Tz = “By cAppointment | é looked upon his coming as a settled and —_ vegetable garden and the meeting cross-roads, | ‘ gene |i Kew certain thing. Her belief in his word warmed The sky had not cleared. Indeed it w $ more é to H.R. H. the Prince of Wales ey his heart, but he was dreading the departure closely muffled, and by darker clouds th; an _-- 2 on the morrow. when they had started from Fontaineh leau >= | =, “T shall hate the time in London before- The night was heavy above this woodland (3 | ’ :> hand,”’ he said as they walked slowly in the hermitage. But through it gleamed lights AS Established ae direction of the restaurant, threading their from the solitary house, and at a little distance é Ifa | way through the trees. away, to the left, another detached light, not ‘ Py | ‘Think of the day whe *n you will join me in very strong, of a smoky orange color. G ls | Paris to catch the rapide to Mi irseilles.”’ “We are keeping them all up,” said Antoj- ¢ fe | “Ves. I'll fasten on to that. It’s the nette. “They must be wondering about ys € \F2 | only thing to do. Shall we travel on the and longing to get rid of us.” G i? | same ship as the company? They walked toward the light slowly, and bs . ‘Oh, yes. We shall all go together.” soon reached the highway to Fontaineh leau. € “_ n't that lamp on the table where we S FA ACK found himself wondering how that dined? said Jack, as they drew nearer. * = would be. How would he be explained to “Yes, I think it must be. €4 3 the film people? What position would it be “T wonder they leave it out there so late,” supposed that he was filling in the enterprise? he said. 5 4 2 Or perhaps Antoinette would not think any His eyes were fixed upon the light, and his 3 subterfuge of that kind to be necessary. And mind was concentrated upon it. He did not = 2, he remembered that she was not only a know why. It was interesting him in a ; heS successful worker in an art, but a woman who peculiar, not wholly natural, way and sud- €3 > was known to all Paris in another capacity. denly he became aware of that fact and A \\t2, | And for a moment he felt an almost fierce wondered. i : — || |Kes | surprise at what he was going to do. “Isn’t it odd?” he said, stopping where the i Belvoir Castle, England H » Perhaps she guessed that, for she said, roads met. | = i ‘We shall be like a big family party, comrades ; What?” she asked. PS Wl of us. You will not dislike my company. ‘The meaning night seems to give to 7 ilk > Many of them will amuse you. And I know ordinary thing ss? Our lamp over there—I ud . Ho you will be bon enfant with the m. 7 suppose it’s the lamp on our table—seems to J The Luxury Soap iPS “Rather! I should think so! + the one thing of importance in the Forest. & a It > ‘All that I do they think right. They now it’s only an ordinary oil lamp, but | e of the W orld | J depend on me. You will see—” she smiled feel as if it were much more than that” as if it -™ indulge ntly—“I am like a queen among were an eye full of satire and contempt. And j be them. a little while ago, when we were coming to 2 2, “T can quite believe that.” dinner——don’t you remember?—it looked so = > ‘And in the cinema world there are not attractive and cozy and intimate, beaming & > many strong prejudices. You will soon find out a welcome to us.” = Ed that out He saw her looking at him closely, indeed « » He realized that she had divined his _ staring at him. , | yught and was probably amused by it. “Are you an imaginative man?” she said. & 5 | She would not trouble to explain him. There “T don’t think so. Nota bit, I should say Ca > | would be no need to do that. How absurd She looked across the road through the = Old (5 lig x she must think him. , How strange he thought darkness to the dusky orange light. & NG 1 S her -_ yet she wanted him, must want “Full of satire and contempt?” she said. cs ¥ him. And he was deeply in love with her, “Do you see it like that?” he asked. >= avi el 1der ‘Soap far more deeply than he had ever been with “No. To me it has only the meaning any = Kit. It must be so. Otherwise he could not light has in a lonely place far from towns. , possibly be so false to his own ideal of woman Naturally a light in darkness concentrates and is he was going to be. But Antoinette’s holds the attention. How odd you can be! € | almost brusque sincerity, coupled with a But I’m rather glad.” c FOR OVER A CENTURY THE LEADERS pe li ir fascination which had nothing of the “Wi ly? ; ) ‘ INS siren’s blatancy, had captivated apparently “T Jike a person with corners. One wants 4 _ ; . not only his heart but his.brain. Her truth to go round them and see what is hidden € of English Society have used the famous fulness seemed to make amends for the ‘I expect you’ve been thinki ing that there rs Y; > > virtues he had attributed to her and now knew isn't very much hidden in me? & Yardley Perfumery. that she lacked. But he would not think of ‘But now I know you can be imaginative.’ CF || all that. He was obstinately determine: “On a ae iy this even I might be ~ . 8 . . henceforth to look on her as a worker, a great ‘And the light now?” she asked, slightly S The exquisite purity of Old English Laven- artist in her own line, deservedly the idol of “~~ his arm rs) : : . : ‘ fs iil the French public. The fact that she worked He looked again at the lamp €3 der Soap— its soft mellow lather purifying, i | should s od her in his eyes from any re “Tt doesn’t suggest to me = ut it suggested = | . Fe . : i} | proach. The past was her own business, not to me when we were coming in a couple of C4 | refining and beautifying the skin—the de- I} his. What WA was in the present he could hours ago. ; 5 | surely respect as well as care for ““I[magine it’s a light in our tent!” 3 | lightful fragrance with which it is so lavishly | 1 ge pean Ng dee They heard “a horse whiny. It wa ca | ‘ , : . } “Tt seems that if I did not work you and I answered by another whinny €4| perfumed — have made it the choice, for || cau Gene anlar Ge cle ‘cach «|| uname eeecteenads eee? etki : — : 5 | other’s acquaintance.” And he remembered the clip-clop of a «4 many generations, of those who know and “But do you mind telling me what led you horse’s hoofs, and the two yellow lamps he 4 , 1 to work, the real reason? I’m so interested in had seen gleaming down the highway from ; can command the best. pacbesapertiowiy a aa ee main ,' ca He was fastening on to the work with Mate that’s why our lamp is still = TT a, , ; intense concentration, and she noticed that lighted,”” he added. & Box of Three Large Tablets $1.00 and probably understood quite clearly the “It may be. But people very rarely come Ga or 35c the Tablet | reason here so late to dine.’ & “Curiosity perhaps, at first. The desire to : = THE SERIES ALSO INCLUDES— try if | really h id anything in me. =, walked on, Rg 1 aggre she = <3 i i ial i a ‘ She hung on his arm, looke 1 at him more “You were right lere are peop Lavender Water, $1.00; $1.75; Face Powder, 85¢ ; Compact, $1.00; $1.50; closely as they went slowly onwards, seemed And they are dining at our table.’ I &é Talc, 50c; 75¢; Sachet, 25c; Shampoo, 15c the cartridge ; Bath Salts, $1.50 to hesitate for a moment, then added, “And In the distance, faintly discoverable in the a Bath Dusting Powder, $1.50. besides I was getting very tired of the attitude circle of lamplight just beyond the small fir = men take toward the woman who depends tree which stood within the paling of the €4 Obtainable at all good stores. entirely on them for her means of existence.” —_ enclosure, Jack saw two figures, as it were G She felt his arm stiffe n under her hand, but dawning out of the blackness of the night & | he continued calmly, “All Frenchmen run Their heads were like moving blots — } after women. Apart from any desire on their of them he seemed to be imagining. though he iS YARDLEY 8 New Bond Street LONDON } part it is oblig onus on them. It is the thing could really see something of their two bodies. , NEW YORK: 15-19 Madison Sq. N. TORONTO: 145 Adelaide St.,W. | todo. And you must know how terrified men ‘D’you think you felt them in the light? €3 ire of not doing what is expected of them in she said. “If you did they ought to be a the way of sensuality. satirical and contemptuous. ty ‘I suppose they ought, but probably they «A GHE paused in her talk and again sent a are two uninteresting people from Fontaine- G ideways glance to him. How delightfully bleau.”’ : 2 conventional he was! She had realized that ‘Uninteresting perhaps—lovers for cer € directly she had met him. To strip all the tain.”’ ee conventionality away would, she thought, be a “Why for certain? Y. for a woman to whom con “Just think! Driving out into this lonely «3 seemed as meaningless and place so late, and dining—if they are dining— fig leaf on an undrape 1 statue. at nearly eleven o'clock. here is Henris B speak she continued, “It’s all head! € | contemptible, but it isso. And “Let’s walk across here and go up.to the 3 tl run after us, and from whom we __ house along the paling,” said Jack. “Then ie) lc iway, generally expect for their ) we can see what they’re like.” € called worship, and their money—specially Che strange interest which he had felt about ; for the latter—moral and intellectual teleen the solitary light was now transferred t o the ; tions which a woman with a brain and true two people sitting within the circle of 1 3 derstanding cannot grant them forever. illumination. And, oddly prc \ntol- I got tired of it And now I have work in my nette seeme’ d to share it. c blood. It is no merit of mine. There is an ‘Yes, let us!”’ she said. : immense fascination about success in work They walked on under the beech trees till = It acts like a strong tonic on life. Look, there they came to the further end of the e1 losure. Gyr : = are — lights of Franchard!” Jack heard a man’s voice speaking | a" ) falar) 5 Saas? P SEOED Ph Weaneee A Gaeaiei 7 Wi They stood still. They were now at the There was something—an authoritative an MIR, SONGS OE OS rare DONS CAINS! rates wats oats! edge of that bit of the Forest near the Continued on page 135)

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ads, more than leau lland ights ance » hot ntoi- it us and leau, e we for MARCH 1926 4 a rate 4 GRY discovering the three telltale places where age shows first on a woman’s face and then by correct- ing them by scientific treatments and exclusive preparations, Dorothy Gray became one of the world’s most tamous beauty specialists. 137 OROTHY GRAY numbers among her clientele scores of the greatest names in the interna- tional social register. The results she accomplishes at her famous Fifth Avenue Studio can now be duplicated in your own home. Society's Most “famous Faces kept young by her discoveries “How DOROTHY GRAY’S methods and preparations overcome the three telltale signs of facial age scientific treatments with her own unique preparations. Now, all can be had in your own home. You can obtain the identical results—just as if you had come to the New York salon of Dorothy Gray. flabby muscles can be ‘‘firmed’’— sallow skin made glowing—thin and withered skin can be revi- talized—lines and crow’s-feet around eyes and mouth can be eliminated, erased. Learn all about Dorothy tl Gray's famous treatments “PTO look one’s age is a 9 Telltale Places Which RevealaWoman’sAge and preparations. She will folly,’’ says Dorothy Gray. ‘‘Looking as old as one’s years is a crime against self.”’ Miss Gray says this with the assurance of anexpert,one | who has spent her lifetime in one worthy pursuit—facial re- | juvenation. . Hers is now one of the A Double Chin Correct them and You Take Years Away Wrinkles and Lines Around Eyes and Mouth gladly give you personal ad- vice. Do not hesitate to tell her your beauty problems. Write in full, or use the con- venient coupon below. Dorothy Gray’s prepara- tions, with complete directions 4 for treatments, are on sale Thin face with fabby at fine department stores muscles under the chin and leading drug stores world’s most famous beauty « salons. Leading women in society and on the stage come to her exquisite and palatial Dorothy Gray’s preparations with complete directions for : treatments can be obtained at the leading department stores such a store is not conve- and quality drug stores throughout the country. D S throughout the country. If niently near you, you may studio on Fifth Avenue, oppo- " site the famous Vanderbilt chateau. Dorothy Gray has become the leading exponent on facial rejuvena- tion. For the thousands who have come to her, often with the signs of heart-break in their faces, she has performed almost miraculous trans- formations. Not by harsh surgery, not ‘‘face- lifting,” not ‘“enameling’’—all so temporary and dangerous—but by Through her years of practice with a large and fastidious clientele, Dorothy Gray has now perfected systems for home treatment. You can erase years from your face if you’re over 30. If younger, you can prevent age lines from com- ing prematurely. A double chin, that first fatal sign of departing youth, can be re- stored to graceful lines. Droopy, » order direct. Mail the coupon or write today. DOROTHY GRAY, 753 Fifth Avenue, 24 New York, N. Y. Please tell me how ] to treat a double chin. ] to round out a thin face and strengthen muscles under chin, ] to erase wrinkles and lines around eyes and mouth. RR. 6s +0 s4tenes vanes anakedewasn

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ON THE Robert Hichens’ HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel (Continued from page 136) intellectual something—in the sound of that voice which seemed familiar to him, even very familiar. He looked at Antoinette and saw knowledge in her eyes. “Who is it?” he said, almost whispering. “Don’t you know? “T’m positive I’ve heard that voice. Oh— is it Krahmer?’ She moved her head. He thought her face looked old and severe in the dimness. She walked on by the paling and he followed her, and when they were close to the fir tree he saw her head turn, and her profile lit up by the lamp in the kiosk. It looked to him cruel. She did not stop, but went on softly and quickly. He followed, through the sound of that authoritative voice. But he did not turn his head. As he got beyond the lamplight the voice stopped speaking, and he heard the soft, liquid sound of a woman’s voice. And that, too, seemed known to him, though not familiar. He merely felt that he had heard that woman speak somewhere at some time in his life. But he could not tell where or when the her Ar THE entrance to the enclosure comfortable cheery woman and husband were standing, he in shirt sleeves and smoking a pipe. The man uttered a sonorous, ‘“‘Bon soir, Madame. Bon soir, Monsieur.” “Bon soir, Monsienr,”’ said Antoinette, uttering his name. “We _ were afraid, Monsieur and [, that we were keeping you all up But I see you have other company he re “Mais oui, Madame, mais oui! Monsieur Krahmer, the great pianist from Fontaine- bleau, with a friend. They are just finishing their dinner, and I am about to open a bottle of very old champagne. Monsieur Krahmer has a special taste in champagne. He cannot bear it to sparkle, whereas most people—” “On est le champagne?”’ came to them powerfully through the night. ‘Coming, Mons sieur Krahmer, coming!” cried the landlord. “Excuses, VWadame, Mon- Ste ur! He laid his pipe down on a chair close by and hurried into the house Antoinette stood still for a moment. Her face still looked severe, even hard. And 1 seemed to be thinking profoundly. Jack had the feeling that just then she was absolutely unconscious of his nearness to her. But it was not so, as he realized an instant later, when she looked up and met his eyes “Are you fond of old champagne that has lost its sparkle?” she asked him. “Just now I suggested that when we got back to Fon- tainebleau you should come in and have a cup of tisane with me by the fountain. But Mr. Krahmer is always the soul of hospitality, and if he found out that you and I had been here to-night, and had slipped away just when the champagne was coming, he wouldn’t like it at all. What do you say? Shall it be champagne or tisane?”’ ACK was longing to call up the carriage and to get away into the night. He remembered Krahmer’s incredulous face + the Forest that morning when he had said that he was leaving Fontainebleau by the 5:15 train. He remembered the waiter’s revelation that afternoon in the Cadran Bleu. This unexpected apparition of Krahmer had startled him. He knew what he wanted to do, but he did not know what to say, and some- how much seemed to him to hang upon the apparently trivial issue of his answer to Antoinette’ $ question. “Well, which shall it be?” Krahmer’s words came to Jack’s mind: “Then if I don’t see you again—good-by.’ Krahmer must have had an instinct, must have known Jack better than Jack knew him- self. Or no—that was it—he knew Antoi- nette better, much better, than Jack knew her. “Whichever you like,”’ he answered. As he spoke he was gazing at her, not trying silently to influence her but hoping mightily that she would choose the Maison Blanche solitude with him, rather than those two in the kiosk. If she chose the former she must have a really strong feeling for him, he thought. But if she did not choose it— Obviously she hesitated to make the decision. Her usual calm self-possession seemed disturbed, doubt showed strangely in her face “On est le champagne?” Again the strong call came through the night in the authoritative voice of the pianist. Henri ran out from the house with a bottle in ice. ‘Let us go and join them for a few minutes,” Antoinette said. ‘“‘We needn’t stay long. They will like to see us.” “Do you know the lady with Krahmer?” he asked. Her smooth eyebrows went up. “But— Oh, you didn’t see! “Evidently she does know her!” Jack she repeated. Come!” thought He recalled the sound of the soft liquid voice, which he seemed to have heard before that night somewhere, as he followed Antoj- nette toward the distant table, where the lamp shed its dusky orange glow into the darkness. And suddenly there came to him the feeling, “This is like a scene in a film!” HE TOUCHED Antoinette’s arm. She stopped. They were now in the dark- ness of the enclosure. Before them, out of the darkness, as in a finely produced picture on the screen, gleamed into sight—so it seemed to Jack then—a detached episode of life, isolated sharply from all the rest of life; the peaked and thatched roof of the kiosk drawn black against the different blackness of the night, the four narrow stems of the trees supporting it, like slender stunted arms, the straight black fir tree standing by motion- less, and, enclosed within the differing dark- nesses of roof and tree stems and walls made of night, the round table yellow in the lamp- light, with the two figures sitting at it, a bulky man with a powerful head, a marvel- ously slim, small woman full of fluid grace, with a little distinguished head set on a delicate neck, and Henri pouring champagne. Jack stretched out a hand. “TIsn’t it like a picture on the screen?” he whispered. ‘On the screen! a es. ‘Are you laughing at me? “Laughing! No, I only ‘This is no cinema play. You will see! The ‘re was an ungovernable sound in her low voice Ww hich startled him. ““Come!”’ she said. And she went on quickly, her. “Ah, Tatiana!” she said, in a voice louder than usual, and with a shrill note in it. The slim woman turned her head quickly, and Jack saw the famous Russian dancer whom he had met in Krahmer’s studio. Of course—that voice, liquid, soft, was hers. W hy had he not known at once? *Antoinette—chérie!”’ she said. Her dark eyes looked surprised, ’ she said, as if startled. with Jack behind startled almost. Krahmer got up. And he, too, looked surprised. He stared hard at Jack. “What?” He smiled. “T understood you were taking the 5:15 train to Paris to $ iy “No!” said Ji uck “Ha! Antoinette persuaded you!” He had not spoken to her, and even now he only looked at her. But his hard blue eyes asked her questions. “We were on the point of going away,” she said, and now her voice was less shrill. “Going away!” said Krahmer. you've only just come, haven’t you?” ‘No; we dined here. We have been in the “But Fore st. “Bon soir, Monsieur,” said the dancer to Jack, who bowed over her hand, trying to look gallant and feeling confused. In the Forest—oh!” said Krahmer. And again he smiled. “Bring two more glasses, Henri! “Oui, M’sieu.” “Where is the Baron, Tatiana?” asked Mlle. Durier, sitting down close to the dancer on one of the green wooden chairs. ‘Why didn’t he come with you?” “He is in London, arranging some business for me. I am going to dance there, if he can get the right theater. “But why aren 't you dancing to-night at the Champs Elysées? “T didn’t feel well. My doctor told me I must take a night off and put on my under- study.” “No one can understudy you. But what will the Baron say? Do sit down, Monsieur ack.” “Yes, do!” said Krahmer. “Pull up a chair. I knew we should meet again when we were saying good-by this morning. ACK slipped into a chair next to Krahmer, who remained on his feet towering above them all. “What will the Baron say?” Antoinette repeated, with a certain obstinacy, turning quite round to the dancer, and leaning one arm on the disordered table. “‘ Does he know you are ill?” Z “Chérie, L just told you. He is in London. “Haven't you telephoned to him?” “No.” “But how unkind! When he knows you have missed a performance he will be in @ terrible state. He has such a sense of duty to the public. He told me the other day that in—I think he said ten years—you had never disappointed an audience.” ‘That is because I have danced again and again through illness not because I have always had good health. If Serge is upset when he hears, I cannot help it. (Continued on page 140)

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ON THE Robert HARPER’S SCREEN BAZAR Hichens’ Novel (Continu.d from page 138) She spoke confidently , even negligently, but there was a look in her large eyes which seemed to contradict what she said, a look that suggested fear, and that made Jack feel she had been touched on the raw. ‘The Baron has always such a wonderful feeling about the artist’s obligation to the public,” continued Antoinette, now with a relentlessly obstinate manner and tone. “‘It is almost an obsession with him.” Jack saw Krahmer frown and the line of his big lips lengthen. “What is the matter with you, Antoinette added. And she laid a hand very gently and possessively on the dancer’s thin but beautiful arm “T hope it is nothing serious, nothing that will keep you away from the theater for long! ’ Tatiana?” “Oh, no. I shall dance to-morrow night.” “But what is it?” And she began to stroke the arm with caressing fingers. Madame Karovsky made an abrupt move- ment with her shoulders, which suggested to Jack acute repulsion, felt and mastered. “T have been dancing too much. quite exhausted.” ‘And just when the Baron had started for England! How unfortunate!” “Paris is terribly hot. Serge ought never to have made a contract for me to dance there at suchatime. I ought to have been taking a holiday now. But the bribe offered was too big, and he could not resist it. Don’t let us talk about it.’ “But, chérie, I am so interested. It would be a catastrophe if you were to fall really ill I was Henri pattered up at a run bringing extra glasses “Bravo! Now then!” exclaimed Krahmer, with a sudden lusty attempt at geniality. “By the way, I must warn you that the champagne—” “We know already,” Antoinette inter- rupted, gently but definitely. ‘The patron told us.” ‘What?” She looked at the dancer with a smile. ‘That your taste w as for old champagne that had lost its sparkle.’ Jack found himself wondering about the dancer’s age. He had never thought about that before. She was so strange, so ex- pressive, and so marvelously graceful, that she usually abolished in the minds of all who met her all thoughts about youth or age. She had no freshness, such as many English girls have. But she could never have had any. Therefore she carried with her no sense of loss. She was pale, fiery, peculiar, made of litheness and grace. But now Jack realized that she was certainly not young. She might even be nearing forty. If she were it didn’t seem to matter. Perhaps she was forty. Did it matter if she were? Old champagne that had lost its sparkle! “Why don’t you sit down?” Antoinette added to Krahmer. “Unless you are going to make a speech to us.’ She was still gently stroking the dancer's bare arm, and often gazing at the satiny skin. Henri poured champagne into her glass and into Jack’s. Krahmer sat down, heavily. ‘THe! RE was no doubt that he was ill at ease. ‘Hitherto Jack had never conceived of the possibility of his enormous self-pos session being shaken. It had always sug gested concrete. But now it was obviously shaken. An almost furtive expression had come into his eyes as they looked quickly from Antoinette to the dancer, and then traveled to Jack. And as they rested for an instant on Jack he was subtle enough to feel in them freemasonry, a drawing close, a silent appeal of man to brother man, hostile some where in the depths of them to these women, saying so, asking for help. But Antoinette went on talking, and stroking the thin white arm, and sipping the old champagne, steadily, obstinately, and somehow endlessly As Jack looked at her he felt that she had the will to sit out the night. He could see her in the dawn still looking into the dancer’s wide eyes, still stroking gently the dancer’s white skin. Krahmer’s eyes were now fixed on the stealthily moving long fingers and dull patches of red showed on his large face. He opened his mouth as if about to say some thing drastic, but Antoinette went on talking to her dear Tatiana, going thoroughly into the question of Tatiana’s “breakdown” she would call it that in the French equivalent recommending remedies for nervous ex haustion, dwelling with wistful anxiety on the alarm and distress of the Baron when he learned of his wonderful star’s condition, udvising strongly against an appearance on the stage on the following night. ‘“Oughtn’t she to rest?’’ she said presently, turning to Krahmer. “I can’t interfere,” he mumbled. ‘The doctor has the say in these matters. “Who's your doctor, Tatiana? And the talk about health went on til] Jack fairly sweated under it. And then at last came a proposition of sheer friendship “You ought to come and spend a week with me in the Forest, Tatiana, and let me look after you. Tini Grau allows me to use the house as my own while she is at Deauville. Where are you to-night? At the Hotel Mirabeau?”’ Madame Karovsky shot a distressed glance at Krahmer. ‘*No—no.” ‘Where then? The Savoy?” ““No; I am going back to Paris.” “You came down by motor? Is the motor here?” “No. We took a carrias ge. I ay going x back by motor.’ You have your motor at Fontaine bleau?” “No. I shall get one at the garage ‘But, chérie, you will be up all night. It is madness when you are suffering from nervous exhaustion. You ought to rest, to get plenty of sleep. Your poor eyes have a weary look. ! And your poor But of course Do let me see! Yes, re ally! skin feels quite feveris h.” She pressed her fingers abruptly round the dancer’s arm. “T believe you have a temperature. I'll Il you what. Come back with me to the YWaison Blanche, and sleep there. I will give you everything you need for the night.” “Oh—TI can’t.” “But why not? best?” She turned sharply to Krahmer. “Ought not Tatiana to stay instead of driving all the way back to Paris in the dead of night alone?” Nathan, wouldn’t it be ACK saw her exchange a long glance with Krahmer, and that glance was like the meeting of two weapons of steel. It seemed to Jack that he heard a clash. “Ought she not, Nathan?” “Madame Karovsky must do as she thinks best. I can’t advise her.” ‘Then you will come, ““No—teally, chérie!’ “Yes, yes, yes. Let me take care of you and cosset you. There is the whole of that big house empty. I am all alone. It will be so lovely to have a friend. And to-morrow we can lunch at the . {sile Vert. You will let us come, Nathan?” ‘““Charmé, ma belle! ‘Then that is settled. And, Monsieur Jack, you must come too. You fled from us into the Forest last night. To-morrow you will be kinder.’ Before Jack could speak Madame Karovsky drew aw: Ly her arm sharply from Antoinette, and said, “It is late. Let us go. She looked down at her arm. Jack looked, too, and saw two red marks on it where \ntoinette’s fingers had been. Krahmer got up with a muffled sound which ended in a harsh clearing of the throat. “ [’addition!” he called out. Henri came running. They were now all on their feet. While Krahmer paid his bill Antoinette put her arm through the dancer's affectionately, and led her away toward the entrance of the enclosure talking softly Jack, not knowing what to do, stayed with Krahmer. When the bill was paid Krahmer turne |, stared, threw up his big hands and said, ‘And there are men who think they— they—men!—are the rulers of the world! My boy, we are putty, the best of us!” He mi ide a gesture of kneading with his big pic unis t’s fingers ‘And w he ut shapes they make us te ike!’ “Nathan! A soft cry came to them from the distance. *‘Nathan!” “Ged! Again! Come on!” They went to join the two women. The two victorias were drawn up by the gate way P ‘Tatiana is coming with me. You wont mind will you, Monsieur Jack? She is very tired. She will stay at the Maison Blanche and go straicht to bed. We will ‘all meet to-morrow at the Asile Vert for déjeuner. You invite us.” She smiled a “Of course! Tatiana?” t Krahmer. ‘And remember to. give peaches. Come, Tatiana!” Without saying a word, Madame Karovsky

got into the carriage Jack had hired. An- toinette followed her. “Good night! Good night!” P The small neat boy cracked his whip The carriage drove off. RAHMER stood where he was till oe sound of the wheels and of the wen horse died away in the distance. Then he stepped heavily into the other carriage. |, “Sorry you have to put up with me, he said, as Jack sat down beside him “Bon soir!’ (Concluded on page 142

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Presently, however, he moved, took out of his breast pocket a cigar case and a lighter. “Will you smoke?’ “Thanks—yes.”’ “Ah, you wanted it badly! Palliatives!” The cigars were big, like their owner. The two men lit up. Krahmer smoked for a few minutes in silence. Then he said again, “Palliatives! And we need them in this damned mortal life. Work is one of them. Others are cigars, cocktails, whiskies and sodas, drugs and—”’ he stopped, looked hard at Jack. ‘What is your favorite palliative?” Jack shrugged his shoulders. He had just then no heart for conversation. A sick feeling persisted in him. Too varied had been the night for his type of temperament. He had tried to make a renunciation and thought that he had succeeded, that he had been successful in trampling an ideal under foot. But An- toinette, for once inadvertent, had taught him that he could not go happily down into the mire even if he went hand in hand with romance. In the kiosk his mind had been obsessed by questions. ‘How can she?” had been followed by—“ How can she before us?” And then had come a question more tragic, ‘How can she before me?” And with that last question had come to him a new and terribly sharp realization of the hidden career which he had been trying to ignore, to forget, put aside, not realize, a career in which the hostility of women to each other often reaches the point of savagery, the career connected by men through the ages with love which is often so full of hatred. “You haven’tone! ThenI pity you. You and I had a look at each other just now in the kiosk. A genuine brotherhood-of-man look it was too. Didn’t you feel it like that?” With immense reluctance Jack answered, Ves.’ “You may hate me as much as you like but you can’t escape from the brotherhood, you and I on one side, the women on the other.” “Why should I hate you?” said Jack, stiffly. “You very easily might if—how long are you staying?” He blew out a puff of smoke which was immediately left behind in the night. “T am leaving to-morrow.” Krahmer turned his bulky body on the seat. ** As you left to-day by the 5:15 train?” “T am going back to London to-morrow. [ start early in the morning.” “Then you won’t come to lunch!’ After a pause he said, “Sorry you are leaving us!” “Why should you be sorry? Krahmer looked at Jack and hesitated. “Ts it because you have recently given Mlle. Durier a pedigreed bulldog?” said Jack. Krahmer’s large face took on an expression of astonishment. For a moment he looked like a big boy suddenly startled. “Coquelin! What’s he to do with it?” he ejaculated. “OQh—well! We needn’t go into that. But you mustn’t rely on me to be of use to you | in certain ways after to-morrow. I quite understand the situation now, and I’m damned well going to put the Channel between me and it.” An irrepressible bitterness of disgust flamed out of Jack, in spite of himself, as he said the last words. At that moment even the silent Forest through which they were passing was hateful to him. ““Sorry you feel like that!” said Krahmer. “Every dog should stick to his own kennel, and I’m going back to mine. Here among artists—pianists, dancers, cinema stars, South American painters—I’m quite out of place.” ‘We are rather a job lot in Fontainebleau just now. I own that. But still—” “Still what?” “Don’t you think you may miss us—and want to come back?” ” “T shall certainly not come back.” “IT wonder!” said Krahmer, genuinely. UT on the following morning by an early train Jack left Fontainebleau for Paris, after sending a brief, polite note of good-by to Antoinette Durier, which was delivered at the door of the Maison Blanche when he was driv- ing away from the Hotel Mirabeau. And he did not return to France in October when a certain film company sailed for Tunisia from Marseilles en route to the desert that lies south of Tozeur and Nefta. Just then he was very hard at work on the Stock Exchange. EPILOGUE N THE autumn of the following year a new film, recently released in Paris, happened to take the fancy of a Power in the cinema world | of London; and that Power formed a syndi- HARPER’S BAZAR SCREEN Novel cate which rented the Palace Theater and put it on there for a run. The self-sacrificing heroine, a Frenchwoman by name Antoinette Durier, appealed so strongly to the generous emotions of the British public that crowds visited the theater night after night, and even the throne of Miss Mary Pickford was endangered. Among those who thronged to the Palace Theater to wonder at the marvelous North African scenery, and to shed tears, if women or with difficulty to keep a stiff upper lip, if men, over the wonderfully natural nobility and tender womanliness of the star, was a newly married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Richborough. They sat in the stalls and presently, after much soft music, a solitary woman dawned upon the screen, a woman in a black dress, with a slim and elegant figure, dark, expressive, and wistful eyes, a long rather sad face, distinctively French in out. line, thick hair very simply arranged, slim delicate hands, still, sensitive lips. And this woman gazed into the audience with an absolute lack of vanity or self-consciousness, She seemed to be thinking deeply about some- thing sad or mysterious, something that was going to trouble her life. “There she is!” said a woman’s voice near the Richboroughs. “Tsn’t she fascinating?’ murmured another voice, also feminine. The woman vanished. Jack stole a glance at his wife, a dark- haired girl with honest widely opened gray eyes and a sensitive expression. “T like her face,” said Mrs. Richborough. “Don’t you, Jack?” “It’s an interesting face.” “And rather unusual, I think It isn’t an ae joe face. I think I’m going to like er. “WELL do you like her, dearest?” “In a way I do. She acts quite beautifully. She’s so simple and_ natural in her art. I don’t wonder that she’s a star.” “Let’s go quickest way.’ Jack took hold of his wife’s arm gently, and they went out into the night with the crowd, found a taxicab and started for their home in Onslow Square. When they got there, and were in Jack’s small but cozy study on the ground floor at the back of the house, by a still red fire, when Jack had lit his pipe, and his wife was drinking the hot lemonade which was her usual night-cap, he said, ‘‘ By the way, Maggie, you haven’t told me exactly what you thought of the film and that—and the star, Mademoiselle Durier.” “Didn’t I? She acts beautifully. I said that.” “Yes. But you said that you liked her ina way. What did that mean?” “T liked her in the film. But I wonder whether I should care about her in real life. I’m not sure I should.” “No?” “She did the most wonderful things in the film and did them quite beautifully, I thought. : wonder whether she is at all like that in her ife.”’ “You mean so unselfish, putting others always before herself?” - Yes. ‘al “That sort of thing pays in films. But does it pay in real life?” “T think it does.” “Yes; but you’re one in a thousand She shook her dark head very seriously. ‘Nonsense, dear! But I really do believe that as you call into the wood so the echo answers you. If your call is kind the echo’s answer is kind. Surely it is so. Or am I only a sentimentalist?” “If you are I wish there were more of them about.” ““Mademoiselle Durier may be charming. I dare say she is. In fact I’m pretty sure she must be or she couldn't act as she does.” “Then what is your hesitation about her caused by?” : “Somehow, in spite of all her art, I didn’t always feel she rang quite true. But what did you think?” é I 9»? out by this door. It’s the Surely Jack hesitated for a moment. In that moment he saw again the great trees in the Forest of Fontainebleau, the green twilight in its recesses; he heard again the sound of a soft, very individual voice; he felt again the touch of a hand in a velvet glove. And then he saw that same hand pressing the thin white arm of a woman, who seemed to be fluttering like a bird suddenly caged and longing to escape. “Ves, What do you think?” He moved, almost as if startled. : “I think that the instincts which go with a pure heart are sometimes terribly penetrat- ing,” he said. “Maggie, my pipe’s out. Shall we go to bed?” (The End)

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Style brochure sent on request ANDREW GELLER 1656 Broadway New York | Made in Brooklyn F- A lfr ed Noyes’s Story (Continued from page 77) I've heard you talk Anthony.” It was a greatest artists, too. good deal about the conventions, ‘Ah, yes; but this was different. different kind of unconventionality. ‘I see—not the conventional sort,’”’ Sylvia muttered to “_ ‘Eh?” said Graham, looking puzzled. “Didn’t I ever tell you how I first met him? One rainy night, I arrived at St. John’ s Wood station with a couple of heavy suit-cases. couldn’t see a taxicab anywhere, and I was getting ready to trudge the half mile to the studio when an extraordinary looking youth, in baggy French corduroy trousers and a blue blouse, seized the suit-cases and said, ‘All right. Let me carry ’em for you.’ I noticed that he had something under his arm that looked as if it might be a small picture wrapped in brown paper. When we arrived at the studio, heedumped the suit-cases down, stared around him with a broad grin and said, ‘Aha! I see you’re an artist, too.’” “Modest youth,” murmured Sylvia. “Oh, yes, he treated me quite as an equal, inspected some of my pictures, and made one or two really very intelligent criticisms. Then he showed me the picture he had tucked away under his arm. It was quite an amusing thing. He called it ‘The Bacchanal.’ He had been hawking it round and, according to his own account, had narrowly escaped being handed over to the police by a silly ass of a shopkeeper who sold stationery and two- guinea water-colors, complete with frame, in the Tottenham Court Road. The _ shop- keeper told him it was disgusting, and Jimmy had lost his ter mper; and altogether one wishes that one had been able to hear them at it. ‘Jimmy howled with laughter over it, at the studio, tears running down his face! The Bacchanal wasn’t a nice neat leopard-skinned lady, such as they expect in the picture shops. She was the real thing—very pagan, but frightfully amusing! There was no doubt he had talent. But his naiveté! I asked him why he was carrying suit-cases if he could do work like that; and he said, quite simply, ‘Shakespeare did something just as rum, didn’t he? Why shouldn’t I?’ “He told me that he had run an ice-cream barrow with an Italian last summer, and really didn’t care what he did, so that he could look after his old father and mother properly. While he was talking, I noticed that his face was getting rather white; and, just as he was wrapping his picture up again, he collapsed, fainted dead away on the studio floor. ‘I got him some brandy and asked the doctor across the road to come and look at him. The doctor said it was nothing but lack of proper food. Well—the upshot of it all was that Jimmy had supper with me at the studio and we struck a bargain. He was to live at the studio, look after it for me, and do certain odd jobs for me, clean my brushes and so on, in return for his board and keep. In his spare time—of which he had any amount—he could get on with his own work. There’s quite a decent bedroom up-stairs at the studio; and—though we never mention it—I believe he has his two old parents ensconced there, and sleeps himself on the cour h down below.’ “Tt was very generous of you,” said Sylvia. “On the contrary,” said Anthony Graham, a little complacently perhaps, “he has been distinctly useful to me.’ “But in art,” said Sylvia, “altruism can’t be carried too far. I mean that you mustn’t let his possession of the studio interfere with your own work. It would make me dread- fully unhappy if you neglected it now.” ‘I shall begin next week,” Graham replied, and the first thing I am going to paint is your own portrait. I should like to finish it in time for my next show, if you don’t grow tired of sitting. I’m a slow worker.” ‘I should think that Jimmy would keep one amused,” said Sylvia. “T’m_ looking forward to meeting Jimmy.” Graham laughed, a little patronizingly, even a little sourly, she thought, at his own mental picture of his queer tenant. “ OTHING is more irritating than the restlessness of mind that troubles the artist who is temporarily off his work; and Sylvia imagined that it must be her sympathy with her husband that filled her with a like unrest. Throughout her engagement and brief married life she had felt vaguely dis- satisfied, vaguely unhappy, about the work that she herself—apparently—had thrust into the background; and she was surprised to find that, even after Graham had settled down to her portrait, she was vaguely de- pressed about it. Her mind was not analyt- ical, or she might have come to a strange conclusion earlier than she did. “ven on her honeymoon—where Italy, with an artist bridegroom at her side, had spread so glowing a prospect before her the light of a very common day had seemed to pre lominate It occurred to her—for she was very loyal and had a very humble opinion of her own faculties—that her own response to beauty might be too quick, too crue. too easy to please him; for he was apparently unstirred by most of those impulses from lake and mountain that set her heart beating and parted her lips with unspoken ecstasy. She excused him valiantly to herself. “He has seen it all so often,” she thought: or, “His silence means so much more than words. Like most true artists he is inarticulate. dumb, except on canvas.” But, even so, she found it difficult to explain to herself the moments—the hours, in fact—when he obviously preferred the grav paper an blunt type of a somewhat scrofulous French novel to all the holy writ of natural beauty. Once -and in her prayers she asked to be forgiven for it—she caught herself thinking, “The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. She believed that all would be well when he returned to his work. But, after watching him at work on her portrait for a dozen mornings, her discontent was vaguely ones ned, and she could not understand why, Graham himself was quite cheerful about it and she made no appeal against his rule that nobody must see his work till it was finished, Jimmy was the only exception to this rule, He would stroll in from the garden, an amazing apparition, in the old blue paint- smeared blouse and baggy French corduroy trousers which were almost the only clothes he possesse 1. He would stand there, with his elfish grin a dancing light in his blue eyes, and his bush of hair—not the long hair of esthetic affecta- tion, but the unruly jungle-growth of one to whom barbers were a luxury—and with him he always seemed to bring the care-free sun- light of the true and penniless child of Bohemia, the real Bohemia of the artist, not that country of the opera stage for which the wealthy amateur so vainly seeks. He would stand, watching Graham at work and gazing intently now at Sylvia’s face and now at the portrait, as if a masterpiece were being created; and yet—there was something unreal about it. It seemed to be the merest make believe that they were engaged on anything of the slightest importance. NCE, changing her position unexpectedly, Sylvia believed that she caught Jimmy in the act of sketching her: and, somehow, that one moment impressed her as of more artistic significance than anything that had gone before. She had not once asked Graham to let her see how his picture was progressing; but she felt curiously impelled to ask Jimny to let her see his sketch. She held out her hand for it; and, for the first time during the sittings, Graham looked annoyed. Jimmy shook his head with a smile, mumble! some- thing about only making a note or two, and went out into the garden. Through the big north window, she coul! see him, lighting his pipe and pufiing little blue clouds of smoke as he crunched up and down the short gravel-walk. Once he stopped to see how the young leaf-buds were coming on. The rapt look on his face—a fleeting light—startled her with the sense of something she had missed and unexpectedly found. It was gone in a moment, but it lasted long enough for her to realize what she had felt only instinctively before—that, in this blue- bloused baggy-trousered innocent, there was the true simplicity of the artist, the childlike spirit of wonder and joy which she had believed to be the monopoly of a sophisticated coterie of young men who were merely cy nical enough to move with “the movement,” and clever enough at the game of mutual admira- tion to impose themselves on the fashions of the hour. ; In Jimmy she caught a glimpse of that natural gift which is born in a man and is called genius. It has nothing in common with cleverness, or intellectual brilliance. It is more like a memory of a far country—a gleam in the mind, whereby in quiet hours this every-day world of ours is illuminated an transfigured. Sylvia said something like this to her husband. He merely shrugged his shoulders, and replied, with a curious suppressed 1 malice that, in its prompt echo to the latter part of her thought, almost startled her: “Genius in Jimmy! He’s not a bad little artist in a conventional pretty way; but that’s not the real thing, of course. He hasn’t got it in him. How could he, with his origin? His father sold newspapers—kept a little paper-shop. All his people were of that sort. It isnt as if he sprang from the soil—peasant, plough- man, shepherd, even tramp, or East End gutter-snipe. They’re all right. But its the little commonplace bourgeoisie that m ide his bones and his brains; and it comes out i his work.” ‘Poor Jimmy! Not exalted enough to be respected, and not low enough to be pictur- esque, in the age of snobbery!” Continued on page 145) HARPER’S BAZAR MAYFAIREST OF THEM ALL one at a ack am a 2 Oe Gee ee a i i a a in in oe oh On

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l —_—_— oO aS Va Vs a3

for MARCH 1926 MAYFAIREST OF THEM ALL| Alfred Noyes’s Story (Continued from page 144) “He'll never do anything, though he works sometimes, by fits, as if he were possessed. ~ «Perhaps he is,” murmured Sylvia. “What do you mean? “Oh, I don’t know. An old phrase came into my head, that’s all. Something about the Spirit blowing where it listeth. The deliberate originalities and experiments, the scarlet word in literature, and the notoriety hunting violence or eccentricity in art have little enough to do with the breath of the Spirit. erWell, you can take my word for it, the Spirit will never breathe through the dwelling of a little news-agent and : tobacconist. Imagine, Sylvia, can you imagine Leonardo in that setting?” } “No, but I can imagine the future author of ‘Hamlet’; and what if the Spirit should put his chosen into the most despised position of all? It’s the old story, of course. “One doesn’t make silk purses out of even tame guinea-pigs’ ears. There’s always something flaming and rebellious and arrogant about genius “And yet it has hardly ever been recog- nized when it came. Perhaps flame and rebellion and arrogance have now become conventions for the general use of all the fashionable coteries. There are an awful lot of them you know, Anthony. Isn’t it possible that the word of the Lord may come under a new disguise, like a thief in the night z “The apotheosis of the commonplace, eh?” “Perhaps that is the most important of all. \t least, that is one of the miracles that prove the divinity of Art for me.” oe “Hoity-toity! Divinity of Art! You've been reading Ruskin! Hopelessly out of date, Sylvia, hopelessly vieux jeu!” “Perhaps that’s why he will live. Those who live by fashion, Anthony, die by fashion; and I can’t help wondering about you people who are all labeling yourselves the nineteen- twenty-six group. What are you going to do in nineteen-thirty?”’ “My dear Sylvia, I can’t think four years ahead! After that, the deluge! Well—I fon’t think I can do any more to-day. [here’s only the dress to finish, and I can lo that from a lay-figure. You're lunching somewhere, aren’t you? I’m going to the club, but I must talk to Jimmy first about cleaning these brushes of mine. The beggar must do something for his living.” AS SOON as the door of the studio had +4 closed behind Sylvia, Graham called the wandering Jimmy in from the garden. Their conversation was not of the sort that one would expect between an artist of repute and the young man who cleaned his brushes. “Well, Jimmy, what’s wrong with it, eh? I've done as you suggested—hardly touched the face. I want your—er—advice about the finishing touches.” Jimmy, who was placing his open sketch book on a chair beside the easel, so that he could compare his notes of Sylvia with the portrait, gave a curious little laugh, and mumbled something about finding it easier to show what he meant with a brush in his hand. “T can only think when I’m using a brush,” he said, settling the palette on his thumb, while he straddled reflectively before the portrait. “This is what I think it wants,” he said; and, for ten minutes or more, he worked rapidly and in silence. “Good,” said Graham at last. “It’s just what I wanted. The fresh eye does it. I’m glad I could get your advice about those last touches. By the bye, I should like it to be finished to-day. I’m sending out cards for my show next week, you know.” He was putting on his coat while he spoke. .“Tt won't take long to pull it together a bit, said Jimmy. “I think you can consider it finished, if you want to go to lunch. I’d ike to contemplate it a little in private. Things always occur to me when I’m alone.” Graham nodded, lit a cigaret, and strolled off to lunch, ; ‘Also, Jimmy muttered, as the door Sond, “when I’m alone I feel just a little less like an accomplice. It’s a damned fraud, though I’m doing my best not to do very _ more than most drawing’ masters do lor their pupils. What sheep people are— if they can take this for the real thing!” . — so to sit down on the couch for sr one la arate te ad lad ha ren ° oe Ww ric Sy = away. It occu oy — orgotten to name — rred to him, and there was goo that she had expe- that called - ,- ad, with rec urrent rhymes and, when he >t 1€ memory, he read twices ieee returned to work on the portrait, c it to himself until, after a few references to the book, he had it by heart. It was called “The Golden Garret.” | Was it a dream—that country free from care, | Though never free from hope or love or | debt, Where artists lived in garrets, cold and bare Except for their own daubs, and you, Musette; Or you, Fifine, Pepita, and Ninette, Flushed with the wine for which you pawned | your shoes; And you, the ghost of Murger, singing yet— Bohéme, blithe haunt of sparrows and the Muse? N HER way home from the luncheon party, Sylvia remembered her book—in which she was greatly interested. The studio was a little out of her way, but she might as well call for it. She came by way of the garden door which brought her, not to the usual entrance, but directly up to the broad north window. Through the window she saw Jimmy, with his back to her, straddling before an easel He was at work on her portrait. She crept close up to the window to make quite sure, and watched him for many minutes, till all that had been vaguely troubling her for mulated itself into certainties and changed her world. A world of easy illusions died while she watched. She was looking through a glass, darkly, at something truer and stranger than dreams—the living and mys terious reality. \t last, she tapped on the window. Jimmy turned round, hastily laid down his palette; and, looking rather ‘like a boy charged with robbing an orchard, lifted the catch of the window and let her in. He did his best to bluff it out; but it was useless, and what finally silenced him were the low trembling broken sentences in which Sylvia told him of her own disi!lusionment. “I was flattered,”’ she said bitterly, ‘‘a silly flattered schoolgirl, with just enough knowl- edge to see that there was an unusual gift at work in some of those pictures. And it’s not the pictures I care about now—it’s the reality. I’ve given my life away to a mean and shabby fraud. What on earth am I to do, Jimmy? Oh, why did you do it? Surely it would have been better to have starved.” “‘T would have, if I had known that it was going to make any difference to you, Sylvia. But it didn’t seem to matter. I slipped into it gradually. At first I thought Graham was doing me a jolly good turn, and I should soon be able to get my own work started. It’s a great thing to have a studio, you know; and he always promised to introduce my work to the right people. He took several of my things away last year to show to people who might be interested; but, somehow, nothing happened.”’ “Tt wouldn’t. They’re locked up in his library now, deliberately shelved, Jimmy. In fact, I believe that for some time now he would have been only too ready to get rid of you altogether. He’s quite ready to live on his reputation.” ““What do you mean by get rid of me?’ “T’ve learned a good deal about pseudo- artists and the quest for fame lately, Jimmy. You didn’t serve in the war, did you?” “No. Rejected,” said Jimmy, miserably. “‘He tried very hard to help you over that difficulty, didn’t he, Jimmy?” ‘““Yes—he really did try there. He was a brick.” ““Of course—a patriot even!” “Oh, but it was a muddle. I oughtn’t to have gone anyway, for the very same reason that made me act as his ghost. People didn’t stop to think. I didn’t myself. Graham didn’t, or he wouldn’t have urged me to drop everything as I should have done if they had let me. And what on earth would have happened to those two old parents of mine? What is to happen to them now, if I—throw up my job.” They discussed his parents, and Sylvia discovered that even here Graham had fooled her with those appearances which are the sole concern of snobbery. When Sylvia thought of the way in which Graham had stated the case she raged inwardly at the irony which, con- founding realities with appearances, allowed the real vulgarian and cad to pass judgment on the true artist and gentleman. There was no form of words in which she could express her thought without being guilty of the very sin which she despised. But her contempt for Graham deepened into a burning and generous anger. Jimmy dissuaded her with difficulty from her first wish to expose the whole affair, and the only consideration that weighed with her was that it would not help Jimmy’s own reputation Very much. Finally, she promised to let Graham’s show take place the next week without a fuss or an open breach. Jimmy consented to do what he had done, and he would not let Graham down at the last (Continued on page 146) ‘ 145

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HARPER’S B. /AR MAYFAIREST OF THEM ALL Alfred Noyes’s Story (Continued from page 145) moment; but Sylvia made it clear that if Graham went beyond his agreement in any way, she would not feel .bound by her promise. There was talk, too, of Jimmy’s future plans for himself and his parents; and, into all of it, there had quietly stolen the assump- tion that Sylvia belonged, not to the world of appearances from which she had emerged, but to that of the young artist. The pseudo- artist was the pseudo-lover; and the reverse was taken for granted. But how their problem was to be solved they did not see clearly yet. The decisive bombshell was to drop at the show the following week. HERE was as large and fashionable a crowd as could be packed into the studio for Graham’s show-day. But Lady School- borough, the cabinet minister’s wife, a woman with the mind of a hen and the conceit of < camel, dominated the assembly. “Did you visit that dreadful exhibition last month of the Victorians?” she quacked across the room to her daughter. “Tt was like watching the sea give up its dead! Appalling! There were some Leighton’s! Really too banal for words. And even a Poynter! Think of it! The sort of thing one sends to the servants’ hall nowadays. Really, one was terrified lest one should meet Tennyson or Dickens or some other impostor wandering through the rooms. It was such a relief to see Margot there. I flew to her, flew and clung to her. ‘Margot, for heaven's sake,’ I said, ‘take me back to your period, and tell me something scandalous. Take me to see Anthony Graham. Why, every one of these impostors here—as any one c an see now, of course—is hopelessly vieux jeu! The cataract of screeches was endless. “Oh, dear,’ murmured Sylvia to Jimmy, ‘I must have horrible taste, I can’t help liking the people that really knew their job and finished their work.” ‘She only means that yesterday isn’t to- day,” said Jimmy, ‘and she has forgotten that to-day isn’t to-morrow. The new coterie people have one great advantage. They don’t give us anything solid to judge ‘em by. We know, of course, that they are all geniuses. They’ve told us so. But we should like to see a little of their own work, before we destroying everything olan “The queer part of it is that they seem to avert their gaze from the few people of their own generation who are really doing the work. Oh, look! Look there!” Lady S« hoolborough was pulling out some of Jimmy’s own private canvases which he had stacked against the wall behind a screen. ** Now I always think,” agree to she quacked, “‘that the things an artist keeps to himself are probably the best of all. What have we here? Let us hope something really scandal- ” ous and amusing. “Graham won’t like this,” Jimmy groaned. “Nor do I. I ought to have hidden them in my bedroom. I can’t stand this. I’m going out into the garden. Sylvia, see if you can get her to leave those things of mine alone.” He hurried out, just as Lady Schoolborough revealed to an enthusiz istically exclamatory circ le—his unfinished wood-ny mph. ‘Ah,”” cried Lady Sc hoolborough, one can see the inspiration there!” A sleek individual stooped to examine it closely. He wore a large white buttonhole, and had almost the only discerning eyes in the room. Those eyes had already made him a large fortune, and placed him among the foremost dealers in the English-speaking world “any “Very fine, very fine indeed,”’ he remarked. “Very distinguis hed work. In this the artist has found himself. The best thing I’ve seen for many a day. Graham, looking slightly annoyed, joined the circle round the picture. “ congratulate you, sir,” said the con- noisseur, “‘you are certainly keeping your best wine to the last. This other stuff he shrugged his shoulders—‘‘it’s all right. It pleases the ladies. But it’s uncertain. This is fulfilment, fruition, masterly! YLVIA watched Graham, never doubting that he would at least give Jimmy the credit for what he called his private pictures. Had he done this, her problem would have been easy to solve. But he merely snickered and replied, with the easy implica- tions of a practised liar, “I don’t like un- finished stuff. Please put it back against the wall.’ “Oh, but it’s wonderful! Wonderful!” cried Lady Schoolborough, calling every one to | come and look. ‘And the most wonderful thing about it,’ said Sylvia, in a voice so tense with passion that the chatter stopped dead all round her, “the most wonderful thing about it is that my husband didn’t paint it. They all turned to face her less -Lady School- borough still holding the wood-ny mph. Sylvia stood, white, trembling, befor. ‘on and, for the first time that afternoon you could hear the long tick-tock of the pete father clock by the door. There were six beats of it at least before Lady Schooll bene was able to gasp, after a hurried glance at Graham’s crimson face, ““Oh your hus band didn’t paint it! But he said he— } said it was unfinished. I didn’t say that I— is “Oh, but it must be yours. though. I quite understand. You didn’t want us to look at these—er deliciously pagan studies. But that bewitching face showed quite clearly where your ins Spiration was derived. If it is not your work, Mr Graham, perhaps you will let us say that it belongs to Mrs. Graham.’ i “Lady Schoolborough,” said Sylvia. sorry to speak so seriously. I’m so sorry, “Pm But I want you to understand quite, quite clearly that my husband did not paint that picture.” : “Of course not,” said Graham, who had outwardly recovered his calm. “It’s a thing that Jimmy Marston has been doing.” The great man with the button hole came up to Sylvia to say good-by. “Curious,” he said, as the conversation buzzed out again all round them, “curious that you should both want to disown a picture like that; for, no matter what you may say, Mrs. Graham, the hand that was responsible for certain touches in your portrait also painted that wood-nymph.” ‘The wood- nymph was not painted by my husband,’ she replied. “Surely you don’t object to it as too—er— pagan, do you? Come, Mrs. Graham, this is the twentieth century. “T think it’s a masterpiece,’ Good-by, Mr. Mowbray.’ She closed her eyes for a moment to avoil the inquisition of his own. He nodded his head, shook her hand and went his way, whistling softly through his red pursed lips. ’ she replied. T WAS when they were alone in their own house that Graham broke loose. Sylvia listened until he had quite unpacked himself in words. Then, without replying, she rose and left him. “Going to her old cat of an aunt, I suppose,” he muttered, as he heard her taxicab driving away. But he was wrong. In less than an hour—after a hurried call at the house of a friend upon whose discretion she could count—Sylvia was once more walk- ing quietly up the garden toward the lighted studio. The window was open, and she could see Jimmy engaged, apparently, in cooking operations at the stove. She was about to call to him when he raised his head and bel- lowed in stentorian tones toward the bedroom door. “Come along, Dad! Come along, Mother! Where are the old lady and gentleman? ‘ There was a shuffling sound in the bedroom above. Sylvia, fascinated, drew back to watch from the shadows of the garden. It was al! sharp and clear as a Dutch interior. The door at the top of the studio stairs opened, and an old man with the ascetic face of an Emerson, its other worldliness intensified by the inner light that seems always to irra diate the faces of the blind, came groping out. Behind him came a ae Peypmand 1 old woman, holding him by both arms, and counting the steps out to him as they descended. The old man was settled on the couch and a table pushed up to him. Jimmy and his mother bustled about behind a screen. There was a pleasant sizzling sound, and the old man gently inflated his nostrils. “Something smells very good, Jimmy! Unless I’m greatly mistaken, it’s sausages Sausages it is, Dad! Sausages and mashed, and all the product of this noble brush of mine!” * Wonderful,” said the old gentlemas, “wonderful! There’s no doubt, Mother, tha our son is an artist, I think.’ “Not the slightest,” said Jimmy’s mother ‘They do smell good, don’t they? Thea they all laughed together. Jimmy was in boisterous ag now, though he had looked dejected when he was alone He stamped up and down the studio floor till the canvases rattled again, singing stentorian tones a mad song that he had invented for what he called moments o emotion: I rode to Chimborazo Upon a mountain bull With nostrils red as roses And a mane as white as wool. Mr. Marston senior sat with his face wreathed in smiles, exclaiming from time to time, ‘‘ Dear me, mother, what an extraordl nary son you have got! It was a cozy Dickensy picture; answered the one question about Jimmy that had been perplexing Sylvia—the questio2 (Continued on page 14 and it

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148 _~ REBOUX’S hat of Be Ribbon sounds the new style note of the moment. OUR POLICY ) For 15 years it has been our policy | to forecast Millinery Styles with un- erring accuracy and make it possible | for every retailer with a discriminating clientele to have correct hats in stock, h | led tlc-moment the mode is revealed. + + . cAre you protecting your patrons with the proper Style Insurance? MAKERS OF TAILORED HAT \SieiestintiGemns Co, FIFTH AVENUE at 361 STREET NEW YORK Importers and Promoters of Style Certatnties! HARPER’S BAZAR MAYFAIREST OF THEM ALL Alfred Noyes’s Story (Continued from page 146) why he had not preferred any hardship to the sacrifice of his artistic pride. “ Art is good,” she thought to herself, ‘but the man who would sacrifice the affections on the altar of Art will never be a great artist. He may have strength and cruelty and in- tellect; the exotic subtlety of the perverse and the brutality of the vicious; and all these things to-day are mistaken for genius; but genius is something very different. It is the well-spring at the door, the pool stirred by the angel, the wisdom of the child, the breath of the Godhead, the simplicity of the true- hearted.” HE tapped on the open window-door. Jimmy started to his feet. “Sylvia,” he cried and, hurrying toward her, caught her by the hands and drew her _ the room. “Why, what’s the matter? You haven’t—” She lifted her white face to him and nodded “T’ve left him, and I’m not returning,”’ was all she said. Since they had first met, not a word of love had nae between them; and now, without a word, the instinctive clasp of her fingers would have told him everything if he needed telling. He drew her to the table and made her sit down. “Look here, Father and Mother,” he said ‘This is Sylvia. There has been a great mistake. We used to think she was Mrs. Graham, but she isn’t.” Mrs. Marston was staring at her son, wide eyed and a little frightened. The old gentle man looked bewildered. Then simply and straight-forwardly Jimmy explained the whole situation to them and ended by saying: ‘“‘ Now I know there’s a sort of anxiety in your minds about all this. You’ve an impression that artists are immoral as a race; but you and I have always been pals, Dad, and I don’t believe in this nonsense about the older generation. They’re quite right in not want- ing the real law to be broken, but this is a case where either appearances or reality must be smashed. Sylvia is no more the wife of Graham than he is the painter of my wood- nymph. So we want our older generation to think well of us and—join our council of war, eh, Sylvia?” At this moment, Sylvia put her head down on the table and began to cry. Mrs. Marston stroked her hair and murmured, “Oh, you poor dear! You poor dear! What are we to do?” “There’s only one thing to do,” said Mr. Marston, senior, ‘‘and that is to smash the appearances to such an extent that there must be a divorce. by must save the reality. I’m blind, I know; but I c an see that.’ “Good,” said Jimmy. “‘Now we can meet this fraudulent old world with a united front. The first question is about our resources. We must turn out of the studio at once, of course; and the question is where the devil we are to go. Studios aren’t easy to get, and they'll want a quarter’s rent in advance. There'll be plenty of money before long —| shall work like fifteen devils now that Sylvia has come home; but I’ve only five pounds in the world at the present moment.” “T’ve another five,” said Sylvia. ‘ Every- thing else belonged to Graham and I left it there My own relations are frightfully difficult—my father and mother died when I was little, you know, and the aunt who brought me up was only too thankful to get me off her hands. She'll never forgive me for this. But I’ve solved one problem, the most urgent one—” There was a knock at the studio door. Sylvia started violently. Graham! It’s Graham,” she said. “I don’t think so,” said Jimmy, “‘Graham doesn’t knock. But it doesn’t matter if it is.” He went to the door and opened it to Mr. Mowbray, still wearing his white buttonhole. Mr. Mowbray was a little surprised at seeing Mrs. Graham there; but he was an intelligent man; and, in less than five minutes—without any explanation—he was talking as if he unders tood everything that had happened. ‘I called, Mr. Marston, to ask if you would let me see any of your ot her work.’ “I haven’t much,” said Jimmy, “I’ve been doing a lot of er—pot- boiling, and models are too expensive.”’ ‘Into the pot-boilers naturally, you didn’t put your real personality. “I tried to keep it out, sullenly. “Fairly successfully, on the whole. But there were touches, here and there. I was always a leetle puzzled, you know. That’s what brought me here this afternoon. I haven’t any time to waste on artistic snob- ism. These things here are all you have? Ah, exactly! Exactly!” Mr. Mowbray remarked “exactly” to “The Bacchanal” and two other pictures. Then he turned to Jimmy again. “Do you mind if we talk business about this?” He drew Jimmy to the farther end of the ’ said Jimmy rather studio, where they conversed for a minute or two. Finally Mr. Mowbray sat down at a desk and wrote something which he left on the blotter. “Tf you don’t mind, I'll take these three with me,” he said, tucking the pictures care- fully under his arm. “My car’s waiting outside.” 7 IMMY went out with him, with an air so dignified that Mrs. Marston hardly knew him; but, as soon as they heard the sound of the car driving away, the unexpected youth returned walking on his hands and did a back somersault into the studio. Then he closed the door and leaned his back against it, looking a little scared. “Sylvia,” he said, “do you mind looking at that thing on the desk? Is it a check. or am I dreaming?” Sylvia ran to the table, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Marston. “It’s a check made out to Ji umes Marston, E squire, for one hundre: 1 pounds.”’ ‘IT told you so,” said Jimmy triumphantly, “and he wants the first offer of all my work for the next year.” “T wonder how many hundreds he'll make out of that,” said Sylvia. Jimmy stared at her, open-mouthed; but, in less than a year, he was quietly wondering at the instant wisdom of femininity. “What a very generous man,” said Mr. Marston. “What a very shrewd one,”’ said Sylvia, smiling at Mrs. Marston in a way that meant only one thing—a compact signed between herself and her sister Fates that Jimmy should be not only a great, but also a materi- ally successful artist. “And when Mr. Mowbray interrupted, I was just going to tell you,” said Sylvia, “that I have just one friend in the world, and she is lending you her large furnis hed studio while she goes abroad. There’s a dance going on at her uncle’s house to-night; and she’s been telling one or two of her young artist friends just a little of our predicament— very discreetly. They’re coming round, at once, in the car to help to move all your belongings and she hopes we won't min! their being in fancy-dress.”’ “They won’t find much to move except ourselves and the wood-nymph,” said Jimmy. ‘But this does help one out. We couldn't really stay here another moment without choking, and it will give us time to look round I say, Dad, Mother, wrap yourselves up well and get ready. Look here, Sylvia, throw that round your shoulders. It’s the leopard- skin my wood-nymph wears. By Jove, that’s stunning. But you must take off that hat! Oh, throw it anywhere. Leave it for Graham! Here’s the wood-nymph’s wreath of vine leaves instead. Why shouldn't you be in fancy-dress, too? That really is stun- ning. Now for our one and only suit-case and the battered Gladstone bag into which my father compresses all his portable property and the black box in which my mother con- ceals her diamond tiara.” In a very few minutes the baggage came thumping and bumping down the stairs with the excited Jimmy in a cloud of dust and glory. A motor-horn sounded outside, and in through the broad north window dashed Pierrot and Pierrette, Columbine and Harle- quin. FELINE neighbor told in the divorce- court—to the joy of Sylvia and Jimmy— of the bacchanalian revels that accompanied the flight of the lovers. She described how she had seen Sylvia posing as the wood- nymph of Marston’s now famous picture on the garden wall. Sylvia did, in fact, pose tor the picture a little later, and said so, proudly and shamelessly in the letter which chiefly persuaded the court to grant Mr. Graham his divorce. At the earliest possible moment thereafter, Sylvia and Jimmy were married; but the most moral moment in their lives was when they smashed appearances into star- dust; on the night when the gates of the world beyond this world of appearances were wide open, and they eloped with the immortals. _ And what a happy-go-lucky flight of Youth and Love and Spring it was! “here was a sense of petals falling through the rich blackness of the old Chelsea garden, and a fragrance of wine on the warm air. Outside the tall old crumbling gates of wrought iron, on the roof of the car, lay Columbine, stretching a long white arm down to help Harlequin up to her side, and ron me her slender legs against a background o! black chimney-pots and stars. Pierrette al Pierrot sat with the driver in front. Th bright-eyed old lady and the old blind gentle- man were ensconced within, on the most comfortable seats. The wood-nymph, since baggage took up a great deal of room, sat on Jimmy’s knees. (One regrets to say 1, but the feline neighbor was watching and it was quite necessary to secure that divorce.) (Concluded on page 154)

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AR JL te or ita 1 the hree are- iting MARCH 1926 149 To THE WOMAN of genuine social distinction only a very few perfumes are acceptable . . . Among them is Rigaud’s Un Air Embaumé, a truly continental fragrance of most intriguing person- ality . . . Parfum Un Air Embaumé and the various other aids to loveliness, bearing this same delicate scent, are all created in Paris Doubtless you know them. ’ ’ ’ ’ , Of course, you know from the newspapers that this was the perfume selected to scent the Vanderbilt house at the time of the recent Consuelo Vanderbilt-Earl E. T.. Smith wedding.

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MIAMI BEACH NEW YORK PALM BEACH Jay~Iborpe 24 West 57th Street * “Anytime After Seven A Dinner Frock that will reflect its good taste at whatever fashionable diversion the evening brings forth, is this model of distinguished sim- plicity, with the new circular tablier tying at one side. Of heavy silk crépe in water-lily green, Callot pink, jonquil yellow, black or white. Exclusive Jay-Thorpe Model NINETY-FIVE DOLLARS x 3 HARPER’S BAZAR WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Anita Loes’s Story (Continued from page or) thing they had in stock. As it was a slum shop, this turned out to be a beaded funeral wreath with “Requiescat in Pace” in blue beads on a white bead background. He carried the wreath to the stage door, but by the time he had concluded that bit of navi- gation, he learned from the door-tender that everybody had left to go to a party at Miss Revell’s. So Julian hurried home, hopping off to Hester Street only long enough to bolster up his new faith with the purchase of a two- quart demijohn of sacramental Scotch. Arrived at his house, he demanded of the butler if there were any Jewish guests present, for Julian had all the enthusiasm of a ne- ophyte and wanted to share his libations with his kind. But receiving a negative reply, he hid the demijohn in the bedroom for his own religious comeengnen. Had he loosened up and staked the Gentiles to a little snifter, Judy’s guests might have been able to stand the party, and there would have been no general exodus to Jake’s. The bead wreath Julian put into his bed for safekeeping, and he has spent the whole evening hovering between the demijohn of Scotch and a search for his charmer, never learning the cruel trick that Fate has played. He finally gives up and goes to bed, to awake next morning with “Requiescat in Pace” picked out in blue and white beads on his back. In fact, Julian has not had such an unsatisfactory evening since the time he hung around the stage door of the George M. Cohan theater for two hours, waiting for Nita Naldi to come out after a running of Cecil deMille’s “Ten Commandments,” having muffed altogether the great moral lesson which Mr. deMille intended to con- vey. UDY, herself, is talking to her latest conquest, Sherman Bennett, that sterling actor who has wrecked the work of so many leading men by making villainy more attrac- tive than virtue. Sherman could not be present at Judy's performance, as he is him- self playing in the famous dope drama wherein the hero proves his complete re- nunciation of the drug forever, by breaking a four dollar vial of heroin. Sherman Bennett has given Judy some coaching. She even stayed away from rehearsal from time to time to get a more direct and professional “line’’ on her rédle. Sherman’s dramatic method with a pupil is simple, yet reyolu- tionary, and requires in the way of apparatus only a full flask, a taxicab, and the use of Central Park. Sherman tells Judy that he hears she was charming, and Judy admits the truth of the rumor up to a certain limit. But there is one point of dramatic technique about which she always meant to ask him and always has forgotten, and that is—what does an actress do when she happens to recognize some friend in the audience? Judy goes on to explain that she feels as though the smile and friendly nod she tossed off to Delicia Dennington, who sat in the first row, did something to her stage presence. UDY’S Aunt Mary sits in a corner of the room, looking things over with a clear, cold eye. Count Swazy, the delightful Hungarian, gravitates to her side and starts a conversation. “Your niece—she was charming,” Aunt Mary gives him a long look. he says. ““Swazy,” she says, “I helped Judy get into this thing because I'm a fiend for amusement—but I’ve laughed myself out, so don’t try to be funny.’ “Oh, but her role was a small one, she had no opportunity! “Opportunity? Why, Swazy, the part you saw Judy play to-night was merely the one they handed her after trying her out in every other rdle that could be plz ayed by a female since Judy joined the troop. / ‘But,’ asks Swazy, “if Miss Revell has no no—no sympathy with acting, how did she come to get into this? ‘Well, Swazy,” says Aunt Mary, “Judy’s talent for the drama was discovered down in Palm Beach by one of the girls who organized the Toolchest Players, and converted the old stable on West Twelfth Street into an Art dis spensary. ‘This girl, Georgie Wilkes, noted that Judy could invariably take the center of the stage in any roomful of people, so she decided that if Judy could do that on her own and unaided, she would be able, with the assistance of grease paint and lights, to make the audi- ences in their stable stand up and neigh. **So she made Judy an offer and Judy took her up onit. If you will gaze across the room and note a girl who looks more depressed than I do, that’s Georgie Wilkes, who dis- covered Judy.’ Ah—so!”’ says Count Swazy, having no difficulty in spotting the dejecte: Georgie. “Coming back on the train from Palm Beach,”” goes on Aunt Mary, “Georgie ex- plained to me the purpose of the Toolchest group. It’s a magnificent organization, really! All based on uplift! She r the play they were to start the seaso It was by a German, named Hasenclever, and was called ‘Beyond.’ It had nineteen scenes, a cast of only one man and one woman, and Georgie said that if the police let them get by with it, the cause of uplift would flourish right through the spring until time to stage their summer revue. “Well, we got back to New York and they started rehearsing ‘Beyond’ with Judy in the le ading réle. Now it seems that this heroine had only one main idea, and all the e quip- ment she needed in order to carry it out was aman. When her husband was shot in the first act, it didn’t interfere with her principal notion in the least, because, as it happened, the stranger who brought in the news to her was also a man. “Luck happened to be with the heroine, for this young fellow caught her idea ins tantly and ‘they wrastled about through nineteen acts, until it began to get on my nerves. No mention was ever made of eating, paying visits, phoning the butcher, or, as a matter of fact, going to sleep. “T sat around at rehearsals for a couple of days and finally suggested that, just for the sake of variety, they serve a cup of tea in one of the less intimate scenes. So they tried that out, but they couldn’ t m: ike a go of it without spilling the tea on the couch, and they had to leave it as it was in the German. ““And do you mean to say that Miss Revell had difficulty with that réle?” asks Count Swazy. “She did, indeed,” answers Aunt Mary. “it’s a mystery to me how the child, who is always the life of any téte-a-téte with a beau off-stage, could so freeze up on that leading man behind the footlights. I must say that Georgie was very patient with her, but the stage director was dreadfully irritating. “He used to scream at Judy and say, ‘You’re supposed to be German, not a Pole’ And [I didn’t like the way he said ‘pole.’” “TI wish I had been there! Swazy, indignantly. hi: inks,” says Aunt Mary, “but Georgie stood up for Judy nobly. She said that all Judy needed was to be ‘brought out’ and then it transpired that Georgie had a scheme of developing her talent by getting Judy to come to her apartment, where a crowd of girl friends sit around every evening, talk about the SOUL until three or four A. M, and suffer keenly. “Judy went once, but some way she couldn’t key in, and I didn’t blame her, because I tried it out myself, and it wasn’t even funny after the first couple of weeks. [ always think that there is enough toothache in the world to supply a full quota of suffering to every one, without having to worry over a lot of trumped up agonies of the spirit. Why, those girls have to keep in constant touch with Russian literature in order to reach a state of depression where they can have any fun at all. One of Georgie’s gang is writing a book to establish their Temperamental Oneness with all the f: umous women of history and I understand that : is to have a frontis- piece of Catherine the Great with a monocle and Queen Victoria shooting her cuffs. “Well, Georgie thought that a good, thorough course of their brand of self-ex- pression would develop Judy, teach her about Life, and help her to play that single-track German heroine. But about this time, Judy had an offer of the invaluable services of Sherman Bennett in the way of a coach, so she took him on instead. However, Mr. Bennett’s coaching was so exacting that it seemed to take all her time, and she finally reached a point where she had to give up the role, in order to do justice to the coaching, and the Toolchest Players got in some warmer talent to play that heroine in ‘Beyond.’ But it only uplifted audiences for about two weeks, when it collapsed and let them down id me with, ” says Count with a crash to a little lower than they were defore. “So Judy’s talent was finally given an outlet in the bit you saw her do to-night, and [ think you'll agree with me that her presence on the stage wouldn’t have been noticed if she hadn’t worn so many strings of pearl beads that she rattled when she walked.” “Your American girls are so strange,” says Count Swazy. “‘They are never satisfied to be one thing! I should as soon want the Sévres vase on my mantelpiece to start singing, as to have Miss Rev ell be anything at all but divine to look on!” “How charming!” says Aunt Mary “You must say that to Judy. You Hu rians are too adorable! But tell me, 5w what does one do in your country when “the daughter of a noble house takes up heavy drinking, low company, exhibitionism and ge neral rowdyness?”’ ** Madame, we spank her.’ ““Oh—you beasts! No wonder our girls can’t put up with you as husbands!’ (Continued on page 152)

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unt ary. 0 is eau ling hat the say, - a said

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OWNFIELD for ALL OUTDOORS EVERELY tailored and most correct in style is this smart spring suit— just one of a wide selection of Townfield costumes expressive of the vogue for both tailored and semi-sports apparel. cAt Smart Shops Everywhere. FINGER-CAHN COMPANY INCORPORATED 270 WEST 38tH STREET, NEW YORK COATS -SUITS -DRESSES HARPER’S BAZAR WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Anita Loos’s Story (Continued from page 150) By this time, practically all the guests have left or are leaving. Even Sherman Bennett is having to pry himself away from Judy, as the Duchess exacted a secret promise that he would meet her in the private bar at Jake’s at two o’clock. He kisses Judy’s hand at parting and leaves, not knowing that trying to break in or out of the crowd in Jake’s bar at two A. mM. would defeat Houdini. Count Swazy is last to go, with the ex- ception of Georgie Wilkes, who is waiting to have a final word with Judy. He kisses her hand, with as much technique as Sherman Bennett and with more feeling. Sherman needs liquor to keep his speed up and he had all but died on Judy before he left, whereas Swazy has a non-stop, Hungarian interest in the ladies that never lets down. With ail the outsiders outside, excepting Georgie, Aunt Mary rises, strides to the center of the salon and calls a family council. “Judy,” she says, “go find your father! From the way he’s been acting all evening, I think he has a still in his bedroom, and you'll probably find him hanging over it, if he hasn't fallen in.” Judy departs on her errand and Aunt Mary turns to Judy’s mother, Emma, who has been present all evening, but crushed by the fact that she didn’t know anybody at her party. “What did you think of your daughter to-night?” asks Aunt Mary. “‘T thought she was excellent,’”’ says Emma. “She knew almost all her words!” “Emma,” says Aunt Mary, “that remark puts you right in line to become dramatic critic on the Aflantic Monthly.” By this time Judy returns with Julian, le nouveau Juif, in tow. He is more kosher by two quarts than he was at the time of his conversion. The family thus complete, Aunt Mary calls them to order, and says: “After the orgy of palaver that has just been held here, it’s about time that some- body spoke up with the truth about Judy’s performance, and made a definite stand as to what is to be done next.” “But Aunt Mary,” says Judy, “everybody said—” ‘‘ Everybody lied like ladies and gentlemen, but this evening has convinced me that so far as Judy is concerned, the mantle of Duse is still on a coat hanger.” Judy had fully intended not showing up at the theater again on account of the success of Albert Castlewood, but Aunt Mary’s opposition is exactly what was needed to get her back up, and she announces her intention of sticking. UNT Mary then turns to Georgie. “Georgie,” she says, “step in and give us your own expert opinion on Judy’s per- formance this evening.” ‘Judy was perfectly unformed, lacking in technique, and without a spark of fire.” Julian snaps out of a reverie in time to catch the end of Georgie’s criticism, and jumps up in alarm. “Fire?”’ he exclaims. ‘“‘Women and chil- dren first!”’ “Oh, shut up and sit down,” orders Aunt Mary. Then turning and addressing Judy, she demands that she hand in the customary two weeks’ notice to the Toolchest Players and date it back fourteen days. “T’ll do nothing of the kind,” says Judy. “Vou have no right to say anything about my performance until you see what the critics write about it.” At this point, Emma breaks into the argument. ‘Judy is right,” she says. “I sat between two newspaper gentlemen, and from what they said, I understood that Judy lived up to our finest family traditions and did credit to her ancestress who carried water to the Continental troops.” “What did those critics say ?” asks Aunt Mary in a cold, hard tone. “They said her appearance was the greatest act of bravery they had ever seen in the theater.” “Emma,” says Aunt Mary, “something tells me that your understanding of the stage is hampered by the fact that you haven't any. You’d better let us thrash this thing out by ourselves.” “I’m not going to quit!’ announces Judy. “Then,” says Aunt Mary, “it’s up to you, Georgie, in the interest of the drama, to give Judy the gate.” “In the interest of the drama,” says Georgie, ‘‘that is exactly what Judy deserves! And she hasn’t yet heard of the magnificent opportunity she has thrown away by her refusal to take things seriously.” Georgie pauses a moment in order to give her announcement the importance it deserves. “You were to have been given the leading role in a new unproduced play by Hans Pfeffer, who is the important exponent of modern German Explosionism.” Georgie’s audience is hardly arty enough to realize the significance of Mr. P’s. contribution to modern drama, so Georgie lets it be Known that she is ready and willing to give a brief outline of the plot. si any German plots are going to be spilled here to-night,” says Aunt Mary “let’s get the old people out of the room.” ©’ Julian, however, has fallen asleep and Emma’s face shows a certain expression which indicates that her brain has knocked of work for the day, and will not be back on the job for at least twelve hours. This being the case, Aunt Mary calls for Mr. Pfeffer’s plot “Tt’s a story of mother love!” Says Georgie. “and tells of a young girl who meets her lover every night in a coal mine and so never gets to see what he looks like.” “I'd simply adore playing those scenes,” says Judy sarcastically. “It would give an actress such a good chance to wear clothes!” “Oh, I understand your attitude toward the theater now, Judy, but there was a time when I considered you worthy of a part like this.” “Well,” asks Aunt Mary, “what went on in that coal mine, besides coal mining?” EORGIE warms to her plot and begins to wax dramatic. “The lover is killed by a blast, and in the light of the blast, the heroine sees his face for the first time and realizes that he is a veritable monster! There's a situation for you!” “It certainly is,” says Aunt Mary, “whea you figure that even a German Valentino isn’t so very much to look at!” “But,” goes on Georgie, “this man had a beautiful soul, and the woman is able to forget his outward appearance until she learns that she is to have a child. Then her lover's hideous face appears before her every moment, “When her child is born, not only does it look like its father, but Fate wills it to bea girl! How about that for tragedy?” “Simply horrifying,” says Aunt Mary, “unless it took after its father and went in for deep coal mining.” Georgie refuses to be swerved from en- joying herself, now that she is going good, so she takes a deep breath and continues. “Finally the mother evolves a plan—the most brutally tender plan that has ever been touched upon in the drama. Do you know what she does?” “Trains the child for German opera, wher it won’t be noticed?” suggests Aunt Mary Georgie is too het up to be steered from her course. “No!” says she. ‘She encases its head in a wooden mold of the head of the Venus de Milo, and feeds it with a straw through a hole in the mold! “When the child reaches the age of eighteen, the mother takes off the mold, and the child is so ravishingly beautiful that she raises the suicide rate, causes several murders, instigates a revolution and is on the verge of wrecking German Kultur, when the mother has to kill her td save the Fatherland!” “Take my order right now,’ says Aunt Mary, “for a good seat in the front row.” “Tf you want to know what J think,” Judy, “I think that your German dramatist is an imbecile!” Georgie is aghast. “Why, you poor simpleton,” she exclaims, “that is the greatest réle that has ever been created! Think of the Soul Crises that heroine goes through! That betrayed girl! That mother without a husband! What agony! What terror! What—” “Oh, Georgie, you make me sick!” says Judy. “You’re always dramatizing things and wanting people to get all worked up and into a state!” “Huh! You think a girl could go through all that without having her Soul torn to shreds?” - “Georgie,”’ says Judy, “‘you talk as if get- ting into a jam simply started a girl running around in four directions at once. You can take my word for it—it doesn’t! And I know what I’m talking about!” “‘What’s all this?” speaks up Aunt Mary, with a note of alarm. ; “Well—it’s about time that Georgie stopped talking nonsense about ‘Life and learned the truth from some one who knows. “Do you mean to tell me—”’ breaks m Georgie. “Oh, of course, a girl worries a little, naturally,” says Judy, “but I'm certainly not going to get into a state of chronic hysteria—” and then realizing she has sai more than she intended, Judy decides not to go on. A hush falls over the trio. Even Aunt Mary doesn’t know just how to pit k up the repartee at this point. She finally looks at the clock to suggest a move for Georgie, who stands dazed but pat. ‘“‘Georgie,” says Aunt Mary, discussion of the art of the drama is pretty well thrashed out. And I believe I have @ little matter to talk over with Judy alone, 50 if you don’t mind—” (Concluded on page 154) ys “T think our

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Known a brief to be Mary, in” P and which ed off on the ng the S plot. eorgie, r lover T gets oward 1 time rt like ‘nt on begins in the ce for ‘itable ‘whea ntino had a le to learns over’s ment. oes it . be a Mary, nt in n en- xd, so —the been know ry. n her ad in us de gh a \unt says atist 1ims, for MARCH 1926 The World’s highest Fashion and Medical authorities, in- cluding the Institute of Hy- giene, London, have awarded Spirella their highest honors. 153 This is the famous Spirella Stay, guar- anteed, flexible, resilient, non-rust- able and unbreak- able. Used only in Spirella. HOW THE WOMAN OF TODAY RETAINS HER BEAUTY AND HEALTH , \HE woman of today, active, vital, radiat- ing health and youth, is a truly fascinat- ing person. She is alive to her finger tips. She seems never to grow old. She has learned how to live. For her, Spirella Figure Training Garments are made. She demands comfort. So Spirella Garments are flexible and easy. They are fashioned of soft materials, with the patented Spirella Stay that bends with every movement. She knows that she needs gentle support to keep absolutely well. Spirella is designed to follow the natural contour of the body. It works with the abdominal muscles and fur- nishes just the right degree of uplift. Thus a Spirella helps to maintain correct carriage. To the woman of today, @ smooth silhouette is of utmost importance. She wears a Spirella to bring out her best lines. By correcting ir- regular outlines, Spirella gives her new grace and brings her new beauty. The modern woman insists upon professional, trained service. A Spirella Corsetiere comes to her home, studies her needs, helps her select her Spirellas and shows her how they should be worn. The Spirella Corsetiere will tell you how Spirella brings comfort, health and beauty. HOME SERVICE EXCLUSIVELY Spirella 1S different 7 HE > PIiRnkezkL LA Niagara Falls, New York COMPANIES Malmo, Sweden

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* Jarnac WAS all my skin needed!” What Jarnac DOES! (The Proof is Free) WHAT A QUANTITY of complexion creams the modern store displays! One could scarcely try them all. Yet a hundred thousand women have lately turned to the new cream called JARNAC. Is it not worth your while to read why? There is a double reason for such happy results from anything so mild as Jarnac. First, it really cleanses. Second, it attempts nothing miracu- lous. Frankly, Nature deserves most of the praise being heaped on Jarnac. The skin that is kept clean and left alone will grow beautiful. Purge the pores of any skin and it soon becomes smooth and fair. That is why gentle Jarnac whips the dullest skin to a radiant condition of color and texture. In short, dear reader, Jarnac does all anyone but a physician can do for your skin. What happens when you Use One Essential Cream Jarnac is so bland, its beauty power is hard to believe. the But you soon sense And differenee. you soon see results! The pore-deep cleanliness (which the best soap and water efforts only commence) will tell within a week. The skin has a new softness of its own. You have a new color that stays. Try Jarnac daily for two weeks! See what happens when you use a cream that is not absorbed. Jarnac cleanses, neutralizes and departs. It not attempt to “feed” the pores, it cleans them—and a clean pore is never distended. Use Jarnac as directed two or three weeks—and you can forget all about coarse pores. Extraordinary Jarnac couldn’t have an ordinary package! It is novel, striking. But more important, if is pure aluminum. No chance of broken glass, nor unseen particles in the cream. And a third more cream than a glass jar of same size would hold! does More Good News And the new Jarnac powder ends all need of “powder base.”” No more filling of pores with ‘“foundation”’ creams. No necessity for heavy powders. On a Jarnac-cleansed skin, a unique Jarnac powder of medium weight—adheres perfectly, evenly, and for hours! A soft, pure powder of low visibility! There will always be times when you wish to intensify even the most per- fect natural color. Use Jarnac rouge, and the he.ghtened color will still be perfectly natural. A moisi rouge, that’s an actual blood-red. And just as perfect for lips! You'll see Jarnac on very nearly every toilet counter today. You'll find Jarnac most moderately priced. Or may try Jarnac at no cost at all! Just use the coupon: “Sie ale eg eigmagaee ermal JARNAC et Cre CREAM get the little Jarnac AND Jarnac Vame ee ° iddre 152 N. Clinton Street, Chicago I would like generous trial boxes of POW DER Book of Big beauty secrets ! | = 2 See bei » Jarnac’s Double Free Offer both—Jarnac and don't for HARPER’S BAZAR WHY GIRLS GO SOUTH Anita Loos’s Story (Concluded from page 152) “Of course, I'll go,” says Georgie, and she picks up her Stetson from off the piano. ““Wait a moment,” interrupts Aunt Mary. “Before you leave, I think Judy will re- consider and give in her notice. How about it, Judy?” “Oh, all right,”’ says the recent associétaire of the Toolchest Players. “I intended to all along.” Georgie nods her acceptance and leaves. = HAT’S the matter now?” asks Emma. “* After all the trouble Judy took to be an actress—” Aunt Mary throws her arm about niec e's shoulder. “Judy and I have got to thinking things over, Emma,” she says, “‘and we’ve about decided that there’s no career so ¢ harming for a debbie as that of a wife and mother. And if we can swing things from now on, so that she can manage to be both at the same time, I shall consider that my old life hasn’t been wasted.” “‘T’ve always wanted Judy to give up other activities and marry,’”’ says Emma, “but the great trouble is, that it’s almost impossible to find somebody with whom a marriage into our family would not be a misalliance.”’ \unt Mary cocks her eye at Judy’s mother. “Emma,” she says, “it would be well for you to realize that Judy is just the least bit —uh—handicapped.” “What do you mean?” asks Emma. “Well,” says Aunt Mary, “after all, her name has been mentioned with so many different escorts, that a future husband might feel a bi’ out of it.” “She is a Revell,” says Emma, “and I’m not going to consent to her marriage unless we find a man worthy of an alliance with our house. It is perfectly dreadful the way these American débutantes are marrying men who are beneath them!” “But wait a mi “let’s take stock. to offer a husband? Vhy, Aunt Mary,” “what do you mean?” ‘“*Well—suppose we go over Judy’s case and tell a little truth. In the first place, her reputation is in shreds. As a helpmate she would be about as handy in the home as an electric fan that has lost its moorings. As a mother, she will be a practical joke. All we can do is to hope that joke isn’t sprung too soon. In my way of thinking, any man of her acquaintance is a pretty good catch. I don’t believe we can be choosy.”’ Emma freezes Aunt Mary with a look, and Judy goes over to her mother’s side. her minute,” says Aunt Mary, Just what have these girls speaks up Judy, “Mother is right,” she says, “suitors like Count Swazy and Sherman Bennett are all right to play about with, but there’s nothing like marrying somebody with money in one’s own class.” Aunt Mary is dumfounded. ““And who do you think this happy man js going to be?”’ she demands. 7 ; “Winnie Valentine—he has everything a girl of my position requires.” “Yes,” says Aunt Mary. “I have to grant you that Winnie would be ideal. A brain specialist told me once that he would always have the charming fancies of a child of ten, and he might even believe that little fable about the stork. But Winnie is away on a cruise that was scheduled to last for months and I don’t know how you'd get him back in time.” ‘“T’ve sent for him!’ announces Judy. “T’d like to think that would fetch him back,” says Aunt Mary, “but I don’t believe it will. He took a complete stock of picture puzzle books that will keep him amused until late fall. I don’t think that any amorous cable from you, or even a signal of distress would turn him about.” “Don’t be silly, Aunt Mary. I didn't send him a ‘crush’ cable or anything so stupid as that. I merely told him to hurry home in time for his birthday, because I had bought him a set of musical glasses that you play on by dipping your fingers in rosin. And I think that will make him change his course.” Aunt Mary gives her niece a searching look that lasts for some long seconds. “Judy,” she says, “I’m beginning to feel that perhaps my worries about you are baseless. You may be up to nonsense most of the time, but when it comes to a pinch, I guess you'll get along.” “Of course she will,’ speaks up Emma, “she’s a Revell.” OCIETY NOTE: Memories of the brilliant wedding of Judy Revell to Winnfield Valen- tine last July have recently been somewhat over-shadowed by the illness of the bride, who had to go into seclusion at the Tuxedo estate of her husband during a protracted case of diphtheria. Now comes the happy news that in April, the lovely Judy became ‘mamma’ to a baby boy. This column admits to a bit of snobbery which is gratified by inter- marriage between our old American families. In these days, when debbies are marrying right and left, and in most cases not doing their duty to Society in the way of offspring, it is refreshing to be able to report the arrival of an heir in whose veins runs the pure unmixed blood of two of our finest clans. MAYFAIREST OF THEM ALL Alfred Noyes’s Story (Concluded from page 148) They were dowered with the most glorious attribute of life—they were both under twenty-one years of age. He was at present utterly unknown to fame, but he never wore prouder raiment than that old blue paint- smeared blouse of his against which Sylvia rested her head. ““Embarauons pour Cythére,”’ cried Pierrot. The driver tooted his horn, and the little black ship of the city with its joyous cargo went singing away into the night. Hardly any of them knew where they were going; but they knew it was to that enchanted country which is the only earthly paradise. Perhaps it was some sense of this that set Sylvia murmuring the poem from the book which had decided their destiny, for they did not really know that the days of hardship were over, and this was part of the happiness. To her surprise Jimmy took up the second stanza and so they continued, alternately, to the end SYLVIA Was it a dream—that country, free from care, Though never free from hope, or love or debt Where artists lived in garrets, cold and bare Except for their own daubs, and you, Musette; Or you, Fifine, Pepita, and Ninette, Flushed with the wine for which you pawned your shoes; And you, the ghost of Murger, singing yet Bohéme, blithe haunt of sparrows and the Musel Jimmy Dark-eyed Pepita, tilting back her chair, Blowing blue smoke from many a cigaret, With one red clove-pink in her coarse black hair And slim brown feet upon the table set; Lynx-eyed Fifine, who laughed away regret And welcomed all adventure, win or lose— In Chelsea—was it, or Montmartre we met? Bohéme, blithe haunt of sparrow and she Must. SYLPIA But you, Musette, whose rose-leaf lips could swear, “er Whose foot could stamp, like Hebe’s a pet; Whose wildly generous hands would always share Their own last sou, or risk it on a bet; Have we not seen your gray eyes, wide and wet For some poor luckless fool, dews? ; Who that has ever known you can forget Bohéme, blithe haunt of sparrows and the Muse? with April Jrmy (kissing her) Princess, the world runs mad with fuss and fret! Would we not yet, if time were ours t choose, And one such golden garret still to let, Fly to that haunt of sparrow and the Muse.

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lors like are all nothing IN One’s ’ Man is thing a lave to leal. A B would a child at little is away last for get him y ch him believe picture amused it any gnal of didn’t ) stupid ome in bought play on And | ourse.”” arching to feel yu are e most inch, I Emma, rilliant Valen- 1ewhat le, who tate of ase of vs that amma’ o a bit inter- milies rrying doing spring, arrival - pure S. LL could e’s in lways e and April t 1d. the s and irs to use.

for MARCH 1926 While lighter shades continue smart, the wood-brown shades gain favor S spring draws near the slim silk-stockinged legs, so charming below rippling skirts that are as short as ever, presage the change of season by their change of hue.

For daytime the difference in itself but bridging the gap between the commonplace and the smart—lies mainly in a subtle darkening of tone. Grays, which once were like the cloud’s silver lining, deepen to the dusk of gunmetal. The soft grays still have their chic adherents and for them there is the new Dove Gray. The wood-brown shades step to the fore. Corticelli has added several love- ly warm shades in this family which will adorn smart ankles this season, foremost among them, Pompadour, a new shade related to Mandarine. For evening the nude shades and mauve, gold and silver are in favor. Oc- SHELL. Another charming Facquard all over lace. The very web of fashion. Style 742. slight GunmetaL. Sheerest chiffon, a stock- ing decorated only by its transparent silken loveliness. Style 308. G. = << a a . ea Pate fe ‘ ? oo * 7 Ss f / , hf

Pompapour. The newest spring color in style 107, Paris clocked. In other numbers too.

casionally one sees as harbingers of a new mode, irra 2 stockings miraculously sheer and transparent of d/ack. Whatever the exact nuance of the season’s hosiery colors your costume needs, you will find it in the soft charming shades Corticelli presents. You will be delighted too with the sheer soft glim- mering beauty of their silk. That smooth sturdy, flawless silk which for eighty-seven years has made Corticelli famous, cannot be surpassed anywhere in the world. HERE are various styles and 5 weights to choose from too, An " exquisite filmy chiffon, No. 308, like the | stockings you brought back from Paris; No. 107, equally beautiful with a grace- ful openwork French clock. There are two Jacquard lace models for formal wear, Nos. 151 and 161. Each is a mir- acle of cobwebby beauty, to which | touches of embroidery give reality. And | for service wear, Nos. 322 and 324. ; Ir you are INTERESTED in the newest in silk | hosiery, dress silks and dresses, send today for the three fascinating booklets offered below. 4 Bisque. Facquard lace in a maiden- hair fern design—dainty as frost tra- ceries. Style 167. CORTICELLI SILK HOSIERY | The Corticelli Silk Company, 305 Nonotuck Street, Florence, Mass. ra <3 Ge ficelli ee City. State ~

Please send me the following booklets: The Loveliest Hosiery Colors New Corticelli Silks Irene Castle Corticelli Fashions Name Street

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HARPER’S BAZAR HEALTH The Countess of Oxford and Asquith’s Article (Concluded from page 67) return to the same way of living, and I have hardly a friend or a contemporary who has preserved an active and elastic figure. In England you can write, talk, and speak in public about birth control, unnatural vices, and venereal diseases—almost any eschewed subject—but you may not mention constipation, and yet no one of any experience will deny that most of our bodily sufferings come from insufficient drainage and poisoned intestines. You may evade, elude, or fight shy of this proposition, but sooner or later you will have to face it. The average person in my class (whatever that may be) has three if not four meals a day: breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner; some have no tea, and some have late supper instead of dinner, but be that as it may, they fill their stomachs three times a day and think themselves injured if they do not spend at least eight hours in bed whether awake or asleep. In spite of this, whether from lack of care or culpable igno- rance, nature is solicited capriciously, with the most disastrous consequences. Busy men and lazy women are unable to take enough exercise to open the pores of their skin and an unobserved but steady process of poison- ing sets in, which is the starting point of many of the maladies which prove fatal in later life When you hear of cancer houses you ask about the drains, but it would be more to the purpose to ask about the drainage of the victims than of the building. We are on the eve of a great scientific discovery in connec- tion with cancer, but in the meantime little is known that can be put into immediate practise. It is a step forward to learn in what part of the world certain intestinal afflictions seldom occur, and it is possible that if people were more observant and, at an early stage of cancer, could be influence: to tell men of science as much as they could of their diet and habits it would be more valuable than all the experiments made upon rats and rabbits.

FTER the age of forty no one needs as much food, drink, or sleep, as they did in their youth. It is a platitude to say there are exceptions, but when middle-aged people tell me they could not live without eight or nine hours sleep, I answer they should be grateful if they can get six, and seven is more than enough for the majority of man- kind. Bad nerves are not so much rejuve- nated by sleep as by fresh air and a kind of repose that—though difficult—can be culti- vated Holy men in monasteries live to a ripe old age and spend most of their nights in prayer or meditation. The majority of animals are aslee» for longer hours than they are awake, and though sleeping too much cannot be said to be a danger, it is certainly a dis- advantage. I read the other day in a newspaper that: “Experiments have been conducted at the George Washington University, with a specially selected group of psychologists, show- ing that lack of sleep, while temporarily inconvenient, leaves no lasting effects. The belief of an increasing number of American psychologists, that the human race sleeps too much, seems to be confirmed by the present experiments It is their growing contention that people sleep more to overcome the ennui of keeping awake and having nothing to do than to recuperate their physical powers.’ I do not agree with these American gentle- men that it is boredom that makes people stay in bed. It is self-indulgence and a bad habit; and just as there are habits of mind that sterilize the intellect, so there are habits of body which impair the health. Nevertheless to be attacked by insomnia for any length of time is a terrible trial and I shall never forget what I myself suffered from it for a period of three successive years. There is no illness or operation that I have ever been through that I would not gladly face rather than a recurrence of those sleep- less years. Every conceivable narcotic was tried upon me, but although some of them were a temporary alleviation, drugs dry the throat, lower the vitality, and as aids to sleep are by no means reliable. They also have a curious effect upon the character; as by weakening the resolution they undermine your confidence and retard the best chance you have of assisting in your own recovery. There is no mental process that will help you, such as counting sheep going through a gate or saying the alphabet backwards. Living out of doors, undressing before a fire, and sleeping in a cold bedroom with open windows and light blankets had a mild effect upon my sleep, but what really helped me more than anything else was when the Station Master in Edinburgh told me | ought to be grateful and not repining, as he had never allowed himself to sleep for more than four hours. Sleep like everything else js a matter of habit and although one can lay down no rules, the more you accustom yourself to doing without it, the more alert you will be There are different qualities in sleep as in other things. It should not be a disturbance of wakefulness but a withdrawal from work and if the mind is agitated and the heart heavy, the longest hours of sleep will neither refresh nor invigorate you. ; RINK is a much more difficult question - and although it has decreased in my life. time there is more than enough intemperance to cause infinite misery, as well as to sap the energies and undermine the constitution of a majority of the lower classes Visiting as I did most of the convict prisons when my husband was Home Secre- tary, I found the bulk of the prisoners were detained for crimes of violence most of which were committed under the influence of alcohol. The problem of drink has been approached with too much vehemence and prejudice ever to be dispassionately solved, but whether rightly or wrongly, temperance fanatics are associated in the public mind with kill-joys and this does not make them popular. Pleasure will always make a stronger appeal than wisdom and the average man is not going to be debarred from what he looks upon as an inalienable right to do what he likes with his money and his leisure. Our Lord turned water into wine, and although [ am_ insufficiently educated to know, [ do not think any of the great teachers or philosophers ever put a ban on the merry- making which is usually associated with a certain amount of drinking. If the majority of people both rich and poor did not drink too much, brandy would be looked upon as a medicine, and one that under certain conditions is safe to give even to the youngest child. It is of no use preaching Prohibition because we are not going to get it in this country Drink can be cured only by providing more fun for the people, and what should be encouraged is perspiration. Dancing should be taught in every village; it is cheap and popular, and the modern steps so meaning- less, motionless, and simple that men and women, however old or clumsy, can master them. Physical exercises circulate the blood and raise the spirits, and familiar tunes awaken a kind of common emotion that gives pleasure to people who are assembled together. If half the public houses were replaced by dancing saloons where non-alcoholic drinks were sold, there would be a marked decrease in drunkenness. In my youth many men of great promise— poets, painters, and politicians, as well as nearly all good servants—were ruined by crink; but although this is not the case to- day, every one drinks too much. There is nothing so fattening as champagne, and how- ever little brandy or whisky may be put into big glasses the soda-water that accom- panies it is inclined to disturb the diges- tion, swell the figure, and ruin the com- plexion. HEN diet, waters, doctors, and drugs have failed, “‘suggestion’’ is proposed I do not know how experts define suggestion, but roughly speaking it means looking at one thing and thinking of another, or some- thing said that awakens something different, and starts a train of thought which dis- entangles the mind and restores the nerves But neither faith cures, gold cures, res cures, cures in Germany, sanatoriums at home, suggestions, or doctors will ensure health. Nor can anything avail the nerves, the mind, or the body when tempers have been roused. There is only one form ol suggestion that never fails, and that is em- bodied in my text. Most of us say the Lord’s Prayer when we pray to be delivered from evil. There 1s n0 greater evil than the quarrels that innihilate friendship, injure health, divide society, destroy trade, set nations one agaist the other and end in war. Where there are so many natural and un avoidable causes for sorrow—separations that are inevitable, deaths that divide us by an inscrutable silence, hopes that are [rus trated, faiths that are enfeebled—why add to them by pride and a stubborn resolve never to acknowledge yourself in the wrong— why let the sun go down upon your wrath? SBA

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for MARCH 1926 urself vill be. as in bance | work, heart either stion, y life- Trance ip the Lofa nvict vic ERGDORF = OODMAN e of been | 616 FIFTH AVENUE | NEW YORK » and lve l, rance | mind j them d to } A coat frock of metal brocade in shades of gold, henna and brown. th a Posed by Miss Gertrude Lawrence and | of Charlot’s Revue. An orig- inal Bergdorf-Goodman model, se The April Harper’s Bazar Presents 3 P The Spring Collections a of the Great Paris Houses = HIS year the Paris spring collec- a tions will be of particular import- ong ance because the mode has become such a | New TORK et highly specialized and subtle thing. Paris aA”: . 2307 Bacal | : peel is in no mood for radical changes, but is Te. 29 WEST 50n SE? = concentrating on the extremely important ; . Fis — details that now distinguish the mode. g By these details you will know the mode of a spring 1926. Harper’s Bazar will present - | them to you clearly and in detail, with a i | definite philosophy behind each change, ont and a clear outline of the mode as a whole. s bs a | If you reserve a copy of the April Harpers | Bazar at your news-stand—now—you will be able to obtain this number.

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158 HARPER’S BAZAR | WHY CLOTHES ARE NOT CHANGING Marjorie Howard’s Article

(Concluded from page 87)

and coq feathers didn't—there you have it. prominent clothes, so that men would not What finally becomes a season’s smart mode _ overlook her altogether. is nowadays a subtle adaptation of an existing We are no ionger afraid of fading into the idea rather than a total break with the pre- mental background, if we wear clothes that ceding ones—a highly civilized condition of do not clash with their physical surroundings affairs, that proves that the whole fashion We do not have to draw attention to our- game has grown up. selves by changing our gowns five times a d:; Ly. For several seasons, ever since the sports That is really why we can afford the luxury of influence became the dominant one in dress, the sports type from morning to night And our attention has been concentrated on —best of all—a short skirt and a jersey keep details without our realizing it. Skirts have us young, in looks as well as spirit. Since the run up, down a little way, and up again war, women have pushed back middle waist-lines have followed, suit-sleeves have at least twenty years. Balzac wrote of the widened and shrunk to nothingness—that is “femme de trente ans’’—to mean what he about all that has happened to the mode since meant, we should have to change the thirty the war. to fifty. : This sort of thing will go on for some time, But if there is e sverything in the world to be until some change, as vital as that of using the said in favor of the present daytime attire automobile as a means of transportation, from the points of view of suitability, youth. takes place in our mode of living. One of the fulness, practicality, and health, it is another most striking examples of the restraint of story in the evening. The sports mode con- fashion by the exigencies of modern life, is trols our sunlight mood as the dance mode found right in the automobile trunk. The directs the lamplight one—that is axiomatic week end habit is very firmly rooted in our Dancing, of course, in the smart crowded lives, and the .eutomabile is inextricably mixed night clubs of metropolitan cities, is almost as up with it. As long as we must carry enough limiting to evening dress as golf is to morning A DRESSMAKING clothes for the activities of three days and clothes. The constricted space alone demands nights in a suit-case or so, we will see to it that a short and slinky style. But I should like to these clothes are such as can be carried with make a plea for a bit of individuality in the INNOVA | ION out too much trouble. Compare the moun- evening, at least in private entertaining tains of wooden cases that used to cascade How I wish that after dark women would be from the station wagons, forty cases to each daring, would raid the archives of costume for of 4mportance to Every “Woman lady, one case ost: ey at the historic visits a mede to suit their souls as well as their ; SERRA ES to Compiégne under the Second Empire. bodies—would ape the Serpent of Old Nile ‘Who *Prizes “Distinction in “Dress Something of the same sort of oe ng is the frivolous An ah of the Court of Versaille happening to our clothes, as has happened to under Louis XV., the polite inanities of the @Q VANGELINE Dressmakers offer for your our brothers’ After the French Revolution, eighties! “Be yourself, * Llong to shout to the €, < - <w, men’s dress began to crystallize into a more Dresden china shephe ‘rdess dressed in a yard approval exclusive Frocks developed in and more rigid convention, until when the _ of scintillating severity instead of the spread silks of exceptional beauty and worth, to create pres¢ y er tailor announces oven ing taffeta billows that her type insistently 3 . . Atal ts | ary change,” it turns out to be a row of demands. And I have even less patience that simplicity which is at once the highest and | stitching a sixteenth of an inch from the with the Oriental enchantress oe dean the most difficult achievement of fashion artistry. | edge of a coat og of an ——. Women’s _ her dark attractions in ingenuous pink chiffon | clothes will never, I think, become as stand- I know that it is fatal to “‘stand out” in the ‘ : ire ardized as that; for the simple reason that the daytime, or in the night club. There, to be Evangeline Frocks are made of silk in | well-dressed man is so often an earner as well conspicuous is to be condemned. But surely fabrics so fine that they need but pws as a spender, while the world over the smart you might wear a gracious trailing robe into rn ¢ : ai woman is still uniquely in the second category. your own paneled dining-room, or a robe de little adornment. ‘ Since the war, however, there is no denying style to your friend’s lovely eighteenth that the tendency has been to give women century salon. Perhaps when we have been Evangeline Frocks are needled with clothes that are less important than them emancipated a little longer, we shall return ‘ : , selves. This, of course, is the result of the — voluntarily, if occasionally, to the restrictions the painstaking care which only a greatly increased importance of women in the that such clothes impose. I think evening fine modiste bestows on her work. scheme of things in general. While she was entertainments will gain much in loveliness i. “chattel” she had to wear impressive and when we do. Yet their exclusiveness of fashion and i al alin design, their loveliness of fabric, their SEVENTEEN wealth of needling are provided at FIFTY TO : = ‘ P- P TWENTY-Five prices which you will immediately THE NEW LINGERIE DOLLARS recognize as unprecedented for ele TAGE 1 ho moderateness. Concluded from page 107) Only one shop in a city is authorized others again are cut with the aoe ay of = away ay’ wear again. It’s the washing that GER ir i tad -¢ lanes and angles that is found in the gown injures them, not the wearing—that is why to show Evangeline Frocks. Write us if you } tiself. That is what Madame Vionnet means almost every one has her fine lingerie dry- cannot find the one in yours. by the relation of dessous to dessus. Another cleaned. Georgette and chiffon are used a model is cut on an entirely new principle, made good deal by others than Madame Vionnet. EVANGELINE DRESSMAKERS of two pieces of deep rose triple voile, and Some unusually smart sets are in pale cofiee NEW YORK embroidered in front with fairy wheat-ears. color, occasionally touched with black. These H Little embroidery is used, on the whole, the look very appropriate in the fitting room, taste of the house running to shadow in- worn with beige stockings and patent-leather } crustations, sometimes in the geometric pumps trimmed with beige lizard, such as the : ; figures associated with its name, and some morning mode so often chooses. — ; times in naturalistic designs, which are the pale tones of flesh and rose are the favor ; also used for delightful table linen ites. Occasionally, a client will prefer or: hid, } Madame Vionnet’s pajamas and desha- faint yellow, or tender sky blue—these are : billes, to give them their French name, are exceptions, just as violent magenta and ; 3 shown in another department; but night- torrid orange are exceptions in the other en i j gowns of several types are included in the _ of the color scale. Black lingerie of a startling : lingerie show. One I particularly liked was transparency finds advocates, especially under q in palest pink crépe, folded over like a sports black evening dresses. skirt, so as to give a comfortable width to One of the problems of the dessous is the its narrow lines It was decorated with the multiplication no ribbons over the shoulder cross of Lorraine in incrustations of the All sorts of people are working on this prob same crépe de Chine. The long-sleeved lem. The jewelers make sightly chains in “shirty”’ type that looks like a frock, in a — gold, silver, or even pearls and diamonds somewhat heavier quality of crépe, is shown with clasps at each end which nip disé reetly for traveling. into the fragile fabrics front and back Linen batiste, quite fine enough for anybody, Molyneux, whose lingerie department always ‘ani is still found in the lingerie collections of the bears watching, uses a silver chain, with ‘a @tcistEned Evangeline ne Dresemakers best makers, but most of their clients prefer bar like an old-fashioned watch guard ‘a triple voile or crépe de Chine because the each end, which is hooked through a thread linen crushes too readily. I know one woman loop worked on the chemise. Some sort of 4 who wears it exclusively, and she has seven strap is essential; elastic tops won't do, tor sets going at once. She wears them in they slip up unless they are tight enough to Because EVANGELINE Dressmakers succession, then has them hung for twenty- stop the circulation. Lingerie life is full . es pees af cciuts diuxaltaded four hours in the fresh air, pressed, and put these little problems. Marjorie Howard. their establishment, the above label is placed in each dress for easy identi- fication! Look for the label! ir. ) _w A 4

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for MARCH 1926 TAMPIC.O Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel Continued from page 63) Chat he had from the past, from Soledad and Estrella, but it would be equally true of, what was her name—Teresita. Her eye- brows, he saw, almost met, her eyes were a dense brown and widely opened, calm. Chepa, who had joined them when a dance was over, was more brilliant but not so hand- some: her chin was deficient, her whole face, except for its color, indefinite. She talked, too, a chatter of local and meaningless trifles; but Teresita was quiet. They were drinking grenadine and water, selecting that for its negative virtues, since they were forced to drink continuously from midnight until morning. Yet it was, Bradier insisted, too sweet: and he ordered chartreuse, amarillo. Teresita acknowledged this with a_ polite murmur, sipped from her glass, and allowed the waiter, when he next returned, to carry it away no more than tasted. She would have the other, she said. Govett Bradier regarded her with an amused frown; all he remarked was that evidently she had her habits ‘If you don’t object,” she replied. TATURALLY he didn’t, he had been I stupid to suggest any change. No, she told him sedately, it was kind of him. An older man in white linen paused by the table, and Teresita rose. ‘“‘With your permission? she was addressing Bradier. But, of course. Adam Deas rose to dance with Chepa, and Soledad stopped for a moment in an empty chair, for a moment her hand rested on his. “Tt was better . .. then,” she proceeded. “Vet it doesn’t do to be romantic. Every- thing is very well as it is. Govett, you woul I never decidedly care for a girl, never. He looked at her seriously. ‘‘Why do you say that?”” She drew up her shoulders. “It isn’t in you. I know. You would never, at your heart, get away from the other, the oil.” But she wasn’t satisfied with that. the! S yourself you can’t forget, the pride i in your power.” “Vou might be still thinking about the past,” he suggested. But she told him that in some things there was no past. Besides, she added, that wasn’t very nice of him. “Why, Govett, you are annoyed, and at Soledad, after so long.” He denied this sharply. “I don’t know if lama little sorry for you or not,”’ she continued. ‘‘You miss a great deal, certainly. I’m ignorant but I understand love. Yes, Govett, you have rever been in love—well, you liked me, for a while—and you will never be. I am telling you for your good, for with all your experience you don’t understand a woman. You have been fortunate with them, you know what is on the outside, but no more; and if a woman, not a girl like I was, loves you, it will mean unhappiness. There your power won ’t help you. A greater power, do you see! Women are deeper than hell.’ He had never heard her make a longer speech, and to such little purpose. Soledad didn’t, for example, realize how well he compre she “nde d he f. It might have been that she read his thought. ‘A woman in a different world from this, she particularized; “that is, you will think she is diferent. until the knife is in you. He nodded pleasantly; there was no use, he had learned long before, in contradicting her. Instead he watched the dancing. On the floor before the orchestra there was a receptacle, with an opening in the shape of a horn; and when the musicians thought it advisable they stopped playing until the near- by men had thrown enough money into the box to satis sfy them. They had stopped, Bradier noticed, twice now when Deas was close to them: he was dropping gold in the horn. Deas was, then, drunk. S' MLEDAD had left him, and when Chepa and her partner returned Bradier asked if he intended to make it possible for the musicians to retire after that night. \dam Deas laid a stack of gold pieces on the table. “All yellow,” he said. “ wouldn’t bother with the white. I just paid a man seven hundred pesos I owed and I have a great deal left.’ Bradier remembered Deas was like that— when he came into Tampico with money he left again for the fiel 1, almost at once, with nothing. It was useless to try to keep some for him. Bradier looked about the room and then got up; he moved across the open floor to a table where five men were sitting without girls, “J am Govett Bradier, of the Alianza Company,” he said. They rose quickly, familiar with his reputation, pleased. “No, can’t sit, it’s this—get some one who knows Adam Deas to borrow a thousand pesos from him until to-morrow.” That, they asserted in concert, was the easiest thing imagin: able; they understood Bradier’s purpose thoroughly and thanked him. When he returned Teresita was back i in her Place, and he asked her, not seriously, ‘‘ Did you think I was gone? She studied him with a brief gravity. “How could I know?” she asked. “Well, I am here still.” That, he saw, puzzled her. It was obvious that he was there. Troubled, she would be trying to dis- cover any one of twenty meanings in his wholly empty speech. Finally she accepted it as humor and smiled courteously. Through this Deas was not progressing with Chepa, he kept telling her loudly how much money he had and how freely he in- tended to spend it, if, in her, he struck pay; facts that, since she clearly didn’t like him, had no significance for her. She rose, with a murmured phrase, and joined some young Mexicans. ‘‘They all keep a chulo,” Deas declared; ‘‘that’s where our oil goes. Bradier glanced keenly at Teresita, but if she had lied to him, if she understood Eng- lish. there was no trace of comprehension on her face. Deas added that he wasn’t afraid of any stinking Mexican in the monte or on the street. A chulo was a chulo. Teresita was now interested; she was, Bradier recognized, offended. ‘That is an ugly word,” she remarked disdainfully She made a motion of rising and he was required to ask her to dance. They danced beautifully, these girls, he told himself; but he was obliged to admit that she was easily superior to Soledad, to any of his memories. “You should be a professional, on the stage, and not in a café like the Bolivar. It needed money, she replied reasonably, and influence. ‘‘No one, who might do it, has been interested in me. Chepa is better liked.”” She looked up at him, through eye- lashes extraordinarily long and black; but she had meant no more than her simple state- ment expressed. Her eyelashes were now lying against her young dark cheek; her dancing was absolutely impersonal. He assured her that she was far more en- gaging than her friend; but she heard him in- attentively; the practical facts, her manner conveyed, were against him. And, since he had no intention of offering her the least evi- dence to the contrary, he fell silent. Then she surprised him, powdering her face she gave his nose a scented dab. HAT he realized, with Teresita, was a spectacular advance; it conveyed a very great deal. He hadn’t at all expected it; and he remembered what Soledad had said to him about women. They were, certainly, often unaccountable: there were no apparent intelligent reasons for their swiftly changing attitudes. A suggestion of perfume came from the powder on his nose. Women’s actions were either without order or the 2y were moved by primary impulses hidden in the multiplying superficialities of present society. Like the roots of a tree, a tulipan, bearing red and pink and white flowers. Teresita preceded him to their table; Deas had gone, he was with five men Bradier had spoken to; and a younger—he was with the Agwi Company—stopped. His name, he reminded Bradier, was Moreland. He took a chair, there were fresh copitas, and he re- cited the intimate course of late Tampico events. Then, “Charlie Ambrose brought in a sixty thousand barrel well. Tuesday, last week. In the north field, outside Po- trero de la Isleta.’’ Govett Bradier recalled the locality. Ambrose was in the Bolivar, and Moreland indicated him—a young man with a strongly marked face leaning forward with his elbows on the table. ‘It’s funny how things come about. Do you see the girl playing at the traps?” She was tall, with a small well-carried head and nicely proportioned features. ‘Well, Charlie Ambrose liked her a lot, and when he had any money he came up here to see her. But he never had much and that didn’t last and so it wasn’t very often. “T think he was crazy enough to want to marry her, but she’d be too sensible for that. Well, Saturday night, late, a gauger arrived from Tixpam, a right persuasive gauger . and on Tuesday Charlie’s well came in. Mr. Bradier, you know Tampico, what will hap- pen. She’s going to sit with the new one now.” The girl had left the orchestra and was de- liberately moving to a place in a corner of the room. ‘The gauger looks able enough,” Bradier commented. ‘But probably he’ll be gone by a week and Ambrose will have another He’s not quite alone now.” A girl had sat with the successful prospector. “You ought to be right, but I have an idea you’re not,” Moreland permitted himself a polite difference of opinion. ‘“‘Ana has been trying to get him back, and that’s very ir- regular.” However, Bradier reflected, he had little interest in the affairs of Ambrose and Ana and the capable gauger. It was, he discovered, past two o'clock; time for him to return to the Imperial. Yet he lingered, telling himself (Continued on page 160) Just one of the many charm- ing Beaucraft offerings for the coming season, 1s this dis- tinctive three piece costume of Beaucraft kilda cloth. Austill all over embroidery is used most effectively on both blouse and coat. William Bloom & Coa. Incorporated 136 Madison Avenue * New York 159

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160 LP Hollander Co ESTABLISHED 1848 PARISIAN IDEAS and ORIGINALS SUITS, COATS WRAPS LINGERIE SPORTS CLOTHES HATS 552 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK CITY 202 BOYLSTON STREET BOSTON ‘ HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 159) that he would never be in the Bolivar, a part of this easy life, again. It had given him, in years perhaps well lost, great pleasure and support. The years before the malaria! He thought this inadvertently, discarding the implication that the fever had divided his existence. The Bolivar, Teresita, really belonged to his younger, unattac hed, days. oa gazed at his companion, touched with melancholy at the feeling that he’d lose her dark charm forever. The powder on his nose, the perfume, had vanished. In a way she was his youth, or rather a symbol of it; in her he saw what, once, had moved him, what he had desired and fought for and possessed. She would get older, too—very quickly in Mexico—but there would be other Teresitas, other Govett Bradiers, in new fields of oil. The people were changing, men like Paradice and nice women were increasing. Both a gain and a loss, for it was doubtful if, as conditions grew more secure, men improved. To a degree they stopped being men when they became citizens. Danger was a great cor- rective, danger and a brutal toiling and re- sponsibility. God knew he had met—yes, and managed—all that; he had earned the safety and immeasurable happiness before him. OTHING, apparently, interrupted Tere- sita’s silent calm. She drank grenadine syrup and water, smoked ceaselessly, with a detachment that might have been the result of a deep mental preoccupation. It wasn’t, of course. Probably she was merely tired. He would never know never see her again. Bradier could conceive of another state in which he would have regretted that. The present, in Teresita at least, didn’t suffer in comparison with the romantic past. He began to be interested in the fact that she stirred no response in him whatever; this, more clearly than anything else, showed him how completely, how admirably, different he had become. Both Charlie Ambrose and Ana were danc- ing, but not, as it had ironically turned out, together. Ambrose kept a lowered gaze, his lips were pinched; but whenever Ana passed him, Bradier saw, she followed him surrep- titiously with her eyes. Teresita had re- rolled a Mexican cigaret, which she gave to him; and the black pungent tobacco recov ered its place in the train of his memories. He must go back to the hotel, but first he wanted to make Teresita a present. They were, again, alone; and he took a hundred dollars in American paper currency from his pocket. Folding it into a small yellow wad he gave it to her. “If you don’t mind.” She held the money without opening it. “Why?” she demanded. “You see, I am not coming back. you to have it. to re member me that.” She gazed at the wade led paper at Govett Bradier. she told him positively. He was, at this, annoy ed. “We can’t very well argue about it. Teresita was serious. ‘“‘I will see you again, here.” She held the money out to him. “Take it and give it to me then. Keep it for me.” The impulse to argue with her came over him, to force her to accept the money. It was a ridiculous situation: Bradier wanted to leave a hundred dollars at the Bolivar. But, at the same time, he recognized that Teresita wouldn’t accept it now. I'd like you to have it,”’ he repeated vainly. *‘No.” “Very well,” he agreed, returning the sum » his pocket; “it was to be yours and I A.A you.” She replied, “T will buy a black lace dress with a gold tissue girdle and gold on the hem.” What Bradier said was in English; it was, “Like hell!’ He was standing up, preparing to leave, when he saw that Ambrose, dancing, had stumbled over a chair pushed carelessly out from a table; in recovering Ambrose came squarely into Ana and the oil gauger. There was a perceptible pause around them; Charlie Ambrose stepped back and the girls faced each other. Ana was contemptuous, the other defiant; Bradier couldn’t hear what they said, but he did see Ana’s hand slip under her skirt . . . a short bright metallic flash in the air. But Ambrose was _ remarkably quick—he held Ana’s wrist, her knife, in a powerful and rigid grasp. Her rage turned, directed upon him, and as Bradier watched, with her free hand she dug Ambrose’s face into glistening scarlet furroughs. He cursed, dropping her, and, as he drew his hands up to the hurt, she struck at him. The knife cut his shoulder, superficially; then, sharply, she fell limply against the chair and over the floor. Blood gathered slowly along Ambrose’s jaw and fell in slow rich drops. ‘I guess I hit her,’’ he said, his voice trou- I'd like But not because I want you you needn't bother about and then “You will come back,’ bled, looking around. “I could have taken the knife from her just as easy. He stooped over her, regardless of conse- quences: the gauger hit him across the back of the head with a heavy empty beer bottle His fall gave the impression that he had knelt by Ana and then, from sheer sorrow, col lapsed. Teresita’s face was blank; her fingers, holding a cigaret, rested lightly and firmly on the table. A quick excited crowding hid the floor from them, and then Bradier saw Jimeno pointing to the dressing-room behind the orchestra. “In there.’ Tere- sita said at last, contemptuously, “Ana is not very skilful.” As he was borne past, Ambrose’s face was a very bad color, his eyes were open and dulled. ‘Adios,’ Govett Bradier said rather too hastily. RADIER wished that he had pl: ae 1 to go directly to the sea terminal; he had nothing to say to George K. yell io ntz could say nothing that could interest him. Then he would have been at Chorreras by noon. How strange it would be for him to be inactive there, sitting on the veranda of Corew’s house. No administrative troubles, If any one came to him he would know noth- ing about his problems, but refer them to Mr. Corew; he’d pretend that he didn’t know a section of pipe-line from a distillate tank. Particularly he would stay away from Zaca- mixtle; he might have a glance at the new developments but not at the town. Bradier got a grim amusement from the difference between Zacamixtle and the town so lately in his mind. ALKING to the general offices for Mexico of the Alianza Oil Corporation Bradier thought again of his months in New York: the small glass and mahogany en- closures, their doors precisely lettered with names in gold-leaf; the intent, silent-footed clerks, the arrogant stenographers with sleepy eyes and incredibly quick hands, were all so admirable in a conventional way. There was a nice order over that scene—the regular return, through the week, of men and women with regular duties to perform; the atmosphere striven for was both cheerful and earnest; every one was supposed to be first devoted to his or her work, and after that . but all the employees of the Alianza C ompany were local. They were well paid, in their several grades of ability, and they had sufficient hours and days of leisure. Behind the perfection of the offices, the smooth exteriors of the executives, the balanced printed reports, the patriotic assur- ances, were hidden the remarkable power and energy of afew men. There was, of course, no necessity for the public to know the truth, Bradier had no kind of interest in the public, no belief in the general value of truth; what engaged him were the remorseless forces working in corporations and men under the blandest of coverings, the private setting aside of loudly heralded and unnatural moralities. The entrance to the Alianza offices in Tampico was at a broad flight of steps from the street; within, at a wooden railing barring out the casual, the gate tender didn’t know him: he pushed forward a block of paper and pencil. But moving impatiently on Bradier ignored him; he proceeded down a wide tiled corridor under a high ceiling and unceremo- niously entered an office on his left. There he was instantly recognized. Yes, Mr. Lentz was in and of course he would see Mr. Bradier at once. Mr. Paradice had telephoned from the terminal that Mr. Bradier had arrived safely The office regarded him with an expectant interest: when he had come in formerly—no oftener than he was forced to—there was always a mutter and stir of events. He was conscious that the office-holders, small and great, were uneasy with him, both because his importance to the company was so large and his powers undefined. He had frequently been in surprising bad humors which he took no pains to hide; he had the habit of making highly unreasonable demands at no notice at all; and he upset the company accounts, the methodical clerks, by taking away incon- venient sums of money for unexplained purposes. George K. Lentz, who was sitting at an impressive and almost bare table, rose to greet him. He then brought a chair close beside his, and, with a hand on Bradier’s shoulder, forced him to sit. “I feel easier when you are in Mexico,” Lentz asserted; “even if I don’t when you are in the office. Mexico, Bradier reflected, was powerless to change Lentz; he was, he would always be, the model of a conservative New York man of large affairs. There was no trace of the tropics in his clothes—his gray suit and highly polished black shoes, the rigidly correct collar and faultless waistcoat, the gold chain across his slightly increased stomach, belonged to the (Continued on page 161)

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— for MARCH 1926 TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 160) best tradition of Wall Street. Bradier never nbered him in white linens or with a soft collar, nor even with tan shoes; and his short mustache, his features familiar in innumer- able men like him, the way his hair took the brush, supported and stamped as authentic his whole successful air. “TE YOU want a lot of figures we can give I them to you,”’ Lentz told him. “I must sav that my interest is turning away from the south field to the north. The Transcontinental is very busy through Cacalilao, and you'll have heard of the well Charlie Ambrose brought in. He was badly hurt at the Bolivar last night.” was characteristic of Tampico, speci of the oil companies—they were quickly informed of all the happenings that might now or later be connected with their enterprises in the city. Bradier said nothing. Lentz then asked him to come out to the Colonia del Aguila and, while he was in Tampico, stay with him “Charlotte would like it—you know how attracted women are by men they don’t at all approve of.” But Bradier explained that he was going on at once to the sea terminal. For a perceptible space there was silence, ind then Lentz said, “I don’t believe you will stay long down there, it’s getting less and less valuable. It isn’t exhausted, naturally, and we keep being hopeful; but when you begin to see the end it’s time to be looking somewhere else. The Mexicans are out of control, too, with Pel4ez turned respectable I wouldn’t advise even you to go about too freely. Govett Bradier wanted to reply that he didn’t need advice about the Mexicans of the State of Vera Cruz; Lentz had never offered him any before; it was outside his usual care ful attitude. He answered, “* Probably Corew will take me for a vuelta through the Zaca- mixtle Valley.” ‘T wanted to have something for the Corews while they were in Tampico, but there wasn’t an opportunity,’’ Lentz continued. “They always had engagements in the English colony. Mrs. Corew is a very remarkable woman, the reverse of commonplace. But I’m a little uncomfortable with her, she’s so cool; I have a feeling that nothing I say in- terests her. She certainly doesn’t do much to help Corew, I mean in the way women usually do down here, with parties and dinners anc small attentions.”” Govett Bradier was selecting a cigar from the box Lentz had laid on the table. ‘‘As a fact,” the careful voice went on, “I don’t think she likes Mexico. There’s no music for her nor the women she'd like. She must be lonely at Chorreras.”’ ‘Perhaps,”’ Bradier said; “‘but she is a woman of character; she’d never let you know I imagine she has a great many resources in herself.” She would need them, Lentz asserted. “‘ Any American woman would here. I shouldn't want to bring a young and pretty wife to Mexico; I'd be afraid of losing her. The tropics are a poison, that way. We have both seen it. I suppose it’s the steady heat and the young unattached men—they’ll get their pleasures where they can find them.” ‘You know my opinion of all that,” Bradier replied: ‘“‘I was never very private about preferring the Union. Paradice seemed to think that Corew looked troubled.” Lentz turned directly, facing him. “Bradier, I have avoided discussing Corew for a reason you well know—you had him put in charge of the sea terminal. It was worked from New York, but at your suggestion. I have never been fool enough to question your decisions in this country, but I’ve been tempted to about Corew. He did look like the devil and he’s in a devil of a state . . . but what over I couldn’t discover. Perhaps you may. And now I'll say this—in my opinion he’s no more fit for Chorreras than his wife. He hasn’t got the temperament, Bradier. This isn’t a criticism of your judgment. I’m just curious to find out your purpose. It would help me a lot to know.” (5' WETT BRADIER was _ thoughtfully silent. “To begin with,” he replied finally, “I didn’t make him superintendent at Chor- reras; what you've forgotten are his ‘connec- tions, I mean social as well as financial; there has always been a determination in the com- pany to advance him; and they wanted him to see as much of the Mexican situation as possible before they brought him back North. I’m inclined to agree with you that it isn’t the best place in the world for him; but two or three years won’t hurt him, and he won’t hurt the work he gets. I'l say this in addition; I ris be Spent for the result at the sea ermina ‘ Lentz objected that that wasn’t desirable. “We don’t want to pay men and have you do their work. We can’t have any dead issues down here, and God damn their social im- Portance. If he’s going to be carried up in a gold chariot, like that man in the Bible, New York’s the place for the ascension.” ‘** Preston Corew isn’t a dead issue,” Bradier informed him; “he’s the most highly trained and intelligent man we have in Mexico. And he’ll carry the load of an Indian’s burro. [ll tell you his drawback in three words—he’s too honest. It’s a disease with him; and I told the directors that when they asked me about his suitability.” Lentz persisted. “‘But didn’t you advise them to give him the Chorreras terminal?” Bradier exploded, “‘ Jesus Christ, what does it matter! If you get like the rest of Tampico I won’t believe in anything. But vou haven't stopped buying your cigars in Havana; that’s a small but comfortable fact.” George K. Lentz replied by saying that he would have a box wrapped for Bradier to take with him. He asked, “ How long will you be in Mexico?” Bradier wasn’t certain; not a month; and he wouldn’t be in Tampico again except to get on the train; he’d have no time to waste going back in a tanker. Lentz, he recognized, together with all the others of their local sphere, was consumed with curiosity about his purpose in coming at all. He could only repeat to himself that it would be public as hell soon enough. “Of course,’’ Lentz added, “if you have any special information about Preston Corew, if he’s going to be made a vice-president to morrow, you really ought to warn me.” He spoke lightly, but his intent was serious Bradier disclaimed all special knowledge of what immediate plans the Alianza Petroleum Corporation might have for Corew. Lentz, he added, was flattering him. “Well, then, tell me this, it’s much more important—what about yourself? There area thousand rumors. Bradier, will you come back to Mexico? Do you want to and would it be wise after the malaria? You see, we heard of the recurrences North.” Govett Bradier spoke with an unmistakable emphasis. ‘It would be safe for me to stay here, but I don’t want to. I will keep on with oil, I couldn’t do anything else, but in a semi independent way, maybe in Asia and maybe in South America.” It seemed to his acutest sensibilities that Lentz was relieved at this. He showed no sign of an undue interest; his face was com posed, appropriately sympathetic; but Bradier was conscious of a minute relaxation in the figure, the mind, before him. He rose and a boy brought him the box of cigars, neatly wrapped. ‘Thank you for stopping,” Lentz said, “and remember what I said about being careful. The condi tions and natives have changed in Vera Cruz; they’re not what you knew. And don’t be lieve all you hear from our men; they would prefer Zacamixtle to the difficulties of dev elop ing a new field.” Bradier’s exasperation returned and he told Lentz that no living man could advise him about Chorreras and the country, the people, back of it. Back in his room he sat heavily on a chair: it was time for him to go to the wharf, take the Celia for the sea terminal, but he didn't move. Almost at once, he told himself, he'd get on. The heat, until he was again accus tomed to it, must necessarily affect him unpleasantly, make him dizzy. Every one was dizzy now and then in the (fierra caliente. What a nuisance Lentz had been . . with his endless questioning. He was just another cursed business man, obvious and concerned about small things—what the men above him thought and in the tying of his necktie. At last he rang, and asked to have his bags taken down. HE Celia, for a comparatively fast boat, was not uncomfortable. Settled in his place, leaving the dock and Tampico, Bradier was greatly relieved. It was, for one thing, cooler close to the surface of the water, moving through it with a gathering speed. He was finished with Tampico, and the last, the most significant, part of his journey had begun. An unlooked-for sense of pleasure in the country around him invaded Bradier; he surveyed it with an entire recognition and pride. A great deal of what had happened there he had made possible. He had been important at Tampico, but at Chorreras, once, he’d been omnipotent. His reputation with the Mexicans had been equal to those of the bandit leaders; there were as many legends about him; his actions and peculiari- ties were as volubly passed from cantina to cantina. There had been a concerted interest, more than once, in killing him, but that was a form of flattery, the acknowledgment of his power. Bradier didn’t blame any one for it; it was his responsibility to remain alive. The adventurous past! But if the past were that, the present was incredibly romantic it might well be not less dangerous. And now the incentive was far greater than oil, it was the greatest known to men. His thoughts struggled to free themselves from a difficult (Continued on page 162) CA new name reared upon an old foundation nierprelng and creating Sportswear of ‘established Standards in quality — and mode with new — ‘S$ Meee v ee wy set's HE oe v cn wt spirit 6 enthusiasm SANzZO 6 SQUSCHn 2% SUCCESSORS TO S-HEIM’S SONS N° Y : inc 136 MADISON ~AVE ‘ NEW YORK ZURICH - “PARIS - LONDON * +

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Perhaps both Preston and Vida Corew would be waving to him as the launch came up to where the Transcontinental narrow gauge railway crossed the canal, the end of its journey. Bradier rearranged his necktie— he was as bad as Lentz—and put on the linen coat he had laid over the chair beside him. The Corews’ daughter, Gille, would be a much bigger child than he 4 membered—three and a half and a year and a half why, she was five years old. His thoughts turned to children, realized that he knew nothing about them; where they were concerned he had no dis- cernible feeling. And now he had no special desire for children; the image of a son held no sentimental power over him: Bradier had no urgent wish for a possible prolongation of his own difficult experience in life. and he HE: saw that he had arrived at Chorreras; a little group was waiting for him by the upright hoists for the section of track which lay across the water. Bradier recognized Preston Corew, thin, with his — hair disarranged; the terminal doctor, Galbraith, was there, and he saw Captain Pine, one of the mooring masters. Vida was not present. Corew met him first; and, with a quick scrutiny, Bradier realized what Paradice had meant by saying that he looked deviled. Corew had never turned brown under the sun, he remained a bright, almost an inflamed, red; and that made his intensely blue eyes peculiarly vivid in their concentrated gaze. There was an instant's hesitation before he spoke or put out his hand, and then he grasped Govett Bradier’s palm in a short adequate salutation. “You got here,’ Corew remarked. “As soon as it was known you were coming the whole tone of the terminal changed. Every one was smarter by a half.” Bradier spoke to Galbraith and Pine. To the latter he said, “I see you haven’t been drowned in the surf vet.” Doctor Galbraith studied You found it hot in Tampico. Bradier acknowledged the truth of this. “But it didn’t bother me. Though I must say I was glad to get out of the city. This was my locality.” His bags had been put on land, were carried to a waiting gasoline rail car. There would have to be two trips, Corew explained, and Galbraith and he would go on with Mr. Bradier. The car wouldn't start promptly, and Corew dragged savagely at a lever. “The tropics is still the tropics,” the doctor observed. They went forward suddenly, with a noisy series of explosions, and imme diately Bradier came in sight of the long flat panorama of the sea terminal laid against the wider expanse of the Gulf, the pumping station with its flight of thin stacks at one end and the row of uniform concrete dwellings at the other. Signal flags were flying from the masts above the marine building and two tank ships were being filled at their berths. There again was the long broad beach with the salt water meeting it in a scarcely perceptible ripple and the eternal gulls. It was all comparatively Bradier’s memories of it were eight hundred men laying the pipe-line from the wells to the Gulf; the American foremen, the ditchers and painters and brush cleaners . and, perhaps, a rival company stringing its pipe along the same brecha. That had been during the bitter competition, the fabulous price of oil, of the war in Europe He could hear the sledges tapping the iron pipes to settle the joinings Corew interrupted mental picture: “I’m sorry, we had to put you in a house with some of the younger men, but of course you'll have a room for yourself. We couldn't have done that, with only three bedrooms; Vida took one for sewing and Gille to play oe He ae with his eyes directed at the ahe: id . Bradier re plied, woul 1 have chose n. he remembered him; tall and him sharply. and they placid, but very different his was exactly what he Corew was thinner than his face, scorched by the sun, was drawn at his eyes and about the mouth; but his mouth, as ever, was firm. In his informal field clothes he bore himself for exactly what he was—a man of refinement aad choice birth. Yet neither, it happened, were of importance in the operations at Chorreras, Bradier admitted that to himself. Corew’s interests were primarily technical, he was absorbed in theories. He could have designed the sea terminal far better than Bradier, but making it a reality . that was not quite the same. He was a type of man that George K. Lentz would have inescapably misunderstood and disliked for the contemptuous of the issues of mere business, unable either to offer or easily meet famil- iarity, and never forgetful of the significance of his background and person. Bradier desc ribed Corew to himself as a man of honor “Vida was busy,” Preston Corew said after a pause. “TI was to tell you, if it was neces- sary, that you were coming to dinner.’ Bradier walked slowly, thoughtfully, over a path to the house where he was to st: Ly. One of the younger men, so tall and broad that he quite filled the doorway, greeted him. “You don’t know me, Mr. Bradier, vet I’m Deleker, and I have charge of this end of the lake transportation. The others are out. He was from Texas, Bradier saw, and wore a spectacular sombrero with a plaited silver band. The room into which he was led had four white painted iron beds, higher than ordinary above the floor, each with a neatly rolled gray blanket and a suspended mosquito pavion. There were two chests of drawers that bore simple toilet necessities and the photographs of girls in elaborate and tarnished frames; a table was heaped with maps, hand- books, binoculars, tobacco tins, pipes, and lunch boxes; there were two crude wooden chairs; and a corner was hung with a piece of flowered chintz to form a closet. The bath’s across the hall,” Deleker informed him. “hank you, perhaps I can find it—T built these houses,” Bradier answered. He hoped, immediately after, that he hadn’t soundel ill-natured. The boy was very cordial, anxious to please him. “Well, I should remark,’ he exclaimed: “we all know what you built here. I won't tell you where the dining-room is and what the Chinos think if you’re late. But we do hope in our house you'll have some time to talk to us. He was, after all, rather voluble, Bradier was relieved when he left. to be dinner. H&« UNPACKED his bag and laid out fresh white linens, a silk shirt with an attached collar, and the other incidentals of dressing; and then he went for a bath. It was all familiar—the gray concrete floor always wet from the spray of the shower or a broken pipe, and the stationary basin with a single spigot for cold water. However, it was comfortable, easy, in the manner of a house without women; it was possible to be abso- lutely unconfined, natural. His towels were new and stiff, and, from long habit, he loudly cursed the absent China boy. Bradier dressed slowly while the day faded swiftly from the glimmering Gulf and sloping sand. Exploring in a bag he found a bottle of brandy and poured a notable drink into an inappropriate glass. He let it stand until his dressing was finished and then took the brandy at a gulp. Bradier found that he was very nervous; and, annoyed at this. looking at his watch, he walked decisively from the house and He wanted alone, to collect his faculties, before HE hall of the house occupied by the Corews—it was a room, really—except for a book in burnished blue cloth and two in vellum gave no indication of who might be in possession of it. The furniture and walls were innocent of arrangement and bare of person- ality; the straight chairs stood straightly where they happened to be, the ornamental cloth on a table was too large and hung in awkward folds almost to the floor, there were curtains at one window and not at another. There was literally nothing to prepare Govett Bradier for the appearance, through the most ordinary of doorways, of Vida Corew. He was startled—he hadn’t realized how extra- ordinary she would be at Chorreras, any- where; he had forgotten most of her un- common charm. She stopped for a moment, regarding him with a look of satisfaction and inquiry; a thin graceful woman with a brown face and luminous amber-colored eyes, and hair cut closely as a boy’s, that, at the edges, showed a dark metallic redness. She had, at first, the air of a slender boy clad in the incidentals of a woman; but closer that illusion was quickly dispelled. Bradier had not realized that she was at once so vigorous and so delicate; his gaze, it seemed, became tangled in the ribbons of her slippers, tied in white bows on her round insteps; it was taken away from them by her shoulders, as brown and round above her sheer whiie dress as polis hed coffee berries; his gaze returne 1 to her face ‘‘Govett,” she said, and she came forward, half of the way toward him. As she drew nearer a disturbance increased in him like a dread: she was so dangerously potential. as though she were molded from a perfume I nitroglycerin. A smile in which tenderness was mocked by irony moved the set scarlet of her lips. “Govett?” Bradier looked quickly about, (Continued on page 163)

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for MARCH 1926 TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 162) h with an arm about her, he kissed her mouth. They separated immediately, Vida Corew stood by the table with the ill- fitting cover and he was at the entrance from the veranda: the kiss had actually, physically, clung to him; without thought he brushed at it, and found an odorous red stain on his hand. It was like the seal, the guarantee of validity, of what had happened. Without it he could hardly have believed that he had kissed Vida, that he was with her again. ‘\ year and a ha he was speaking; once | thought I was finished.” Bradier wanted to tell her that he had only lived to return to her, but he was shy of saying so much, of taking that much, actually faced by her, for granted. He couldn’t credit what his memory held and assured him. She was so very much more—more impressive, desirable, than even his dearly cherished mental picture of her had showed. Bradier was confused by the perfection of her finish; then by the sharply apprehended fact that she was a woman. “I’m as thin as when you left me,” she went on, lightly; “‘but I would stay like that here. It’s strange—I don’t hate Chorreras the way I did. There is something hidden in the monte that’s rather insistent.” He gave her a swift apprehensive glance. “But imagine telling you, Govett, about Vera Cruz. Perhaps I stood it better when I knew that you would be able to come back. It was dreadful to see you go; that way; just then. I discovered, for the first time, that I did own a heart; a heart, that was, I could give .. . to you. , Her voice was so cool, so even, that it didn’t seem possible he had heard her cor- rectly. “‘You did give it to me, then?” She nodded, “‘Or else I needed that long to find out you had it.” Her voice was deliberate, remorseless; she gave every accent and syllable of her feeling for him a measured, a wilful, calmness infinitely more stirring than the emphasis of passion.

“ HE doubt and confusion were leaving him, but their place was not being noticeably filled by calmness. Vida said, “I forgot—Preston left word he was sorry, at the last minute he was called away, to Toteco. That’s the Huasteca Company, isn’t it?” She was seated, and, bending over her, he kissed her again, leaving none of the paint on her lips. Instinctively, with a private smile, she made up her mouth again. Bradier, watching her, wondered at her seductiveness: her ankles, the defined slim shape of her knees, the turn of her arms, in themselves were delightful incentives. Motionless, her body was more compelling than more beautiful bodies in movement. No other woman he had ever seen was so potent. ‘That’s too bad,” he replied convention- ally, his mind returning to Preston Corew, absent. “No,” she corrected him, “it isn’t. If he hadn't gone it would have been very stupid. I mean, with what we had to say at once, and no opportunity."” When she spoke of Corew her voice was absolutely colorless; its utterly negative quality gave it a positive, an ines- capable, inference. “IT haven’t an intention of lying about Preston,” she warned him; “and now I’m almost done with lying to him. But he’s been in no doubt of my attitude. I couldn’t have had that. It was bad enough when I wasn’t sure one way or the other.” Her voice was cruel in its evenness Govett Bradier, still standing beside her, took one of her hands. ‘He can be told whenever you say . to-night.” But she didn’t want that. ‘To-morrow, after dinner; you will want to look around, and the other would spoil your pleasure.” He changed this, saying that the other was all his pleasure. A premonitory wave of passion swept over him, brought about by her closeness to him, the touch of her hand. “T don’t want to wait for you any longer.” It was like a low cry. “I put off death and now I want you. Don’t you see, everything else has gone.”’ She gazed up at him with a still face, the amber of her eyes had darkened, they were almost gray; only that, and her breast, her troubled breathing, showed she had heard him, that she responded. “I can’t—can’t believe it,’ he said, stammering. ‘‘When I started for Chorreras, left New York, I wouldn’t even let myself think of you. It got so that it didn’t seem real. It was incredible. And then to see you! Only a minute or two ago, when you said you didn’t mind it here I was afraid of what might follow .. . about you and Preston. I thought perhaps you had decided to stay with him, keep things as they were.” The decision in her voice cut like a knife at the facts of their lives. “That was ridiculous. You ought to know me better. Nothing could make me sorry; things aren’t What they were. You have made them different. “ Never the same again. A Chinese house boy, looking—the an- tithesis of Vida—perversely feminine with his queue in a coiled black pile on his head, announced dinner. And, intent on the avocado in his clear soup, Govett Bradier was invaded by a sensation of acute happiness: he was having dinner with Vida in a setting at once exotic and familiar. He could look up and see her; she was a part with him, of their intimate scene. Bradier had thought of this, looked forward to it, for a long while; and here it was, fulfilled and perfect in every imagined detail. He didn’t, now, want anything more than the peace in the lighted candles Vida had brought from’ Tampico. He wished time would stand still, that the dinner wouldn’t progress but remain stationary, delightful and unconsumed. T WAS exactly right that they didn’t talk —all that, too, could wait, the discussion of the serious course lying immediately before them He couldn’t, after all, decide whether it were the temporary calm of their situation that entranced him or the menace, both outside and in. He used to think that he was never fully alive except in places of danger. Vida certainly made the present moment amazingly alluring, she was so civilized, so remarkably ornamental, with her hair close above her ears and a string of small pearls doubly pale on the darkness of her throat. There were some glittering jeweled bracelets on her arm, her watch was bound on her wrist by a band of pearls. Conscious that he was committing a mental vulgarity he told himself that she was an entirely fashionable woman. He was glad of that, aside from its superficial advan- tages, for he guessed that fashionable women were nicely hard. That would be necessary for Vida, their plans. Such women, he silently proceeded, were careless of public opinion; they had kept from the aristocratic past an indifference to what it had held was an inferior humanity. Damn it, it amounted to no more than this, that every one took what he could get! They were selfish as well— this was clear in Vida—and that was necessary for any escape from the sheer weak weight of people. But more than that, the best of all, they understood pleasure and the acts, the appear- ances, of attraction. Bradier hated prudish women. He liked to think of the fine scented powders and rare perfumes that Vida used; even at the sea terminal her stockings were gossamer. It wasn’t necessary for her to be pleasant, to have what was recognized by a majority as a good disposition. God knew he had no such thing. In her own way her attitude toward life and people was quite like his; she made no attempt to hide her aloofness from one and consequent disregard of the other. Women who lived for pleasure. Mostly, naturally, they didn’t find it; the greater part of their lives was spent in a more or less complete disillusion, but that didn’t affect their bearing. None of this, from the point of morality, of humanity, was praise- worthy; they were, really, directly immoral; but they had their special, invaluable, virtues —sensuous charm, freedom, and courage. He had always preferred decorative women to softer amiable individuals; he wanted nothing purely utilitarian from them; his feeling for children he had clarified for himself “What’s going on in your head?” Vida demanded. He told her that he was thinking how much, at bottom, they were alike. She agreed with him. ‘It’s nonsense,’ she added, “‘to suppose that only people who are different should live together. If you were I couldn’t bear you. Even Preston, and I am leaving him, is quite the same. I mean in small things; that was what you meant, wasn’t it? The others, that are considered to be so impressive, don’t too much count. Not altogether.” He replied, when you spoke.” However, that didn’t engage her. “But of course; I’m talking about those who are possible, after all. The thing is, Govett, there isn’t a great deal worth being afraid of. I always seem to be telling you what you know so much better yourself. I can’t help it and I’m not going to apologize again. ‘Look at what dreadful things men, yes, and women, have tried to do to you, and you were hardly ever even hurt. It’s what you thought of them that gave them what power they had. And me, I ought to be afraid of what’s going to happen to us— perhaps it will ruin Preston, I don’t believe it—but I’m not. I’m not regretful. It’s all so simple, I don’t want to live with him and I do with you. God knows that’s clear enough. I couldn’t keep on with him, could I? But we’ve been over that before. I must keep you from having a wrong idea of what I’m doing and think it’s taking a larger (Continued on page 164) ee was thinking of courage 163

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164 NATURAL WAVES OF SOFT BEAUTY CPERMANENT WA VIN G T is only natural that women who are most fastidious arrange to be in New York to obtain a permanent in this establish- For here, under supervision wave ment. the master of J. Schaeffer, achieved an artistry far beyond the scope of commonplace standards. is BOOKLET MAILED ON REQUEST The Establishment of J.SCHAEF FERS 590 Fifth Avenue New York, N. Y. Waving the New Growth of Hair Without Affecting the Old By nowhere else in this country, an exclusive process, * obtainable the new growth of hair is independently waved to match the old perfectly. may keep your permanent wave always Thus you like new with absolute assurance of safety. SAFETY FOR GRAY AND WHITE HAIR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 163) amount of courage. I'd need that to stay with him. It will be much harder for you than me.” “T’ll manage to get through it,” grimly. That, she replied, was why she loved him he was upset by so few things. “You'll let me tell him,” he went on; “and it would be better if you weren’t there, you would make it difficult for him to speak. I can't think how he will take it. The dinner had reached the coffee and Vida was drinking white mint and brandy. “Very well,” she informed him; “there will be some temper, probably, but because just now he’s rather in pieces.” Govett Bradier said, “I'll let him go into that. If anybody tried to take you from me I'd kill him.” Vida was plainly annoyed. “I am certain you would, and make a show of everything. You are like that, but then almost your whole life has been melodramatic, and not always in the best manner, Govett. There is a lot of you, you know, I don’t approve of, and where Preston has the advantage. Of course, kill people who are in your way, if you can; but what good would it do to kill a man I wanted to leave you for? Id be already gone. You're not going to tell me you would be defending your honor, what- ever that meant. Because if you do I'll begin to think I’m making a mis stake and going off with one of your clerks.’ He promised her not to speak of his honor in such a connection. “I'd kill him,” he explained, be so damn mad.” Vida accused him of unbearable selfishness “W hat are you going to say?” she asked. “T’ve thought it all out: after he gathers that we're serious I'll leave Chorreras and Mexico at once, naturally; and then, when you can get your things together, you will come North and get a divorce for desertion. We needn’t see each other . . . too often.’ She said, after a little, ‘I must manage to leave Gille with him; Preston couldn’t bear her going away; and Gille likes him a thousand times better than me. Yes, he'll hope for that.’ “Would the child be a bond between you?’ Bradier asked. ‘‘You’d see her and Corew, and the wretched business would be pro longed. I’m not questioning you, I simply want to see everything far ahead.’ When she went to him, Vida told him, she would put all her former existence out of their way. They rose from the table and, with Bradier close at her side, walked into the hall. There was no sound of surf, only a pervasive mur he asserted I'd “because mur. The lights on the tanker burned clear and steady. Moving out to the veranda they sat on the steps leading to the sand. It was hot, the night was airless, but Bradier no longer thought about it. From a house beyond came men’s voices and the sharp intermittent clicking of a roulette wheel. Bradier’ could imagine the brightly illumi nated faces under the electric light, the whirring metal fan, the gay colored chips and handsome Mexican gold down the green cloth, the tall glasses of Scotch whisky and soda. How many nights, surrounded by the 0 al darkness, had he gambled away! He had preferred the more disreputable places for his parties, his pleasures; he thought again of the Union, of Soledad and Teresita, dismissed from his life. HE sense of peace and attainment which had enveloped Bradier at dinner continued in the dark humidity outside. He didn’t want to stir yet, to speak; he had no impulse to kiss Vida or touch her. His being was in the complete relaxation that always followed every arduous accomplishment; in this case the accomplishment was the return to Vida after an intolerable hell of waiting and fever. He idly pretended that the months which, to some degree, would still separate them were over and. that they were married . that they had been married for three or four years. The amazing and _ disconcerting thought seized him that he had very little to do with making Vida happy; objectively, that was, because of his efforts or wish. Vida, it appeared, took from life what she wanted and was oblivious of the rest. She hadn’t asked him for advice or thrown herself dependent on his love. Govett Bradier couldn’t convince himself that he had had the direction of their affair. The most he might say was it had been the result of circumstances and their characters. What they were rather than what they tried to be. At the beginning he had been very careful to wait until he was certain Vida wanted him to kiss her. He had asked her to leave Corew, to come to him, and Vida had said yes; but suppose she had said no what could he have done then? Bradier would have been as powerless to force her mind as he was to command her body. He might have persuaded her, argued and mentally battered her into a different de- cision, or ended it all by killing her; but their commitment lay with Vida. She was, there, stronger than he; and, almost humorously, he hoped that she would make herself happy. HE called for a servant, asked for cigarets; and, lighting one, she gave it to him. Who had done that not long ago? Thin strong fingers rerolling a Mexican cigaret. Teresita, at the Bolivar. Life was a series of repeti- tions. It increased his weariness to think how many other couples had sat, like Vida and him, on steps in the night. Millions! Everything he said to her had been repeated millions of times. Yet it could always be fresh, stirring, beautiful. He had acquired the habit of getting out of himself, of seeing himself; and it was a bad thing to do, de structive, particularly of emotion. But nothing could destroy his feeling for Vida: it was too strong, too permanent, too deep. His love was all these things—if for nothing else—because of his age. God damn it, he was no longer young. His hair was gray. But principally the fever had done that, and he wondered what else it had treacherously accomplished. He othed Vida: ‘Do you see any effects from the and the quinine? She replied cheerfully that it dark to see anything there. malaria was rather “No, I’m serious,” he protested. “Yes, Govett, there are effects,’ she told him. “Do you realize that you have been sitting for at least ten minutes without saying a word? That wouldn't have been possible two years ago. And you'd been more, well ambitious. But you mustn’t think I’m com- plaining. I like it... at times. You're immensely more thoughtful and quiet. Govett, it seems to me you 7 cooler, in both your heart and your head. If you had met me to-night for the first time I'd never have a success with you. That he indignantly denied. “With all your power you’ re a little afraid of the truth,” she observed. “‘You are in a mood, perhaps, to stay in love; but now you wouldn’t begin. Honestly, | can’t think why you should. Govett, why didn’t you just take as much of me as you needed and leave the rest? That would have been nearer to your character. It was the charming gener osity—and from you—that knocked me over.”’ “I had just been thinking it was you who knocked me down,” he admitted. ‘‘ The fact is, men are ridiculous. Her face turned toward him. “Of course I did,” she said calmly. “Did you suppose I was going to let you get away? Govett Bradier! Don’t be absurd. Do you know, every now and then you surprise me, | hadn’t realized your mind was like that. I wonder if you did. Maybe you have changed more than either of us guessed. Govett, | think you are about to leave me.”’ She put a light firm hand on his knee. “You won't let me,” he answered serenely. “I might want to like the devil, but it would be no good. You said so yourself.’ The hand remained; it closed until it might be said to be holding him; he was conscious of the separate pressing tips of her fingers. “It’s idiotic, but I have to have you,” her voice, too, had intensified, as though it were drawing him closer. ‘I hate to talk like this, but once in a long, long while, when I do love you so much, Govett E leaned over and kissed her, meeting with a sudden unrestraint that drove all the abstract thoughts from his head. ack of them and faint, but coming steadily nearer, Bradier heard the exhaust of a gasoline engine. It must be Preston Corew, returning from Toteco; but Vida didn’t hurry; she kissed him deliberately and then slowly withdrew from hisarms. He rose, helped her up, and they went into the house. “It’s strange to think of Preston coming and you leaving,”’ she said. The reverse, when the time came, he pointed out, would seem no less strange to Preston Corew. “It’s all as funny as thun der.” She begged him, again, not to be a clerk. “Govett, I believe in your heart you think it’s all a little wicked. Tell me, admit, that you're convinced I’m a wicked woman. He laughed loudly; and, during that, Corew came in. He was more worn than Bradier had yet seen him. “I'd like something to eat, Vida,’ he an- nounced; ‘“‘and if you don’t mind I'll have a bath. There’s a lot to tell you, Bradier, but I haven't any intention of beginning to-night. It would take too long. Govett Bradier assented. “I’m sure you're right, to-morrow will do for what talking we have. And I'll go on, Vida.” She agreed. ‘*When you please. much of you to-morrow, then . Preston will be here for that.” (Continued on page 105) We won't see . until dinner. HARPER’S Ba ZAR madame! 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It soothes and bright- ens EYES wearied by sewing, reading or office work—relieves the irritation caused by sun, wind and dust. Murine takes away not only the tired look but the tired feeling. When you use Murine you have the assurance that millions have used it for a quarter of a century, that it is hygienically prepared, and that every ingre- dient is beneficial to the EYES. or Eye Beasy” aoe FREE oy resecae The Murine Company Dept. 24, Chicago RINE, FOR Your EYES | TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 164) N the house where he was staying, he was, evidently, being waited for. Deleker, who was lounging in a chair with his booted feet on the center table, got up with alacrity. “Mr. Bradier, this is Edward Shepper, who’s laying pipe for us; John Lissert is a dam’ signal man; and Murdock is the diver we all know so well.” Shepper was older than the tall youth who had introduced him, but he was still a young man. He spoke quietly, sat at ease in his chair—exceptionally able, Bradier told himself. A bottle of beer and a glass were put at Bradier’s disposal, “‘Have a Mocte- | zuma.” Lissert was older than the others, | Bradier’s age perhaps, and he bore the marks |of a hard living; he had the exaggerated | amiability, the eager acquiescence, of a man | who required drink beyond his material | resources. | Govett Bradier asked what were the general | conditions at the sea terminal, and a silence | followed that became awkward. Finally Shepper spoke. ‘‘They might be better.” He stopped there, and no one went further. “T really meant this,’ Bradier proceeded, | ‘‘what is happening? Have the Mexicans been having any parties?” | It seemed, from the relieved delight around him, that they had. ‘And with Murdock. Tell him, Murdock, about your small affair with General Melchor Rayén.” Murdock grinned. ‘I was down near the Estero de Corral, there was a girl in a cantina there, and the General—he knows me well, too, the bastard—invited me to come along with him to his camp. I asked him what he wanted with me, I wasn’t worth ten pesos of anybody’s money, but he said he’d try it They took my sombrero and _ shoes, just naturally, and tied me up to a tree where there was Christ’s plenty of mosquitoes. Then Melchor sent in to Chorreras for ten thousand pesos. He explained it to me—the Company wouldn’t exactly want to lose me and if he did have to shoot me I wasn’t important enough to make much of a stir North. Well, I hung around most of a | specified hot day, and then word came from Tampico they’d give five thousand pesos for me and not a centavo more. That put the General in a bad temper; he said they held him too cheap; and the Company—this took some time, you understand—went up to seven thousand pesos. Melchor said to me that, as a favor, and if I’d make the difference later, he would accept the seven—” he broke off and drank from a bottle. There was a chorus, begging him to repeat what he had told General Melchor Rayén. But he shook his head, “‘It wasn’t proper.” Bradier asked, “‘ How did you get away?” “Oh, he kept me tied there for another day and night and then chased me off. He said I ate too much.” Nothing, Bradier realized, could have been more characteristic of the region, the men, around him. Nowhere else could the happen- ing to the diver have occurred; no other com- pany but the one present would have credited it. He had an idea, as well, of what Murdock, tied to the tree, had told Rayén. That was the courage, supported by a sense of humor, he particularly understood and applauded. The General hadn’t come out of it badly either. “Peléez was like that,” he declared. “When I was here first there were engage- ments between him and the Carranzistas and swarms of bullets. We used to get in the bathtubs while the war was on. Lie in ’em and smoke and read.’”’ This was very loudly appreciated. ‘Why,’ he protested, ‘we always kept cigarets and matches in the soap dishes instead of soap. There was another time, in a drilling camp, when the Chinos had dug a shelter back by the kitchen. It was for themselves, do you see; and when the next shooting began they dropped everything and ran for their hole,” he stopped, crushing the end of a cigaret on a plate. es? He replied gravely. “It was occupied.” Bradier busied himself with a fresh bottle of beer; his thoughts returned to Vida. What was the matter with Presby Corew? What- ever that might be it affected the sea terminal too. He had seen it in the attitudes of the men here. OWEVER, it couldn’t touch him, Govett Bradier; the troubles at Chorreras now belonged to other men. He was free and soon Vida would be free . . . for him. How certain she was about her acts. What bravery! He discovered that he was sick with fatigue, and, making his excuses, he went to his room. It was, he admitted, very uncom- fortable: the mosquito netting at the windows was thick, his bed badly made; under the pavion it was stifling, almost impossible to breathe. He got up for a cigaret and sat in his dressing-gown. It was a novelty to him, an affair of cool silks, a soft girdle and tassels, he had bought at a very expensive New York store, telling himself that the man Vida Corew loved required it. Her love would be like | the dressing-gown, surrounding him with a silk delight. | The others had gone to bed, there was a sound of snoring, and he walked out into the hall; but the air there was stale with smoke and the flat smell of beer; the bottles lay | about the floor; his glass was where he had | left it, half-emptied. But he’d only be here | another night, then he would go back to} Tampico as early as possible in the morning | . . provided there had been no accident that far: he persisted in forgetting the in- security of his surroundings, the presence of General Melchor Rayén. In the future, on nights such as this, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d be with Vida. He saw himself beside her on the balcony of rooms overlooking a tropical city, a city of low flat roofs and mountains so high that they interrupted the stars. There would be water, a bay, the reflections of lights on a still blackness and, softened by distance, the music of a military band in the plaza. The night, like Vida, would be perfumed . . with the blossoms of azahares. Champagne in tall thin glasses packed with ice. She used long paper holders with quills for her cigarets. Soledad, quite naked, had smoked cigars. He had no feeling against considering Vida and Soledad in, as it were, one thought: Vida—it was another quality he loved would not have objected. She would be very friendly with Soledad. And sit with an entire understanding, on a perfect equality, | at Teresita’s table. HE morning was poured full of a gold sunlight; the Gulf of Mexico was motion- less, without a ripple, as though it had been solidified into a semiprecious purple-blue stone. When Bradier appeared the others had left the house, but he found Deleker at breakfast in the dining-room. | “T thought you might find it convenient if I stayed with you to-day,” he said, “to run the rail car and an automobile. Mr. Corew told me you would want to see pretty much the whole field. There are Sabana Grande 4 and 6. The 4 will flow thirty thousand barrels and 6 more than twice And they are drilling Meson No. 2. I thought, at the Cerro that. We'd have lunch, Azul Camp.” Whatever he had planned, Bradier replied, would suit him. Nothing special was in his mind. ‘‘Except this,’ he added suddenly; “Lentz thinks that the Alianza interests ought to be moved to the north field. It’s his opinion this will be no better than a salt lake in a few years.” Mr. Lentz, Deleker was emphatic, was | totally and inconceivably wrong. “Why, God damn it, by next year we'll have over six million barrels a month. I’ve heard of his opinion, and [ can’t understand him; it | sounds like insanity. I suppose he wants to be ahead of every one else; but, Mr. Bradier, | we won't have to leave here for, how long twenty years? Perhaps not then. But there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be getting properties between Caracol and Tancoco Hill | for the future.” “Mr. Lentz thinks we are optimistic,” Bradier replied. They were on the rail car, racing over the first straight reach of track from the sea terminal, and Deleker, with a frowning concentration, profanely qualified | George K. Lentz’s entire outlook on Mexican oil. ‘But he’s able enough,” he was forced to add, “at the Tampico offices. It’s when he gets out he’s a nuisance; at the terminals | and in the camps and around the wells. He has a way of looking into everything and expecting you to account for a few kilometers of pipe or a broken shipment of cement. Last | year he had a habit of coming to Chorreras, and fiddling over the Zacamixtle Valley, but | thank God he got through that.” There was a momentary hollow reverbera- | tion as the car passed over water, and Deleker | gazed doubtfully at Govett Bradier. “You are pretty well dressed up,” he re- marked. “I hope you won’t take it too hard if you lose those boots. The man who ran this track last month came in half the time without his shoes; he got so that he went | out on the run practically naked. | “Anyhow, there’s Paso Real, and we're | safe this far.” Bradier gazed at the familiar distillery and cantinas half hidden in the monte. He was conscious of the tightening of his nerves, the muscular alertness, bred by their surrounding conditions. With a brief smile he recalled how to be successfully, safely, robbed. They were coming into the Cuervo de Muerte; its old deceptive appearance of peace was un- | changed; but to-day there was no disrupting roar of dynamite under the car’s wheels. The private barred and guarded roads of the oil companies were, for the trucks and immense tractors that used them, surprisingly good; there were new ways since Bradier had (Continued on page 166) 165 Modern spraying equipment One of a fleet of highly efficient spraying outfits used by Davey Tree urgeons. 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HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 165) last seen that field. An armed Mexican stopped them by a gate, and Deleker showed him, painted under the flap on the automobile door, the insignia of the Alianza Corporation, three clasped hands severed at the wrists. ‘They’re getting dam’ particular,”’ Bradier observed. “I suppose soon they'll have traffic policemen.” The car stopped. ‘“That’s Meson No. 2,” Deleker told him. There was, as always, nothing marked about the drilling. Bradier asked how far the well was down, and, scarcely waiting for the answer, he got back into the automobile. His interest, his old attachment to all the details of drilling for oil, had waned. He was, he discovered, sick of the local monotonous scenery, the unchang- ing monte, the low conical formation of the mountains, the land. In New York he had longed to be back again, and now, after only part of a morning, he was willing to leave The mental and physical tenseness, the thick dusty sunlight, had already tired him. OWEVER, it wouldn’t do to let Deleker see this, and he got out of the car to see Sabana Grande 4 and There was even less to observe in a producing well—a mound of earth, a joint of pipe and gate valve—than in the operation of sinking it. The automobile had reached the Cerro Azul main camp and the superintendent, Andrew Willig, came forward to meet Bradier. He repe ated, in effect, what George K. Lentz had said, “It’s useful for everybody to have you back, Bradier; I think I’ll take you into the peon camp just to show you off. I'll swear to you the women still frighten their babies with your name. And I always tell them in Tampico that, if it could be managed, we should have you with the Huasteco Com- pany. From what I hear we are going to be here long after the Alianza has moved away: and you wouldn’t be happy, Bradier, sepa- rated from your sea terminal.”” They were sitting on the veranda of the dining-room, overlooking a lawn of perfectly tended green sod ‘I’m separated from it now,” Bradier told him. “Yes, I’m through with Chorreras. But where do you hear we’re moving away?” Willig couldn’t remember. “It’s in the air,” he said, “‘a rumor. [If it is true let me have a chance at your stores. We're going to lay a new pipe-line to the Panuco terminal— they are enlarging the refinery again, four batteries with six heaters each, and a new viscosity plant. I remember now, I got the idea you were moving from something Lentz said at the Comercio. He’s an exceptionally good man, Lentz. But I should think he’d perish here in the clothes he wears. It makes me sweat to have him around.” To Lentz, Govett Bradier was indifferent; and he forcefully expressed his objections to offices and office men. “It’s the damned routine,” he concluded; “the neat columns of figures entered all day in ledgers. He didn’t like that and he was no longer absorbed in the oil field . where, then, did he belong? He couldn’t spend the rest of his life in Vida’s arms. But this, his dissatis- faction, was only temporary. Bradier was convinced of that His plans for South America, other far developments, he'd carry out “You ought to see Ray6én,” Willig told him. “He’s the Peléez of to-day. But on a smaller scale. Then, usually, you could tell what Peliez was going to do, he mostly had a reason, good or bad, for killing, but no one can predict Rayén; as cold a devil as there is in the State of Vera Cruz. You know that no one can run one of these camps and be afraid of a Mexican—nor of very much else but the truth is I hate to see him ride in He’s been known to go off with one of your friends dragging behind him on his rope He’s got between three and five hundred men with him now, too; the ends of all the last half-dozen rebellions. We pay him, of course but it doesn’t secure much for us It was Bradier’s idea that without their General his force would break up and scatter “What would it cost—a thousand pesos?” Willig wasn’t sure they would benefit by purchasing Rayén’s death. “The men would scatter, like a nest of hornets As it is, at least we can follow their movements ” That, Bradier went on, could be met when the moment came. “From your description of him I have a conviction we couldn't operate in the same territory.” ‘He has certainly played giddy hell with the Alianza properties,” Willig informed him. ‘See here, Bradier, can Corew keep along with his responsibilities down here? I never knew a man I'd trust sooner, but is he happy in Mexico? I doubt it. I’ve only met his wife, but none of the women seem to like her. They both act as though they were still in Boston.’ Govett Bradier said, “I’m damned sick of hearing Presby Corew discussed. He isn’t going to stay in Chorreras and he is keeping up the shipments of oil, and there is no need for Mrs. Corew to be friendly with a lot of female buzzards. You've heard me say what I think of bringing white women into the camps. they are right they’re wrong! Corew, I'll agree with you, wouldn't approve of what I’d do with this General Rayén— Willig interrupted him. “We'd better go in if we want any dinner. HE China boys ladled a thick soup into their plates and brought butter. There was a stew of beef with chillies, boiled potatoes and string beans and sliced tomatoes, and prune pie. It was all excellent, hot, and in great abundance. The men, in the informal garbs of their particular activities, seated at long tables, ate quickly and moved away smoking. They all had jokes at the expense of the Chinos; the faces of the latter were fixed in polite grins; but Bradier saw that the humor didn’t go very far; trouble with the kite hen was the last thing desired. “T ought to go on,” he told Andrew Willig, “though God knows I’d rather smoke on your porch, and I must settle for my dinner,” But Willig refused the customary payment. “The Company is delighted to have you, What are you going to see—the Tampechana lease? If you don’t do something about that you'll be like Moses and the Promised Land. You will never get on it. The _Pan- Kansas Company will have it out of you.’ Bradier admitted that he wouldn't leave without having a look at the Tampechana fence. It was a property, the richest in prospective oil in that region, owned jointly by the Pan-Kansas Company and the Alianza Corporation. The sale, although acknowl edged, had not yet resulted in the transfer- ence of the land, since the title was not held to be clear. Willig continued, “If your company is waiting for the Supreme Court to reverse Article 27 that’s wasted time too: because the most you can hope for is to have it declared non- retroactive. Who has it tied up, have you any idea? It was a Mexican gentleman, Tomar Xavier Yermo, living at the capital, Bra‘liet replied. But it was obvious to him, Govett Bradier, that the old cuckoo, who claimed an undischarged right in the Tampechana lease, was being held up from behind. ‘He won’t put a price on himself, and I don’t have to tell you what that means. The Pan-Kansas Company isn’t active here, and I wouldn't be surprised, Willig, if they would sell out to us. I’ve told the Alianza directors a thousand times to buy. We have every facility for drilling and shipping the oil and the Pan-Kz unsas has none. The whole thing is cursed silly.” Deleker was coming toward him, across the grass, and he rose. Deleker called, ‘Do you want to have a look at Naranjos and 233, and then we'll turn down toward Tampechana.” Willig laughed, ‘‘The Alianza Mecca.” It was late in the afternoon when the auto- mobile was stopped by a high wire net fence, and, without speaking, Govett Bradier and De ‘le ker gazed into the Tampechana lease. ‘There,’ Deleker asserted, “is the best nineteen hundred hectares of oil land in existence.” Bradier didn’t contradict him. If the Alianza interests did get it, he thought, and it was as valuable as it promised, what, in the end, would the oil it produced accom- plish . . . in the end. Some strings of pearls for white throats both legitimate and illegiti- mate, hours at the gambling tables of southern France and Spain, the maintenance of a few idiot babies at special institutions. The money men made almost always fell into the im- potent hands of women and boys. He wasn’t, he hoped, guilty of a socialistic thought, a state of mind Bradier detested; no, it was only that suddenly he was amazed at what the final power and Herculean labors of men came to. However, they were interested in only a few things, the elabora- tions of not more than two instincts. And where pe irls were concerned he'd get Vida a much finer string than she now owned. He wondered if she’d give the others back to Presby. How much would she carry away with her? Vida, he remembered, had practi- cally no money of her own . . . would she come to him wearing stockings Presby had bought, with her nightgowns provided for Bradier’s delight by Corew? He didn’t like the thought of that, and yet he couldn't send Vida a trousseau. It would be absurd to expect her to abandon all her clothes at @ given moment.

HE would, as well, unavoidably bring with her habits Presby Corew had formed, the marks of his prejudices and his little turns ; speech. It was all damned strange. Why, would be the devil of a job for Vida not to call him Presby. Luckily it wouldn’t matter to either of them, they would laugh at su slips. And he told himself this—that the (Continued on page 167)

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—E eS aH LE for MARCH 1926 a ie AN 1" Ce Ditpanis =) Grecian Sandal The unusually snug heel and high arch of this sandal effect a more clinging fit than that of a closed model. Black Suede Black Satin Black Velvet Patent Kid Grey Kid Parchment Kid Sauterne Kid High, low heels $18.50 Silver Kid Gold Kid Silver Brocade Gold Brocade Colored Velvets White Kid $20.00 N. Shoe Salon 510 Madison Avenue a) ? New York at 53rd St., Line IL Fs LL F} Fi i H F, f ‘ t) LaternityLorsets Fi Lane Bryant is the S| largest house in the world Fi| selling Maternity Apparel | daily to thousands of ex- r| pectant mothers. FI The Famous Lane Bryant F| Corset is the perfected prod- Ff, uct of 24 years of expe- Fi, mience. It is the best corset F| in the world. Made in our workrooms. 1 3.95 6.95 to 12.50 Fi If unable to call, write Dept. F GI for Free Style Book Fi / Lane Bryant || 21 W. 38th St. 26 W. 39th St. i} NEW YORK i] Hanover Place nr. Fulton {| ROOKLYN 1\‘ HICAGO DETROIT ST. LOUIS PARIS PHILADELPHIA (Van Vanv Van Van Vig VAY VAY VARY VAY Va Van Yam amv Van Va Van Van Wan |t'6 ran an Le ant Vein Vain Van Vem Vien Va Vem Yam Yama Vai Y mY Van V Yan Van) Van —y TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 166) quality of love Vida had for him must show him a woman Corew had never seen: she'd admitted that her husband had never stirred her. No, she had replied, not even at first. The car was again in motion, coming back to the landward end of the Transcontinental Company’s railway. On one side was the village of Zacamixtle. It was, he knew, lazily waking up, preparing for the night. The valley was darkening, the gas flares, leaping and fluttering from standing pipes, were growing brighter and more lurid. ‘he most desolate place in the world,’ Govett Bradier said. Deleker turned squarely around, astounded. “Desolate,”’ he echoed him; “the most beautiful, covered with oil rigs, and there are pipe-lines and pumping stations and terminals and tanks everywhere. You would hardly get any more in if you tried.” He was so surprised that he allowed the car to hit a stump and apologized profusely. ‘People are different,”’ he continued; ‘‘now Murdock, the diver, thinks that Galveston is the greatest spot on the earth; and we had a man here once who liked Pahuska, in Oklahoma. Pahuska! He said it was because he enjoyed seeing the Indians play pool. But, Mr. Bradier, the place for me is where an oil well’s coming in. God, that noise when she’s rising, before she tears the hat off the derrick! Oil,” he said, but mostly to himself, “petroleum, chapopote. Those, once, might have been Bradier’s words, reflecting the enthusiasm, the single convic- tion, of his youth. Deleker’s clothes, he saw, had been his clothes, the boots stained and cleaned and stained again, the brown canvas breeches pounded and washed in a Mexican stream, the wide sombrero, with its vain- glorious silver cord, planted arrogantly across his eyes. His bared throat was as dark as a piece of worn saddle leather. The pistol at his hip had a pearl handle. Bradier realized, from the line of Deleker’s jaw, the sharp focus of his gray gaze, that the pistol was not merely ornamental. Himself, at twenty. And not a bad thing to be. “You were joking about this being a desolate place,” the boy concluded; “every- body admits I’m as dumb as hell. Mr. Bradier, if you will let me tell you—it’s been an honor for me to go around with you to-day. It will make a difference to me. RADIER’S clothes had been put in order during the day, the appropriate white garb for the evening was laid ready for him on a bed. He was dressed before the time to | go to the Corews, and he sat with a copita of brandy beside him. He was wondering exactly what the evening before him would be like. Bradier thought he knew already what, generally, must happen; but the details of speech, the sharply shifting relationships, how would they progress? He didn’t hide from himself that it would be extremely dis- agreeable—it was the most difficult situation he had ever faced—but the most unpleasant things came to a conclusion. Presby Corew’s character made it specially hard: there was literally nothing in him that Bradier could dislike, not the slightest excuse for Bradier in the husband himself. Such objections to Presby as Vida had expressed seemed to Govett trivial; but none, actually, had been necessary; it was enough that she didn’t love Corew and did love Govett Bradier. After all, what else was necessary? Corew, fortunately. had the type of mind, the per- sonality, to understand at once what had happened. His action would be decisive and immediate, final. But in the heart of every man there were incalculable depths, old in- fluences from before speech, that sometimes betrayed the best efforts of the new. In that connection his thoughts rested on the pistol in one of his bags; but he shook his head. Damn it, he wouldn’t walk into Presby Corew’s house, to his table, armed against him. He would manage, in any development, to take Vida without killing Corew. He was alittle surprised at the strength of his feeling about that; it amounted, really, to a scruple. A scruple! Bradier hadn’t been very familiar with them. The philosophy of his acts had rested on the extreme need of accomplishment. At present, for example, he was addressed to the task of taking Vida Corew from her husband and securing her for himself.' That, at least as a statement of his course, was simple enough, everything else was subordinate to that one clear aim: it was relatively unimportant if he took a pistol into Presby’s house and shot him at the table, over the salt. The opposite vaguely formu- lated impulse lay outside his understanding; he had seen it in other men—counted on it to assist his own less hampered plans—and derided it; but, in himself, somehow, it was troublesome. Did it amount to this—that there were, after all, some things he wouldn’t do to get Vida? Put that way he could give himself the clearest of answers—he was going to marry her. Good God, he hadn’t, he hoped, turned into a decrepit sentimentalist yet! Bradier saw that he could go now; but he didn’t take the pistol; it would be awkward to have about his thin linen clothes; and, anyhow, he wouldn't need it at dinner. (To be continued in the A pril issue) JEWELS Baron de M eyer’s Article (Concluded from page 73 Most original is the combination of carved coral, of the old-fashioned type, with large uncut emeralds, diamonds, and onyx. This daring color harmony is another Cartier which is gradually gaining in It, however, requires very careful invention, popularity. handling, the combination being rather dangerous. Onyx, or black enamel, which was much worn during the mid-Victorian period, is again having a great vogue, naturally in combination with diamonds and pearls. An important diamond and pearl tiara, which figured prominently at the recent Exposition des Arts Decorati‘s, was set in black enamel on a platinum foundation. Lovely, too, at the Exposition, was a circu- lar comb for a short-haired coiffure, worn across the back of the head, which had two large bunches of orchids in diamonds speckled with onyx placed on each side, the flowers nestling in the hair above the ears. Earrings are gradually getting longer, more important looking, consequently heavier for the lobe of the ear to bear. They seem to hang as low as possible and are often made of bar diamonds, forming long lines, to which a big pearl, huge diamond, or possibly an im mense pear-shaped emerald, is attached. Small-looking earrings are hardly ever met with, and as to single pearls, screwed tightly to the lobe of the ear, they are a thing of a past decade and, if worn by chance, remain invisible, for with bobbed hair ears are gener ally hidden. The few women who dare the sleek boyish coiffure and show their ears find it plus chic by way of contrast to wear very low- hanging and elaborate earrings. Jewelry in gold has, of late, become fashion able again. It is of a peculiarly heavy kind, studded with semiprecious stones of varied Very clumsy looking chains, set with two or three big stones, are worn as bracelets, often half a dozen on one arm alone, for nothing which is not worn en masse is thought worth while to-day. This kind of jewelry, alas, has already been copied into oreum and even into cheaper metals and can therefore be but a passing fancy, for nothing which is not costly and has real value is 4 la mode just now. colors | | 167 is known to countless women all over the world as the golden key to beauty and youthful appearance. zines, Crow’s-feet, Coarse Skin, Blackheads, Double Chin and Sagging Contours of face and neck, terrors for almost every woman, were unknown to the incomparable Ninon de Lenclos who, even at the age of 70, was still France's most admired and courted woman. The methods by which Ninon de Lenclos was able to maintain youth and beauty indefinitely, unmarred by operations or abusive treatments, were as simple as Nature. ‘The Secret of Youthful Beauty is solved for every woman at any age through the ORTOSAN METHOD by meeting the requirements of the colloidal system of the body and THIS KNOWLEDGE ONLY is the key to youthful appearance, healthy, beautiful skin and complexion. Start the Ortosan Method today, at your home, without inconvenience, train- ing or loss of time. It is the genuine safeguard for every woman, in social or business life, against fading, wrinkles, lines, countless skin troubles and ageing. Complete set for six weeks’ home treatment, including Mme. Hermance'’s famous instruction letters for beauty and body culture, also individual guid- arce. $10.00 prepaid. Mme. Hermance Creator of Ortosan Products at the age of 44 Our guarantee: If after three weeks Ortosan has not satisfied, return and money will be refunded. ORTOSAN COMPANY, Inc. 267 West 8lst Street Dept. G New York Copyright 1926, Ortosan Co., Inc. & 1 é > Whee, ame ENSEM BLEVANITY “So very Pari s1enne MMR created Red Seal Hair Nets. Now MMR presents fashion’s very newest toilette accessory —the Ensemble Vanity— a complete chain vanity containing loose powder, lip and face rouge sections all under covers; also three money holders for change and bills and large beveled French plate mirror—for only $3.75. Think of it! Refills contain liberal supply of exquisitely scented and highest grade powder, lip and face rouge, and 2 velvet puffs. Both Vanity and Refill are obtainable at any Drug, Department or Jewelry Store. Do ask to see them—** So Very Parisienne.” If your dealer has not yet received his stock, send money order for $3.75 and we will send one MMR Vanity direct to you, prepaid. For refill add $1.00—$4.7§ in all. Morris-Mann & Reilly Dept. W 111 S. Wells St. Chicago, Illinois

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HARPER’S BAZAR ‘ ~ ‘ . a } ie! vA " 2 f - = , ay / wy / ° .- if dS. }- J ‘atm low ’ a ‘ 4 f . A / f | \ ‘ a “a - »~ rt fl Ww ' t LAY J ae. iv Xt lf Stith} OP7\\ LINDT! . | 5} \ is Cj j J Sicamennel re Ce en eee ee eee TORBEN has come—with its new message for those who can understand UIETLY, without ostenta- || tion or pretense, a force has been at work for you of which you did not know. Ever since Marinello came into existence its founder has had one purpose in view —somehow to discover the one perfect complement of the human skin—the one substance which under all conditions would make of it the altogether lovely thing it should be. Eventually to accomplish this has been a promise to women which the Marinello founder has carried in her own heart for years The Torben Beaute’ Treatment is the perfect fulfillment of that promise. During the twenty years of Marinello’s ex- istence, every type of skin has been brought to Marinello for treatment, and every sort of beauty problem for solution, There is little concerning the skin, its structure and its care, that Marinello does not know. This is not said boastfully or vaingloriously. It is a simple statement of an existing fact. So—when the Torben Beaute’ Treatment was perfected—all this fund of Marinello’s infinitely varied experience was brought to bear upon testing it and proving its worth. Hundreds of subjects were given the Torben Beaute’ Treatment. Some were young—well under thirty. Some were old — well over seventy. Some faces were deeply lined with care or years. —= In every case the response to the ea Torben Process came instantly. Nyy / A superb loveliness of skin and ; complexion revealed. — You know the almost incredible things ac- complished by radio-activity. There is per- haps nothing known to science with such unfailing power to revitalize, to renew, to infuse vigorous life into the tissues. The Torben Treatment makes it possible to apply this same almost miracle-working radio-active energy to the human skin. There is offered you in the Torben Beaute’ Treatment the sure way to develop all the loveliness of which the human skin is ca- pable. To realize all you have ever hoped to achieve of personal beauty—no matter what may be the present faults of coloring or texture or surface blemishes of your skin. You are invited to share in what seems al- most the enchantment of a Torben Beaute’ Treatment. It is as simple, as enjoyable as the famous Marinello Rest Facial. But when you are finished—the transformed, radiant look of a girl will greet you from your mirror. Beauty awakened—touched by a vital spark whose spell is unmistakable. Torben Beaute’ Treatments may be had at Marinello Branches as listed below, and in other Marinello shops. Also the Torben Paste—creamy and pleasant to use —and Torben Cream for home treatments. We urge that you try the treatment first in a Marinello shop for its fullest results. The Introductory Card below is for the personal use of Harper’s Bazar readers. Bring it with you to any of these addresses and consult with a Marinello expert about your individual beauty problems. There will be no charge. Card of I ntroduction A! The Largest Beauty Y special arrangement, Organization in the World this card entitles you as a reader of Harper’s Bazar, NEW YORK CITY, 72 FIFTH AVE. AND 366 FIFTH AVE. | to advice on any individual CHICAGO PHILADELPHIA ST. LOUIS beauty problem. There will S00 Tower Court 121 N, Broad Street 4479 Washington Boulevard CINCINNATI MINNEAPOLIS DENVER 728 East Sixth Street S08 La Salle Street Q3Q Grant Street 115 East Grand River Ave. LOS ANGELES PORTLAND j04 West Seventh Street Broadway Building DETROIT , be no charge. Present this DALLA card at any of the addresses ULAS y 4505 Ross Avenye given here. Lymans—Toronto, Montreal, Ottawa and Vancouver— Agents for Canada ™~ ~N

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