Harper's Bazaar 1927-07

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} ‘ art od HA RPE R°’ 5 / re { e e \ ( FS JULY Number 2 a7 | 1927 / 7 ( ontlents 6oth Year iS hy Oe a eae COVER Fashions A FOLIO OF MODES OF THE MOMENT. From the New York Designers Drawings by SamvueL Davis Orts. GRACE Hart, and MALAGA GRENET 49 to 57 INDIVIDUALITY AND CLOTHES 70 to 77 BARON DE MEYER -ldvises Stressing Personality through a Smart Repression of the Raiment Photographs by BARON DE MEYER PARIS OFFERS HER MIDSEASON MODELS MARJORIE Howarp’s Monthly Letter Drawings by ReyNatpo Luza, ENtp ENGEL, and A. SOULIE 86 to 95 LAST MINUTE SKETCHES FROM PARIS. 98, 99 Fiction COSMO HAMILTON 64, 65 The Spirit of the Age, A Story of the Lesser Intelligentsia Illustrated by SAMUEL Davis Otts GENE MARKEY 78, 79 The Gentleman Jockey, 1 Story of the Long Island Racing Set Illustrated by HENRY RALEIGH MARGERY WILLIAMS BIANCO So, 8f The Old Man, the Old Woman, and the Cat that Rolled, A Sinister but Gay Tak Illustrated by PAMELA BIANCO NEVIS SHANE 82, 83 Unfair Lady, The Story of a Selfish Wife and a Sympathetic Secretary Illustrated by JouN LAGATTA Silhouette d’Eté By Erte Society and Special Features CRUMBS, by the Eprror 47 Drawing by STEELE SAVAGI A GLIMPSE THROUGH THE LOGGIA OF MRS. CARLOS M. DE HEREDIA’S SUMMER HOME IN LENOX 48 CLEVER MAKE-UP IS PART OF THE ENSEMBLE 58 to 61 LucILE BUCHANAN Writes of Cosmetics for Every Hour of the Day Drawings by Grace Hart MRS. JULIAN MONRO GERARD 62 Drawn Especially for Harper's Bazar by Mary MacKixnon RICHARD LE GALLIENNE 63 The Return of the Artificial, Te Reflections of a Poet-Philosopher Decoration by Erté .. SUE 66, 67 The Architect Describes the Reconstruction of Bernard Boutet de Monvel’s Home Drawings by BERNARD BOUTET DE MONVEL M. I GRACE CARLEY HARRIMAN 68, 69 The Concluding Chapter of Mrs. Oliver Harriman’s Memories THE LAND OF ROMANTIC ENCHANTMENT 96, 97 The Record of a Glamourous Spring Week Spent in Spain Drawings by DyxEvor Ruys FAIRFAX DOWNEY 100 It’s a Great Life Ii You Don’t Week-end, Am Article on the Four Types of Week-ends Decorations by REA IRVIN BOOKS WORTH READING........ 143 ELISABETH FINLEY THOMAS 84, 85 By Batrp LEONARD Empty Shrines, 1 Society Novel with a Palm Beach Background Illustrated by WALLACE MORGAN POEM by Lizerre WoopwortH REEs! 83 Avis _— les modéles reproduits dans notre magazine sont la propriété de leurs créateurs. Les reproduc- tions, imitations ou contrefacons méme partielles peuvent toujours entrainer contre leurs auteurs des pour- suites de la part des créateurs et de l’ Association des Arts Plastiques et A ppliqués en France et é l’Etranger. Published monthly by the INTERNATIONAL MaGazINE Company, INc., at 119 West goth Street, New York City. 1. HATHAWAY, Vice-President. Ray Lona, President. Austin W. CLARK, Secretary. ARTHUR S. Moore, Treasurer. Copyright 1927, by International Magazine Company, Inc. (Harper's Bazar). All rights reserved under terms of the Fourth American International Convention of Artistic and Literary Copyright. 50 cents a copy; subscription price, United States and possessions, $4.00 a year; Canada, $5.00; Foreign, $6.00 All subscriptions are payable in advance. Unless otherwise directed we begin all subscriptions with the current issue. When sending in your renewal, please give us four weeks’ notice. When changing an address give the old address as well f They will be handled wit! I as the new and allow five weeks for the first copy to reach you. ; care, but this magazine assumes no responsibility for their safety. Harper's Bazar is fully protected by copyright anc may be reprinted either wholly or in part without permission. Manuscripts must be typewritten and accompanied by return postage i nothing that appears in it

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46 HARPER’S BAZAR yma FUSSY PACKAGE A rich feast in nuts and chocolate If you can distinguish between the finest chocolates carefully blended and finely milled, and the other kinds— If you appreciate the flavor of vanilla bean, contrasted with its imitations If you prefer nut centers and nut combinations, and if you want your favorite assortment in a package of rich and quiet beauty, you will thank us for directing you to the Fussy Package. There are no soft centers in the Fussy Package. It is a special assortment for those who like chocolates with hard, “or chewey” centers. It is a good example of how Whitman's Chocolates are selected and packed to suit individual tastes. Thousands already know the Fussy Chocolates as their first favorites. Hundreds of thousands more no doubt will welcome them. Sold only in those selected stores, one in nearly every neighborhood, that combine selling fine candy with giving good service. STEPHEN F. WHITMAN & SON, Inc., Philadelphia New York Chicago San Francisco The Fussy Package contains chocolate pieces enclosing Almonas, Walnuts, Filberts, Pea- nuts, Brazil Nuts, Pecans, Double Walnuts, Pecan Caramels, Triple Almonds, Nougat, Nut Bricklets, Nut Brittle, Almond Dates, Double Peanuts, Nougat Caramels, and Al- mond Caramels. Packed in boxes from half pound to five pounds. Tye

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HE Young Lady who goes abroad as often as she can, came home the other day with a little chip on her shoulder. “Tf there’s one person who makes me mad- der than the hundred per cent. ‘Amurican,’ it’s the person who says to me when I return, say, from Spain, ‘Of course you went to Granada, my dear!’ And when I say no, I didn’t have time (what I really lacked was money!), she cries out, as though personally wounded, ‘What! you didn’t go to Granada! Then you haven’t really seen Spain!’ ‘““Now, I am one of those fortunate, or unfortunate people, who are grateful for the crumbs that fall from the banquet-table of life and experience. If I can’t see all of a country, I say I am lucky to have seen one corner of it. There’s only one June in all the year, and part of that may be rainy and bleak. Is that any reason why I should deplore the fact that I can catch only fleeting glimpses of the sun in a season which should be full of green and golden light? “T’ve never been to Italy. I’m like the man in the old poem who had never been to Carcassonne. He, poor fellow, died just as he was starting out at last. At least I've been luckier than he! “Tt comes over me every once in a while that there are thousands—yes, millions of places—on this wonderful earth that I shall never see. Why worry? I simply get what I can, and let it go at that. ‘“‘Coming home on the boat I met a man of middle years who had never been abroad before. He spoke to me as the ship was pulling out of Southampton. He was a big, robust, self-satisfied fellow, and he just hated Europe! With all his mind and heart and strength he hated it. He and his little wife both. They were footsore. They ached in every bone of their body. They would be so glad to get back to God’s country; and, to reveal to the world how they felt inside, they had pinned little American flags in their buttonholes. They had ‘done’ England in a week— seen everything, as he explained to me. There wasn’t a thing there that they liked. Gosh! what an over-rated country! Yes, the ale had been good, and the roast beef. He admitted it was good to be able to drink a flagon of beer openly with his meals, and not stir a highball with the handle of a tooth-brush up in his room at a New York hotel. Nevertheless, he was glad to leave a land, the beauty of which he had not appreciated. “*T listened, aghast, to his tirade, in which his little wife joined now and then, wearily. But,’ I finally said to him, ‘there must have been something that you cared for over here?’ ‘“*Not a thing,’ he replied, almost before I could finish my sentence. “*Didn’t you like Westminster Abbey?’

“f3 “*That old pile of stones!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why, Miss, it’s a disgrace to the British nation, that’s what it is! There ain’t a place in it where you can lean without getting dusty. Those old effigies ought to be cleaned with a vacuum-cleaner. Better still, they ought to be taken out and aired. In fact, the whole building ought to be torn down, and a big new modern structure put up in its place. Then they’d have something. That’s what we'd do with it in Amurica, Miss.’ “T didn’t tell him that I supposed that was just it. Before I could say a word he had plunged on: ‘And the French people—why, they’re crazy. Why don’t they speak a language a feller can understand? And that silly paper money of theirs—why, it tears in vour hand if you try to pay a taxi-driver, and we've just as good pictures back home as they have in the Loover. Nellie, here, thinks so too, don’t you, Nellie?’ The little wife nodded a swift affirmative. “*But the Bois, the Champs Elysées, Versailles, the Loire Valley, the Chateau country, the- “*A terrible disappointment, every one of ‘em,’ my new acquaintance said emphatically. ‘I’d much rather look at Brooklyn Bridge and the Ritz Tower, or Michigan Avenue or the Loop, or San Francisco Bay, or—’ “*They have their value, too,’ I humbly suggested. ‘But surely the history, the background, the wonder of a church like Notre Dame must have seeped into your soul?’ “*Oh, I get so sick of talking and thinking of the past! It makes me tired. I can’t get up any interest in kings and queens who didn’t have bathrooms in their palaces. A dirty lot, physically and morally. No, Miss, back home’s good enough for me, with its open plumbing and a good fat juicy steak instead of patty de fov grass, or whatever it is they eat over there!’ “You won't believe me, but those were his very words. ‘The little wife looked at me, and I could see that some- thing serious was passing through her mind. “Then, ‘ You’re alone?’ she asked. I told her that I was. “Won't you sit at our table, then?’ she went on. “T thought rapidly. Seven days of this sort of talk! A few moments of it were amusing. But how could I ever stand it, three meals a day during the whole trip? “**No, thank you very much,’ I said. ‘I’m not a very good companion, especially at table. You see, Iam fond of crumbs—just crumbs.’ “They looked at me in astonishment. And then, to my relief, they fled. “And I suppose it was they who spread the rumor about the boat that a mad girl sat at a corner table alone, night after night, looking wistfully back toward the continent she had left, thinking of crumbs. CHARLES HANSON TOWNE.

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HARPER’S BAZAR - say es eAideaigs To8 Lie Py J i yee) ate, ‘ ae : ‘Gee, whe J VY) - God. The lovely terrace of the summer home of Mrs. Carlos M. de Heredia

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JULY 1927 S ) Tek, af MODES OF THE MOMENT Biss the Phew Lik . EN SECT Individual midsummer h tls, brocks, and lingerie that are nol a fparl of the establiuhed mode but are de I signed lor a lew smart women. Nis from ings 7 > . ‘Cappé and Sossu Nsw. i frown . ~~ 5 ( . ( , ; C hurn, Asergdorf & Joodman, and i a {?- . Iladame « Irances. ~ imigerte 4 ‘ / ° | JS aisy Siavson. Drawincs BY Samuet Davis Orts, Grace Hart, ann MataGa GRrENET

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HARPER’S

BAZAR

e ee T [oe =| 1 Twi ~~ Ae ats ae’ : ent ! } | } | | . i | t | j ry | i | 5 : | Ua i 3 i i & i | | ma ta a eRiunetr List — j EE hiseenetiicherneeniinatiasaiin ee < a = all — Those who adopt the fluttering pic luresque frocks of summer invariably lurn to this designer for accompany- ing hats. This large hat of natural Tuscan straw is extremely wide at the back and sides and simply trim med with wide streamers and a rose. Ilats on this page from HERMAN PATRICK TAPPE LT | on ‘ oui, — Pa S ) ( heal laws es J Yecome CG Old-fashioned

Tuscan straw has a colored facings to match their trim fanciful trimming of deliccte beige mings. Java straw wreathed with wis a J ( / . lace butterflies. The banana-colored teria is faced with matching Georgette. univer ASSIC grosgrain ribbon is knotted at the back. Many of this summer’s large hats hai

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Hats of an in-between size that ar neither small nor large are very smart. A navy-blue ballibuntl straw is trimmed with white grosgrain and gardenias. Small hats, with the delicate touch that adapts them for afternoon wear with frocks not so severely simple, are often hard to find. This small hat of black horsehair, trimmed with black lace that forms the nose-veil, is of that rare type. The band is of black satin. ieee 2 (~ 7D) C hal are Karl id /] / ingly chic. This one, of navy-blue gvos- | le ode grain, has a plaque of forget-me-nots. For brief and slender semi-tailored frocks a small hat of this sort is exceed-

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O)-isinal iL. oe at C : cs Oo HARPER’ S a, Sa | C [= . - This extremely individual afternoon gown, that takes more than a bit of wearing, is of heavy black Georgette crépe printed in a modern floral pattern of blues, greens, and deep magenta. The loose blouse and huge sleeves, caught in at the wrist, are a striking contrast to the brief, Straight skirt. From Bergdorf Goodman. ° 2: ae BAZAR An excellent example of the printed frock for practically any daytime occasion is this fuchsia crépe de Chine, patterned with groups of rather small, conventional white flowers. The trans- parent yoke, of matching fuchsia chiffon, gives this simply designed two-piece dress a decided feeling of formality. From Madame Frances.

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for JULY 1927 [ Cc~ ) ace CAAlic NG hiffon are still the SJ irsl # - A certain distinction attends the successful wearer of a beautiful picture frock. The one above, of black fish-net tulle and dull gold lace, might have been inspired by a painting by Velasquez. This is the type of robe de stvle that may be worn with comfort in practically any evening setting. From Bergdorf Goodman. An evening ensemble depends upon an ex quisitely colored cape-wrap for its unusual in- terest. The slender dress is of banana chiffon, and the cape is of the same with insets of deep wine and red chiffon. The sleeveless dinner gown of beige lace and green chiffon has a border of tiny green beads. From Thurn. 53 , i of the | Voce

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ee ee en leve 1s a © 111e eslraml lil lhe Silvtecihe ‘Saud of this HARPER’S BAZAR Chimay Ia easons —/ hoes MALAG GRAUET PEDEMODE Dark blue shoes are only smart when they are the very dark midnight blue color that Paris approves. This plain finely made sandal has a slender high heel. Correct shoes for active sports wear are of white buckskin with crépe rubber soles and a divided saddle of tan calfskin. This is the type of shoe that the active sportswoman finds most comfortable. A jeweled buckle and flesh satin with matching silk kid used to form an asymmetric strap arrangement makes a pump to complete the ensemble for summer evenings. A beige water-snake pump with narrow strap and piping of kid, and below a two-strap calfskin walking shoe of the type that has become a classic. MILLER Reptile trimming is still good. Rose-beige Ferracuir (opalescent kid) with deeper tinted snakeskin collar and heel trimming makes an original afternoon sandal. For general sports wear a modified Peel oxford is of ivory doeskin with tan calfskin vamp and heel. The medium heel with all-leather lifts is preferred by the serious walker. The Ferracuir treatment of leather is one of the most suc- cessful new modes, and when combined in shades of rose and parchment makes a fascinating modern sandal. For summer afternoons, a white kid sandal oxford with green underlay. Next, a hot weather oxford of natural color visca-like fabric and kid skin.

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JULY 1927 = OES Ay , 7 we A f 4 | | } || AGA = a : —_— _ or CAMMEYER SAKS-FIFTH AVENUE \Lop) White buckskin trimmed with kid makes an (Top) A decorative oxford for midsummer wear ts of original sabot oxford of the scmi-sports type. Directly green and white woven leather, tipped and trimmed with below, a tailored pump of sharkskin and kid. green morocco leather, to accent an all white costume. One of the many variations of the porous shoe for hot weather, this Two sandals for summer evening wear. First, the informal sandal smart shoe above has a woven leather vamp, in white and a color. of fine French kid is pink and simply cut, while the formal slipper This ts of navy blue and white with a blue heel and trimming. consists of gold kid fretwork combined with flesh-colored moire. The next shoe of this variety is for more informal wear. An afternoon pump of beige water-snake has insertions of A natural linen sandal, with an embroidered floral spray matching kid in a very modern design. This new treat- on the toe, is trimmed with pastel colored opalescent kid. ment makes it adaptable for wear with lighter costumes. For informal evening wear or formal daytime For informal wear during the summer, this occasions, this sandal of ivory kid is delicately ac- strapped slipper is made of a printed Rodier cented by its trimmings of black pearl kid skin. tussore. The trimming is of colored morocco.

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BARPER’S BAZ. (Che = Mod: a. oo lhe ] oud: ST oudoir ao For intimate afternoon groups, this hostess gown has a brief fitted slip of turquoise blue and silver brocade veiled with a draper of blue-violet chiffon that reveals the figure charmingly. A modern version of the fluffy negligée as a Slender short coat and slip of anana-colored chiffon trimmed with ochre Alengon lace. A crisp satin bow varies the simple silhouette. A lounging pajama of red and white printed crépe de Chine has an amusing fitted coat cut to ripple at the hips. The striking effect of the print is emphasised by the white bands.

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| \ \ | | \ | \ ? Oe} te \ | | | a thal is LY ee hy a Pail ( ually Those who prefer a one-piece combination may select this one of peach-colored parure, a material slightly heavier than triple voile. The lace is deep écru color. | fuilored two-piece set of white crépe le Chine is bound and monogramed with a clear blue-green. The V-shaped hodice top is an excellent idea. These frivolous pajamas are of printed chiffon patterned with roses and trimmed with ruffs of rose chiffon. The lounge cover ts of pink satin, marabou, and lace. For summer brides, this designer makes a white triple voile set with incrustations of cobwebby lace. The low-cut bandeau is designed to give all possible support. Models on both pages from DAISY GARSON

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Two flower perfumes for summer days include Caron’s Mimosa, an appealing, wistful fragrance, Jay-Thor pe. and = Guerlain’s Jasmin. From

The haunting scent of Gardenia is for an evening perfume, and a larger bottle of a spicy daytime bouquet is labeled Number 15. From Henri Bendel. CLEVER MAKE-UP IS PART OF THE ENSEMBLE “<< “Che Pits I lode a csianills the ( omplement - ST a leisvsiigienoens ( alll ai BY LUCILE EDUCED to its lowest common denominator the art ot facial grooming in America has become one of our modern problems, and has reached the point where even the most casual observer must be led to this obvious con- clusion—that make-up should be taken seriously or not at all. The well-known American initiative has not served us to advantage in this particular field of endeavor, for even in the smartest places one invariably sees women who have apparently never stopped to consider that “‘light hands” are as much of an asset in applying make-up as in handling horses. Every one will agree that there is nothing more truly engaging than the natural tint of a healthy skin, but the average woman of to-day under the conditions of modern life, even when she has a skin of good texture, is liable to be lacking in color. It is this common lack of becoming pigmentation that we try to remedy by adopting what we choose to call a ‘‘natural”’ make-up: which to a vast majority appears to suggest a banal pink-and-white exposure. Our first problem, then, is to analyze our natural coloring and follow it when improving upon nature. And only the hope- lessly prejudiced will say that it is not an improvement after they have witnessed the “‘before-and-after”’ stages in the toilet of a clever woman who has approached her individual problem with intelligence and a certain amount of awe. Smart Europeans have an interesting philosophy of personal BUCHANAN coloring and its relation to our highly sophisticated modern costumes. These élégantes, to quote Madame Helena Rubin- stein, have three kinds of make-up, two for daytime and one for evening. Since the color of the complexion is modified so tremendously by the contrast between it and any adjacent color, it is not sur- prising that their two daytime make-ups are devised to comple- ment their costume cclors. One, an exotic type of make-up, is designed to be worn with a vivid costume and the other is for neutral and pastel costumes. With vivid colors, the face is kept rather pale by way of contrast. The powder used either just matches the skin or may even be a shade lighter, and the lins are made a vivid vermilion. No rouge is used. This is particularly striking for a dark-haired type, and may be some- what softened for others. For pastel-colored costumes, a more colorful make-up is worn. Rouge that blends with the individual’s facial coloring is used with a lipstick of the same coloring. This is very im- portant, for lips of one color and cheeks of another are ama- teurish and ridiculous. The powder used should have a hint of warmth, so that the whole effect is one of vivid skin as an accent for a neutra! costume. Evening make-up is applied with a more generous hand, using a lighter, warmer tint of powder than is used for daytime; and a lighter rouge and lipstick. (Continued on page 124)

HARPER’S BAZAR

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(Above, left) To be used as a protective basis for make-up or to prevent sunburn, a collapsible tube of Amoretta Cream; may also be mixed with liquid powder for eve- ning. Elizabeth Arden. (Above) To stimulate and bleach a sallow skin, this jar of Venetian Ardena Masque is suf- ficent for six home treat- ments. The square box is a daytime package of O Elizabeth Arden powder. Right, a luxurious home treatment is Helena Ru- binstein’s Eastern Oil rejuvenating After cleansing and creaming, the oil is ap- plied and then covered with an egg yolk mask. treatment. Foret Aid; for the ga \ Yj) ! j VA AULA/, 4 , a ) yf a \ \ A summer beauty kit contains the essentials for caring for a skin unafraid to face the weather. The rubber-lined bag has room for your own powder. From Helena Rubinstein. A set of three square rouge compacts is a clever new idea, since they may be changed with the costume. One is black, one red, and one green-enameled. From Helena Rubinstein. When Poppea was ex- iled from Rome, she took fifty asses to pro- vide her favorite face lotion. The exodus of any smart moderit is more A bove travel case is Dorothy Gray’s. convenient. f the (fi: oe

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HARPER’S BAZAR } Marie Earle advises ato- mizers for applying lo- lions most effectively. Perfume wax in three flower odors is easy to carry. From Marie Earle. This travel kit cont 2 SS8g uns gencrous amounts of prep- arations for prophylactu fucial treatments { make-up A carbol and ised lotion is alse a_ liquid powder. From Rose La ird. An ingenious preparation to keep unruly evebr smooth and _ pliable Rose Laird’s Fix Brushed on at night ows is tol. this viscous substance hardens and successfully — tre the evebrows into pl uns ace, Wt Bbee 2 Pa, (Lf) aldOe + ecessories Jor thie A gold-plated case has both dry and paste rouge, powder and a metal mirror. From Marie Earle. For morning use, lemon verbena, lavender, or clove pink toilet waters from Anne Haviland. (Above, center) A smart roll of lizard grain is rub- ber-lined and fitted with all necessary preparations for facial care and make-up. The straps allow a variety of packages. Maric Earle. (Left) Anne Haviland be- lieves that perfumes for sportswomen should have a tonic effect, so she has designed flat bottles with green suede hand-made cases, Jor carrying ker refreshing totlet waters. An unusual cosmetic box of rose lizard grain is completely equipped with make-up. The same cella p- sible waterprocf box is fit- ted as a week-end case also. From Primrose House.

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Evening powders from Eliza- beth Arden come especially packed in a floral box. Spanish Gold is an exotic blend of white night flower odors. From Anne Haviland. Other evening cosmetics arc mascara, liquid rouge, and Arden’s box of paste rouge. Below, flower odors blend- ed to order in decorative LA ( onip ele (Middle, above) It practi- cally amounts to trans- porting one’s individual dressing-table, when one carries this de luxe Arden case of tan suéde alligater, with complete equipment. Drivingidie Fa ~ressind lable «/Assures Keven l€ ac Rae 8 1 "°2111INO eo The meticulous care with which this selon blends face powders for indi vidual skins will surprise those who think of powder in terms of flesh, cream, or white. Dorothy Gray. botiles from Anne Haviland.

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62 HARPER’S BAZAR N= te) pec Rt 2 gS att Or Nie aN TUNIS RL ON NE NE nts — ee = Drawn especially for Harper’s Bazar by MARY MacKINNON MRS. JULIAN MONRO GERARD In New York and at Newport and Palm Beach, Mrs. Gerard is resided for many years in Gramercy Park, New York, Mrs. prominently identified with the world of society. Before her mar- Gerard was Miss Elizabeth Schedel. Mr. and Mrs. Gerard riage to the son of the late Mr. and Mrs. James Watson Gerard, who and Miss Betty Gerard are at Newport for the summer season.

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1927 JULY * BY Tekan Ye or ee THE RETURN OF THE ARTIFICIAL Shad how this presenl Dge | Antibes will emerge a i( ord natural ) o£ as the MWiorld fies never ¢ — to he Welore ERE in America, the land of dramatic extremes, we are so used to sudden changes of all kinds that they never surprise us. Indeed, we should hardly feel natural without them. The climate is like that to begin with, and it is the climate that makes us and not we ourselves. So we are told, and so it certainly seems, for who thinks the same at the North Pole as he thinks at the Equator? Morals and manners alike, said some modern philosopher, are questions of geography. When the thermometer drops thirty degrees in one night, we may reflect that the weather is very much like ourselves. Extremes meet in ourselves in just the same way. In other lands changes are more gradual, so we are accustomed to say, yet the last three decades have seen a sudden world-wide change which seems to give the lie to this truism. Like that sudden drop in the thermometer, it seems to have taken place in one night. Though probably the Great War, on whose shoulders, as on the weather, we have come to throw everything, has accelerated it, it didn’t begin it. It was well under way long before 1914. The pendulum of history, the world over, has seldom seen such a rapid swing back from one point to another. Super- ficially it concerned the world of Fashion, where changes have always been sudden, but properly speaking there is nothing superficial, and usually changes in fashion go deeper than a matter of clothes or ways of wearing the hair. They are baro- metric of changes in the social, the spiritual and intellectual atmospheres, and the thoroughly qualified philosopher would certainly be able to trace the surprising Return to the Artificial, which is one of the most curious phenomena of our time, to deeper causes than Paris dressmakers or Paris artists. Only those who remember the world as it was just before ‘the ’nineties”’ will be able to realize what a volte-face the social world has undergone. To associate Signor Mussolini with the cynically frank use of the powder-puff, the lipstick and other forms of the artificial which suddenly invaded the whole world, might seem fantastic, but both he and they are unquestion- ably related signs of the almost’ theatrically changed times through which we have recently been living. Thirty years or so ago, we were all for the natural and the simple. Democracy and the millennium seemed on the point of arriving together. An almost Rousseau-like “return to nature” seemed imminent. “The simple life” was the key- phrase of all the “advanced” movements. Conventions, sophistries and artificialities of all kinds seemed gone forever. William Morris furniture, Browning optimism, Fabian socialism, loose “esthetic” gowns of “Liberty” silk, or socialistic serge, and hair parted aw naturel low in the neck, and simply coiled, as in Rossetti or Burne-Jones paintings, were the fashions for women, who, if they ever used powder or rouge, scrupulously concealed the fact, as a shameful secret of the boudoir. Such devices, along with tight corsets, were regarded as belonging to the unnatural world of dead or dying Victorianism. In certain advanced circles men were refusing to wear evening dress, made quite a moral issue of it, in fact—and had one been told that a day was not far off when even Mr. Bernard Shaw would come to be photographed in that uniform of Victorian snobbery, one would have as soon believed it as if some one had prophesied his wearing a Tudor ruff or a Louis XIV. Ramilies wig. A revolutionist in evening dress! And everything then was “for the Revolution” in some form or other. In fact, though we did not realize it, the long reaction against the formal- ism of the eighteenth century, which had found such an impetus in the French Revolution, and in the poetry of Wordsworth, all the gospels of “‘nature” and freedom, had mounted to that top of the wave which prophetic observers might have foreseen was on the verge of falling back into a reactionary undertow. The tide had been running so long, it was time for the ebb. One such prophetic observer there was who saw clearly what was coming, and announced it. He was a young man who affected an exceedingly prim and restrained dandyism, wore his hair smoothly smatted back in a manner with which we are now all too familiar, who affected a cynical reticence and freedom from emotion or flourishes of any kind, supernaturally self- contained and modish—in short, Mr. Max Beerbohm. While thus a portent of the future swiftly coming upon us, Mr. Beer- bohm, unlike other prophets of the mode, achieved the paradox of remaining human—a grace which his myriad imitators have not received. Serious as he affected to be, he was a humorist, as well as a humanist. His followers, of course, are peither. Well, he made a famous statement in an essay first published in The Yellow Book, and afterwards published in his “Works,” to the effect that a new era of artifice was upon us. N THAT moment it seemed the unlikeliest of all things to happen. It seemed a merely personal statement, the an- nouncement of something the announcer would like to see happen rather than something that was at all probable. Yet it had hardly fallen, with a scarcely perceptible chuckle from his discreet young lips, ere the barometer was seen to be suddenly falling. Those who had invested in the expensive simplicity of Morris wall-papers, and other forms of freedom, rubbed their eyes as they saw Victorian horsehair sofas coming back, and Victorian Mrs. Langtry “bangs” once more, doll-like, on feminine foreheads. Suddenly everything was growing stiff, and formal, “unnatural” and even ugly once more. The pendulum had begun its swift return through Victorian- ism and Georgianism, to that eighteenth century against which there had been so long, so “‘romantic,” and apparently so successful a fight. The world was hardened again, and the old narrow conception of “style” and “distinction’’ was laying a cold aristocratic finger on democratic vagaries of individual- ism. ‘‘Nature’s gentlemen’ were once more giving way to that ideal of the gentleman which we find in the comedies of Congreve and Wycherly. (Concluded on page 128) 63

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A) a OSVILO HARPER’S BAZ: 4 i oe: ee “All the greater shock to see a! its solid breakfast table those dreadful little clever people called the Intelligentsia.”’ THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE Whose deg oes wlion is lo stifle a “ PHILOSOPHER,” John Pitt, seizing the chance for a wisecrack, ‘‘is a man who has achieved the art of re- maining exquisitely undisturbed at the trouble of his neighbors. ”’ For which he won a laugh. said Roden Morden, who was re- garded as a failure by that set because he was successful, “‘but when trouble stalks into his own house and takes the easy chair what price philosophy then?” He asked this pointed Christina Venning, said "“' =" because irritating question one of those creatures who pounce on the morning paper and read its unessentials, had tumbled on a para- graph that was packed as tightly with trouble as a bomb with T. N. T. ILLUSTRATED BY . ) ' aaa AK aise ch cently SAMUEL Davis With surprise in every word and a lurking innuendo, it conveyed the news that Panglos, the famous dramatist and notorious debauchee, had left every cent of his money to his “be- loved Hyacinthe.” Would the philosophical Pitt be able to apply any of the art of exquisite undisturbance to his own case, when, eventually, it was disclosed that the mysterious legatee was, in fact, the girl who was about to become his wife? Before any of the others could jump in with something smart, Pitt answered Morden’s question from the Modernist’s point of view. ““My dear old Roden, a wisecrack is a whiff of wit almost wholly devoid of wisdom. And if you insist on committing the frightful faux- pas of being serious—a pre-war habit out of OTIs which all sensible people have grown—let me tell you this. In the intellectual company among which you find yourself trouble has no place. Passions, principles, prejudices, and pity, the four old-fashioned ingredients of which trouble is made up, are quite unknown to us. They come under the heading of Tosh. So far as we’re concerned life is a charmingly brief experiment, an intellectual adventure. during which all primitive sensations are leit to hoi polloi. We refuse to be made to feel Everything serious bores. Our motto is, ‘Nothing matters,’ and so life becomes as amusing as death, and the only ambition we indulge in is to be witty and raise a laugh.” There was a round of applause. To Morden, who was a Primitive, this was 2

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1927 JULY for poisonous creed. The spirit of the age had not got under his skin. He had chosen deliber- ately to remain pre-war. He clung to the old- fashioned passions, principles, prejudices, and nities because life would be unendurable with- out them, and, at the risk of being labeled an advocate of Tosh, held that death was the second stage of an apprenticeship to a further series of troubles which must be overcome. Then, finally, Life. He realized the absurdity of argument with the young “philosopher,” and let the matter drop. But when he looked at Leigh Stopford the future Mrs. Pitt, there was an expression of such high challenge on her face that the tragic figure of trouble seemed already to have arrived at the door. With its honest pitch-pine paneling, its simple Colonial furniture, and its wholly normal prints, the room itself was healthy. And through its open windows the gorgeous panorama of wide and fertile valley proved that the / house had been built high up to catch the vigorous breeze. There was in fact no dwelling in that unspoiled part of the country that bore to a degree so noticeable and refreshing the divine flavor of spiritual wholesomeness and free- dom from pretense. All the greater shock to see at its solid breakfast table at eleven \ o'clock in the morning dreadful little clever people who were called the Intelligentsia and without health. those were entirely HERE, for instance, lolled the successful failure Stack- rack, who wrote denatured novels read by no one but the critics. It was he who had just remarked, and led the chorus of giggles, that “the most artificial thing about a woman was her natural modesty.”’ He woke himself up / in the middle of the night in ; order to invent impromptus. é / There was also Alex Weeman / who wrote vicious screeds about the playwrights who refused to lick his boots and indescribably impertinent descriptions of young actresses who refused to sit on his lap; Ballou Zittell Ambler, whose amateur attempts at sculp- ture were so unbelievably childish that he had become the President of the Futuristic School; Daniel Gabriel Stogel who broke mean- ingless prose into stuttering lines and hailed himself a poet; Chris- tina Venning, the essayist, whose pornographic dissections of the unblemished dead were smuggled into girls’ schools, and Sara Popper Vanderwimple whose distracting distortions of music were rendered in Green- wich Village by a quartet consisting of a meat saw, a drain pipe, a motor horn, and the lid of a garbage can. There was nothing honest, simple, normal, or fertile about this lot, nothing vigorous and refreshing. And as for spiritual wholesomeness and freedom from pretense, not a single one of them knew the meaning of the words. To Morden, who was regarded as a savage because he played golf and smelt of Harris tweed, and as a vandal because he threw his books over the critics’ heads into the eager hands of the public, it was amazing to find the once athletic Pitt herding with these people. Two years ago, when he had burst upon New with a curious gravity. York like a sixty-mile gale, ambitious and en- thusiastic, with the laurels of a best seller on his unspoiled brow, he seemed to be the last man in the world to become infected by the Intelli- gentsia germ. Now, as the host of these self- conscious pretenders who were content to be merely clever and were without ability, he was as mentally ill as they were and just as pleased with himself. And when Weeman twisted the conversation to the question of caste so that he might define an aristocrat as a person who bears one of the oldest and most dishonored names in history— ‘T shall never tell Jack, or you, or any one, what I was to Panglos,’ she said, ” which had gone very well at many similar “the egregiously normal Morden” went off on an inward line. He liked and was sorry for Pitt. He greatly admired Leigh Stopford. And, as it happened, Panglos had been one of his most intimate friends. He was all the more personally con- cerned in this impending trouble because he had introduced Pitt to Leigh and was the only person in that room who knew anything of what he had hitherto called the beautiful friendship of Panglos and this girl. The brilliant dramatist, whose yearly master- pieces had been the sensation of every theatrical season, had acquired the unenviable reputation of a hunter of women. Under the hawklike eye of the Press, the life of a prominent person is spent behind walls of glass, and so the Pang- los peccadillos were a matter of general knowl- meals 65 edge. This, as mucn as the excellence of his work, had accounted for the wild rush to be present at the first nights of his plays. Morden knew that these stories were true. But who was he to pass judgment on the im- perfections of a friend? He had discovered in Panglos many delightful characteristics. There had been sentiment in his cynicism, and in his sensuality a touch of idealism. Then, too, he had suffered from devastating attacks of melancholy during which he had become the loneliest man on earth, and he had always been so sensitive, and, in a curious way, so timid about his work that he had never read what he wrote from day to day to a single soul until the romantic advent of Leigh. During the last three years of his life he had shared a house with Morden—an ugly, brownstone but aloof old house, disturbed by no other traffic than that on the East River, interesting and pic- And it was to his book- lined den in this place that Leigh, virginal, naive, and worshiping, had slipped, unnoticed, osten- sibly as his secretary, every afternoon. In his flowery way Panglos had called her “‘a faith, a reliance, a refuge,” and had treated this secret friendship with a sort of reverence. That was where Morden had met and admired her, and even- tually, to his present regret, in- troduced her to the then promis- ing Pitt. As the daughter of the Rev. Doctor Amery Stopford, the much advertised leader of the Atheistic church, she was natu- rally one of the star members of the Bright Young Undisciplined People who played havoc with the conventions. In spite of this, Morden found her to be as normal as she was lovely, as free from the cant and poses of the Intelligent- sia as a tennis champion. And it was not until Death had written the word “Curtain” to the dramatist’s career that the an- nouncement of her engagement to Pitt had been given out to the Press. turesque. T WAS only now, as Morden e watched her j pression of reading of the paragraph, and saw that she intended to hide the fact that she and the mysterious Hyacinthe were one and the same that, for the first time, a reluctant query as to the beauty of her friendship Panglos hung before his eyes. Looking from Leigh to her future husband during the remainder of the meal, through clouds of cigaret smoke and a barrage of epi- grams, Morden told himself with excitement that he had it in his power to chuck a bomb at Pitt. Unlike any other human creature he was in the strange position of being able at that very moment to test the strength of his young friend’s modern creed and find out how much real truth there motto of “Nothing matters.” He said to himself, “It’s true that this very foolish lad is stewing in the grease of his fatuous complacency. He read his own sentence with triumphant idiocy. But when I remember his former decency and vigor, and that he came out of the woods with a strong creative force three things that are (Continued on page 129) forced ex- unconcern at the most pure with was in his

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66 The octagonal dining-room is radiant with mirrored doors, a mirrored table framed in wrought iron, and a beautiful Venetian luster. At night curtains that en- tirely enclose the room are drawn between the eight columns wei. Vat BEES HARPER’S BAZAR The canopied Chippendalé bed is curtained with white damask patterned with litle blue flowers. The arm- chairs in the room are covered with needlepoint tapestry, and high over the mantel is a modern bas- relief. Drawings by Bernard Boutet de Monvel

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JULY 1927 for The house lies on two sides of a charming court with a little sunken garden. Up a step or two, along one side of the garden, is a bowery pergola. M. Boutet de Monvel at the garden entrance of his dining-room. THE HOME OF B. BOUTET DE MONVEL Desovibocl by the Dretiespiilesd Feuille Piptha ir Ie wu the q aee: ied C/rench — rchitect -* dainud its KR econstruction AUL VALERY says that there are monu- ments which are mute, that others talk, and, finally, that certain ones sing. In a more modest category, I think there are some which content themselves with living. To fit up an old house is a very delicate and perilous thing. The old house is an invalid who must be treated; there is some risk of killing him. I do not mean materially, but spiritually. Materially one does what one Wishes in architecture, save removing the humidity from an old building, Boutet de Monvel would say. But one must give new life, infuse new blood into a worn body. Whatever the style may be, one should avoid making. a restoration, launching one’s self into archeological exercises. In that path one always remains cold and inferior to one’s model, achieving but a setting. In a successful dwelling one should feel at ease, as in a garment; it must savor of to-day, the “living to-day.” Each architectural case, therefore, is a new, individual problem, which depends upon climate, upon location, but above all upon the personage who is to dwell therein. It is he who will be the inspiration; it is he who by his person or his character will deter- mine and ultimately fix the style of his dwelling. M. L. SUE The more marked the character of the per- sonage, the better will be the architecture that he will obtain, to such an extent that, in general, one knows not so much the name of the architect as the name of the one who orders the monument. The styles themselves bear the mark of those who inspire them. Mansard and Lendétre put their talent to translating the century of Louis XIV.; as for the Arc de Triomphe, to all the world it repre- sents Napoleon, but there are very few who attribute it to Chalgrin. Past architectures remain eloquent witnesses of humanity. Just like writings, they retrace the lives, customs, and characters of men. We understand a man better when we have breathed the air of his country, visited his house. Also, to do suitable work, the architect should be well acquainted with, and be able to describe clearly the person for whom he works. If I draw the portrait of Boutet de Monvel I explain his dwelling, just as later on that dwelling will speak of him. Everybody knows that Boutet de Monvel is an artist of great talent, a “well-balanced” boy, having tradition and background. Above all, he appreciates well-drawn lines With him it is a mania. His and symmetry. love of order astonishes Madame de Monvel who believed that in marrying an artist she was marrying, by definition, a disorderly man. I shall not speak of many of his qualities which have been revealed to me through friend- ship and the science of character reading through penmanship. But I shall add that beneath a rigorously correct aspect he conceals much whimsicality and a prodigious sense of humor. You see, to satisfy the taste of such a person one must first draw unalterable lines, a classic order, then dress all that in discreet fancy. The house in question, two years ago an old building in vague Directoire style, pleased Bernard Boutet de Monvel particularly, and its situation, in the midst of gardens, in a quarter of Paris so desirable to-day, permitted him to dream of a little orderly garden. This old sickly dwelling was composed of a long building on the street side and some buildings erected without order in the court- yard. These last were immediately suppressed, retaining only the main building. On the ground floor, facing the entrance doorway, we have aligned the vestibule in which is the staircase, a hall, the dining-room and a large drawing-room, the last two rooms overlooking the garden, (Concluded on page 126)

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68 BY LL ( MW hes. ( , Harriman) HARPER’S BAZAR 7 C / " . ~Jrace Crrley ‘ =o A recent portrait of Mrs. Harriman by Artur L. Halmi. OACH-AND-FOUR { of One ie Saal Sei Old Social Life, lhe Ol Calis, of Mirth will the HE hay ride is among the oldest traditions of American life, though known to the younger people of to-day only as they may see it revived in a pastoral play or movie. A moonlight ride in the country. An old farm wagon banked on either side with hay. The driver sitting on his perch behind a pair of honest plow horses. A girl and a boy, a girl and a boy, a girl and a boy face each other. Rosy-cheeked girls in their ginghams, gal lant young men in their overalls. All about them the new-mown hay impregnating the atmosphere with the fragrance of the fields. in two rows which Old ( himaley J len Hands which steal surreptitiously under the protecting screen Huge, gnarled, masculine hands which hold smaller feminine hands. Hearts which flutter. Rail- lery, the frank jesting of frank minds. ‘Ho, ho; ho, ho; Si’s got his arm round Mary’s waist.” A shout of laughter rising to the A blush on Mary’s face which the kindly night obscures. Si’s confusion which even the light of the harvest moon does not reveal to his tormentors. Great fun. Great happiness. mance. The old-fashioned hay rice Cares of the world forgotten. of the hay and clasp other hands. heavens. Great ro- An idyl. I have seen the start of country hay rides, and yet I have never tasted of their joys; I have heard the ring of carefree laughter and listened to a kind of banter new to me; I have seen the downcast and crimson cheeks of the girl clinging to the arm of her best young man as they stood at the threshold of this evening of enchantment; and yet it has only been as one who views an alluring pic- ture from afar. I often longed to join one of those hay rides and to be an actual member of the party, to be able to enter into the spirit as they did, and to feel the thrills of the moonlight and to revel in the physical discomforts which I eyes

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he FE BY 292F -now a springless farm wagon must bring. I 1ave vet to enjoy this homely American di- version, for the hay-ride parties I have at- tended on one or two occasions were imitations and Jacked the genuine candor and freedom of the original. It is a rather far jump from hay rides to the thought which has brought them to my mind. [ am thinking of the coaching parties which were once so fashionable in New York, and which, furthermore, were so genuinely pic- turesque and delightful, a form of amusement to the smart people of the city much the same is hay rides were to the plain people of the country. Of the many customs now gone from the social life of the metropolis I deplore none more than I do the passing of the coach and four. To me they were the fulfilment of my girlhood dream of a trip in one of those farm wagons with unshackled youth in its gayest Glorified hay rides, I was about to call them; and yet that could scarcely be so, for one cannot glorify that which is ideal. The coaching parade was a spectacle. We would start from the old Holland House, at Fifth Avenue and Thirtieth Street, and pro- ceed to Claremont for tea, driving through a lane of humanity which never failed to show its interest as we passed. It was all a picture— the women in their beautiful gowns, the men in their faultless attire, the postilions in their livery, blowing musical blasts from their trum- pets at frequent inter- vals, and the magnifi- cent horses responding to a touch from the reins in the way their breeding and _ training had taught them to do. I can still see Fred Beach in the driver’s seat of the William kK. Vanderbilt coach, and many others. He was a great whip. Others who loved the sport were Reggie Reeves, presi- dent of the Coaching Association, Oliver Bel- mont, and Frank k. Sturgis. I can see them, too, atop their coaches, surrounded by men and women noted in the social life of the city. A bizarre caravan moc cd. of life and color and gaiety. F ALL the events in which a woman's dress was subjected to the closest scrutiny, the coaching parades ex- It was the one occasion when conven- tion demanded that she be chic and smart; any- thing out of the ordi- nary was startling, anything not in strict accordance with the dictum of fashion was inexcusable. I recall once when a girl from the South arrived at the Holland House attired in a green dress and wearing green silk gloves. Creighton Webb, a popular and whole-hearted beau of the day, spied her. “My dear young lady,” he said, “this will never do—I mean the green silk gloves. We will have to get some others for you.” He confided the girl’s plight to me, and pleaded with me, in the name of all the sacred traditions of the coaching celled. parade, to find some other gloves for her. The parade was about to start. I was non- plused. I, of course, had no spare gloves with me, and I knew that none of the other women in the party would be likely to have. A quick visit to a near-by shop was the only solution. Yet the drivers were in their seats and the signal to start was about to be given. I hurriedly sought Mr. Vanderbilt (the senior), and asked if he could find some sub- terfuge for holding up the parade for a few moments—that it was imperative this be done. He graciously did my bidding, and the girl and I hastened to a store not far away and procured the proper kid gloves for her. Creighton Webb was waiting for us on our return, and he was a much relieved man, for he was interested in the girl I am speak- ing of and sat beside her on the Vanderbilt coach. Women who took part in the coaching parade would spend hours in the preparation of their toilette; at times the whole morning was consumed in this manner. One of the reasons it took so long to dress, in addition to the arrangement of the coiffure, was the fact that we wore many more and, to my way of thinking, much more beautiful “undies.” I remember with great joy going to Paris to pick out the loveliest designs I could find. They were always made by hand, of the finest linen— fille de main—with a bit of real lace or a dainty bit of embroidery. As for petticoats, they were so dainty, so fresh, I still remember the feel of Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Harriman in the cos- tumes they wore at the Bradley Martin Ball. the soft linen about my ankles. And when it came to the actual question of arraying our- selves in all this finery it meant that we had to match the “undies” with the dress we had chosen to wear, and all this consumed time, not only in putting them on, but in selecting. Once when I was still very young and not supposed to talk to any one while traveling, we Were on our way across the Atlantic, bound 69 for Paris. My mother was ill in her stateroom and I was walking around one of the decks. An extremely handsome and distinguished-looking man stopped me with a courtly apology for his boldness. He told me it was a pleasure to see a young girl wearing real lace petticoats, and that he so deeply deplored the disappearance of the mode that he could not help letting me know his sentiments. My mother was rather shocked over the incident when I told her about it, but we came to know him later and grew extremely fond of him. A titled foreigner, he married a friend of mine, an American girl, and was really a very fine person. F COURSE, being a Southerner, and my mother having a love of lace which I have inherited from her, my laces were amongst my most precious possessions. There were the little thin white aprons with their bits of real lace around the collar, which I used to wear as a schoolgirl. It was a custom for children to wear them over the colored frocks they wore going to school—a practical custom as well as quaint, too, for they were a protection from the black dust which would sometimes fill the atmosphere of dear old smoky Louisville. I adored the aprons for themselves, but espe- cially for the fringe of real lace which adorned them. It is in no criticism of the present-day style of dress that I express my fondness for the filmy and voluminous things women used to wear. Indeed, I deeply admire thé.Jovely silk slips and soft spink chiffon worn to-day, because they are’ much more eco- nomical and_ simpler, and; perhaps a bit more healthful. Girls are just as dainty and at- tractive as they used to be. We have grown so accustomed to short skirts that they have iost the slightest ele- ment of immorality. The display of flesh- colored stockings and pretty legs is all a part of the day’s routine, and men have ceased to marvel. It takes only a short stretch of recol- lection to recall how they used to stand at corners on windy days and ogle when the cross currents played pranks with a woman’s skirts. Even the men sitting in the windows of the Fifth Avenue clubs, at whom we were never 4 permitted to look as we passed by, were not im- mune to this common masculine habit—I mean common in the 4 sense of being wide- spread. As the four-in-hand has gone, so have the various types of carriages in use when the horse was king and the automobile a mere pretender to the throne. I liked best the phaeton with its rumble seat, on which the small groom would sit perched with folded arms, and undoubtedly in some discomfort, while the mistress drove a smart pair of horses, the reins drawn over a rail surmounting the dash. At Newport these di- minutive grooms became known as chaperons, because they were always present to keep a watchful eye on (Continued on page 110)

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70 HARPER’S BAZAR i ane Ne terraDe enn nse LOUISEBOULANGER ( I his (( as P ter With her husband, the well-known composer, Mrs. Porter beautiful American women, and she is popular in Conti- from nental society. Recently she and Mr. Porter visited the Duke Kentucky, is considered by many artists one of the most de Alba in Seville, where they spent the long Easter season. now makes her home in Paris. The former Linda Lee

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JULY 1927 ee BY C Jaron cle ever: Cc wae os wr mene REE TE "y Che Carcad “Rochwerystal ¢ te. des bes el de bes ¢ hine INDIVIDUALITY AND CLOTHES fy # | Sibsilyy I, esses Fenewsil | “Sersona ity through Srscart Rapvewior al tha Pea a marl epVressloll O lhe aimentl 18 rue Vaneau, Paris. NNE wants to know why the smart French women she reads about in Harper’s Bazar seem to keep out of sight during her stay in Paris. ‘Do they exist,” she asks, ‘“‘or are they merely inventions of your fertile brain? So far I haven’t come across any, and am much disappointed. How do you explain this mystery?” “Why, my dear Anne,” I answered, “there is no mystery at all; it simply is that elegance, smartness and, more especially, chic are rare in any country, even though they exist in Paris more so than elsewhere. To discern these qualifications, however, it requires an internationally educated eye, which you have evidently neglected to acquire. You are, of course, familiar with your own countrywomen’s style, and able to dis- tinguish between right and wrong at home, but seem unable to realize what is good or bad in Paris. “Tt is true that because of the average of good dressing exist- ing nowadays in all countries, newcomers, on first arriving in Paris, find that nothing seems to stand out conspicuously. The perfectly dressed woman, of which, I admit, only rare specimens, even over here, succeed in pleasing me, is only appreciated by a small, initiated set, able to discern the in- finitesimal details which are required to make up a perfect ensemble, and which Americans expect all Parisiennes to be experts in. Foreigners sometimes make preposterous remarks about Americans, such as, ‘Why, Americans all look the same to me; though I am told some are more distinguished than others, personally I don’t see any difference.’ Forgive my saying so, but remarks of this kind are as untrue as yours con- cerning the non-existence of smart women in Paris, for, believe me, in spite of your assertions, they do exist. ‘*\ reason why elegance probably stands out less than it used to is that in pre-war days the Parisian world, in which clothes mattered, was very small, consisting of but a few women du grand monde and of some others belonging to the ‘half world.’ Outside this very restricted circle, smartness was expected of noone. Times, however, have changed, and smart- ness is nowadays expected of every woman one meets. This, in a world mostly consisting of fashionably dressed outsiders, who make it increasingly difficult to distinguish between the former rare and genuine elegance and its present-day vulgariza- tion. What you, my dear Anne, expected to see in Paris are women who, in spite of modern dress restrictions and the bar- ring of self-expression in clothes, are successful in attracting more attention to their appearance than others.” “T probably did,” Anne said, “though by doing so I now realize I might have considered such women sartorial out- casts.” “Not exactly, especially if they had been the kind of women who had studied the Gentle Art of Overtones, and had applied its maxims intelligently.” “What is this new art? Is it a science? Won't you tell me about it?” “Here are a few rules laid down: Transform the defective characteristics of your personality into decorative qualities.

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=J i) ‘‘ Attempt in every possible way to intensify your personality before considering your clothes. ‘Make your personality dominate your clothes. “ After your personality has been accentuated, dress this sophisticated individuality with exaggerated simplicity. ‘‘ Always make abstraction of your artistic leanings, in favor of current fashions. “To not try to give an impression of being prettier than you are. (Prettiness, unless it is exceptional, is useless, for mere good looks are no more d /a mode.) “Transform your defective points into features which may be thought disfiguring to the majority but which the minority will admire. “Clothes, in contrast to an individual appearance, should be plain to the extent of exaggeration, for chic is an impression produced by contrasts only. “By following such rules you will have a chance of being noticed in this age of standardized dressing, not because of your clothes—which would be unfashionable—but because of your individual self, which is most desirable.” m OUR method of overtones, applied to myself,” said Anne, “would surely prove most successful, for I have an individ- uality which certainly needs developing. We Americans,” she continued, “‘ rarely seem to consider personality to be as impor- tant a factor as clothes, and we mostly rely on a new model, good looks, and on our inborn American smartness. If only I had an opportunity of studying the really elegant French women, the ones dressed in overtone and chic! I purposely went out to the races on Sunday, but saw nothing but my fellow-pas- sengers from the Olympic, quantities of English women, a few South Americans, and any number of Germans. “T repeat my everlasting leit-motifi—where were the smart French women you talk about in Harper’s Bazar?”’ “Probably most of them were seated in the Jockey Club stand.” “And where is the Jockey Club stand?” asked Anne. “It must have been right in front of you, next to the Presi- dential tribune.” “Oh, I saw the French President all right, a genial-looking, smiling person in white kid gloves, surrounded by a bevy of These, of course, were cabinet ministers’ the Corps women of all ages. wives and a few of the foreign ambassadresses Diplomatique.” “Have vou ever found ‘official society’ to be smart in any country?” “Hardly,” Anne replied. “But I do remember having noticed a fair woman sitting in the front row of what I now realize must have been the Jockey Club stand. She impressed me as distinguished and I wondered at the time who she might be. She sat between two women, one of them young, one slightly older, all three much smarter than any of the women surrounding them.” “Tf you are able to describe them to me, I might possibly satisfy your curiosity and tell you who she was.” Here is what Anne had observed: “The lady was very tall, which I was able to notice because she stood up most of the time. She was blonde, had regular features, and seemed particularly genial and popular. Many people greeted her, all of them anxious to be taken notice of. The lady was dressed in a plain black marocain coat and skirt, opening over a white crépe de Chine gilet, dazzlingly white against black. Her hat was a close-fitting black Panama helmet edged by a tiny velvet ribbon and decorated by an immense emerald, ruby, and sapphire brooch forming a bunch of flowers pinned right into the front of her hat. A white boa terminated the ensemble. It consisted of strips of white Georgette imi tating cocks’ feathers, a novelty I had noticed at Chanel’s. The suit I recognized as a Louiseboulanger creation.” “T believe I vaguely know who this lady might be,”’ I now said, “‘but shall be even more certain after you have described the other two women. Was one of them a slight little lady with a very sunburnt complexion?”’ “Yes, I believe she was fairly dark,”’ Anne replied, “and I particularly remember her wearing no sleeves and noticing her arms to be as dark as her face. She wore navy blue Geor- HARPER’S BAZAE gette printed with multicolored flowers, which looked to me like sweet peas. Her hat was large, blue velvet lined with natural- colored paille d’Italie, and I remember being impressed by the size of her string of pearls which even at a distance looked un- mistakably genuine.” “This undoubtedly was the Duchesse de S.,’’ I said. ‘“‘ Most of her time is spent in southern Spain, basking in the sun. Her coloring is wonderful. I have, by now, almost guessed the name of the lady in black, but shall only be sure after you will have told me what the younger woman looked like.” “She was extremely pretty, and though her type was very Anglo-Saxon she was French. Leaning over the balustrade to speak to some passing acquaintance, she raised her voice. Her Parisian accent was unmistakable.”’ “‘ And how was she dressed?” I asked. “All in tucked white crépe. She wore a white and mauve checked Deauville scarf, tied on one shoulder, while the other end was left hanging very low down over one bare arm. Her hat was very large, dead white, with a black velvet ribbon and decorated by one pink rose. Even though very good to look at, she was no patch on the fair lady in black.”’ “The young woman in white,” I finally remarked, “must have been Mademoiselle de R., a constant companion of the lady you admire so much, who undoubtedly was the Baroness de X.” “And who is this most delightful Baroness?” “One of the very women you complain of not having come across during your stay in Paris. A femme du grand monde, moving in a most exclusive set and one of the most important Paris hostesses. A hostess in the sense in which the term was used in pre-war days. Her dinners and entertainments are famous; the secret of their success—tradition!” “How thrilling!”” Anne exclaimed. ‘I’ve always wondered how smart French society women spent their time, what their views were and their mode of life. Do tell me something about this lovely woman. I suppose she entertains a great deal?” “Yes, principally during April, May, and June; in fact, until she moves to her Deauville villa in July. She spends the au- tumn in the country, the family-seat being an historical chateau on the Loire. Besides, she owns a modern maison de campagne near Chantilly where shooting parties are given all through the fall. In winter the Baroness goes to Cannes for a month or two, living on board her yacht or in her father-in-law’s magnifi- cent villa. Casino? Very rarely, but she certainly dines out a great deal. If she is clever? Intellectual? Very much so. She talks literature, and is versed in all political subjects. Surprising? Not for a French woman. No great hostess in France is considered perfectly successful unless she combines intellectual qualities with the qualifications of position. Smart dressing in such circles is often but of secondary importance, though not in the Baroness’s case, who happens to be one of the best-dressed women in Paris.”’ “H™ is it I never meet such ladies at the Ritz or Ciro’s?” “Because they rarely have the opportunity to frequent restaurants which offer little that could be of interest to them. The Baroness, for instance, does not belong to any set which entertains in hotels. I remember a memorable occasion when, as President of some organization, she appeared at a charity dinner at the Ritz, and her comparing the ordeal, as she called it, to a meal taken at a railway station. The charm of modern restaurant life, its glamour and its galas, are indeed a sealed book to her. No, she neither disapproves nor does she approve. She is merely not interested in this phase of social life. Where In a palatial mansion on the corner of the Avenue In an impressive building, she lives? des Champs Elysees and the rue X. alas, dating from 1875 " “Oh, yes, quite the worst imaginable period. Why not rebuild the house? Because of misplaced family tradi- tion?” “Quite so. Family traditions are always a deplorable at- titude to indulge in from a modern point of view. To have had a wealthy father, or even worse, a grandfather, though evidently financially an asset, is a decided handicap. Why so? Because any one with both family traditions and artistic lean-

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for JULY 1927 headed ac i Ata The frock at the left is made of white, gray, and black fringes, and the one at the right has white organdie flounces with a bodice of black satin richly embroidered with gold tubes.

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oat tere 2 aa HARPER’S BAZAR ri € LE NS RN TT URTTS A MUL MODELE OEPOSE oo ae — = - ( . C le — walk Whe ( dite Jorn REDFERN ings, incidentally an heir to art collections assembled during the eighties, becomes a martyr to filial piety. This is quite a serious calamity.” “What did you mean, a while ago, by hostesses with pre- war traditions? In what sense does a woman like Baroness de X. differ from other modern hostesses?”’ “Principally by not being modern. Since society has taken to bars and restaurants, home entertaining has come to imply formality. Consequently good manners and the charm of home surroundings are considered, by some people, well nigh obsolete; in fact, ready to be swept away.” “And I suppose,” said Anne, “that a background such as the Baroness possesses is hardly a setting for jazz bands and cocktail parties?” “Not exactly. However, being fully aware of it, she never attempts any entertainment out of harmony with herself or her surroundings. Harmony, remember, especially the kind which includes contentment, often leads on to success. It is significant, however, that modern ‘spirits,’ even though they are never boisterously amused, are always anxious to be seen at her receptions. They evidently find satisfaction in the thought of being eligible for such exclusive parties. Obviously their amusement only consists in the fact of having been asked, for here, certainly, ceases their enjoyment. Isn’t it strange that so tedious and uphill a game as society has attractions for both the intelligent and the dull?” “To obtain an invitation to exclusive houses,’’ Anne said, “is often but the means of obtaining success in lesser spheres.” “What kind of women make the best hostesses?” Anne inquired. ‘Society women, who are not amused at their own parties.” “Why?” “Because, being bored themselves, they are anxious to pro- vide amusement for their guests. Any hostess eager for a good

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1927 JULY eed RD RA oF> >) 3 ert vay AY) , a a + C? Che Stoldin “Gosia ccbiaisheusil tate aaa le —Jotaden -jyown Jworvotdervea tM \ eec earls J. SUZANNE time herself, never considers her guests’ enjoyment. Left to themselves and unentertained, they are apt to be bored and to slip away. Guests leaving early diminish the success of any party.” “Tell me more of the qualifications desirable in a French hostess.” “‘A French hostess’s reputation is often made by her clever- ness in assembling a dozen congenial people at an informal meal. In France, a dinner of twelve means general conversation, con- versation ranking, besides the food, as the most important feature of any meal. Brilliant conversationalists always head a French hostess’s list of guests. Failing these, she tries to impart a semblance of brilliancy and wit to those she has in- vited. She should never, however, permit herself to be drawn into conversational fireworks with any guest in particular, but should devote herself to every one in turn. French hosts, contrary to the English custom, are never seated at each end TALBOT of the dining table, but occupy the center, on each side of the table, thereby keeping in touch with a greater number of guests.” “What an excellent idea! It’s evidently much more soci- able! How I wish I might assist at such a French dinner party! Is there any chance of my ever meeting the Baroness, and if I did, would she think of inviting me?” “T dare say this could be managed,” I said to her. “I’m giving a tea at the Cercle Interallie on Wednesday, to which the Baroness has promised to come. It might be an opportu- nity for me to introduce you!” “How jolly! And how kind!” “Not entirely disinterested kindness, for I want your im- pressions on how a French dinner party strikes you, in order to give an American girl’s point of view of such an entertain- ment for one of the next issues in Harper’s Bazar. So—don’t forget to put in an appearance at five-thirty on Wednesday.”

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76 HARPER’S BAZAR th itt of tai anid ssh a each suat O Mach Alick iv tile crepe PATOU

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WSlack taffeta suit with | LS ack laffeta suit wilh orande toweling coal MARY NOWITZKY

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BY — C; erle Markey:

BPARPER’S BAZAk THE GENTLEMAN JOCKEY al lhe live Siar I( Ihe I lade a ‘. saul HEN Diana Boltwood, who stood well over six feet in her riding-boots, mar- ried Chauncey de B. Bellew, who, ac cording to certain wags, was so small that he could run under a table with his top-hat on, the gentry of Long Island smiled. This smile, indeed, spread to the stables, kennels, and drawing-rooms of Westchester, Greenwich, and other hunting communities, for Diana was a celebrated sportswoman, and joint master of one of the most famous packs in America, while Spider Bellew enjoved a_ rather siderable renown as a gentleman jockey. Yet con- in spite of the incongruity of their sizes, there was scarcely more than faint derision of the

“Out of the darkness and the rain came a voice. ‘Not if you want to ride him,’ said the voice.” ye / C ul of a < —_é ea, ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY RALEIGH romance, and in the fashionable circles to which they were tangent the betting stood about even that they would make a go of matrimony. knew that Diana and Spider liked the same things. The same things being horses. To Diana, horses were a passion. To Spider, horses were a sporting For everybody career. Now Diana was very rich, while Spider possessed little of the world’s goods besides the proud old name of Bellew, a name which meant much in the Social Register, but which meant nothing at all in the recisters of Dun and Bradstreet. However, Diana loved him for himself alone (though there was but five feet two of himself, and his friends proclaimed that he was three pounds lighter than a straw hat) and for his extraordinary skill with horses. In the hunt, the steeplechase, and point-to point racing, Spider Bellew had, in America, few peers and no superiors. For many generations the Boltwoods had upheld the best traditions in American racing, and Diana still maintained the Boltwood stables and breeding and training farm, adjoin- ing her great sprawling country house on Long Island. She took a vast pride in the sleek thoroughbreds that raced under the Boltwood colors, and in the aristocratic colts that would one day race under those colors, and she felt the same pride in Spider Bellew’s reputation as an amateur jockey. When, in a thrilling race, he won the Maryland Hunt cup, she fell in love with him. And when he confided to her his ambition to win the Grand National in England—on an American horse—she decided to marry him. For this English steeplechase classic had never been won by an American bred horse, and it had long been the dream of Diana Boltwood’s life to breed the horse that would win it. So it was really the Grand National that drew them toward the altar. Nobody denied that they were very much in love with each other, but they were surely the most oddly matched pair that ever confronted a clergyman. Diana, being sensi tive, like all large women, was well aware of the caricaturish difference in their sizes, and so, to avoid the inevitable photographs of the bridal party, reading from left to right, which were bound to be comic, and bound to find their way into the fashionable journals, she saw to it that the wedding was private—for the immediate family only. And it might be said that no family was more immediate than her own—or Spider’s; for Diana had only one living relative, Uncle Edgar Boltwood, while Spider could marshal from the clan Bellew but two cousins, young gentlemen of Philadelphia, who arrived, elegantly inebriated, just as the ceremony ended. F jem the wedding, sandwiched in be tween the Westchester horse show and the opening of the racing season at Saratoga, they enjoyed a sporting autumn in America, then sailed for England. In Leicestershire they leased the Duke of Pomplum’s great Tudor house, and settled down to a large en joyment of the hunting and themselves. Such bulletins as reached their native shores and the columns of Town Gossip vouchsafed that their marriage was a success. In April they stood in the rain and watched the Grand Na- tional run. And when Lord Airlie’s Master Robert had flashed past the white post, with seven streaming behind him, out of a field of thirty-seven, after one noble horse had been killed at Valentine’s Brook, and two others fallen, never to rise again, at Canal Turn, and five jockeys had been carried from the course, Diana looked down with dark frightened eyes at her husband. “Oh, darling,” she said, ‘“‘do you think you could ever do it?” “T can do it,” little Spider replied, “if I can find a nag that’s a cross between Man O’ War and a Fokker airplane!” So they came home to America, and con- tinued their search for the perfect horse. In August of that year, as they watched a huge bay four-year-old carry the Boltwood colors in a length behind the winner at Belmont, Spider suddenly clutched his wife’s arm.

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“A step upon the gravel path. wife loomed above them. “Di,” he exclaimed, “I like the looks of that horse!”’ “ Bright lously. Morning?” said Diana incredu- “Why, he’s never won a race. He’s made his entry money in the two years I’ve been racing him.” “He’s never had a good ride. Your boys don’t understand him.” Spider was quite excited. ‘‘I don’t often get a hunch—but I’ve got one now. Will you let me take Bright Morning?” “My dear,” answered Diana, “of course. But what in the world are you going to do with him?” “T’ll tell you in two weeks,” said her small husband mysteriously. So Bright Morning was retired from the Then the tall shadow of his A dreadful, trembling silence.” track and sent down to the training farm, where Spider began a series of secret ex- periments in a far field, unseen by even the And from the first, the bay thoroughbred, seventeen hands high, and his diminutive trainer took a great fancy to each other. stable boys. FORTNIGHT later, Diana was summoned to the practise field behind the stables where to her amazement she beheld Spider take Bright Morning over some sizable hurdles. “‘Jump?” said he, in answer to her astonished query. ‘Why, he takes to it like a kangaroo!”’ “But how in the world did you know—” “T had a hunch.” Spider slid from the saddle, dropped to the ground and ran a hand over the bay’s withers and extraordinarily long legs. ‘Look at the wey he’s put together. And he’s got a disposition like an angel. I’m going to hunt him this fall. In the spring you'll see something, my child!” And so very grave and eager was his ex- pression that Diana stooped and kissed him. And from that moment forth she gave a bound- less enthusiasm to the project that was nearest Spider’s heart. The training of Bright Morn- ing became an obsession with them, and Diana professed more of an interest in the great bay than in the half-dozen thoroughbreds that were winning long purses for her at Belmont and around the circuit. And the married life of the Bellews continued to be immensely happy. With the first meeting (Continued on page 113)

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80 BY | DRAWINGS BY PamMELA BIANCO His i ip “\"7} ( war Wh Wa HARPER’S BAZAR Williams Sb: FTuilliams eJ1allco wl Wh ae. a “Every time he caught a rat, he'd go out in the front yard and roll.” THE OLD MAN, THE OLD WOMAN, AND THE CAT THAT ROLLED (Aal a HE old man and the old woman lived in the little house down the road. The old woman was the kind that liked to see the place tidy. She was always brushing and sweeping and getting the dishes washed up. She was a hard-working old woman, and she would have had the house quite decent if it hadn’t been for the old man The old man would have had quite a good time if it hadn’t been for the old woman. When she wasn’t needing water fetched, or the wood- box filled, she was forever on at him about stopping up the rat holes in the cellar or wiring the pantry window so the neighbor’s cat wouldn’t get in, or fixing the garden fence. It wasn’t that the old man was lazy, but he just didn’t see the use of getting all tired out doing things. He wasa sensible old man, and he knew that life was short enough the way it was. What he really liked was to get his boots off and settle comfortably down. And whenever he thought the old woman wasn’t looking he'd spit on the stove. What they quarreled about most of all was the rat holes down in the cellar. Every time the old woman had to go down in the cellar she'd let out a scream because she saw a rat, and then she’d come running up-stairs again and send the old man down instead. Now the rats didn’t worry the old man any, partly because he didn’t mind rats anyway, and partly because he had a jug of cider down in the cellar, and he was only too glad of any excuse to go down there and sneak a little drink. So naturally he wasn’t in any hurry to get the rat holes stopped up. But the old woman didn’t know that. One day a cat came along the road. He was an old husky black-and-white cat, with chewed- up ears and a slouchy walk, and he came along -pad—pad—looking neither to right nor left, the way a cat does who has business of his own and isn’t afraid of any one. When he reached the little house where the old man and the old woman lived he stopped a minute, with his paw lifted, looking at it and thinking. Then he turned off and trotted right up to the front door. The door was ajar, so he stepped inside and walked over, very nicely, right up in front of the stove and sat down. There he sat, sniffing the air and waiting. When the old Pa. \ SBT SD ‘* He came along—not afraid of any one.” woman got her breath, she said: “There’s a strange cat! You shoo it right out!” The old man didn’t mind cats. He some- times thought it might be kind of nice to have a cat about the house; they were comfortable ‘ . ne -° =e é e hs a, | - 5 ~/) oF things and they didn’t talk much. But this cat took him by surprise, so he shifted his feet and was just going to say shoo! when he happened to catch the cat’s eye. And instead he just shut his mouth up again and said nothing. “If you won’t shoo him out,” said the old woman, “then I must!” And she said, ‘‘ Shoo—shoo—” several times and flapped her apron at him. But the cat wouldn’t shoo. He just sat there, licking his paws and never budged. Just wait till I get the broom to him!” said the old woman. And she reached out to the corner where the broom always stood, but just as she was going to pick it up she happened to catch the cat’s eye too. She set the broom down again and turned on the old man instead. “So long as you aren’t ever going to get those rat holes stopped,” she said, “I guess that cat might as well stay the night anyway.” When the cat heard that he lay down on the hearthrug and began to roll. The cat stayed that night and he stayed the next night too. He caught all the mice in the pantry; the old woman was so pleased she gave him a saucer of milk each morning. “That’s what I call a sensible cat!” she said. And she told the old man that just as long as he wouldn’t get around and see to things, it was about time they had a cat around the house, anyway, and she was going to call him Biggy. ‘Just as you like,” said the old man. When the last mouse was gone the old woman opened the cellar door, and Biggy started in on the rats. That took a little longer, because they were big strong rats and he had quite a time catching them. But he went about it in a businesslike way, every morning, and every time he caught a rat he’d go out in the front yard and roll. There was an old apple-tree in the yard and Biggy used to roll underneath it. There he’d roll and he’d roll, always in the same spot, until by-and-by there was quite a

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for JULY 1927 bare place where he had all the grass worn down rolling. And the old woman would stop what- ever she was doing to watch him out of the window. “There!” she’d say, ever so pleased. “What did I tell you! Biggy’s had another rat!” So for a while things went very well. The old woman left off fussing about the rat holes, ever since Biggy took the matter up, and that wasn’t quite so good, because now every time the old man wanted to go down cellar and get a drink he had to think up some excuse about it, and the old woman was beginning to get suspicious. Still it wasn’t so bad, and altogether he’d have been pretty comfortable, if it hadn’t been for the old woman forever nagging him about wiring the pantry window and fixing the fence and mending the roof. Sometimes, when the old woman was telling him what she thought, he’d catch Biggy’s eye fixed on him in a very queer way. Biggy would look at the old man, and then he’d look at the old woman, and then he’d look back at the old man again, and it would give the old man a very funny feeling right down to his toes, though for some reason he never told the old woman about it. All he said was, that Biggy seemed a real nice cat. And sometimes when they were alone together, and the old woman was out in the kitchen washing dishes, Biggy would sit there and look at the old man, and the old man would look back at him. And then, maybe, the old man would turn his head very quietly and spit on the stove. But they never got to saying anything. NE morning the neighbor’s cat came around, and Biggy happened to see him. That afternoon Biggy lay out under the apple-tree, and he rolled and he rolled. After that there wasn’t any need to wire the pantry window. And when the neighbor came around some little while after, and wondered whether they’d happened to see her cat anywhere about, Biggy just sat still and licked his paws. Now things began to get more comfortable, for there was only the hole in the roof and the fence to fuss about, though goodness knows the old woman fussed about that. For the farmer’s dog used to get in where the fence was broken, and it seemed the old woman would never get done talking about it. But one time while she was talking, the old man happened to look down, and he happened to catch Biggy’s eye. “Sometimes when they were alone, Biggy would sit and look at the old man, and the old man would look back at him.’ Biggy didn’t say anything, but he gave a sort of sigh, and got up and strolled over to the door and the old man opened it and let him out. All that day Biggy sat on the porch, and when evening came on he was still sitting there. Z wl That night the old woman woke up, a little before dawn, because she thought she heard some sort of noise in the garden. And along about breakfast time they happened to look out of the window, and there was Biggy under the apple-tree, rolling. After that they didn’t see the farmer’s dog any more. Now everything did seem as if it should go along nicely at last, and the old man could have had quite a good time if it hadn’t been just for little things, like the leak in the attic and the BOB \ \\ Rt NYATOD Pw BARK “The old woman thought she’d go out for huckleberries.’ 81 kitchen roller-blind and keeping the wood-box filled and getting in water, and always hanging the dipper up and not tracking mud through the back entry—all little things that wouldn’t have mattered so much had Biggy and the old man been alone, say. And there were the fried potatoes. For the old man and Biggy both liked fried potatoes, but they couldn’t ever have them because they didn’t agree with the old woman. Still they managed to get along, and there was always the jug of cider down cellar back of the potato barrel, where the old man had hidden it. The cider was really the trouble. For now that the rats had gone there was no reason for the old man to go down half a dozen times a day and just potter about, the way he used to, and every time he’d try it the old woman would call him back. He was a clever old man, and he’d think and he’d think, but he never could think up enough excuses. Sometimes he’d go down just to look how the potatoes were lasting out, but he couldn’t do that more than once a day. And if he left the cellar door open it made a draught, and if he shut it after him, ever so softly, the old woman would get suspicious at once. “What do you want down cellar?” she’d say. ‘You come right back!” O THE old man had nothing to do but just sit by the stove and think how nice things would be if they weren’t just the way they were. And he couldn’t even do that for very long, because the old woman was sure to be after him about something. Still he had a feeling, more and more, that Biggy understood him. Sometimes it was so strong that he felt quite uncomfort- able, and then he wouldn’t even look at Biggy at all. For Biggy was a peculiar cat, and the old man had known it the first day Biggy ever came to the house. One rainy day the old woman was worse than usual. She fussed and she fussed, and the old man just had to sit there and listen to her, for the only other thing he could do was to get up and go out into the woodshed and chop kindling, and he didn’t want to do that. So he just sat listening, and wishing the old woman would get through for once and let him have a little peace. Biggy was lying on the hearth-rug, purring. Presently he stopped purring and lifted his head. The old man was feeling very uneasy, for he knew if he looked (Concluded on page 112) ’

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Michael rested and talked about Bolshevik Russia and a recent exhibit of etchings. Stryker found them still there when he went hunting them for luncheon.” “They sat under a giant horse-chestnut tree while HARPER’S BAZAR

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for JULY 1927 ov Meinie of himins NFAIR LADY LA ihten Ne ICHAEL TREVOR was the type of man women always speak of as “per- fectly charming,”’ and men refer to as a “regular fellow.” Good looking enough to be attractive to the former, not too good looking to be resented by the latter, and with family and a position well established in life, he had been one of New York’s most eligible bachelors at the period Enid Cameron had met and captured him. That was twelve years prior to the beginning of this story—in the early spring of 1914, to be exact. In June of that year, he had faced the blonde young débutante daughter of the Payson Scott Camerons before the altar of old Grace Church and an assembly of New York’s mightiest “old guard,” and, in all. sincerity, had promised to “love and cherish” the slim, golden Enid.. Then they had Europe to be gone on a three months’ tour of the Continent. Every one knows what occurred on August the fourth of that year. And every one, who is any one, knows that the Trevors, Junior, returned to these shores within a week of the proclamation. But no one knows what oc- curred between Michael and Enid during that week’s interval. Enid’s mother might have been able to tell a story. sailed for T WOULD have been, perhaps, something like this. . “My poor Enid! It almost sent her into hysterics—two months married and he wanted to leave her to fight stupid Germans—as if any German was ever worth becoming provoked, much less angry, with— such intolerable bores! I remember old Count Dudeldorf who. . Oh, yes, I was speaking of Enid. Well, that’sall . . . except, of course, she made him see very plainly that his duty was with his wife, protecting and sup- porting her, and not fighting the quarrels of people he didn’t even know and whose tongue he speaks very badly.” Or, if one took Michael’s father’s version. . . . “My headstrong Michael! A regular Don Quixote who wanted to go tilting Prussian windmills, only his fair Dulcinea wouldn’t let him. Married Enid Cameron, y’know—pretty as a soft white swan and as obstinate as an army mule. + Yes, Michael had wanted to join up with everything, or anything—it would have made no difference what, so long as he could have been “in it.”’ And as he hadn’t, and couldn’t, he spent the three years prior to his own country’s entrance into the war reading every line of battle news in the daily papers, sub- scribing to every French, Belgian, or British fund, and eating his heart out while he made many dollars buying and selling ally war materials. In 1917 he had volunteered the day following Ueland C/ummer lory with a Opod Nog Pistus the hurt es C ILLUSTRATION BY JOHN LAGATTA the President’s declaration. Three weeks later he was assigned to the Ordnance Department in Washington. Enid’s father was an intimate friend of a certain Cabinet official who was only too happy to meet the request of his old buddy. Trevor tried five times to get overseas. He succeeded the fifth time and arrived in France two weeks before the Armistice was signed; he stayed several weeks longer, rather aghast at the terrific anger he felt against the world in general and his wife in particular. Perhaps he didn’t definitely realize it then, but the sensation he experienced was one of frustration -he had been cheated of his ‘great moment,” | OU or d s | LizETTE WoopwortH REESE UT of the honey, Out of the gall Of the ancient weathers, Came all. Lord mayors in scarlet, Old women with bees, | The thief and the vicar Made these. || | Here is the music, | In which a man knows | He may babble of Homer, | | Or a rose. and subconsciously he felt that it could never be recaptured. That had been his first and most bitter conflict with, and defeat by, Enid. His second had been less bitter, but more antagonistic and with farther reaching results. It had been over children—as it so often has been and will continue to be. Enid had married him in her first year of social gaieties; the war had thrown a damper upon the subse- quent years, and now she maintained that it was her prerogative to take Life (with a capital) and enjoy it. Her arguments were frank and effective: she was small-boned and soft-fleshed, the type that would ‘‘spread terribly”; she was ash-blonde and blue-eyed, the coloring that would fade early; and Dr. Edson-Rofi, the nerve specialist, had told her she was highly neurotic. All these weapons of argumentation, and more, Enid had to fight Michael’s desire with. He might have told her she was not so neurotic as she was selfish, but he didn’t. Michael had a peculiar code all his own that precluded squabbling with the woman to Grate whom he was married. But whereas he had never definitely held his frustrated ‘great moment” against Enid, he did hold against her his frustrated desire for fatherhood, and if the years gave him a greater tolerance where she was concerned, they also gave him a greater insight into her shallow life. OT that Michael was unhappy. But then, neither was he happy. He felt, perhaps, that life held something else besides success, social favor, and a fashionable wife— something else, that is, more definitely real, more poignantly satisfying. A man-child to buy teddy-bears, skates, bicycles, and long trousers for at respective periods; a man- child to worry over and to select prep schools Or a girl-child to fondle and tousle and call “‘thoney.”” Or a woman who would say, ‘‘Dear, I don’t want to go without you.” This last vague desire had never been allowed to crystallize into a tangible thought. Trevor told himself Enid was an admirable wife. She never interfered with him or his business, she asked him no impertinent questions, she appar- ently trusted him implicitly. Often they would not meet for days save at dinner, and on those In the winter she would go South for six weeks; in the spring she would run over to Paris; in the autumn she favored White Sulphur Springs; and on various and in-between periods she would make visits. He seldom accompanied her on these excur- sions: he hadn’t the time. And she rarely protested. She seemed to take for granted that his large interests occupied his daytime, and often night-time, hours, and she lived contentedly and without apparent need of him. and a college for. occasions there were usually guests. OW, it is to be doubted if this story would ever have been written if Michael hadn’t broken his leg. Twelve years, almost to a day, after his marriage to Enid, Michael jumped up one afternoon from the lawn before his Long Island house and shoved Jerry, his rheumatic and half-blind old Airedale, from out the way of a low-hung scarlet roadster that sped madly up the drive and stopped with a screech of brakes as Michael went down under its bright-colored wheels. Rodney Pell jumped out frantically. ‘*My God, old man, do say I haven’t killed you!” “You haven’t,”’ smiled Michael, then grimaced with pain, “but it’s only because I still have a few more oaths to deliver. That damned, beloved canine! He insists upon sleeping in the middle of any and all driveways. Here, help me out—I think this leg’s busted. . . Perhaps you’d better call somebody.” And Pell had called (Continued on page 104)

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HARPER’S BAZAR C? | a al li. BY Oljsabeth jKdey if ‘By Jove, Jim, you're not such a bad picker after all,’ exclaimed Dick as Alberta came nearer.” EMPTY SHRINES ( Vividly IO onlimuing a my & ( rillen c “heaiuay \Tlseal with octely ove will a y 2) P Palin 1Peacl cS a A RESUME OF THE PRECEDING Parts: LBERTA and Victoria Varley at an early age, under the chaperonage of their grandmother, danced nightly in vaudeville, and as they grew up Alberta became ambitious to achieve fame and position in other worlds. Victoria, however, was quite content to drift along and accept life as it came. Then into Alberta’s life came Carlion, the portrait painter, and new vistas opened. Carlion’s studio served as a Mecca for the eminent worldlings who frequented Susan Carlion’s salon, and the artistic celebrities who were his friends. There all bests met on a parity. Of course, there were a few second bests, and among these was Paul Darcy, an ambitious tenor, and it was at one of Susan’s “‘afternoons”’ that Darcy recommended Alberta to Carlion as a model. As her new work progressed, and she grew to know the Carlions more intimately, Alberta’s sympathy went out to James Dunscombe, Carlion’s stepson, a singularly unattractive but studious youth, who was not understood by his mother, and whose character and edu- cation were left entirely to tutors. A Southern tour of the vaudeville company altered Alberta’s plans considerably. To begin with, Granny Crabtree died, and then Victoria announced that she had been married for several months and was going to Chicago. Alberta’s heart was heavy not only with the chill of her own prospective loneliness, but with the dull fear for Victoria’s future. Left ILLUSTRATED BY WALLACE MorRGAN alone in Jacksonville, Alberta again met Darcy, and in her loneliness and sorrow it seemed natural to be with him again. Darcy told her he was going to Italy to study. His arrangements were all made, and casting thought and prudence aside, they were married and sailed the following week. Arriving in Milan, they went to the Pension Benoni, where the proprietress, La Mamma, and a number of the guests were old friends of Darcy. Alberta was but a few weeks in Milan when she discovered Darcy’s selfish and jealous nature. Her love for him, how- ever, was so intense that she sacrificed every- thing so that he could develop his voice. Then his teacher’s discovery that Alberta’s voice was far superior to her husband’s caused bitter jealousy. All through the summer Alberta studied patiently, while Darcy’s effort was far more intermittent. Everything annoyed him, above all Alberta’s practise. Often he secretly cursed the day he met her. Then came her awakening to the true facts. In a note which he brutally left for her, he told her of the wife and two children he had left in England; also that the marriage ceremony in Florida was not legal; so he hoped she would forgive and forget, as there was no other way out. A few months later, after a serious illness, came the final act to her Milanese tragedy — the loss of her voice. The golden voice was no longer there. Then came a cabaret offer from Havana, and Alberta decided to accept it, and of her life in Milan she took with her one affection—Sandro, the tiny bus-boy at the Pension Benoni. She had lost her own child and Sandro was a friend as well as a child, and a little man besides. PART FOUR HE Havana season is fed largely by the jaded overflow from Palm Beach and Miami. Conventional dissipation de luxe, though relaxing physically, morally, and mentally, is at best anemic and often boring. Moreover these resorts are glass houses, transparent to the argus eye of the great American press, and hence inconvenient alike for the staging of transient affairs or of grand passions. In Cuba, you can throw discretion to the winds. Whether you bring a_ sweetheart with you or find one after you get there is, of course, optional, but solitude, except @ deux, is almost unknown in Havana. In short, it is the happy hunting ground for delinquent husbands, disaffected wives, and college boys curious of “‘life.”’ Two years after Alberta’s arrival in Cuba, James Dunscombe and his friend Dick Harvey were seated one evening before one of the small round tables of El Gato Negro. The young men were exceedingly unlike, a fact which had cemented their friendship. James’s admi-

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“<6 Mo’ right pep m de Mis’ Harvey,’ cried the negress.”

leg,

ration for the high spirits of his debonair class- mate suited perfectly the easy and selfish good humor of Dick Harvey, who, on the other hand, felt a patronizing sort of affection for poor old Jim. He admired his intellect without envy as something that was splendid in some one else but in no way desirable for himself. Despite his good looks and gay manner, Dick was the unfortunate victim of rivalries in a family disrupted by divorce. His parents vied with each other for his affection, pampered, cajoled, and bribed him. If his mother gave him a sloop, his father retaliated with a polo pony; if his father increased his allowance, his mother doubled it; if he wished a vacation in Europe, or a trip to South America, extra funds were forthcoming from both sides. PELE, i REO i Py

i Rage EN I A me Ri Rev : é

Harvey, Senior, had wanted him to read law at Columbia; his mother wished him to go in for literature at Oxford. He had made a few rhymes for the Lampoon and she fancied that he was a genius. Dick had a preference for doing neither, or at least for taking time to decide. “A fellow should know just what he wants to do before he goes in for it. A bad get-away from the post isn’t any good. You know that yourself, Father,” Dick would argue. And to his mother—“ Mollie darling” —it was one of his subtle forms of flattery that he invariably addressed her, as if she were his pal rather than his parent, ““A man must see life before he can write about it, live, you know!” The gaieties of Casa Miraciel, his mother’s villa at Palm Beach, had palled upon him. There was not freedom enough. There were clocks and more or less fixed hours for engage- ments, and people, sometimes even ugly or old, that must be dealt with politely. He had induced James, who was taking a brief vacation from Johns Hopkins with the Carlions in their Sunset Avenue cottage, to join him in an escape. And Jim had been quite willing. As usual, he felt himself in the way, an incon- venience to Susan’s plans. He had always been an inconvenience. He knew that. He did not fit into the carefully composed mosaic of her life, was hard to seat at table, played execrable bridge, and had never learned to dance. He had not been surprised when she urged him to accept Dick’s invitation. Occasionally it (Continued on page 136)

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86 HARPER’S BAZAR FM, y) LANVIN Hh. AAA R osers One of Lanvin’s loveliest new picture gowns is worn with distinction by Mrs. H. H. Rogers. It is in black tulle over taffeta with a wide band of taffeta ruching and a huge bow of pink faille. An asymmetric cut of the neck-line accomplishes an exceptionally new nole for this type of dress.

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for JULY 1927 87 PARIS OFFERS HER MIDSEASON MODELS oF which numerous Mal alin we “Celie ec a preliminary to the Sinportant 2 rue de la Paix, Paris. HIS month’s article is always something of a problem. I have to talk about the midseason collections, which, as you know, have become almost as important as the February and August ones; because, if I put it off until August, Harper’s Bazar would be the last magazine in the world to give you the news of them. Yet I realize that it is as difficult to interest you during July in probabilities of the mode for next winter, as it would be to get politicians excited about the presidential elec- tions of 1932. You receive this copy at the beach, or in the mountains, and you open it somewhat languidly, hoping, perhaps, for pages of cool and summery confections. But after all, it is too late for you to order any more of those. Your summer ward- robe is hanging in your closets by now, and perhaps if we showed you nothing but ephemeral frocks they might put you out of conceit with the ones you have bought already. And I am sure that you don’t want to spend the dog days in fittings; I feel that that would be a catastrophe. So I have compromised, choosing among the midseason collections a few models that it seemed to me one could bear to look at on a hot day, and that were yet representative of the latest thoughts of the Paris creators, who are already preoccupied with the furs and velvets of next winter. Luza has drawn them for you. Baron de Meyer has come gallantly to the rescue with bathing-suits and lovely crystals, that suggest coolness as inevitably as an icicle. Soulié has pictured some of the newest summer hats that the milliners have been preparing for the Paris exodus after the Grand Prix. Enid Engel has launched a flight of ‘trial balloons” showing the pet little novelty of eighteen of the foremost creators of the mode; and I hope in this way that we have succeeded in solving the problem to your satisfaction. ESCRIBING collections is a tech- nical business, but only a few of Harper’s Bazar readers are technicians, so | have summarized all their “ points” and set them off in a neat little tabu- lated column, which you may read or ignore, exactly as you please. So there may be found all the professional information in arather big nutshell,and we are at liberty to discuss fashion in general. You hear people talking of the ‘eternal sameness of our clothes,” the “‘monotony of present-day modes.”’ All that sort of thing is nonsense, and comes from a serious lack of observation and unfair comparison with bygone days. It is part of the maddening habit of mak- ing out the past to be inevitably superior to the present, for no otker reason than that it is past— “the good old days”’ fallacy; we all know it. It is true, if you like, that sudden arbitrary Resings ti he bin ch ‘penngs in the late ummer BY MARJORIE HOWARD changes are no longer customary. Fashions, nowadays, develop slowly, and more logically than they used to do. That is because, now- adays, they bear a closer relation to the lives of their wearers, and the routine of smart life is a matter of more deliberate evolution, depend- ing as it does on the subtle relation of material cause and efiect. Skirts don’t simultaneously drop to the floor; nor collars rush up in one swift dash to touch all the ears of feminine Christen- dom. The explanation of this is another proof MARTIAL et Illustrating the midseason vogue for incrustations and the use of two materials, this gown of black chif- fon velvet has inserts and flowing cuffs of chiffon. of my point. The present mode is so infinitely varied, so generously diversified, so adaptable to individual taste, that women no longer feel the need of a sharp simultaneous volte-face from one monotonously universal fashion to another, every so often. Take the basic matter of the silhouette. Right - through the recorded ages of feminine fashions, up to the last years before the Great War, women were, or had to be, content with just one general silhouette at a time. If one wore a ARMAND crincline, they all wore crinolines; if one was bustled, all were bustled; if one skirt was hung in hair-cloth organ-pipes, all skirts performed the same uncomfortable imitation. There is no chance of such sheep-like compliance to-day. A famous personality, féted, admired, and imi- tated, may declare her preference for the robe de style and wear it continuously on all her public appearances; but the women who like slinky chifions will not modify an inch of their uneven hem-lines for all her taffeta billows. The sheer diversity of the evening mode as worn at this moment is enough to make our feminine ances- tors turn in their graves with envy. ANCING at Ciro’s the other night, I noticed a flowered taffeta from Louiseboulanger, worn by Ma- dame Agnés the milliner, with jewels of turquoise and coral. Huge blurred blossoms in the same shades were slimly narrow on the bodice and flared into a great double cascade of the material at one side. Near this was a slinky white fringe frock from Le- long, the diagonal lines of the fringes suggesting the draped shawl of a Spanish dancer. Again, a white satin evening frock from Vionnet, slim and straight in the back as any sports frock, and subtly draped as only she can do it, in the front. Beside this a satin gown from Patou, with uneven hem-line flaring oddly, and spirals of diamond embroidery. Floaty, taggy chifion frocks from Chanel, with long ends here and there, up to the knee on one side and down to the ankle on the other. Louise- boulanger’s chiffon gown, with its bolero and peacock-tail skirt short in front (shown in silhouette in the April issue of Harper’s Bazar) in two dif- ferent versions, black and mauve, and making a greater contrast with the Chanel chiffons than one would think possible in this not very manageable material. Spangled smoking jackets from Chéruit worn over skirts of tulle. Slim sheaths of exquisite embroidery or beading from Callot; wedding-ring velvet draperies from Paquin; a mas- terly swathing in Georgette from Worth, inspired by the kingly costume of ancient Egypt; and finally, that every evening style might be repre- sented on the same floor, the inimi- table modernized robe de style from Lanvin in which Mrs. Rogers has posed for Luza’s drawing on the opposite page. Now take any family album, any costume book, any collection of illustrations, and match if you can the diversity and variety of the eve- ning mode worn at the same time and place, at any other period in the world’s clothes history. But it can’t be done, and we all know it. Yet this was a public dancing place at a regular Friday night dinner, for which none of the women had made a special sartorial effort, such as they would make for some important

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—— ———- 88 An elaborate illustration of the midseason vogue for the combina- lion of contrasting textures in CHANT fabrics may be seen in this strik- ing Chantal gown with a conven- tional design of fine blue serge on a base of matching Georgette. social function, some unique occasion of the season. “The evening mode does not count,” you may object. “It has always given women a better chance to indulge their individual fancy. It is the present daytime mode which is so deadly monotonous; and you can’t pretend to defend that.” I am afraid that I both can, and am going to; so you had better stop here if you are tired of the subject. In these same midseason collections, there is a variety of daytime models that is almost more striking than the evening diversity, when you remember that women insist on buying daytime clothes, primarily for their practicality and suitability to modern life. To begin with the sports mode, naturally the most limited as its purpose is the most special. Even here we find diversity. There is the jumper, skirt, and coat-sweater type, and the one-piece type, and a perfectly bewildering SOeTUTT ROOST TWOP CUT HTT TTI), ve » ’ oF OUT TEER, PUNT, © . iL SUZANNE Fox Chadhal ( or rnlid il assortment of both of them. Each season you think that every possible change has been rung on the sweater-jumper idea, but each season offers you novelty. Then we have that modern invention, the culotte skirt, in several new types; many different sorts of topcoats, straight, circular, flaring, folded over, double, hung from the shoulders, belted and not belted; to say nothing of the specialized playing clothes, tennis frocks, bathing-suits, beach costumes. mountain- climbing suits, winter sports suits, and riding- habits. | street and morning wear, we are offered tailored suits and ensembles with their jackets of all lengths from the short square-cor- nered little affair founded on the sweater coat, through the hip-length, finger-tip-length, knee- length, three-quarter, seven-eighths to the same length as the gown! Do you by any chance remember that fashion of the ‘nineties, when ee ALBOT HARPER’S BAZAR Yellow and brown printed crépe patterned in little designs to form stripes is cleverly combined with plain brown crépe in this daytime frock from Suzanne Talbot. The hat is of coarse straw trimmed with a velvel bow. every woman who concerned herself about the mode wore a little covert-cloth jacket of mul- tiple seams, all stopping with a flaring jerk at exactly the same awkward place, just above the hipbone? As to the frocks under the coats, it would be difficult to find a style that is not represented; for there are gowns draped, fringed and ruffled, tiered, and boleroed; skirts full in front, straight all round, plaited, gathered, full at one side, sashed or girdled; bodices bloused all round, bloused in the back only; bloused not at all; frocks straight and slim, softly flaring in the front, at one side, at both sides, all round; with waist-lines at the top of the hip or below it, up in front, up at one side, or at both, or at the natural place; waist-lines double, triple, sup- pressed altogether; with sleeves long and tight, or long and full, or short and tight, or short and full, or elbow, or three-quarter length, or en- tirely absent; with collars of many varieties,

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for JULY 1927 One of Worth’s loveliest evening gowns shows a distinctly oriental influence in the draped front and turned-up hem. white satin embroidered in a It is of ivory new line under the arms with while silk cording and diamonds. Eton, stock, scarf, Latin-quarter artist, Buster Brown; with infinite varieties of scarf and cravat; or with open neck-lines, round, oval, square, oblong, pointed. There is not much use in going on with the catalogue, but you see the force of the argument. It is the enormous diversity of the present fashions that makes it a matter of such difficulty to startle the public with a real novelty; pretty nearly everything that can be done to clothes is being done all the time. In spite of this, these present midseason collections show a few models that are really striking. First, I would mention Chanel’s new taffeta frocks, so entirely different in spirit from anything that she has ever done before. There are three of these, one in mauve, with a gathered flounce that runs up one side, elbow sleeves, and raggedy flowers of the same material at hip and shoulder; a blue-lavender one, with a straight bodice to which is attached, by gathering, an WORTH C + Pscwlidhd uneven flounce, low in the back, its edge almost touching the heel, and running up to one hip where two sash ends are knotted; a third in faint peachy pink which has an unevenly placed frill with a raveled edge, in the front of the skirt only, the back being plain, while there is a big bow at the left side and anemones of the same material on the left shoulder. Another evening gown of hers which gives a very novel impression is in Nile green satin, long and slim to a point well below the hips, where it breaks into petal- like sections, oddly placed at unequal intervals, falling almost to the floor at the side-back. T JENNY’S, I found a really new silhouette in a series of short wide-skirted frocks, the flare all in the front, and given to the skirt by a series of tucks run across the material from side to side, stopping at the hips. At Lelong’s there is a most interesting satin coat, which takes off like a painting apron with long sleeves. At Drecoll’s, WORTH Worth emphasizes the continued importance of chiffon in_ this smart evening gown of black broad bands of strass, fine silver beads, The skirt is gathered to give an even fulness. chiffon, embroidered in and silver stitching. there is a really new coat, a sort of double effect, giving a suggestion of the clothes of the Rosen- kavalier in the Strauss opera. This I shall show you in the next number; I thought it a bit too wintry for July. I talked with the designer, Mademoiselle Madeleine, the day I went to Drecoll’s to see the midseason models, and we both agreed that there is a sort of renaissance of individuality in the air. Certain important Parisian personali- ties are dressing, this spring, in a fashion that is really typical of no one but themselves. I do not mean that these women are wearing special creations, designed for their especial use, and out of the reach of the general public. They have and use the same sources of supply that are open to all who have the price. But, without exploiting specially created styles, as a few celebrated personalities used to do before the war, there are certain women very much re- marked whenever they appear, who choose

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oe 90 HARPER’S BAZAR JENNY The midseason openings still indicate a definite preference for black and white. noon bows among the collections of the leading couturiers, models that have real originality, and that take a deal of wearing. I am thinking of the little “smoking” jacket entirely made of spangled parrots in brilliant colors which Mrs. Reginald Fellowes wears over a trailing chiffon frock in the evening; of the marked success of Louiseboulanger’s distinctive evening gowns with such women as Baroness de Meyer and Lady Abdy; of the little Princesse de Lucinge, née d’Erlanger, who wears Lanvin’s exciting Zouave suit in startling black and white with a white felt skull-cap, banded like a magpie’s wing with black; of Yvonne Prin- temps’s stage clothes from the same house, and especially of the black taffeta redingote em- broidered with silver and worn over brilliant green that is sketched on page ninety-nine. To talk of the monutony and sameness of the mode after such demonstrations of individuality is really unfair. And so, if you are convinced, as I do hope you are, of the mode’s variety, we can go on to our little tabulation of the midseason inventions, which I have put at the end of the article, where you can do as you like about reading them. COLORS Gray—Combined with several other grays, with yellow, beige, gray-green, leaf-green, faint rose, blue, black, and white. Of youthful silhouette, Jenny’s loveliest after- gown is a tiered affair of black crépe de Chine, tied with three and worn with a little sleeved jacket edged with ermine. GREEN—Dark green for coats and ensembles with brown fur, soft gray-greens, and leaf greens. BLuE—Navy, with white, rose, and other blues. A new slate-blue. Pastel and hyacinth for evening. BLack—All-black models. Combined with white, gold, with another color, with gray or beige fur. Wuite—Spccially for evening. Rep—Some very dark reds for winter en- sembles with furs. Some very bright ones for both afternoon and evening, usually in chiffon. PinK—Faint old rose combined with black or navy. Many pinks in apricot or flamingo te

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LELONG Lucien Lelong’s newest afternoon jrock is of exquisitely supple black crépe satin with a double jabot of white satin that is also used for the foundation. A slender line is contrived by the cut oj the coat-dress that fastens with strass buttons at the waist-line. shades for evening, and for some formal after- noon ensembles. PuRPLE—An occasional ensemble or frock. Plum at Patou’s. Brown—Still very little used except for sports clothes. But much putty and light beige. A new pale caramel like a praline. COMBINATIONS OF C AND MATERIAL OLOR ComBINATIONS—Combinations of both ma- terials and colors are a feature. MATERIALS—Three or even four materials used in the same ensemble. CoLor—At least two colors, often three, used in the same model. Combinations of two colors, especially two of the same shade, are really more usual than all one color. Sometimes four shades, or even four colors, used together in the same model (Jenny). TRIMMINGS INcrusTATIONS—Incrustations and appliqués very important, sometimes of self material and self color, and more often of another material or color, one on the other. Frequently two shades of the same color used in this way. Pin-TuCKs—Pin-tucks called ‘“‘nervures.” Hemstitching making designs. Tucks, plaits, the material itself used in intricate workmanship. Furs—Fur trimmings of all kinds, big and lavish, small and neat. Furs both match and contrast with materials. Both flat furs and long-haired pelts are used on daytime models, and quantities of long-haired pelts for evening. The contrast of light beige or gray fur with black is still good. Fox and lynx as good as ever. Astrakhan a favorite trimming fur. EMBROIDERY—While embroidery plays an inconspicuous part in the mode in general, cer- tain houses have used it in new ways; for exam- ple, Worth’s elaborate angora wool embroidery, in fine patterns and in a color that contrasts with the fabric of the model, and Premet’s rows and rows of chainstitching in fine lines, making a new-looking fabric. (Continued on page 124)

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Pees ome HARPER’S BAZAR ee a cot ( viel CT lsens ab the HE dressmakers have been sending up trial balloons in the form of interesting and significant details, and here are the best of them. Poiret is using a new sort of cravat collar in plaid print on a serge coat. Louiseboulanger decorates her blouses with squares of drawnwork, set between the shoulders in the back, and in an oblong going the other way in front, with two squares or diamonds of the same in place of pockets. Bernard puts little fur cravats on his coat-frocks and on some of his tailleurs. Suzanne Talbot, whose collection is a combination of summer and autumn models, uses this typical little puffed sleeve on many of her printed dresses. Jean Patou likes small collars, prefers astrakhan to all other trimming furs, and uses diagonal lines more than any others. Martial et Armand have put a little collar and cuffs of real lizard skin on a kasha frock for autumn. Deeuillet revives the cravat of wide velvet ribbon, showing it with an ensemble, to be worn with both frock and coat. Vionnet loves ties and falling ends of materials. She

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° (/ [| ° Ni SCUSOII ( O echions sometimes finishes the neck like this, with a pointed strip of pin tucks, and a double cascade of crépe. Lelong has adopted square necks for his sports models. This one is on a blouse of fine wool jersey. Jenny is using odd spiral belts made of long strips of metal as the only trimming on simple frocks of black or navy reps. Premet sets a grosgrain ribbon as an arm band into the sleeve of a jersey sports frock, leaves the ends free, embroiders and ties them. Lanvin has adopted the Deauville handkerchief with such enthu- siasm, that she gives it to Yvonne Printemps to wear even with her evening dresses. This one is a brilliant green Georg- ette embroidered with lines of crystal beads, like strings of raindrops. The Deauville handkerchief is popular everywhere in the midseason collections. Chanel finishes a little frock and jacket of white wash silk with a navy tie spotted with white, and puts the same in handkerchief form round the hips as a belt. Worth’s favorite new trimming is embroidery in angora wool in small close patterns, often like cross-stitch, and in contrasting colors, either light on dark, or dark on light.

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94 HARPER’S BAZAR Ci. ( } - Sal Hots Jrom (Left) This close-fitting semi-tailored hat from Maria Guy is in dark blue Bangkok and is faced in the back with navy grosgrain. White and navy piqué flowers form a flat plaque over one ear. (Right) Jane Blanchot makes one of the more sophisticated turbans for this summer by cleverly handling reversible felt so as to show the dark and light sides in a charming contrast of color and design. (Middle) A black crocheted straw hat to wear with the lighter day- time frocks is from Marie Christiane. It has a rose-velvet lined brim, and its high crown is draped with a roll of the same velvet.

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A picturesque simplicity marks this wide-brimmed black Bengal straw hat with a square crown and grosgrain band that is Maria Guy’s newest version of the large hat for summer daytime wear. (Upper right) Camille Roger has used heavy coarse straw, like a man’s sailor hat, for an in-between hat to be worn with light- colored costumes. Colored silk stitching makes a new trimming. (Lower right) A hat of natural colored manila straw by Marie Alphonsine, for summer afternoons, has a supple brim that is caught back in front with a pink silk and velvet flower. = Poe ) fy 8 at aroe Het tales ' (J lat takes \I blew OJ fess

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ENR PE —- 96

HARPER’S BAZAR THE LAND OF ROMANTIC ENCHANTMENT y : . J ge 8 Meieed of a © <7 a ™ EE Seville and die,” say the Andalusians of their capital, as the Neapolitans of Naples; and perhaps, having seen Seville, one is a littke more resigned to eventual oblivion. Certainly, there are few experiences more worth while than to spend the week before Easter in this gayest and most romantic of cities. The very first morning, as the train from Madrid deposited us on the plat- form, we saw in five minutes a hatless old woman, her gray hair in a knot on the top of her head and a fresh pink rose stuck in it; a girl in a black frock with high comb and black lace man- tilla; and a ragged old gipsy-like man, curled up asleep in a dusty corner, his wide-brimmed gray felt hat beside him; ‘From the rum-parts of Seville, evidently,”’ we said to each other wisely. We counted our bags and boxes, bundled into the omnibus of the Hotel Ingleterra, and drove off, land- ing in a swirl of dust mingled with the scent of orange-blossoms, while before the door a picturesque gipsy stood flaunting her red and yellow skirts, and beginning at once to sell us enormous carnations to match the one that stood straight up on the tip of its stem at the back of her head. ‘“Sevillanos, we are here!’’ we announced with satisfaction, look- ing down a few minutes later from our authentic Spanish balcony into the orange and palm-decked square. Tired as we were, we had to go down into it, and we went; and after that, so completely fascinated were we by the public life of this extraordinary place, that we spent Sweetmeat and cake sellers. ‘ ¥ ’ I( cok spent i Seville H = 1 | Ren’ es | Pid 1 \e@

Almond eyes peer down from flowery balconies. all our waking hours in its path-like streets. In the morning, we watched the women do their marketing. High up on their balconies, they wait the approach of the market-donkeys, piled with all kinds of produce as only a Spanish donkey can be piled. The driver walks along- side with his head in the air, and stops under a balcony when he gets a signal. Parleying goes on in soft Andalusian, ending with the

Santa Cruz, a little paradise of winding ways. letting down of a basket on the end of a string; and long practise makes the maids so expert that they drop the basket exactly in the middle of the beast’s pannier. Then up go the vegetables, or oranges, or wine, or firewood, and down come the pesetas, and the laden donkey passes on. Of course we saw the sights—Alca- zar, Cathedral, tabaco factory, Pi- late’s house, Museum, Caridad—but I do not intend to be a guide-book. You can read all about them, and about the picturesque medieval cere- monies and services inside the Cathe- dral, in the admirable Baedeker. I should rather tell you about the peo- ple. In the first place, Seville in Holy Week is the best imitation of a lotus- eater’s Paradise that I ever expect to see. On account of the processions all vehicular traffic is stopped, and no one seems to have anything at all to do but stroll in the streets. About eleven in the morning, the Calle de Las Sierpes, the rue de la Paix of Seville, begins to fill up with men, all smoking cigarets and looking at each other. I must be conceited enough to report that I have never been so pleasantly regarded in my life. You see, I am what is called rather plump and I have a fair com- plexion, and the combination seemed to be exactly to their taste. Of course, this impression of the complete idleness of the population is apt to be deceptive, on account of the normal Spaniard’s odd reaction to the thought of work. He is ashamed of having to do anything for a living, and proud of being able to loaf. So, even in the country

it 4 Morning marketing in Seville.

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f or One of the young Spanish pupils of Olero, a famous mai- tre de ballet in Seville. districts, he will slave like a dog at impossibly early hours in the morn- ing, in order to enjoy the prestige of sitting in the sun during the obvi- ous working hours of the day. Yet a glance at his fields will tell you that his methods of cultiva- tion are extraordinarily intensive, and one look at his tools will reveal that most of his toil is done in the most laborious fashion, by hand. The promenading males far outnumber the females; indeed in ordi- nary times, I believe all respectable women are kept close to their balco- nies, and would never be found in the Street of the Serpents at all. But be- ginning with Holy Thurs- day, they are allowed to break through this Ori- ental seclusion, and that is what makes Thursday and Friday the most in- teresting days of all. All the principal streets, from the hour of morning mass on, are simply jammed + with black-clad women wives and daughters of the bourgevisie they look like—wearing the traditional high comb and mantilla, and probably long dangling dia- mond earrings as well. They seat themselves on the closely packed rows of wooden chairs, buy sweetmeats and cakes, send waiters flying for drinks from the cafés, talk, talk, talk end- lessly, laugh, roll their magnificent eyes, and show the fine teeth that are so white against their dusky skins. Tresses are mostly black or brown, but a real Andalusian blonde is just as magnificent a tawny creature as I have always heard she was. The hair seems as if it had been lacquered with gold on ebony, and it is so rich and heavy that it looks positively sculptured. It is almost never short in the bourgeois class, though most of the aristocracy seem to follow the pre- vailing fashion. We discovered how they manage, in Holy Week, even with cropped locks, to adorn themselves with the be- coming comb and mantilla. By fastening on a little false chignon, and sticking the heavy comb into that! It is very simple. Though the prevailing complexion is bronze, most of the women wear a more or less obvious coating of liquid white, but no rouge; and their lips are so full and natu- rally rosy that they need no lipstick. None but the very youngest of the girls is slim, and the shoulders under the lace mantillas are often gorgeous. But their splendid eves do not focus. They look you over with a vague open stare, as different as | possible from the concentrated, detailing glance with which a Frenchwoman ‘sizes you up in one second. The only feminine eyes in Spain that focus directly are the

gipsies’; but they simply pounce upon and tear you. I never saw anything more hawk-like in my life. The detail that excited the most interest was my sports sandals; but their comfortable width and low heels made thema perfect godsend. The pavements of the narrow way are rough, and ‘

— \ 4 Be ay ee ed 4 4 Q/ uf 1 : OY RB S aS JS <a ol = The Brothers buy a drink and pass it under their cowls.

* gt tabs erg SR. often cobbled, and as the week goes on, the constant dropping of wax from the tapers of the processions makes them as slippery as ice. Comfortable shoes, and strong stockings and lots of them, are primary requirements. I wore out a pair of stockings a day with our peregrinations. As to clothes, they are unimportant. One is lost, absorbed in the mass, and the main thing is to be able to forget about what one is wearing. One’s clothes look like birds of a dull feather, anyway, beside the brilliant plum- age of Sevillian folk- dress. But one should take clothes for both cool and warm weather. The first days of the week were decidedly chilly, and we were glad of sweaters under our coats, and even of woolen frocks. We found we had taken just about the right things, so I will add a useful note or two about it. For traveling, I wore ‘a fairly warm ensemble ee ae of natural-colored kasha, straight coat and skirt with plaits in the front, which was excellent because it did not show the dust. With this, I had coat sweaters and silk and sweater-blouses, with little felt hats and scarfs to match, of various colors, blue, beige, and red. For wearing in Seville itself, a dark blue charmelaine ensemble, coat and skirt, which could be worn with the same hats and blouses, or the coat alone with three two- piece “chemisier” frocks of crépe de Chine, one beige, one blue, and one dark red. Two pairs of light shoes, one beige and the other black, with my sports sandals. and a pair of black satin slippers for evening. A black satin frock for dinner in the hotels, and a dark blue Georgette gown which could be worn under the dark blue coat. Don’t let any one persuade you into taking evening clothes, unless you have special introduc- tions; for you will not have the slightest use for them. For following processions most of the night on foot, as we did, a light coat, like my dark blue one, is just what you need. Even on a hot day, the chill on entering a cathedral strikes right to your bones, and a woolen wrap, though you curse it crossing a burning square, may save you an illness in the end. I know, because later on at Burgos I did not have one, and I have been regretting it ever since. Then there is the important question of food and drink. At the Hotel Ingleterra it is really very good; in fact, I do not see how they can serve so acceptable a dinner as they do, for it begins about seven- thirty and goes on till after eleven. I should think the (Conduded on page 122

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HARPER’S BAZAR

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for JULY 1927

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HARPER’S BAZAR BY C/aiviax — ownev: “T prefer not to speak much of that hunt. Suffice it to say that I envied the fox.” DECORATIONS BY REA IRVIN IT’S A GREAT LIFE IF YOU DON’T WEEK-END And a the rics 1loW upon Us, . —_ HE people who used to set out on dif- ficult pilgrimages, desperate voyages of discovery, charges of the light brigade or things like that now go on week-ends. Then they ride back, recuperate for five working days—and dare another week-end! The season for such phenomena is now upon us, and Elfrida and I, who filled our quota of week-ends for have examined the current calendar and made up a little rhyme to aid the memory and dis- courage people generally. have some years, Four long week-ends has September, Also August and November. July, October spot you five, Tough assignment to survive. All the rest have not a one, You may stay at home alone, * Avoiding country and the shore, Till summer drives you off on more. Figuring the open season for week-enders, then, as July-November inclusive and not so exclusive, they may be hunted for at least a total of forty-four Saturdays and Sundays. Invitations to get run down for the week-end are already out. They have been shot out from Newport, where Coolidge paper battle- ships may put in this year, and hostesses may divert themselves by cutting out'paper naval officers—from Southampton, where the beach may be more formal, the waves more informal, and the club dances adjourn an hour earlier in favor of roadhouses—from Bar Harbor, where that avenue of escape known as the Bar Harbor Express may be sold out even of uppers—from Lenox, where the Old Guard may die without even being invited to surrender— (olp vou | udfor ih from Lake Forest, where Packing-house ef- ficiency may be more pronounced than ever in the week-end procedure—from Grosse Point, which may have more motor-cars and Canadian atmosphere—and from points north, east, and west whither the week-end hostesses summon their array. We know these invitations, Elfrida and I. We have caught up every gage that has been flung down, lo! these many years. If I de- less f ~ /\e 4 a » “Elfrida and I were racked, stooped, and bowed when we escaped.” scribe the various mélées here, it is not with the braggadocio of an old warrior exhibiting his scars, but in the spirit of purest altruism. This account should be of inestimable service to the guest who is carrying on, hoping some day at some week-end to find, as it were, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and not realizing that even if he did, he would spend most of its contents feeing the servants. These, then, are the types of week-ends. Of course, they may be mixed. So may drinks, but it is to be avoided if humanly possible. THE FORMAL, OR REINFORCED CONCRETE AND STEEL WEEK-END It was fashionably late on Saturday after- noon when Elfrida and I arrived for an im- portant week-end. Detraining, we were met by the third chauffeur or possibly he was the fourth. He dealt us our first blow by request- ing the checks for our trunks. Elfrida and I recoiled and indicated our bag. Each mentally decided to claim it at the first opportunity, inferring that the other had been so gauche as to forget all luggage. Swiftly we were whirled up to the country estate of our week-end. After entering its highly ornamental gates, we drove for about fifteen minutes and both prepared to get out at what subsequently proved to be only the gardener’s cottage. Happily the chauffeur failed to note our attempt. When at length we reached the chateau, we were met and escorted up-stairs by a major- domo who informed us as we ascended that we were expected at tea. (Concluded on page 102)

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19 aE ail cea os PEE The refreshing flavor of CAMPBELLS IOMATO SOUP You sit down at the table. Per- haps you are a little tired. Or your appetite is somewhat listless and needs a bit of coaxing. And even if this is not the case and you are decid- edly hungry—the very sight and savor of Campbell’s Tomato Soup makes you all the more eager to begin. For this is a soup with a flavor and sparkle all its own. No other soup is like it. There’s glow in it. It arouses the most indifferent appetite with its individual and irresistible WITH THE MEAL OR AS A MEAL SOUP BELONGS IN THE LOOK FOR THE REO-AND-WHITE LABEL taste. Each spoonful only serves to add to your satisfaction. You feel revived and refreshed. You receive that wholesome, invigorating stimu- lation which good soup always gives. Campbell's, with their strict stand- ards of quality, their skill and their experience, select just the best por- tions of the finest tomatoes and blend and cook them in their superb kitchens into a soup that brings you all the sunny tomato goodness. At your grocer’s, 12 cents a can. DAILY DIET

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“Do you suppose we can ever find our way back down-stairs?’’ Elfrida whispered in the course of the journey. “Have you brought no ball of yarn to unwind behind us? Is there in your handbag no millet seed to lay a train?” I demanded hoarsely. She said no. What was our dismay when we found that we were to be mercilessly parted and Elfrida placed in one bedroom and I in another! Being too proud to plead, we fought a battle of dirty looks for possession of the suit-case. Elfrida won. She is better at them. Somehow we got back down-stairs. “Without any help from you, Ariadne,” I remarked coldly to Elfrida. Formally greeted by our hostess, we did our best to rise to high tea. Then we were parted again and allotted to separate bridge tables. Elfrida called to me to bring her her powder box, which I did not have. “Slip me the family rabbit’s foot,” she muttered, referring to a gift of the old family colored butler. ‘Good Heavens, this table is playing for a penny a point and they think they’re making a con- cession to my youth at that!” “Nothing doing,” I said, slipping away. “I’ve got to shoot a cent and a half and I need luck more.” The Spanish Inquisition worked out on me for two hours, specializing in burning and the torture of the pit and the pendu- lum—that’s the one where you go down. Finally they let us go to dress for dinner. In our rooms, we found the help had penetrated the terrible secret of the single suit-case. They had unpacked and put one article of apparel in each drawer. It had not quite gone around at that. I took in to dinner the lady whom an hour earlier I had failed to take out of a double of an original two spades. Ours was not a love-feast. Battalions of butlers maneuvered, moving right by squads for the soup and left front into line for the fish. They attacked and retreated rapidly with the entrée, fighting a successful rear-guard action as they brought off the roast. After we had skirmished briefly with the salad, they drew off virtually without casualties to it. Superior numbers told with the dessert; they captured it and the field was theirs. As the ladies departed, I murmured in Elfrida’s ear: “Be sure and not forget to write our hostess.”’ “A bread and butter letter, you mean?” she inquired. “Exactly,” I said. managed to get to eat.” Let a curtain be drawn over the eve- ning until the time when we were permitted to retire. Before going down to dinner, I had moved my pajamas into Elfrida’s room, determined to stand by. An indignant valet had moved them back again tomy room. But nothing daunted, I charged across the hall and joined my wife, having camouflaged my bed. “That’s all I ‘I’m going to lock the door,” I stated, as we retired: “Good,” Elfrida agreed. ‘“‘We are sort of babes in the wood and the help might come in and cover us with the leaves, mightn’t they?” “No,” I shuddered, “but I’m afraid the maid might be in in the morning and give me your bath.” FEVERISHLY Vitus’ THE ST. GAY, OR Own WEEK-END OR this type of week-end, one’s host always meets one at the station in a speedster. Ours threw Elfrida and me and our bag into his and got a racing start. On Fairfax the way out to his place, he accused us of picking a slow train. “Life is short,’ he observed, and very nearly proved it on a sharp curve. “‘ Now if we hurry,” he said—how often were we to hear that phrase!—‘‘ we have time for from nine to eleven holes of golf and a swim before dinner.” By playing through, over, and around preceding matches, we got in ten holes to our host’s intense satisfaction. Then we rushed in and out of the ocean and back to the house. “‘Fifteen minutes to dress for dinner!” Elfrida exclaimed in our room. “Only one of us gets a fresh-water bath. That’s your hard luck.” Resignedly I decked my briny frame in my dinner togs. “Tf anybody at dinner asks, salt,’ please hold me _ back,” Elfrida. “Nobody will have time to ask that,” she prophesied. Before dinner, we double-timed over next door for cocktails. Then we hung up the 440-yard dash, A. A. U. Evening Clothes record, sprinting some place else for more cocktails. Following that, we broke the tape at the dinner amid sub- dued cheers by the butler, who was in a hurry to get off for the evening. Dyspeptically we jumped up from dinner and catapulted ourselves at the bridge table. No time was lost there— only money by Elfrida and me. The barrier went up and the stands cried, “‘They’re off!” as we broke for a dance. We did not stay there long but speeded away to another dance, from which we galloped to a roadhouse where we danced to quicktime until it closed. Following that, Elfrida and I were allowed to collapse in our beds. Our host knocked on the door at 8 a. m., and uttered a merry cry of, “Up, slug-abeds!” All we did that day was tennis, church, swim, golf, swim, run another cocktail relay race, dine, and bridge. After the fifth rubber had snapped back at Elfrida and me, we gasped that we had to get back into town that night. Our host and hostess were reluctant to let us go. They said they had a big day planned for to-morrow. But when it developed that we had only three minutes to catch our train, a glad light burned in our host’s eyes and he rose. “You can just make it,” he cried, we hurry.” ‘Pass the I adjured THE ENGLitisH No END WEEK-END HE uniqueness of this week-end lies in its policies of non-interference, non- cooperation and self-determination of guests, both large and small. Elfrida and I realized we were em- barked on that type when our hostess, having chanced upon us coming in the front door, remarked casually: “‘Ah, there you are. Do anything you like, won’t you?” So saying, she disappeared almost magically. “T half suspect this is an English week- end,” confided Elfrida. “Tf we don’t see our hostess until dinner time, you may it,”’ I replied. We did not, but after wandering aim- lessly about for several hours, we bumped into our host. Though plainly discon- certed at his failure to keep out of the way, he rose to the occasion. he inquired doubt- again be sure of “Are you there?” fully. We said we were. “‘ How jolly! golf? ” he retorted. ‘Who's for Who’s for a bit of tennis?” he Downey’s (Concluded from page roo) IT’S A GREAT LIFE IF YOU DON’T WEEK-END Article ejaculated rapidly. Whereupon he van- ished mysteriously and successfully. Since we were not able to find out how to reach either the links or the courts, Elfrida finally turned to me and de- manded: “‘Who’s for a bit of punting?” “T am,” I said, “if we can locate a football.” “‘Don’t be silly,”’ she chided. for a bit of Mah Jong?” “Not I,” I hastened to declare, trip- ping over a wicket. “But I am for a bit of this croquet.” The game exhausted us. After dining stolidly, we were permitted to go to bed early, since we were rising early to ride to hounds. Because it is very English, we break- fasted from the sideboard, for which I can see no good reason until after one has ridden to the hounds. We helped ourselves from series of braziers, finding all empty except those containing por- ridge, kidney stew, and wyvyl pudding. After that, we had time for a tour of the stables which were well stocked with a quantity of particularly hay-feverish hay. This gave Elfrida an opportunity to es- cape under cover of a barrage of sneezes. There was no such luck for me. I was given a strange and resentful mount and went a-hunting. I prefer not to speak much of that hunt. Suffice it to say that I envied the fox, and several times tried to change places with him by getting to earth. I would rather pass over also the informal polo of the afternoon in which I found out why poloists wear those hard, funny hats. Came the evening, and head ach- ing, frame sore and stiffened, I dressed for dinner and the Hunt Ball. Elfrida, who was having her own troubles with bowlegged horsemen who insisted on trying to do the Charleston, failed to note my plight. I was the dance floor transportation of a string of heavy- armed, formidable dowagers who earlier in the day had picked on big, strong horses. By 11:30 I conceded my mask, brush, and sore pads to the husky Diana who was my reducing partner. Telling her politely that she was in at the death, I fled. “What was that peculiar dance I saw you doing this evening?” asked Elfrida, as I sank groaning on my couch ““Who’s “The Black and Blue Bottom,” I moaned. THE GREAT OvuT-oF-DooORS, OR PERILS-OF-NATURE WEEK-END HE bucolic week-end hostess never tells you to bring some old clothes. She is afraid you might suspect and not come at all. Though Elfrida and I have so many sets of old clothes accumulated, from being worn at this type of week-end, that we have been thinking of asking for re- lief from the Farm Bloc, we had none of them with us that day we motored out to the farm Elizabeth had bought. We were hoping against hope and had no idea she was farming the farm. We saw no guile when we were taken on a tour of the estate, since many week- end hostesses have that weakness. The going was damp and sticky, but it filled Elizabeth with such delight that she took a long breath of “‘fresh country air” and exploded heartily: 6 Things take root when the soil is like this.”’ “T know, ” I said. ‘My shoes—” “Nonsense!” Elizabeth rallied me. “Now you two come into the garden and we'll pick some lovely flowers for the dinner table.” Then we knew. HARPER’S BAZAR Elfrida and I battled with elusive sweet peas, exhorted by our overseer not to miss cutting the adorable little ones way down at the bottom of the bush. An hour dragged by. I could see Elfridg was flagging rapidly. As for me, the intensity of my lumbago stood in a ratio of five to one to the size of my bouquet. “Elizabeth,” I protested at last. “You ay own this old black body, but my soul— “‘Nonsense!” Elizabeth chortled, ““Come on over to the garden and I'll let you city people pick some fine fresh vegetables for dinner with your own hands.” Both Elfrida and I were racked, stooped, and bowed when we escaped from those vegetables and were led captive to the barn. And there—we hunted eggs. A hideous curse on the habits of secrecy of all hens! We did not enjoy our dinner that night. Some may favor such deplorable pre-knowledge and previous acquaintance with their meals in the raw, but not we. It was days before Elfrida could even dial the telephone number of our market without a shudder. The shades of night had hardly fallen when we were led off, creaking, to a barn dance, both of us obsessed by the horrible certainty that it would be replete with Paul Joneses. Shall I tell of how early we were called the next morning, “‘so as not to waste this perfectly glorious morning”? Shall I dwell on the bodily anguish inci- dental to our arising or upon another day on the farm? Nay, I cannot. And I will barely mention ‘the trip to the shore that evening and the ordeal of the clambake, with its burned or underdone food plentifully sprinkled with sand. Elfrida and I will never forget that sand. I have filled my large collection of Italian hour-glasses at home with it, and the last time Elfrida was X-rayed the medical world was startled with the in- formation that she had developed a craw. Then came that memorable day when Elfrida and I looked at each other one Saturday afternoon across the suit-case we were packing for a week-end. “‘Let’s not,” she said suddenly. “What!” I cried. ‘Not go on a week- end, and this August! Not leave our apartment here in town!” “No,” she replied almost inaudibly. “This is radical, this is revolutionary,” I protested in a small voice. But we telephoned our excuses. So that week-end we rested and read and stayed at home. How surprisingly delightful those processes can be to chronic week-enders! Sunday night was upon us before we knew it. Elfrida and I sat on the balcony of our penthouse in the cool of the eve- ning breeze. The familiar sounds of the city, like the breathing of a lazy, com- panionable giant, drifted up to us from the streets. To the north, upper Park Avenue winked the red and green eyes of its railroad signal lights at the illumi- nated trains full of nearly extinguished, homebound week-enders. To the east flashed the headlights of an interminable line of motor-cars bearing weary week- enders back from long Long Island. I touched a bell at my elbow and Itchi, our Japanese house boy, interrupted his Columbia homework long enough to bring us. two tall, tinkling glasses. Elfrida twirled a radio dial at her elbow, and, clear as a bell, enchanted music was wafted to us from the air. “That tune!” exclaimed Elfrida, start- ing up happily. “Ts it, can it be—?” “Tt is,” I assured her joyfully. “It’s ‘Home, Sweet Home’—wit/out variations!

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Five years ago, through honest pride in its work, Fisher began to sign each of its bodies with a monogram plate. An incidental result of the appearance of the symbol, ‘“‘Body by Fisher,” is that today the public is grouping motor Cars in two divisions—those which are equipped with Fisher Bodies, and those which may not claim that distinction FISHER, Wi, eS

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104 and Enid had come running, followed by Stryker who looked, for once, truly human and humanly scared. “Michael, what on earth has hap- pened?”’ And as Pell tried to explain, ‘That dog! If you’d have had him shot as I long ago suggested—but no, he’s to be kept and pampered and be, no doubt, the death of us instead. . . Stryker, help Mr. Pell to carry Mr. Trevor to his room, then telephone Dr. Paxton. I'll see if Mrs. Hurley can manage an emer- gency dressing.” And thus it was Trevor found himself laid up with a leg fractured in two places, while Enid deplored the accident, not so much on his account, but because it cur- tailed her own freedom. “I’ve called off the Newtons’ house- party,” or, “I’ve sent word we can’t join the Trubles on their yachting cruise,” she would tell him fretfully. He would urge her to go without him. ‘You've done it before.” “T know,” Enid would return still more petulantly, “but this is different— it wouldn’t look right.” And Trevor would smile and ask for the papers. FTER two weeks of activity, Trevor rebelled. “T’ve got to do something,” he told Dr. Paxton one morning. “I’ve always done something ever since I can remem- ber. I wasn’t made to loaf and this idleness is driving me crazy. [I'll get my secretary down here and start on the notes I’ve made for the book I want to enforced in- write— ‘Industry Yesterday, To- day, and To-morrow’—” Paxton agreed heartily. “Do you good,”’ he said. ‘‘Nothing wrong with you but your leg and you don’t think or write with that.” When Trevor told Enid, she made a little moue. ‘Your secretary—which one?” Trevor smiled. “I’ve only one—Miss Hayden.”’ “Oh.” Enid’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I thought you meant one of your men. one of the stenographers.” ‘“*Miss Hayden is my personal secretary and is acquainted with the data and material I intend to embody in my book,” Trevor told her quietly. ‘ Besides, she is a college trained girl with an exceptional flair for writing—for expression. She can do the actual work from my notes and memoranda. ”’ Enid poured herself another cup of coffee. It was after dinner and they were seated on the south terrace where Trevor had been wheeled by Stryker. Later, Enid was going on to the Country Club dance with Pell, but feeling rather gracious that evening—the resultant effect of looking unusually well—she had given Trevor the unexpected company of her presence at dinner. OW she sat back and thoughtfully sipped the fragrant hot coffee. “Miss Hayden . . . haven’t you con- sidered it will be rather inconvenient for me to have a female secretary around?” she said finally. Trevor selected and lighted a cigaret deliberately. “How?” he queried abruptly. Enid stirred restlessly, recrossing slim, palely silken legs. “Well, she won’t like being treated like a servant, and I most certainly don’t intend to make her one of the family,” she stated tersely. “There is no question of treating Miss Hayden as a servant and I don’t think she’d expect, or particularly care, to be accepted as ‘one of the family,’”’ replied Trevor a little curtly. Enid’s nostrils flared slightly. ‘‘What would be her position then? At least, you might tell me how I’m expected to treat her.’ Trevor smiled then, just a shade tolerantly. Enid was so obvious on most occasions. “Treat her as you would any well-bred, charming girl of your acquaintance,” he advised. ‘Be courteous to her when your UNFAIR LADY Nevis Shane’s Story (Continued from page 83) paths cross—which won’t be often—and try not to be too condescending. She won’t expect to be present at your dinner parties or to dance with your friends, but neither will she expect to eat or associate with the servants. Save on formal occasions, I’d suggest she take all meals with us, naturally, and you might give her the east wing for her own apartment.” Enid set down her cup with a little rattle. ‘I do think you’re rather—rather particular about Miss Hayden’s comfort,” said she sharply, “but if you feel het presence here is needed to make your present existence tolerable, why have her by all means. Only please don’t expect me to lend her Sara or give her my own favorite breakfast tray!” And the fact that Trevor only laughed at her ill-humor but added to Enid’s sense of grievance. She was quite abrupt to Pell who arrived a few moments after. But she had quite forgotten that abruptness by the time they started homewards, and Pell had little cause then to hold it against her. Perhaps Enid’s greatest fault was she could be very charming when she wished to. [RIS HAYDEN arrived at Moorlands on a Friday morning two days later, a smart little portfolio in one hand, a smart little dressing-case in the other, a slim black gown upon a slim fair body and a charming dark hat upon a charming dark head. She was very lovely, was Iris, with the hidden, unexpected loveliness of sug- gested, rather than obvious beauty— soft, unwaved, dusky hair, slender white face almost devoid of color, sensitive, Rossetti mouth, and eyes of startling violet hue. Enid had never met or seen Iris Hayden before the morning of her arrival at Moorlands. She had been with Trevor's firm for a year and at the few times Enid had visited her husband’s office, Iris had been either at lunch or busy. So that now, as Enid saw her for the first time against the flattering back- ground of her own cool living-room, she experienced a swift stab of unreasonable jealousy. Well-bred, charming girl indeed! Treat her as one of your own acquaintances! Suppose you give her her own apartment! Enid proffered a cool hand, withdraw- ing it almost before contact with that other warm one. ““Miss Hayden? [ am Mrs. Trevor. So sorry, but the doctor is with my husband. . . I'll have Stryker show you your apartment. Benson will bring your luggage up immediately. Lunch- eon’s at one. No doubt Mr. Trevor will send for you before that. Not at all... it is very nice to have you. Stryker, please show Miss Hayden to her rooms. Good-morning. “4 When Iris had gone, Enid stood for a still litthke moment in meditation. Then she crossed to the telephone, gave a number, and waited for it impatiently. It came through after several moments’ delay. “ Hello hello Mr. Pell, please ... Mrs. Trevor calling. , Hello, Rod? Enid speaking. Rod, Rod, would you like to come down this evening over the week-end? Foolish question number six billion? Don’t be bromidic—or whatever that is, precious and don’t say those things over a telephone. I’m sure the Glen Cove operator is listening in—she usually does. And your line grows worse with each débutante party you go to. Well, this afternoon it is, then. Certainly, stupid—how can I help it? Toute a Vheure!” NID replaced the receiver slowly. Her small face, growing a little plump with the years, was set in a mask of powdered defiance, discontent, irri- tability. She wondered if Michael would remark on Rod’s visit. He had been down every week-end, save two, since they had. opened up Moorlands, and while Michael always seemed to welcome him heartily, still people were talking and one needed to be discreet. That cat, Bernice Harborough, had remarked only yesterday, “‘A broken leg for poor old Michael and, my dear, what a break for you!” Enid had murmured “Michael is a dear.” And Bernice had returned slangily: “You’ve said it! Only dear dumb-bell was what you meant, wasn’t it?” Enid was quite sure Michael wasn’t a ‘dear dumb-bell” . . . but if he wasn’t, what was he? Uninterested, perhaps. No, not that. Enid’s well-defined vanity would not permit such an assumption. Too busy to be bothered was a much better one. Well, she had to be amused, didn’t she? And Rod was a dear. Of course he was in love with her. Any one with half an eye could see that—the foolish, headstrong boy! But she knew how to look after herself! Only, if Michael didn’t appreciate her, it was nice to know that some one else did. Some one who sympathized and under- stood how hard it is to be gay and always smiling when one is lonely and rather ignored by a busy, money-mad husband. No doubt, sooner or later, Rod would grow more impetuously amorous and want her to elope with him or—or something. Enid hadn’t any intention of eloping or that other. She was almost repellently moral—the offensive morality of an instinctively evil mind. She was the type that looked upon every chorus girl as “bad,” and believed it. Only, of course, with that inverted virtue, she saw no harm whatever in allowing Rodney Pell to motor her all over the countryside at all hours, in allowing dangerously personal repartee, and dangerously personal familiarities. “Rod, turn your head. I’ma respectable, married woman... not one of your hip-flask débutantes,” or, ‘Rod, throw up your hands or I'll slap them!” Yet Enid could truthfully say she was a faithful and irreproachable wife. She sincerely and virtuously felt that Michael had been extremely fortunate in marrying her and that he was lucky not to have been “caught” by Amelie Rand, who every one knew was a secret drinker, or Constance Malcolm, who had run off with her chauffeur and who had brazenly asked her husband for a settlement so that she might continue to live in the style to which he had accustomed her. Yes, Michael had a lot tobe thankful for. affectionately, HE weeks that followed the advent of Iris were apparently uneventful. Usually, in the morning, she would type the notes she had made the previous day, and in the afternoon, she and Michael would sit out on the cool veranda or shaded lawn, he dictating or consulting huge memorandum books, she scribbling diligently or making notations. Some- times she would go for a walk early in the morning or just before dusk, and once or twice she had taken a drive at Michael’s insistence, in the open car, Benson at the wheel, pleased and eager to please, for he liked her, and old Jerry, very important and very noisy, on the seat beside her. Enid had raised surprised eyebrows at the first of these trips, remarking: ‘I’m so glad Mr. Trevor thought to suggest it. I’m so careless—but then I’m so busy.” Michael had smiled at that, but said nothing. And Iris had a vague feeling that Enid resented that secret smile. And then there was Pell. He would turn up, gay, amusing, always charming, at the most unexpected and inopportune moments. “Oh, I say, Michael! It’s disgusting to make a person write shorthand on such a. day as this!” or: “Come on and play hooky. I'll take the blame,” and once, when Enid had returned early from a bridge-tea, “‘Enid, why don’t you make Michael stop being so garrulous? He’s dictated for over two hours, I swear!” And Enid, her small mouth rather thin and unpleasant, ‘“My dear Rod, that’s what Miss Hayden is here for.” HARPER’S BAZAR It was seldom Enid allowed Iris to fy. get what she was there for. Not thy Iris minded. She loved her work, gy liked working for Michael, and she hag little inclination toward social distras. tions. Once or twice a fortnight gy would take the train to New York to see, friend, or a married sister, or to do sony shopping. But she was always eage glad, to get back to Moorlands, to he cool, chintz-hung apartment, to—not tha she ever thought of it that way—Michad and Michael’s slow, warm greeting. “Have a nice day?” ‘Rotten traiy service, isn’t it?” ‘Hot in town” ““Guess the city’s as crowded as ever” “Better let Stryker fix you a rickey~ you look tired.” ‘Mrs. Trevor has gone out to dinner. Wouldn’t you like to eg out on the veranda? It’s so warm jp. doors.” And Iris: ‘Lovely, thank you.” “No, I don’t really think so.” “Terribly warm.” “Just as crowded.” “TI am rather tired.”” “‘Why—I think it woul be lovely.” AS FOR Trevor, he never realized what had happened until one mom. ing, watching Iris’ slim fingers racing across her note-book, he felt a sudden, rather terrible, desire to take those narrow hands and kiss each finger separately. Such a capable, little hand! Always busy— “ ... Irredentist problems create a mute, yet ever present tension exacerbating every dispute that may arise from other causes. ” Or just: “Dear Sir: In reply to your letter of the 16th inst.—” And her head: small, yet capable like her hands. Such a dear, busy little head. “Mr. Trevor, I stopped at the office and consulted the files about the Saghalien oil concessions. You were quite right in your dates.” Or: “TI brought you Bigelow’s new book on engineering in China. It’s just out.” Or: “T do think you should rest a little. I can finish these memos without you.” Trevor was genuinely shocked and aghast at his discovery—the discovery of how lovely Iris was with her wide, intelli- gent eyes, her broad, pure forehead, her beautifully chiseled lips and __ firmly molded chin. And that wasn’t his only discovery. Oh, no, there were others besides that startling one. The discovery of how much he had come to depend upon her—of how unostentatiously, yet efl- ciently, she did her work—of how con- siderate she was of every one and any one —of how appreciative she was of the slightest kindness. The servants adored her. They would do for her, unasked, what they would have given notice before doing for Enid. Mrs. Hurley, the housekeeper, dignified and with the manner of a retired grand duchess, would spend hours supervising the rearrangement of Iris’s bed and sitting-room. Stryker always saw there was a small, cut-glass decanter of cognac on her table when she worked at night; McLaren, the gardener, sent up his prize du Barry roses; Parker, the cook, felt 4 new salad-dressing or pastry was unfit for the table until Iris had approved it; and Mamie, the kitchen-maid, kept her little white slippers spotless, her crépe blouses as fresh as new snow, and did for Iris gratefully all the things that Sara, Enid’s personal maid, was supposed to do for Enid, and did do, when necessary, very reluctantly. MICHAEL wasn’t at all sure what he should do about it. Send her home? Dismiss her? Yes, undoubtedly. But how, without wounding her irretrievably? “Miss Hayden, I think you'd better g° back to the city. I don’t feel like com tinuing the book at present.” Fine: Except for “the present.” What about later? ‘Miss Hayden, I think I should have a male secretary. My work is really too heavy for a young woman. Of course, I shall ‘see you are well placed with another firm.” Also fine. But what about Iris? After the sincere interest (Continued on page 106)

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for JULY 1927 CARON CORP. 389 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK

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she had taken in the book, after the days and weeks and months of learning and absorbing his business. Michael could almost visualize her hurt face, her wide, hurt eyes, her compressed, hurt mouth. No, he’d be hanged if he’d do it. This crazy interest he had taken in her so une xpectedly was just a phase produced by his inactivity, his surcease from the daily grind, his—yes, he admitted it—his sudden release from a long loneliness. He would quite get over it. He was very definite and certain about that. Why, such a thing had never happened to him before. It was ridiculous! And at his age—thirty-seven—no, thirty- eight! He wondered how old she was. Twenty-two, perhaps. She had _ told him. Only, at the time he hadn't bothered to remember. But now... he wondered if it would seem strange if he asked her. He decided it would, and then, at luncheon, said: “I’m afraid all this capital and labor business is rather dry for a young girl of twenty-two. .. . You are twenty-two, Miss Hayden?” And Iris: “‘ No—twenty-five, Mr. Tre- vor.” Twenty-five! A delightful, marvelous age for a woman... not too old to have lost that lithe, buoyant quality— not too young to be stupid or naive. O DOUBT Enid, had she ever bothered to notice, would have re- marked the change in Michael. Only Enid didn’t. She was much too busy. She was very given to saying: “I really do wish there were more hours in a day. One simply can’t get everything done in the twenty-four given us.” Enid loved bridge: she played nearly every afternoon at the country club or at any one of the many houses she visited— Mrs. Rankin’s English manor, Mrs. Doolan’s French chateau, the Rutledges’ Southern Colonial, the Pepperlys’ Italian Renaissance . . . and luncheons—every day there was one some place... . “My dear, I can’t! Well—if you insist. But I’m positively getting fai!” She was. Her face had become quite round, her arms and breast bulged a little under last suminer sweaters, her hips and thighs curved in the unfashionable direction. Only her legs and ankles remained slim, in fact, grew slimmer. And her body, in its short skirt and long jumper, above these slim, flat legs gave her the appear- ance of a gnome or jerkined elf. HEN one evening it happened. It had been a terrible day—one of the “dog-days” of August—the sort of day that takes a person by the throat and softly, moistly, relentlessly strangles him. Enid had wakened after a bad night, feeling irritable, nervous, more tired than ever. Nothing went right, nothing pleased her. She had promised the Dales she would attend their swimming and luncheon party. She did. And ate lob- ster and peach ice-cream. Then she played bridge at the Eberles’, had cock- tails and paté sandwiches while the thermometer registered ninety, drove over to the Country Club with a party for more cocktails and gossip, allowed herself to be persuaded to go on to an impromptu dinner, taken bacardi rickeys, a heavy meal, and three Scotch high-balls. Then she felt ill. Of course, she blamed it on the weather—and Michael. If he hadn't broken his leg over that fool dog, they’d be on the Yacht Club cruise to Newport with the Trubles. She borrowed a friend’s car and chauffeur and drove home feeling sick, irritable, aggrieved, and badly imposed upon. She arrived at ten-thirty and asked Stryker if Michael had retired. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have thought to inquire, but to-night she wanted some- one to complain to and vent her ill-humor upon. Stryker said pleasantly: has gone for a drive.” Enid said: “Oh... unusual?” “Well, these “Mr. Trevor isn’t that rather Madame, past it is in a way. But few evenings have been so UNFAIR LADY Nevis (Continued from page 104) unbearable Mr. Trevor felt the air would make him sleep better.” Enid was ascending the staircase. “Well, no matter. I’ll see Miss Hayden instead.” Stryker turned the switch that lighted the upper hall. “Miss Hayden is also out, Madame. She went with Mr. Trevor.” Enid paused in her progress up the stairs. “... With Mr. Trevor?” If Stryker felt he had made the one mistake of his forty successful years, he did not betray it. He said, with an admirable and vaguely condescending indifference: “Yes. . Mr. Trevor no doubt felt the day had been a strenuous one for her, and that a little air would do her good, also. Is there anything you wish, Madame? r “No,” said Enid curtly, “nothing. Only let me know when Mr. Trevor returns.” , At MIDNIGHT Enid was stil! waiting. At 12:10 she heard the car slither to a stop before the side entrance, heard Benson jump out, open the door, say, “Take it easy, Mr. Trevor. You don’t want to go knocking that leg.” And heard Iris say, ‘Don’t you think you’d better wait until Benson calls Stryker?” Michael replied: “‘Of course not. I’ve got my crutch all ready. Just lend me your arm, Benson . . . there we are.” Steps and indistinct voices on the veranda, in the living-room, then the hall and up the stairs. When the night was again quiet save for the chirrup-cheep of crickets, Enid swept out of her room, through her jewel-like boudoir, and into Michael’s bedroom. He was sitting by the open window, still dressed in the light gray flannel suit he had worn all day. “Hullo,” he said, think you were back yet. Enid smiled, rather Srey. “No, I suppose you didn’t,” then: “ told Stryker to tell you I wanted . speak to you.” smiling, “didn’t ““Didn’t see him,” said Michael. ‘Sit down ... have a cigaret?” Enid remained standing. “I said I wanted to speak to you.” He grinned up at her. Shoot!” But before she could say anything, the sound of a car, knocking badly, broke the night’s silence. It chunk-chunked up the drive and came to a wheezy stop almost under Michael’s window. He looked out and saw a roadster with defiantly bright head-lights. Michael called, “Hullo!” and Pell’s voice floated up to - “Tt’s I—Pell . wonder if you could put me up for - night, old man? My car’s running on only two cylinders. Wouldn’t have bothered you, but I saw your lights.” Enid remained standing was. Trevor called down: “Ring the bell. I don’t think Stryker will have turned in yet. You may have your usual room and he’ll bring you a pair of my pajamas. ... See you at breakfast.” “Oh—all right. where she HEN he turned back to Enid. you were about to say?” And Enid, a little red, said lamely, “‘I— I thought I should speak to you about motoring with Miss Hayden.” “Well, “Oh,” said Michael. ‘“‘What about it?” “What about it?” echoed Enid. “Nothing—only Bernice Harborough took pleasure in telling me she saw you two parked in front of a Soundview drug store one day last week having i ice-cream sodas. And to-night—” Michael lit a cigaret deliberately. “Enid,” said he, “don’t act like a spoilt high-school girl. ‘Having an ice-cream soda,’ indeed. Does that constitute immorality?” Enid’s lips compressed. speaking of immorality. merely to appearances. looks right.” Michael inhaled “No one is I am referring I don’t think it said: deeply, then Shane’s Story “Don’t you think your views on social conduct are a little prejudiced?” She looked at him with hostile eyes. “What do you mean?” “T mean that you evidently aren’t worried about appearances when you motor from one end of Long Island to the other with Pell, or when he escorts you to dinner parties and club dances.” Enid flushed unbecomingly. ‘‘That’s different,’ she retorted. Michael smiled then. ‘Yes, I suppose it is,” he admitted, ‘‘only somehow, I can’t see it.” “IT mean, Pell is a social equal—your friend as well as mine,” returned Enid sharply. “And he only escorts me because you are too busy to be bothered. Also, I might suggest that if you have time for motoring, you should motor with me.” ICHAEL pointed out to her she was usually on her way to a place, or from a place, and never cared to motor merely for the pleasure of driving. Enid ignored this and said rather recklessly, “‘As for Rod—it is satisfying to know that at least some one is interest- ed in my pleasure . . . who hates to see me lonely. You ought to be grateful to him instead of insinuating—insinuat- ing—” “Oh, I don’t mind your having a trained poodle-dog...I only mind your having him in my house so con- stantly,” said Michael easily. “How dare you!” cried Enid, then: “Your house? I’ve always thought it was my house.” Michael smiled. “I know you have,” said he, “because you’ve lived in it, had your bills sent to it, and on few and far between occasions, consulted an excellent housekeeper concerning it, you quite naturally look upon it as your house. But since I paid for it with money I worked ten hours a day for, and have supported it for the last twelve years with money earned entirely and solely by myself, I sort of feel it is my house primarily.’ Enid’s eyes were twin daggers that would have liked to stab him mortally. “Money!” she returned scornfully. “That’s all you think of ... money . money - money!” “Unfortunately,” replied Michael, “‘you’ve never given me much oppor- tunity to forget that ‘money—money— money’ is the axis upon which your life revolves.” “Of course,” sneered Enid, “you would blame me for your grasping, greedy nature; you would try to make me out a mercenary, pleasure-loving person!” “Aren’t you?” asked Michael. “Aren’t I what?” demanded Enid. “‘Aren’t you mercenary and pleasure- loving?” For a moment Enid’s wrath prohibited speech. “So that’s what you think of me,” she ground out finally, “if you think of me at all,” she added, then: “When I think how I’ve lived through lonely days and nights under this roof while you were at conferences or board meetings, or—or Chicago. .. .” Michael smiled, quite without rancor. “Don’t make me remind you, Enid, of the time I was away for three days and you didn’t even notice it, or the time I returned from Washington during one of your dinner parties, and you remarked to your guests, ‘Poor Michael, I suppose it was a directors’ meeting that kept him so late at the office this evening’. “Tl not listen to you,” said Enid, clapping two white, overly-manicured hands to her ears. Michael regarded her tolerantly. cause the truth hurts, Enid?” “Truth!” cried she. “What do you know about the truth? With your lies as to business trips, and conferences, and meetings. Conferences, no doubt, with chorus-girls or a—a mistress!” “ Be- MICHAEL'S mouth compressed; the lids of his eyes drooped impercep- tibly. “I didn’t think you believed me that intelligent,” he returned evenly. HARPER’S BAZAR Enid dropped her hands and looked a him blankly. “Then it’s true?” she said “Oh, you beast! Y ou—you—” Michael smiled faintly. “I’m sorry to admit it—it isn’t true,” he said drily, “but I think it would have been a very good idea, now that I reflect upon it.’ Enid’s breath came in sharp littl gusts. “So! You are tired of me—yoy would like to get rid of me!” “Oh, no,” returned her husband, “] don’t mind your being in my house at all, I see so very little of you, it doesn’t really matter. 3 ‘And whose fault is that, know?” asked E nid meaningly. “T don’t know,” said Michael slowly, “T don’t honestly know.’ “Then I’ll tell you, if you don’t. It’s yours. Your fault entirely.” “T thought it would be,” Michael. Enid lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Well, it most certainly isn’t mine! For twelve years I’ve lived with you, been faithful to you, managed your house beautifully, entertained your friends dutifully, ad- vanced your social position most success- a Michael laughed then. “Shall I tel you just what you’ve done since you've been my wife?” he said. ‘You needn't listen if you don’t care to, but I’m going to give you a thorough résumé of your days and nights as a modern wife—and that of your friends’ days and nights—” “Do!” sneered Enid. “I’m sure it will be most interesting and amusing.” “That,” said Michael, “will depend entirely upon one’s point of view. But! don’t think you will consider it amusing.” “Oh, don’t spare my feelings,” urged Enid sarcastically. “IT won't,” promised Michael, then went on evenly: “We'll take the days first—they are so strenuous. Breakfast and correspondence in bed, bath, and massage, and manicure next. Your greatest worry is whether you should wear a blue or a black gown, or whether Mrs. A’s invitation to luncheon wouldn't have been better to have been accepted than Mrs. B’s, to whom you are going. If you’re in town you visit your dressmaker, or jeweler, or a beauty parlor in the morning; you lunch at smart restaurants where—with other women whose hus- bands are breaking their backs to give them the furs and jewels and clothes they take so for granted—you eat rich, in digestible foods and complain about servants, society, and life in general. In the afternoon, you attend a matinée, or play bridge, or spend more money on your personal adornment. You arrive home tired, irritable, just in time to dress and go out to dinner. If your husband is tired from a nerve-racking day at his office and wants to stay home for a quiet evening and relax, you feel neglected and make him feel a brute. If he does go with you—and at one o’clock in the morning refuses to go on to another night club, you apologize for him, saying, ‘Oh, John 1s getting to be a regular old fogy.’ You don’t consider that John has to be at his business by nine o’clock the next morning and needs a clear head and all his faculties to combat clever and ruthless competi tion. You—” ie broke in Enid furiously. dare say ‘you’ that way again! I haven't always helped you—”’ “Have you?” asked Michael quietly. “You’ve never, to my knowledge, done one thing I’ve wanted todo. And you've shirked the greatest obligation of marriage finally, I'd like to admitted “Don't As if —children. You have lived one hundred per cent. for yourself, for your own pleasure. You have left me alone for weeks at a time while you were in Palm Beac h, or Paris, or Aiken. You've nevet once given up a party or a trip because couldn’t go with you, or because you didn’t want to leave me alone—” “You were always too busy—” begaa Enid. ; I know it,” said Michael. “When I hae married you, I started out to make money—big money—to give you te (Concluded on page 108) M

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LR JULY 1927 In a sports costume by Chanel—of crepe and kasha vert amande, trimmed with natural lynx—Mrs. Doubleday’s blonde beauty has the perfect setting. She is al- ways one of the season’s favorite hostesses at Palm Beach. But her New York apart- ment is only a pied a terre where she perches en route to her Paris house, ren- dezvous of the smart and young of Europe. eNGs. FELIX DOUBLEDAY discovers two secrets of beauty HE smart international set has recently been adorned by a new and lovely member—Mrs. Felix D. Doubleday. Delicately blonde, a figure of lilting grace and sparkle, she was born in Vienna where beauty has always gone hand in hand with good breeding. Her natural interest in the best way to care for her lovely skin—like that of a Dresden china shep- herdess come to life—led her to the same discov- ery made by so many women of the social world. “Although I was accustomed in Vienna,” she says, “from the time I was a young girl, to seeing beautiful women, I was amazed when I came to America, at the fine complexions so many women have here. I made inquiries and found that your Two Creams are used by the women whose skin I found so beautiful. “T immediately bought a jar of each at a nearby shop and am now using them daily. I like them so very much—they keep my skin in such perfect condition—that I thought you would like to know what a Viennese woman thinks about them.” Mrs. Feuix DousLepay was Miss Elizabeth Heymann of Vienna before her marriage to the son of the president and founder of the well-known publishing house, Doubleday, Page and Company. Chanel, her favorite couturier, has dis- played great finesse in this exquisite gown of pale flesh crepe georgette, the grace of which is repeated in a great fan of pale yellow ostrich shading to burnt orange. These are the Two Creams women of social prominence have chosen to keep a@ velvety smooth skin and clear fresh color. Steichen A capeline of the finest navy blue horsehair crowns Mrs. Doubleday’s lovely head with its lines of flow- ing beauty. The restrained simplicity of a navy blue crepe de chine frock in Chanel’s best manner is re- lieved by a@ string of pearls and a pink carnation. For cleansing and keeping the skin supple, and firm of contour, use Pond’s Cold Cream, patting it over face, throat, hands. Leave the Cream on long enough for its fine oils to sink into the pores and purge them of dust and powder. Wipe off. Repeat. Finish with a dash of cold water or a rub with ice. After the bedtime cleansing—if your skin is dry—apply more Pond’s Cold Cream and leave until morning. After every cleansing with Pond’s Cold Cream except the bed- time one, finish with Pond’s Vanishing Cream. This makes your skin even softer, suppler, gives it a velvety smoothness, a delicate glow. Now when you powder you only flatter your own natural loveliness. And Pond’s Vanishing Cream is a perfect protection from wind, sun, dust. Through the daily use of these Two Creams you, too, may have the same fresh, glowing beauty of skin that Mrs. Felix Doubleday counts among her charms. Free Offer : Mail this coupon if you would like to try, free, De these Two famous Creams made by Pond’s. mia Tue Ponp’s Extract Company, Dept. U 122 Hudson Street, New York City Please send me free tubes of Pond’s Cold and Vanishing Creams. ee ee Street - caine — City...

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pretty things and smart home that you wanted—demanded. And I couldn't stop after I once got started. Each year it was a little more. If I earned fifty thousand, our bills came to sixty—if, the following year, I made seventy-five you had changed the house, or bought a new car, or ordered another strand for your pearl necklace. Until now, after twelve years of building up a business, I work harder and longer to-day than ever.” Enid drew her chinchilla-trimmed dressing-robe closer about her. Inciden- tally, its cost would have supported an average family for six months. “T’ll not listen to another word,” she ground out. “It’s contemptible of you to try and lay the blame entirely at my door. And if you think I’m so terrible—well, perhaps, there are others who don’t think so. I might do as other women in my position do—find some one who doesn’t think I am impossible—” “Tf you’re referring to Pell,’ observed Michael calmly, “I’d advise you to let him see you some morning in wavers and cold-cream. A prospective lover might not stand the reaction as well as an al- ready attached husband.” “Oh,” breathed Enid. vulgarian!” Michael smiled. ‘‘Thank you,” said he. “That is the most satisfying compliment you have ever paid me. I was beginning to think I had become as tamely civilized as the rest of your friends’ husbands who sit up—like trained dogs—and bark whenever their wives snap their fingers.” Enid did not stay to answer. She swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Michael, alone, started to smile toler- antly, then suddenly he bent his head and buried his face in strangely unsteady fingers. “You—you HE following morning Enid drove over to her mother’s. “‘T’ll leave him,” she declared. “You should have heard the things he said!” She told her what Michael had said: Mrs. Cameron maintained a discreet neutrality. “‘His house!” said Enid indignantly. “His money! As if I cared about his money! I’d rather starve than touch another penny of it.” “No doubt you will, if you don’t,” observed her mother prosaically. Enid tossed her head. “Oh, no, I won’t,” she asserted. “I can earn my own living very easily.” “At what?” demanded Mrs. Cameron. Enid paused, then: “Lots of things. . . I'll become an interior decorator.” “Don’t,” advised her mother drily. “Every woman who has ever personally selected her drawing-room curtains and upholstery feels that she could be an interior decorator. You haven’t had even that experience.” Enid had never before found her mother so unsympathetic; she returned home more out of sorts than ever. At MOORLANDS, the morning had passed quietly enough. Pell had tried to kidnap Iris into going swimming, but she had protested she was too busy and Michael, selfishly, had backed her up. So Pell had driven off alone, a little line of discontentment about his nice, but rather weak-looking mouth. “You should have gone,” Michael told her. “It’s a beastly day.” And Iris replied: “I’d rather loaf around the gardens—they’re so beautiful I never tire of rhapsodizing over them.” Michael was hobbling about quite expertly now, so he went with her to look at McLaren’s early peonies. Then they sat under a giant horse-chestnut tree while Michael rested, and talked about Bol- shevik Russia and a recent exhibit of etchings. Stryker found them still there when he went hunting them for luncheon. They UNFAIR LADY Nevis Shane’s Story (Concluded from page 106) looked at each other then and flushed a little self-consciously. ‘“‘How time flies,”’ bromidically. “Yes, doesn’t it?” equal inanity. They were quite businesslike and im- personal at luncheon. ““We must look up the De Witt memo- randum on wasted water power in Africa,” and, “I ordered Merrill’s catalog of eighteenth-century statistics.” remarked Michael agreed Iris with T HAPPENED about four o'clock, just as Michael was dozing off into a lazy nap on the side veranda. An agonized, surprised yelp, a startled cry; loud, but indistinct, voices. Michael jumped up and hobbled down the steps and along the gravel drive, garage-wards, whence the sounds had issued. He found Iris, her white crépe frock blood-smeared and dirty, crouched in the middle of the kitchen driveway, holding the crushed form of Jerry in her arms. She was crying quite openly. About her stood Parker, Mamie, and a red-faced, almost apoplectic youth. “T couldn’t help it,’ the red-faced youth was protesting. “I was backin’ up an’ never seen him. He just let out a yelp an’ that was the first I knew about him bein’ there. God strike me if I ain’t tellin’ the truth.” Michael, ignoring his stiff leg, sank to the gravel beside Iris. She looked at him then, her eyes two brimming purple wells of unhappiness. “Oh, Michael,” she said, “he’s quite dead ... I’m afraid it hurt him horri- bly.” And Michael laid a comforting, sooth- ing arm about her shoulders and mur- mured: ‘‘There—there—don’t cry so, Iris. It happened so quickly, it’s doubt- ful if he felt it at all.” Anatural, logical incident—the thought- less use of given names, a thoughtless action of involuntary comfort. But they were both aware of the sweeping away of barriers and defenses between them. It was unfortunate—or, perhaps, for- tunate—that Enid drove up at that moment. Usually, she never went near the back of the house, but to-day she had wanted to visit the hot-house and per- sonally select some flowers for a sick friend. She was just in time to see Michael with his arm about Iris—just in time to see the look that passed be- tween them. HE descended from the car as Michael arose painfully. Iris continued to crouch there with Jerry in her arms; she seemed unaware of Enid’s presence. She said to Benson: “It was an acci- dent, Benson. The butcher’s boy backed his truck and ran over him. I don’t think he could help it.” The butcher’s boy perspired gratefully. Benson stooped and took Jerry from her. “Tl fix him up, Miss Iris,” he said. “There’s no use getting a vet. He’s quite dead.” Enid glared: she had never been so ignored in her life. ““What a mess,”’ she now said distaste- fully. Then to Iris: “I think you'd better go in and—and wash.” Iris got up slowly. “I’m sorry,” said she, “‘I didn’t realize how—how awful I must look.” Michael gazed at her. Awful! With that lovely tear-stained face, that still trembling mouth, those compassionate, blood-stained hands and arms! He turned and limped slowly back to the house. NID joined him in his dressing-room. He was washing his hands and she waited until he had finished. Then she said, “‘I want you to send Miss Hayden back to the city immediately! I never saw such a disgusting exhibition of brazenness in all my life!” Michael dried his hands deliberately. “T don’t understand you.”’ Enid’s face twitched unbeautifully. “Oh, you understand me well enough! I don’t know how long this—this affair has been going on, but I'll see to it that it doesn’t continue any longer under my roof.” Said Michael: “‘I’d be careful what I said—and I thought we decided that this was my house.” Enid threw him a look of pure venom. “Tl give you just ten minutes to tell her,’’ she spat, “‘and then J’// do it.” Michael turned on her then. “Oh, no, you won't,” he said with ominous cold- ness. ‘“‘Miss Hayden will leave here in good time, but it won’t be you that will send her.” ““Won’t it?” we'll see.” She didn’t even give him the ten minutes. She went directly to Iris’s apartment. Iris had put on a slim, violet silk dressing-gown that made her appear more than ever like the flower whose name she bore. Compared to her exquisite simplicity, Enid looked frowsy and overdressed. Enid’s realization of this did not help. “I’ve come to tell you Mr. Trevor will not require your services here after to-day,” she said abruptly. ‘‘ Benson will drive you to the station. There’s a train at 7:15. That will give you sufficient time to pack.” “Miss Hayden,” said a quiet voice from the doorway, “you will leave here when I tell you to go.” Then to his wife, “‘T am very sorry, Enid, but it is really necessary for me to take a stand and maintain it. I’ve stood your indirect bullying too long as it is.” sneered Enid. “Well, [®5S, her face drained of every vestige of color, said swiftly: “Please ... I want to go—immediately,” then she turned to Enid and added: “TI apologize for anything I may have done to offend you, Mrs. Trevor. I assure you that whatever it was, it was entirely uninten- tional.” “I’m sure of that,”’ returned Enid with a nasty inference in her tone. “I can quite believe you didn’t intend I should discover your—your play for my hus- band.” Michael flushed for his wife’s vulgarity. He would never have believed it of the ordinarily calm, indifferent Enid. But then, Michael knew nothing about women, or, if he did, did not know how to apply that knowledge. He had yet to discover that jealousy knows no caste or class distinction. His eyes sought Iris’s; begged her forgiveness; was given it, and something more. Then he turned and limped back down the hall. Enid followed him a few moments later. Iris began to mechani- cally assort and lay out her clothing. She had forgotten Enid’s nastiness, her mean insinuation. The terrible realiza- tion that she loved Michael so over- whelmed her, there was little place in her heart or mind for anything else. FEW days later, Rodney Pell awaited Enid in her drawing-room. He would have liked to wander about in search of Iris, only he felt it would not be politic. Enid was devilish touchy. When he saw her expression as she ad- vanced toward him, he was rather glad he hadn’t followed his first inclination. She greeted him abruptly. “I’ve lots to tell you,” she said. “I’m—I’m divorc- ing Michael.” Pell sat down rather limply. “Divorcing Michael!’ he echoed. Said Enid, rather sharply, ‘‘ You seem surprised. Are you displeased?” Pell attempted to dissemble. I’m rather fond of Michael.” She threw him a look then which he read correctly. He smiled at her charmingly. ‘Of “Well, HARPER’S BAZAR course, you know how fond I am of yoy Enid.” ie She accepted this complacently. “T wanted to tell you because I feel we shouldn’t see each other as frequently as we have been, until—after.”” She gaye him a secret smile. “Of course—later— well—” Pell looked vaguely uncomfortable. “But why on earth are you divorcing old Michael?” he asked. “I always thought he was an exemplary husband.” Enid’s face darkened. “I’m divorcing him on account of Iris Hayden,” she replied shortly. Pell’s face whitened. You can’t mean it.” Enid’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?” “Why—she—she—” he __ floundered, then said bluntly, “I don’t believe she’s that kind.” Her eyes raked him mercilessly. ‘ No?” “No,” repeated Pell. “Tris Hayden! NID stood up suddenly. She did not speak for a moment. When she did, her turn of conversation was startling. “Are you in love with Iris Hayden?” Pell was too clever, too experienced, not to realize the advantage her reckless question gave him. He smiled charmingly, ruefully, up at her. ““D’you know,” said he, “I believe I am.” And I, for one, think he answered her truthfully. Enid said nothing. She gave him one last look from naked, caddish eyes, then turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the room. ICHAEL never knew why Enid so suddenly changed her mind about the divorce. He had been afraid she would when she had had time to think it all over. But the real reason never occurred to him. Even Enid would not admit it to herself. But Pell, when he heard, put it to himself correctly. ‘“Spite!’’ said he contemptuously, “pure, unadulterated spite!” And that was just exactly what it was. Her jealousy of Michael had _ been wounded vanity; her decision to divorce him merely a gesture to show him she still held the whip-hand; but her change of mind was, as Pell had put it, pure spite against that other woman. Thought, no doubt, Michael would marry her after his wife of twelve years had stepped gracefully aside! Well, they'd see! They did see. And every one, includ- ing Enid, was genuinely dumfounded when Michael Trevor sailed for the Orient with Iris Hayden. Men, hearing of it, said: “What! Michael Trevor? I don’t believe it!” As if Michael cared whether they did or not! Women, hearing of it, said: “How could he? Why, it means social suicide!” As if Michael cared whether it did or not! F COURSE, Enid divorced him eventu- ally. She had to. Not because she wanted to—she would have liked to make him suffer through the woman he loved and her anomalous position. Only her friends would have “razzed”’ her had she adopted the patient Griselda attitude. Later, when Michael had married Ins, Enid was very given to saying: “Really, my dear, it’s all very amusing. I hear they have bought a place up in Westches- ter and are raising an old-fashioned American family. Of course, one never meets them—they pretend to be inter- ested in the literary and Bohemian set. What? Oh, no, not at all. I’m not the least resentful or antagonistic. . - - Thank goodness, I’m a perfectly modern woman—and modern women, you know, are always fair.”

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anything which might take place in the front seat for two. By the same token that the rumble-seated phaeton was no carriage for the courting couple, it was the ideal equipage for the jealous husband to insist upon his wife using. The grooms were known as buggy boys. One winter when I was in Aiken, South Carolina, I was discussing the small topics of the day with Yale Dolan, of Phila- delphia. It seemed to me that the so- journers at the resort had run into a rather silly season of flirtation. “T have never seen so many love affairs in progress at one time,” I re- marked, adding that the epidemic had not reached me and would not. “Perhaps you haven’t learned to drop your buggy boy,” Mr. Dolan smilingly observed. The rather cryptic comment caused me to take notice. I quickly observed that many of the rumble seats were devoid of their small grooms. I have always been tolerant of flirta- tions, provided they were innocuous. Rather I should say I have been tolerant since I have been grown up. When I was a child I was not so. Sometimes I think I was a trifle jealous of my father, who was not only much beloved by my mother and his three children, but was also deeply admired by many persons not within the family circle, among them the prettiest women of our circle. He had a wonderful mind and his love for everything that was beautiful he would frequently express in poetry and prose, which was really well done. HE late William K. Vanderbilt some years ago kindly tendered Mr. Harri- man and me the use of his yacht the Valiant, then regarded, I believe, as the finest in the world. We were at Cowes for regatta week. Here in this annual event is crystallized all the glory and brilliance of the yachting world. We have nothing to equal it in this country, nor is its luster as a great social and sporting spectacle approached in any other part of the world. Magnificent yachts, shimmering white in the sunlight, everywhere as far as the eye can reach. Colors flying, tenders darting here and there about the waters, racing boats at anchor like so many greyhounds waiting to be unleashed. Royalty, nobility, and distinguished visitors from the far corners of the world assembled for the one occasion of the year when the social celebrities of the universe gather for friendly intermingling. The beauty of Cowes week, its charm and quiet splendor are something apart from the usual course of life; they are without parallel—unique. I saw a good deal of Consuelo during Cowes week and at other times while I was in England on this trip. The spon- taneity of her personality and her many other graces, among them her ability as a teller of stories, never impressed them- selves on me more forcibly than they did then. One day I met her aboard one of the yachts and invited her to come over to the Valiant for luncheon. “Bring some of your friends along with you,” I added. She accepted the invitation for the next day—and brought twenty guests. “You asked. me to bring some friends; I have taken you at your word,” she laughingly remarked, as the procession of visitors poured up the gangplank, one by one. It was typical of her. At THE time Consuelo married the Vis- count Mandeville, who was later to become the Duke of Manchester, she was hard pressed for money, the reason why I do not know, considering the wealth of her father. Yet her fortitude never flagged in the face of financial hardship. Somehow or other she contrived to do her share of entertaining, though on a more moderate scale than that of her more affluent friends. A story of one of her earlier experiences was making the rounds at the time I renewed our friend- ship at Cowes. I, of course, did not ask her concerning it and cannot vouch for its authenticity. I believe, however, that it is true. . The story was that King Edward, who was among her many admirers, was COACH-AND-FOUR Article Grace Carley Harriman’s (Continued from page 69) dining at her home. When the time arrived for the dinner the family funds were so low that she was actually without means to buy the necessary food, a rather distressing situation, one must ad- mit, for a hostess to the King. But Con- suelo rose grandly to the occasion. Mak- ing a quick survey of her list of friends, she selected several upon whom she could surely count in this pinch and asked them to supply both the dinner and the plates, which they did willingly. The dinner took place as arranged, and King Edward proved an entertaining and gracious guest. As he was leaving he found the oppor- tunity for a téte-a-téte with his hostess and, with a twinkle in his eyes, told her that he appreciated the dinner all the more because he understood the difficulties under which it had been given. “You have had just the dishes I liked best,” was the tenure of what he said. “How did you know? I think I know how you knew. The dishes are unmistakable. Your good friends, knowing what I pre- fer when I dine at their houses, have sent you my favorite dishes. It was good of them and good of you. I am grateful.” Madame Fabricoti, an [Irish _ girl married to an Italian of distinguished family, was one of the reigning belles of European circles at the time. I met her first at Cowes and was fascinated with her beauty and sparkle. Her blue eyes, with their long black lashes, her soft brown hair wreathing a face of perfect contour, and the sharp wit of Erin ever accentuat- ing her conversation, all contributed to the immense popularity she enjoyed. She was a skilled yachtswoman and won many a race at the helm of the smaller boats. I asked her one time which she enjoyed more, her triumphs in sport or the adulation she received from a count- less host of admirers. “There is nothing finer than sincere friendship,” she replied. “TI prize it above everything else in the world. Yet one can hardly call such attentions you speak of a mark of genuine affection. I adore the life into which I have been cast, but sometimes I am appalled at its trivialities. On the other hand, one’s contact with outdoor sport can be nothing but sincere. There is joy in a keen contest which an insincere friend can never give you.” RINCESS PLESS, another celebrated beauty, was also at the height of her career, a vivacious woman who was fa- mous for her impulsive actions, whether or not they happened to be in strict accor- dance with conventionality. On one occa- sion she was a guest at a big dinner party aboard the Drexel yacht Marguerita. It was a hot evening, and Princess Pless announced she would give anything to find just one cool spot. Casting her eyes first about the yacht and then at the waters, she was seized with a sudden inspi- ration. “If the atmosphere is humid the water at least is not,’’ she said. Where- upon she descended the gangplank, re- moved her shoes and stockings and dangled her pretty feet and ankles in the water. Showing that a princess of, high station may do pretty much as she pleases. Royalty is more democratic than is sup- posed, and appears to be bending further in that direction each year. The delight- ful King Edward seemed to get the keen- est relish from his frequent transgressions of the rules of rigid, unyielding conduct which are supposed to surround a mon- arch. And yet there are some inviolable forms that are no doubt as irksome to them as to the people they are with. I recall once when King Edward was aboard a yacht at Cowes conversing with an extremely attractive American woman that one of the men guests not familiar with royal etiquette walked toward them as though he was about to intrude. A friend hastily interposed and told him that he must not take such a liberty— that it was contrary to good manners. When I met the present Prince of Wales on his two visits to this country I found that he had inherited much of the demo- cratic spirit of his grandfather. The first time he was here I was asked to go aboard the battleship Renown on which he made the voyage to this country. There was a great deal of pomp and formality. As visitors reached the top of the gangplank they were announced by a staff officer and directed to walk along the deck toward the receiving party. At that point they were again formally announced and the presentation to the Prince followed. It was on this occasion that an American Admiral graciously consented to ask one of the Prince’s aides' for an autographed photograph, as he had been good enough to autograph a ticket for the Actors’ Benefit in which I was very much interested. N ABOUT twenty minutes, one of his staff officers came to me with a look of embarrassment and said, “Mrs. Harri- man, His Highness would be only too happy to autograph any photograph which you may be pleased to accept, provided it is for you yourself.” I immediately appreciated the thought behind the words and told him frankly I had been asked to get it by the Com- mittee of the Actors’ Benefit, that it might be auctioned off from the stage of one of the theaters for the benefit of the cause. I, myself, realized that this was not a very safe or wise thing for, 'the Prince of Wales to do, as at that time there was a little feeling against the British, and the photograph would naturally go to the highest bidder. I then appre- ciated with what great thought this splendid body of Englishmen was en- deavoring to protect the heir to the British throne. The rule of precedence in its applica- tion to ranking titles is rather surprising to American visitors abroad. I recall the first time it was brought home tome. The Knight of Kerry and Lord Athlumley were dining as my guests aboard the yacht. I knew the Knight of Kerry, the better of the two, and was very fond of him, so that it was quite natural that I should ask him to sit on my right when we went to dinner. But instead of doing my bidding he took the seat on my left, while Lord Athlumley occupied the place on my right. Each went to his seat automatically and without an instant’s pause, safe in the knowledge that Lord Athlumley’s superior rank entitled him to the place of honor. I was mildly curi- ous, but said nothing, knowing that I could clear up the mystery later with a few simple questions. It was a few years after this that I dined with the Duchess of Devonshire, the Duchess of Manchester, the Duchess of Marlborough, and Lady Lister-Kaye at the Ritz in Paris. -Mr. Vanderbilt was giving the dinner, and in addition to the titled ladies I have mentioned there were several others present. I had mean- while learned the lesson of precedence, but here was an instance where it might be a trifle more complicated than usual. I watched with a great deal of interest as we took our places at the table. There was no hesitation on the part of any one. The Duchess of Devonshire walked at once to her place on the right of the host and the Duchess of Manchester to the seat on the left. The Duchess of Marlborough, third in rank, sat in the second available chair for a woman guest on the right, and Lady Lister-Kaye faced her across the table. This was the seating arrangement as I recall it. HE glory that was European aris- tocracy has faded, even as has the glory that was Rome. I have made frequent trips abroad since the days of which I speak. Europe has changed. The same devastating influence the World War had on hallowed family names in this country, it has had in even accen- tuated manner on the power and prestige of caste abroad. Titles do not count as they once did. There is a new defiance of the right to inherit might. I have not in mind the fruition of the seeds of Bol- shevism; no, it is not an angry, hostile thrust against the classes which once dominated by virtue of birth, but rather HARPER’S BAZAR a merging of understanding—a leay ening influence. How could titles count in Europe to- day as they did some fifteen or twenty years ago? London has lived to see the once proud nobility of Russia beggared; the all-powerful noble who only yesterday swanked with haughty mien and threw his gold to the four winds now gains his livelihood by the manual labor he spurned, Paris abounds with fallen princes, penni- less counts, paupered dukes, and what-not, Poverty has overtaken some of the oldest and most honored names, and the world does not love poverty—nor respect it, I have heard Mr. Harriman tell a story rich in its savor of the Old World spirit which the war crushed. He was aboard an American yacht at the Kiel Regatta, the German replica of Cowes Week. Several of the men guests had assembled in one of the cabins with their host and were engaged in conversa- tion when a steward suddenly appeared before them with the announcement, “Sir, His Majesty the Emperor is coming aboard ship.” T WAS an unexpected and unofficial visit. As the Kaiser entered, the men rose from their chairs to greet him. They all stood chatting for a few moments, and finally the conversation veered around to the races then taking place. “Have you heard, sire, who the winners are?” the host inquired. ““Ves, Iam the winner; I own them all,” the Emperor replied. He laughed softly as he said it, as if to show that the remark was made in a humorous vein, but there was a ring to his voice which conveyed another impression to those who heard it. Mr. Harriman, for one, was unconvinced that the royal visitor was not at least half serious in his jest. A few years later, when Kaiser Wilhelm proved to the world that he re- garded himself as the appointed lord and master of his people, the incident was vividly recalled by the four or five men who had been present on the American yacht that day. They knew then that if the thought of possession had not fully crystallized in the German Emperor's mind at the moment it had taken firm root and was reaching out to the vision of world power which plunged the civi- lized universe into its greatest cataclysm. HE Kaiser’s unofficial visit was to pay his respects to the American owner of the yacht, the formality of interchang- ing calls being rigidly observed at both Kiel and Cowes. As he left, his host and the others gathered at the rail to say good-by. The German monarch de- scended the gangplank, and the order was given to the eight oarsmen to shove off. The small boat at once got under way to the rhythmic swing of the blades, and the coxswain steered his course toward the fore part of the yacht, where he cut sharply across the bow. Unhappy sailor- man, he had miscalculated the overhead of the yacht’s boom, which carried away the staff flying the royal ensign and sent it crashing into the water, where it floated away in a bedraggled, sorry state for so proud an emblem. Emperor William looked _ straight ahead, apparently oblivious of the discomfiting circumstance. Yet the watchers on the deck of the American yacht could sense the high dudgeon seething behind the unruffled mask. “I wonder,” commented one of them, “whether that coxswain will be alive twenty-four hours hence.” The others waited until the royal craft and its occu- pants were well beyond ear-shot before they gave proper acknowledgment of this solemn observation. oo E WHO condemns the social climbet is a harsh critic. I bave never been able to find a logical reason why ridicule should be heaped upon the person who thinks to improve himself through con- tact with those of another sphere. It 1s not for me to say that he does improve himself, for Y do not arrogate to myself (Concluded on page 112)

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112 the faee thet faees summer.sun_ A BIT of tennis in the blazing sun. Some swimming, of course. A trip down the bay in the speed boat, wind over ’ water—and sun still shining. A roadster skimming over the moonlit road to the Club, where one will dance and look one’s dazzling best. . . . Devastating programmes for these summer days that are so frightfully hard on one’s complexion! Don’t face another summer without Marie Earle. Stop in New York—have a Marie Earle treatment in the Fifth Avenue Salon, before you go to the shore or the mountains or on your more distant travels. Be fair to your skin this summer. Don’t wash your face. Learn how perfectly Marie Earle’s Essential Cream, her Créme Anti-Rides of Paris, can cleanse and nourish your skin. Discover the marvelous liquid powder (the Email 77, as Marie Earle’s Parisian clients know it). It leads a double life—prevents sunburn dur- ing the day; is wonderful for evening wear. If you are far from the Avenue—write the Consultation Department to learn just which of the Basic Treatments is best for home use for your skin. Then you can order the preparations direct from the Salon—or if you are near a city, you will find them in a smart shop. Be sure to ask for “The Other Side of the Moon,” the fascinating story of Marie Earle, specialist in faces. Address Dept. W, 660. Fifth Avenue, New York City. Established Paris 1910 NOW AT 660 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY HARPER’S BAZAR COACH-AND-FOUR Grace Carley Harriman’s Article (Concluded from page 110) the right to sit in judgment on the rela- tive merits of the various classes. The point I make is not that; it is rather that each man’s destiny is in his own keeping, and that if the self-made man after years of grinding labor chooses to steer his destiny away from the course it has always followed—well, why should he not be permitted this conceit, vain though it be? We know that the ambition to seek social recognition is one of the most firmly grounded in mankind, it has flour- ished from time beyond reckoning— flourished in spite of excoriation and laughter and ridicule. Most things wither before ridicule, and it is strange that this has been an exception. Yet it has; and I believe the reason it has is the fact that it is a legitimate ambition. In previous generations it was inspired by a desire to meet persons of gentle birth, in whom the selectivity of friends was ingrained—it is human nature that what man has not he magnifies and seeks. To- day it is the ambition to meet the hetero- geneous group upon whom the shades of Ward McAllister and Mrs. Belmont and Mrs. Astor are cast—the intermingling of politicians and actors and artists and writers and financiers and scientists— men and women who have done things and are doing things—with the remnants of the Four Hundred. Poor old Four Hundred! Into the valley of death it rode, as did the Six Hundred. But what a different story! Out of the Valley of Death comes the Four Hundred, and, lo, it is four thou- sand strong—at least four thousand strong. And what of this army that has risen from the ashes of the Light Brigade which preceded it? Is it a more virile forge? Does it better typify the thing it was always intended to represent—the social life of men and women possessed of qualities. which brought them together on a common ground of understanding? I am sure it does. I am sure it is better that the premium be placed on brains than snobbery, on achievement than idleness, We are out of the rut. Work has ceased to be a disgrace. One does not hear much more of the idle rich. Man js ap- praised at his face value and not by what his forebears did. I loved the old life and the old tradj- tions of birth and the old chivalry of men and I believe we have not emerged into our new form without some deplorable losses. But they have been offset by the gains. And the greatest of these, to my way of thinking, is the new woman- hood for the girls born of wealthy parents, Though their hair may be bobbed and their skirts short and their conversation frank, they have found a happier sphere than their sisters of previous generations, The American girl has found herself, She is not hoydenish, as her critics say, She is not brazen and bold and loose in her morals and wise beyond her years, as the old-fashioned idealist would have us be- lieve. Part of the world mistakes the qualities she possesses. Her self-reliance is mistaken for lack of femininity. Her worldly wisdom is scoffed at, but it is beneficial for her. Her free intermingling with those of the opposite sex is con- demned, but what is better than that we should all have a perfect understanding of each other? (The End) THE OLD MAN, THE OLD WOMAN, AND THE CAT Margery Williams THAT ROLLED Bianco’s Story (Concluded from page 81) down that he’d have to catch Biggy’s eye, and he didn’t exactly want to do that. So he stared straight in front of him, but all the time he could feel Biggy just looking. It got worse and worse. The old man began to shift his feet about on the floor, but it was no use, and all the time the old woman went on talking. Presently the old man couldn’t stand it any more. He just had to turn his head, ever so little. He didn’t say one word, but he looked at Biggy, and Biggy looked at him. The next day it was sunny, and the old woman thought she’d go out up the back pasture for huckleberries. So she took her pail and went out. Biggy was asleep under the stove. Two or three times, after she’d gone, the old man looked at him, a bit uneasily. But Biggy never stirred. By-and-by the old man went out into the back kitchen for a drink of water. When he came back again Biggy wasn’t there. The afternoon went on, and the old woman didn’t come back. It got on to supper time, and still she hadn’t come. Two or three times the old man went to the front door and looked out. Each time he said aloud: ‘‘ Well, I reckon she’s stopped at some neighbor’s!” Presently he thought he might as well get some supper. So he went down cellar and got some potatoes up, humming to himself, and he fried a big dish of them, with bacon, and he lit the Jamp and sat down and had his supper and went to bed. After he got up-stairs he remembered the back door, and he went down and opened it, just a crack, in case Biggy came back in the night. But next morning there was no Biggy, and no old woman either. All that day the old man went about humming, and got his own meals and ate them and washed the dishes. Every once in a while he’d stop and wonder where Biggy was. He’d have hated anything to happen to Biggy. But along toward evening, as he stood at the window, looking out, he saw, way down at the bottom of the field, a little black and white speck moving. It came nearer, turning neither to right nor left, and when it had nearly reached the fence the old man said “Ah!” and he went and got the frying pan down for supper. All the while he fried potatoes the old man hummed to himself, and once in 4 while he’d creep over to the window on tiptoe and look out. Just under the apple-tree, in the dusk, he could see 4 black-and-white spot, just rolling and rolling and rolling... . Presently there was a scratching at the front door and the old man went an opened it. Biggy walked in. He sit down on the hearthrug. He looked at the old man and the old man looked him. The old man drew a long breath, and then he spat on the stove. : “Biggy,” he said, “how about you 40 me fetching that cider up?” Gra Mor SP ‘ win; fron hou: acrob Heav make Heavy fine ( has | of ac Th those peopl Mrs. three the ta —~to g Plew Am there With ‘ in the Stars their miser landh lerent With | and ¢

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iS =] ” upper. he old e ina low on er the ked at ked at h, and you an for JULY 1927 113 THE GENTLEMAN JOCKEY of the hunt that autumn Bright Morning conducted himself in a fashion that gave Spider a stout heart. Near Christmas, with the last meeting of Mr. Rockefeller’s hounds in Dutchess County, Bright Morn- ing was jumping with the ease of a vet- eran hunter, and his speed and action had become a joy to behold. They shipped him down to Aiken, then, and hunted him with Mrs. Hitchcock’s pack until early spring, and Spider’s pride in the great horse rose daily. ‘“‘He’s a born steeplechaser,” he told Diana. ‘No mere hunter! You notice he never loses a second when he lands. He’s as nimble on his feet as Jack Dona- hue, the dancer.” And as he talked, Spider’s gray eyes glowed. “Bright Morning was never meant for flat racing —he wasf’t happy plowing through mud on a track—he wants to soar! And fast! Why, he’s an overgrown antelope, with the soul of an eagle!” “T hear you like the brute,” laughed Diana. “There,” horse!” In March, Bright Morning was sent up to the training farm, where Spider set about preparing him for his first steeple- chase. “T won’t enter him for the Maryland Hunt Cup until next year,” he said. “But this Bolingbrook Handicap is a stiff enough race to try him.”’ And Diana, though she would have preferred to be basking in the warmer sunshine of Virginia Hot Springs, gamely returned to Long Island with her lord, and watched him every day put Bright Morning over the practise course. Great was her interest in this horse which she had bred, but greater her devotion to the little man who held the key to her house and her happiness. said Spider proudly, “is a But this is not a tale of how the Grand National was won by Bright Morning, with Spider Bellew up. PRING came early to Long Island, and earlier than usual came pilgrims winging back from Biarritz and Bermuda, from California and Cannes. Great houses were thrown open, gardens and polo fields became gay, and nights were made hideous by the cries of saxophones, banjos, and cornets blaring jazz music for men to dance to with other men’s wives. The Long Island season was on. Miss Sybil Sage, like spring, had come early to Long Island. She had come from the West Coast for the purpose of making two pictures at her company’s Astoria studio. And, casting a bright blue eye over the landscape to secure an abode suitable to her station and salary as a young grand duchess of the flickering films, she had leased Tony Rumbold’s house at Old Westbury. There are always those people who feel that they are not performing their duty to mankind unless they produce, rabbit-out-of-hat, this or that celebrity for this or that dinner. “Society is so dull,” they say, ‘we must invite what’s- her-name, the dancer, or so-and-so, the acrobat, to make the party gay!”’ Now, Heaven knows, Society is as dull as you make it, but it is also a fact known to Heaven and lesser circles that many a fine dull dinner among fine dull people has been made duller by the presence of a celebrity. The unsinkable Mrs. Plew was one of those hostesses who go in for “interesting people.” She was called the unsinkable Mrs. Plew because she had been through three ocean disasters, and lived to tell the tale. Verily, she Jived to tell the tale > to any one who would listen. But Mrs. Plew it was who first took up Sybil Sage. Among the gentlefolk of Long Island there were many who did not swoon with excitement on viewing a movie star in the flesh. (Though as a rule movie stars have very little, for they count their calories more sharply than ever a Miser counted his gold.) Some of the landholders of Old Westbury had at dif- lerent times crossed on the same boat with Mr. Fairbanks and Miss Pickford, and a few even boasted acquaintance Gene Markey’s Story (Continued from page 79) with Miss Gloria Swanson’s husband. So Long Island was not entirely bowled over when Sybil Sage, herself, in person, descended upon it. She was rather grand. She had just a few more servants than she needed, and her motor bore more glittering nickel- plate than any one else’s. When she told some one that she thought Tony Rumbold’s house was “cute” (it had fourteen master’s bedrooms), several people lifted their eyebrows, and one or two laughed. But, all in all, this lady from Hollywood was scarcely more vulgar than her neighbor, old Mrs. Paget-Gadget, whose ancestors had been early governors of Massachusetts. Sybil Sage, however, was beautiful. So small and delicately made was she, so fair her hair, so blue her eyes, so perfect her features that she was almost exquisite. Yet all the woe that is to be related in this chronicle might have been averted had not the unsinkable Mrs. Plew asked her to dine on the night of the third of May. For on that night Chauncey de B. Bellew met Sybil Sage, and from the moment that he first looked upon her glamourous beauty, he was lost. HEY sat within shouting distance of each other at dinner, and Spider, who had seen the actress in one of her great screen triumphs, “‘The Sinless Sinner,” found himself staring at her, and was aware of a strange excitement beneath his shirt-front. “Who,” asked Sybil Sage to the gentleman on her left, “is that cite little man?” And the gentleman on her left, who was no gentleman, replied: “Oh, the demi-tasse?”” And told her who it was. “A jockey?” Her pretty nose lifted two degrees. “You mean—he gets paid to ride race-horses?”’ “‘Ridesh: own. Steeplechases, mostly.” “Oh!” Sybil, who knew nothing what- ever about the sport of kings, sensed that a steeplechase must be something swanky. Covertly her long-lashed blue eyes re- garded the amiable, well-tailored little man across the table. He was, she told herself, cute. By ten-thirty they were dancing to- gether. And Diana, standing in a crowd by the door, watched them and bit her lip. All men who knew Diana adored her, but only very tall men ever had the courage to ask her to dance, and at the moment all the very tall men among this merry company seemed engaged in determining whether the unsinkable Mrs. Plew’s brandy was, as she pro- claimed, really 1804 Napoleon. So Diana stood watching her husband and the very blonde little motion-picture actress mov- ing in close embrace and perfect rhythm upon the polished floor. And when Mrs. Plew, whom every- body knew to be a fool, exclaimed in her shrill Middle-West voice: “‘Oh, don’t they make a sweet little couple!”’ Diana felt a chill premonition of danger. She wished suddenly that she had not come to-night. A while later she made ex- cuses to their hostess (whom she had an unreasoning desire to strangle) and called her car. Spider, of course, went with her, but there was a queer restlessness in his eyes, and on.the way home he was oddly silent. Wisely Diana made no mention of Sybil Sage. ‘‘How,” she asked, “did Bright Morning go to-day?” ““What?” said Spider. “Oh, he went well.” OW Diana was not an uncommonly jealous wife. In the year and a half they had been married their relations had been delightfully pleasant without being thrilling, and neither of them had had any particular reason for jealousy. In their great white house on Long Island, with its charming gardens, its ancient trees, its stables and training farm, its private race-track, steeplechase course, and hundred acres of meadow- land, they had dwelt in serene comfort. It was a world of their own, bounded by high, well-clipped hedges, and in it they had been placidly happy. Their affection for each other was deep but not exciting, and Diana had always felt that Spider, like herself, was content to go on seeing more of horses than of people. However, after the unsinkable Mrs. Plew’s party, a subtle change came over him. HEN two days later, Mrs. Paget- Gadget, whose ancestors had been early governors of Massachusetts, as any one could learn upon five minutes’ con- versation with the lady, gave a dinner at Piping Rock, destiny (possibly also an ancestor of Mrs. Paget-Gadget’s) must have had a hand in arranging the place- cards, for Spider found himself seated next to Sybil Sage. Diana, as we have remarked, was not an uncommonly jealous wife, but it is a truth recognized by philosophers and female novelists that when there is no jealousy in marriage, then the days of romance are numbered. And it must be said that Diana, upon beholding her small husband and Sybil Sage looking into each other’s eyes and laughing inti- mately, felt a sharper distress than she had known since the day her tonsils were removed, when she was sixteen. “Tell me,”’ Sybil Sage was saying, with a flutter of her long eyelashes, “‘isn’t your wife quite a bit older than you?” Now Spider had never thought of this before. Diana was large—Junoesque they would have called her, in a day of braver adjectives. Diana glowed with health. Any one who had ever seen her in the hunting field could think of her only as magnificent. True enough, she did not possess much chic. Hers was the only unbobbed head on Long Island. . . . “Why, no,” answered Spider truth- fully. ‘‘Matter of fact, she’s a year younger than I am.” “Really,” said Sybil Sage. But her tone implied: ‘‘How could an attractive man like you marry such an unattractive woman!” A fascinating and feline creature, Sybil Sage. Spider, of course, should have foreseen where this dinner-table flirta- tion was leading, but already he had blundered too far. That evening, with her small, yielding body in his arms and her fragrant fair head very close to his, as they danced to muted, sensuous music, he experienced an illicit ecstasy. The silken web of enchantment was spreading about him. Forgotten now was Diana— and Bright Morning—and his dream of winning the Grand National. He felt himself a conqu*ror, spinning through space with a captured queen. He felt— but nm matter what he felt, to the cynical and disapproving eyes observing him from all sides he was merely Diana’s half-portion husband, making an ass of himself over a blonde movie actress. Mrs. Paget-Gadget’s dinner was on a Tuesday evening. On Thursday when Diana returned from a practise polo- match at Meadow Brook, Spider was not-at home. On inquiring for him, she was informed that he had not exer- cised Bright Morning that day, as was his custom. He returned just before seven, and they dined alone, talking of commonplace things. Toward the end of dinner, Diana said quietly: “Why didn’t you tell me you lunched at the Colingfords’ yesterday?” “Oh—I—” he looked away, discon- certed. “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. Why?” ““Nothing,”’ answered Diana coolly. To himself Spider was wondering guiltily who could have told her he was at the luncheon the Colingfords had given for Sybil Sage. Somebody she saw at the polo, probably. . . . “Look here, Di,’’ he began, by way of avoiding a dangerous subject, ‘we haven’t given a party in a long time, have we?” ““A party?” said Diana, surprised. “Why, I thought you hated parties. You used to beg me to refuse invitations.” “T know, but—” he was looking very guilty now— ‘we really ought to give some sort of a party, I think.” “All right,” she assented. ‘“‘Let’s. A small party. Large ones are a bore.” “Well, I don’t know. We're indebted to rather a lot of people. I was thinking perhaps a dance. . . .” With feminine intuition she saw through his poor subterfuge. He was not clever. If they gave a large party they would have to ask every one who lived near by, which would mean Sybil Sage, since others were asking her everywhere. That, then, was what he wanted. “Yes, of course,” said Diana, who was a patient as well as a wise woman. ON THE night of their dinner-dance, an affair made gay by a famous orchestra and a more famous champagne, Spider was too shrewd to have Sybil Sage placed near him at the table, but he saw to it that she was seated between two exceed- ingly dull gentlemen. After a dance with Fifi Colingford (which he, absurdly énough, fancied would divert suspicion), he rescued Sybil from the two exceedingly dull gentlemen, and danced with her for many, many minutes. Discretion was now cast to the winds. He no longer cared what people thought. As for Diana—well, Diana wasn’t the sort who’d kick up a row. Probably she hadn’t even noticed. “It’s a perfect night,” cooed Sybil Sage, looking very wide-eyed indeed. “Couldn’t we—” “Yes, let’s,” said Spider. And finding an open door at hand, he piloted her out upon the terrace. A friendly May moon was high over the trees, and the air was sweet with lilacs—for lilacs were early that year. Down a gravel path they strayed, speaking never a word, and into the fragrant shadows of the garden. There upon a stone bench they sat down. From the house, glowing with lights, through the trees, came a throbbing mel- ody, but the house and the music seemed very far away. Sybil sat gazing dreamy- eyed up at the moon. Perhaps she was silent from emotion: perhaps because she was thinking of nothing in particular. Spider, his heart pounding like many hoof-beats upon a race-track, felt that the supreme moment had come. Without further ado he took her in his arms, and raised her pretty painted mouth to his. . . . A step upon the gravel path. Abruptly the two upon the stone bench drew apart, she seeking to smooth the disarrangement of her hair, he trying desperately to think of something to say. Then the tall shadow of his wife loomed above them. A dreadful, trembling silence. “‘T thought,” came Diana’s calm voice, “‘T thought you might be cold out here.” And she handed the frightened actress a Spanish shawl. O a wiser man than Chauncey de B. Bellew this poignant episode would have come as a warning. But his impaired vision saw neither the handwriting on the wall nor the paragraph in Town Gossip. He was like a creature bewitched, rushing headlong to his doom. Many a morning his wine-colored roadster could be ob- served standing shamelessly on the drive- way before Sybil Sage’s house, and many an afternoon were they together at Meadow Brook and Piping Rock and upon the highroads. Only three times in the following week did he ride Bright Morning, and Cavan, Diana’s trainer, shook his head sadly, for he knew Bright Morning had been entered for the Boling- brook Handicap, now less than a fort- night off. As for Diana, that proud lady carried her head high, and pretended not to notice what all Long Island was talking about. To Spider, in these distressful days, she said never a word of reproach, but her heart was close to breaking. As she sat alone at the piano one rainy evening—the first evening Spider had ever gone out without telling her where he was going—softly playing some sad Chopin of her school days, an oldish gentleman marched into the room, un- announced and shaking rain from his coat-tails. “Uncle Edgar!”’ she exclaimed rising. (Continued on page 114)

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of Cameldown— turious, soft, light, n. Pure Camel Hair. Gene JOCKEY Story (Continued from page 113) “How nice to see you. Where on earth did you come from?” “From town, my dear.” He took both her hands with a grave courtesy which had survived from the days of Ward McAllister. In that more graceful period of New York’s social history, Edgar Bolt- wood had been famed as a cotillion-leader and an authority on blooded horses. He had been one of the first beaux to tool his own coach-and-four in the ’90s, but having fallen upon evil days in Wall Street, and being too fiercely proud to accept charity from his niece, he now made what living he could by starting horses at race-meets around the circuit, and judging in the ring at horse-shows. To-night, as he held his niece’s hands, he regarded her keenly. ““You’ve been crying,” he said. Diana turned away. “It’s nothing, Uncle Edgar.” ““Where’s Chauncey?” “‘He—he’s gone out—for a _ while.” She wanted to protect her husband, yet she could not face those somber eyes. “Humph!” Uncle Edgar began pacing back and forth across the Aubusson rug. “T’ll tell you why I came down to-night. Something I heard at the Club. Two fellows were talking. ““*Voung Spider’s making a prize fool of himself,’ said one. “**Sybil Sage,’ said the other, ‘certainly knows her geometry.’ “What do you geometry?’ “**She’s made a triangle out of many a family circle!’”’ He paused and frowned at his niece. “T couldn’t ask them what they meant, Diana. So I came here to find out. Is there any truth in that gossip?” Diana did not reply. A glistening tear rolled down her cheek. “If he’s making you unhappy,” de clared her uncle, “ he’llanswer tc me for it!” \t this unfortunate mom.nt Spider himself walked into the drawing-room, throwing off a waterproof motor coat. “Hello,” he called out. ‘“‘Well, if it isn’t Uncle Edgar!” mean—knows her UDGE BOLTWOOD turned. “I want to talk to you,” he said grimly. “Anything wrong?” Spider lighted a cigaret with an attempt at nonchalance. “When my niece’s husband is talked about in clubs and written about in black- mailing magazines, I think there is some- thing wrong. Very definitely wrong,”’ said Uncle Edgar with dignity. “T don’t know what you mean—” “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve come to demand an explanation from you, sir.’ He scowled down at the nervous little man before him. ‘‘ Your conduct with this—Circe of the cinema, as I’ve heard her called—is a dastardly outrage!” “‘What business is it of yours?” began Spider angrily. “T’m making it my business—” “Uncle Edgar, please!” cried Diana. ‘I didn’t want her to marry you in the first place! You never were good enough for Diana!”’ Uncle Edgar shook a long, bony forefinger at him. ‘“‘ But she did marry you, and damme! I’m going to see to it that you behave yourself.” “Ts that so?”’ shouted Spider. It was not a witty retort, but he had lost his temper and could think of no other. “You'll stop seeing that woman,” re- peated Uncle Edgar vehemently, “or you'll get out of my niece’s house!”’ “Look here, Diana!” Little Spider, crimson with wrath, swung round to her. “Are you going to let this old stuffed trout dictate to you?” Diana stood, very pale and silent. This scene was fearfully distasteful to her. ‘All right!” shrilled Spider, losing all self-control. “Then you can _ choose between us!” ‘You little fool,” growled Uncle Edgar, with an apprehension that the situation had got beyond him. “You ought to be spanked.” “Go on—choose between us!” pro- claimed Spider melodramatically. “‘ Either he goes—or I do! Now—to-night!” But still Diana spoke not a word. “All right!” Spider turned and snatched up his coat. ‘‘That’s all I want to know. Good night.” Agitatedly Uncle Edgar stood there plucking his mustaches. With a little cry Diana sank down upon a ridiculous spindly chair and wept. ; THs fantastic scene could, of course, never have been enacted had not Spider’s nerves been frayed. Later, at the club, where he had taken up his abode, when he realized what he had done, it came over him that perhaps he had made simply a common or garden fool of himself. The secret of his jn- fatuation was, of course, that Sybil rep- resented glamour. She flattered his vanity, and with her wide blue eyes, and fluttering lashes and cooing voice, appealed to him as a protector. Diana had always mothered him. Sybil had rather the effect of making him feel like a man of the world. And yet, now that he was free, he was much concerned over what to do with his freedom. And _ his conscience troubled him sorely. After his third sleepless night at the club, he awoke to discover that the morning newspapers devoted considerable space to the Bolingbrook Handicap, to be run on Thursday next. This was Saturday. Consternation suddenly smote him. In the mad whirl of things he had forgotten that the great race was coming so soon. Next Thursday! And what of Bright Morning? The Bolingbrook Handicap was to have been Bright Morning’s first steeplechase—his baptism of fire. Upon his performance in that race depended Spider’s dream of the Grand National. He stared at his hag- gard face in the shaving-mirror. How could he have drifted so far from realities? And then he realized of a sudden that, with things as they were, it would be the worst possible taste for him to even approach Bright Morning’s stable. True, Diana had once offered him the horse— but he had never really accepted him as his own. And how could he, in decency, take him now? He could not. And as he worried, his nerves, unstrung for days, began to twitch annoyingly, and he felt a headache coming on. ONDAY came, and Tuesday, and Spider looked as if he had just undergone a severe operation. The truth was, his conscience, his frazzled nerves, and worry about his wife and his horse had upset him abysmally. Long Island, being horse country, seethed with talk of the steeplechase. Some famous horses had been entered. Fanfare, the favorite, and Princess Kara, winner of last year’s United Hunts Cup; Granuaile, Mrs. Ramsleigh’s Irish mare, Straight- away and Blanding Bell, renowned chasers, and some twenty others. No- body mentioned Bright Morning, whose odds stood at 50 to 1, with no money laid. Well, nobody knew what the un- tried bay could do. Possibly Diana would have Bright Morning scratched! At a polo match at Meadow Brook on Tuesday, whither he repaired with Sybil, who, with her flair for publicity, always enjoyed appearing before fashionable crowds, Spider received the shock of his life. For there he beheld his wife, and by her side a tall, lean, sunburnt man who sat very close to her, talking ear- nestly. It was Derrick Strang, former suitor for Diana’s hand, who, upon her marriage, had recklessly taken himself off to Africa for the purpose of killing his sorrow and such lions as crossed his path. And now here was Derrick Strang, ever a romantic fellow, returned! A contretemps made more unbearable by the fact that Strang was himself a well- known gentleman rider. Spider had al- ways loathed him cordially-—and now 4 devastating suspicion crossed his brain. Suppose Diana should allow Strang to ride Bright Morning in the steeple hase? Spider did not enjoy the polo. Such was the state of his nerves and the dull headache which had persisted for days (Continued on page 116) HARPER’S BAZAR THE GENTLEMAN Markey’s

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116 Fer the afternoon, whether passed in active sports or whiled away at the clubhouse, the Daventree Sports Outfit is always correct W™ H. DAVIDOW SONS C° INCORPORATED 550 Seventh Avenue. New York , APPAREL FOR THE SPORTSWOMAN THE GENTLEMAN Gene Markey’s Story (Continued from page 114) that he scarcely saw the galloping ponies and their white-clad riders whacking a white ball up and down the green field. Indeed, he seemed to have become sud- denly weary of Sybil, sitting beside him, in a demure frock of blue, and a floppy garden hat. That night he tossed for hours upon his bed at the club, then, toward morning dozed off into a troubled sleep, wherein he dreamed that Derrick Strang, having married Diana, was riding Bright Morn- ing in the Bolingbrook Handicap. In the dream he saw his great horse soaring like a red bird over the brush-topped hurdles, saw himself astride a nag that refused at the first jump, felt himself pitched through space, felt the crack of his neck as he struck the hard earth, head down. He awoke with the dream’s horrors still hanging over him; his head ached wretchedly, and he shook with chills. The club servant who brought his toast and tea suggested summoning a physician, but Spider waved him away, and stood, clutching a dressing-gown about him, staring out into the dismal morning, gray with rain. The warm Maytime of a week ago had lapsed back into bleak March. He picked up the newspaper from his untouched breakfast tray, and turned to the sporting pages. There was much about the Bolingbrook Handicap, to be run the next day, and a picture of Fan- fare, the favorite. Down the column of entries his eye moved, then suddenly he gasped aloud. The dreadful dream had come true. Derrick Strang was to ride Bright Morning! He felt very ill. T' YWARD evening he telephoned Sybil that he was unwell, and could not dine with her, as they had planned. And Sybil’s voice sounded more annoyed than sympathetic. Diana, he reflected gloom- ily, would have come rushing to his side with comfort and quinine. But it was too late to think of Diana now. Within the cheerless walls of his room he felt terribly alone. No dinner could he touch. His head throbbed with sharp pains and every nerve in his small body seemed to burn like the wires of an elec- tric toaster. Outside, a wild night, and rain lashing against the windows. In his fevered brain one thought scurried round and round, like a squirrel in a cage, and it was the distressing thought that to- morrow Bright Morning would go to the post with a stranger in the saddle. He attempted to read, but from the blurred type stared the appealing eyes of Bright Morning. Restlessly Spider arose and flung on his clothes and ordered his car. Out in the black, stormy night he drove, and down a familiar road, with cold rain beat- ing upon him under a banshee wind. A wave of nostalgia smothered him as he passed Diana’s house, where lights shone from many windows. Up a well-remem- bered lane he turned, and for a mile drove swooshing through muddy ruts, and then, at a white gate, halted his roadster and switched off the head-lights. Cautiously, like a burglar, he climbed the gate and set off across a field through the rain. Ahead loomed a black shadow —the stable where Bright Morning dwelt. He counted the small square windows— fourth from the end was Bright Morning’s stall—and crept forward. Of a sudden, a blinding glare, and a shout: ‘Stop where you are!” A man stood there, holding a flashlight and a pitchfork. Some one guarding Bright Morning. Then: “For the love o’ God!” came the soft voice of Michael, the Irish groom. “It’s Misther Bellew!” “Tt is.” Spider put a hand to his eyes, unsteadily. “‘I—I came to—see Bright Morning. Is he—all right?” “He’s—all right, sir,” sighed the groom. And then, as if in answer, came a whinny from the stable. Michael raised the white beam of light, and there, in the fourth small window appeared the head of the great bay thoroughbred. “He knew my voice!” Spider took a step forward, and for a hardened horse- HARPER’S BAZApR JOCKRy man he was perilously close to tear “Hello, old boy!” 'f Bright Morning’s ears were up, and he rolled his fine eyes, whinnying softly, And Spider, standing under the high square window, talked to the horse, a: he had so often talked to him in the old days. “So you’re going to race to-mor. row,” he said, ‘‘ without me!” And out of the darkness and the rain came a voice. “Not if you want to ride him,” said the voice. And Diana stood there, in a dripping waterproof, her face shadowed under an old hat. Spider stared at her without speaking. Then Michael, the groom, being sensitive Irishman, turned the flash. light from Mr. Bellew’s face, for Mr. Bellew’s eyes were wet. “Excuse me, ma’am—sir.”’ He touched hiscap. ‘‘I’ll be afther takin’ this bucket inside. Will you be wantin’ the light?’ “No,” said Diana. And they were left alone in the rain. swept darkness. “T thought you no longer cared about riding Bright Morning in the race,’ She spoke gently, and with no reproach “You haven’t come here in over a week— so naturally I supposed . . .” “He’s your horse,” Spider heard him self say. ‘‘I—I can’t—” “He was our horse.” “When I heard you were letting Der rick Strang ride him—”’ “Only because there was no one else The good jockeys are all engaged.” “Diana,” he gulped, ‘“I—I’ve been a bloody fool—” “Please!” said she, and there was a strange sharpness to her voice. “IT know people have talked about me, but what they’ve said isn’t true.” “How can you say that? Things peo ple have seen with their own eyes! Why, Derrick—” She had made a slip. She bit her lip, annoyed. “So he’s told you things, has he?’ cried Spider angrily. ‘‘ Well, he’s a liar!’ ““Please.”” A sad weariness in her voice. “‘There’s nothing you can do about it. “Ts it too late, then?” “T’m afraid it is.’ Her sigh was los in the wail of the wind. And Spider knew then that he couli never hope to be forgiven. “But there’s no reason why we can! be friends,” she was saying, “and Brigh Morning is yours. I want you to hav him. I hope you will win with him te morrow.” “Diana—”’ “Good night,” she said softly. And her husband, shivering with th fever in him, was left alone in the dark ness and the rain. AS HE heard the saddling bell for the running of the Bolingbrook Handicap Spider Bellew roused himself with a effort, and crossed the enclosure to b weighed-in. He realized now that he wa very ill. It seemed days, weeks ag since he had telephoned to Beers the book: maker, to place a bet of fifteen hundre! dollars on Bright Morning, at 50 to! What folly, that wager! Fifteen hundre: dollars was all he had in the world. Asi swung in the scales, holding his sadd tightly with hot, trembling hands, b knew that he could not win. Bnge Morning had never won a steeplecha® Bright Morning had never run a steep chase! The whole world was crazy, a the craziest creature in it was himself to be going out, ill as he was, to ride 4 race—over one of the stiffest cours in America! Men passed him and spol to him, but their faces were mere bluy upon his consciousness. Half-blinded the fierce headache he made his Wé across the enclosure. In the night 4 rain had ceased, and since morning bright sun had dried the course, but the was a cold wind blowing, and as it strut him, billowing his scarlet and gold sills he shuddered violently. } Some one clapped him on the should Harry Colingford it was, owner of . cess Kara, which had won last yea United Hunts Cup. — (Continued on page 119) Wi set mo con ren the trai Ey and

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tears, and he y. > high, TSe, as the old O-mor- 1€ rain to ride | Stood er face aking. ing a flash- r Mr yuched bucket ight?’ > rain about race.’ roach yeek— 1 him. z Der e else been was @ it me, S peo Why. She liar!” voice. it it. for JULY 1927 Wainkies at the eyes and mouth—“Crow’s Feet”’—will in- evitably deepen unless you coun- teract them. The Special Treat- ment for Lines and Wrinkles will correct them! Even taut steel wire wilt eventually slacken and sag; how much more readily flexible mus- cle and skin tissue will droop— unless the Special Double Chin Treatment keeps it firm! 117 Tue tiny lines of your neck, if you neglect them, will deepen, close and criss-cross. But you can halt their advance with the Special Treatment for Relaxed Muscles and Crépy Throat. Her clients asked Miss Gray for {pecial Sreatment Groups -to meet these three symptoms of age So many of Dorothy Gray’s cli- ents at her Fifth Avenue salon have been benefited by her amazing analysis and understanding of facial aesthetics, that they have begged her to assemble her Special Treatment preparations and offer them in compact boxes. So Miss Gray has done just that. Not only has she made personal selec- tion of the combinations of her prepa- rations for correcting the three tell-tale symptoms of age in your skin, but she has packed each group with explicit instructions for their proper use. They are the very preparations used in her salon treatments, the instruction is exactly as Miss Gray herself would give it to you. And yet you will find these Special Treatment sets at a smart store near you. Treatment Set for Lines and Wrinkles With the Dorothy Gray Special Treatment set for lines and wrinkles, your eyes and mouth will smile at “Crow’s Feet.” For it contains her famous Cleansing Cream to remove all dust and powder and cleanse the pores; her effective Muscle Oil, a pene- trating unguent; a scientifically formulated Eye Muscle Paste (Pour la Patte d’Oie); and Orange Flower Skin Tonic. The rou- tine of the treatment is simple, and the in- structions are clear. For Double Chin The Special Treatment set for defeating Double Chin contains the following prepa- rations in a simple sequence: Dorothy Gray’s Cleansing Cream, Orange Flower Skin Tonic, her Special Tissue Cream; the Dorothy Gray Patter for restoring contour to sagging muscles; a scientific chin strap for reducing the too full underchin, the Russian Astringent Lotion and the Russian Astringent Cream. You will be enchanted by the way in which your tired muscles re- spond to this regular, sensible treatment. For Crépe-texture Skin No one has had such success in treating “Crépy Throat” as Miss Gray—which is why she was urged to arrange this excep- tional treatment in a compact set.- Within it you'll find Cleansing Cream, Orange Flower Skin Tonic, her stimulating Circu- lation Ointment, Special Skin Food, the Dorothy Gray Patter, as well as the famous Russian Astringent Lotion and Russian Astringent Cream—together with complete treatment instructions. Do write Miss Gray herself— If your nearest store hasn’t yet received these new Special Treatment sets—do in- quire of her directly. And tell her of your facial problems too. She will be pleased to send you her book- let, ““The Story of Dorothy Gray,” to tell you of her special preparations which are daily carrying out her expert principles. PBa Sata SS Sa Sa Satan SnSa Sean tata ta Sa Sa SataSataSe SL, + 3 ' . DOROTHY GRAY i ; SEVEN FIFTY-THREE FIFTH AVENUE i J NEW YORK te + he + I am checking here the information I wish you tosend to ' K! me— ( The Story of Dorothy Gray © The Treatment it for Lines and Wrinkles () The Treatment for Double Chin | + h % CO The Treatment for Relaxed Muscles and Crepy Throat it y Name ER Ne eR RR i* + =105 rs FFF EEE TET E EST TTT TTT TT Te Fs

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) THE GENTLEMAN Gene Markey’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOCKEy Story (Continued from page 116) “Well, well,”’ laughed this oaf boister- ously ‘You look pale and interesting! Maybe you’ve heard that your old rival, Derry Strang, is riding my horse! Good luck to you, little man—you haven't a chance, but a nice ride in the fresh air will do you good!”” And this humorist passed on. Across to the saddling paddock Spider went, uncertain of step, his face haggard, his eyes bright with fever. Derrick Strang was to ride Princess Kara. Well, if Fanfare, the favorite, didn’t win, it would be Princess Kara. Granuaile, third. That’s the way they would prob- ably finish. Poor Bright Morning hadn’t achance. Thatass, Colingford, was right. ET the sight of Bright Morning arch- ing his glossy neck, ears aloft, fire in his eyes, gave him a thrill of encouragement. The trainer with his beetish face and huge mustaches (Diana had always called him “the walrus”) was pulling off the blanket. Then they were buckling on the small racing saddle. <A great clamor filled the air. Crowds everywhere. Faces. Faces. Faces. Spider swayed against Cavan, and the old trainer caught his arm. \nd then a sweetly familiar voice said: “Why—you’re ill!” And there were Diana’s frightened eyes above him. “You can’t ride,” she said. “T’ve got to,” Spider answered dully. “Derrick Strang is—”’ “You can’t—you’re not able! Please!” ““Don’t make a scene,” he mumbled. “You've always hated scenes. Ra “TI forbid you to ride.” Her voice trembled with anxiety. “I'll scratch Bright Morning! There’s still time.” “You can’t do that.” He smiled feebly. “You gave him to me—tast night.” ‘Please don’t go in this race. I beg you not to!” “Ve’re not fit, sir,’’ pleaded Cavan. “Tm all right.”” Spider pushed him away, and called for the boy to give him a leg up. High, high into the air he seemed to be lifted. Then he found his seat and his stirrups, and gathered the reins. Bright Morning danced away, and the grooms sprang clear. And Diana stood there alone, crying softly. Please— HEY were going out to the post. As the two dozen horses and_ their riders, colorful silks fluttering, trooped out upon the course a roar rose from the stands and the enclosures, and applause from the terrace of the club. Spider breathed the cold air deeply, and his mind seemed clearer. Bright Morning fretted and danced. The crowds, the noise, the tingling excitement were driving him frantic. Gently his small rider tried to soothe him. There was Fanfare, the favorite, with Kipp, one of the best of professional jockeys, up. Along the rail people were cheering Fanfare. There was Granuaile, the Irish mare, with a gentleman rider wearing Mrs. Ramsleigh’s colors. That nervous chestnut gelding must be Straight- away, his jockey in the green and orange of the Faraday stables. There was the black mare, Princess Kara, carrying Derrick Strang, who nodded to Spider with a contemptuous smile. But Spider made no sign of recognition. Strang was a treacherous liar. He would demand a show-down with Strang later. There they came: Blanding Bell, Hobbledehoy and Red Rager, Seafoam, Simpatica, Yevgeny and Zander, Barcarolle, Blazeby, the Piper, and ten other horses, some sober of gait and demeanor, some whirling, one huge gray rearing. Some jockeys swore, some pleaded, some cajoled and all with gay, flashing silks, crimson and white, black and green, yellow, blue, violet and gold, every combination of colors, ballooning in the wind as they went to the post. And clamor and excitement on every side. A shudder of nausea passed over little Spider. His knees felt shaky, and he clung in the saddle by sheer balance. He had a hollow feeling that he was going out to disaster. It had been mad- ness to wager all the money he pos- sessed on the untried Bright Morning He had already lost his wife: in ten minutes he would have lost everything And how ironic that Derrick ‘Strang should be riding this race! They were milling around now, and jostling into line. The line went forward, tricky riders thrusting, then Blanding Bell bolted, and the rest broke. Cursing, the jockeys turned them back and more evenly the line formed again. They moved forward. Then it was that Spider discovered that his knitted gloves had been left behind when he weighed-in, His hands were cold and wet with sweat, and the reins slipping. He could never hold Bright Morning, now! Then a bell clanged, the crowd roared, and the line of horses swept ahead in a surging wave of colored silks. “ They're off!” Bright Morning had got away to a bad start. Ahead with a flourish of violet and green, sprang Granuaile, the Irish mare, setting a terrible pace. Fanfare and Blazeby were almost alongside her, and close to the rails rode Derrick Strang on Princess Kara. TEADILY, so that the great stretching horse beneath him would not sense his desperation, Spider pulled with aching arms at the slippery reins. He must hold Bright Morning back. The first two fences would be murderous, the Walrus had said in his parting advice. ‘“‘The time has come, the Walrus said.” His mind was feverish again. Three horses passed him. A fourth. Then Blanding Bell cut across in front of him. Up ahead rose the backs of two horses, tak- ing the first jump. More horses were in the air. Thunder of hoofs. Shouts of jockeys. Then the brush-topped fence was coming straight at him. It looked as high as a house. He felt Bright Morning gather himself for the jump. Another horse was beside him. He heard the rider’s ‘““Hup! Hup! now!” And they took off together. Up, up into space. Spider rose in his stirrups to save the jolt. On the ground—it seemed a great distance below—he saw a gray _ horse struggling to his feet, and a jockey in scarlet and white lying motionless in the ditch. Thud! Bright Morning landed. Spider’s head seemed to split with the jar—then they were away again, with the second flight, drumming up the course. Far ahead rode a dozen of the best, and Spider saw the _ blue-and- yellow barred silks of Derrick Strang on Princess Kara, crowding Fanfare and Blazeby. Away in the lead sped the Irish mare, Granuaile. Well, let them tear like that! They could never keep it up. He pulled at the reins, and the reins seemed to ooze like wet rubber through his fingers. If he could only hold Bright Morning back the first half round. As if they were hunting. But the great thoroughbred’s thoughts had _ reverted to his flat racing days, and he fought for his head. They were rising to the second fence, ahead. Then Bright Morn- ing had leaped it, just missing a horse that was down, and on, on up the course they sped. N FRONT loomed the dreadful water- jump. Here many would come down. Spider shut his eyes with a sick feeling that Bright Morning could never keep his feet, for the landing would be slippery from yesterday's rain. But beneath him he felt the great horse settling into a long, steady stride. When Spider opened his eyes they were well to the right, taking oft for the fearful hurdle. Up! Water shimmered beneath them, and two horses were floundering. Bright Morning landed, slipped, caught himself, and was away. i Spider, amazed to find himself still in the saddle, with a gasp of gratitude gathered the slippery reins again, and on they swept. There was the cruel “turn ahead. If he could put that one behind him safely, then the next three hurdles were easy. But there was no chance now (Concluded on page 120)

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for JULY 1927 | never b making Movies . 4 dal ile et aaa ™ 8 _ += ag - & — - . Today, Home Movies are as easy to make as ordinary Kodak pictures. “You press the button—we do the rest”’ NYONE can make good movies with a Ciné-Kodak. It is all as easy as this: In your hand is your Ciné-Kodak. Before you is your moving subject. You sight your camera. As you press a button, a shutter whirls inside, and the film slides swiftly behind the ever-focused lens. Instantly and continuously every action within the scene before you, every changing sequence of light and shadow, every expres- sion of individuality, is registered for all time on your film. You are taking your first movie! Another touch of your finger, and the shutter stops. Your movie is made. You are ready for your next one. **You press the button... we do the rest’’ Then, no troublesome develop- ing. No mistakes. We finish your films at no extra cost, and return. them to you. And you are ready to make romance, adventure, affection, sports and humor live again on your screen. Your audience gathers. Your film is in your Kodascope. You darken the room. You ptess another button. Crisp and clear the scene flashes itself in swift light and shade upon your silver screen. The amateur actors re-act their parts. EXS~d 119 elieved that could be so simple Home inci- dents happen over again. **Your own movies!’’ It travel, cartoons, are now available at your dealer’s. Price $7.50 per reel—and the reel becomes a permanent is aS easy as that. A click of the switch on your Kodascope projector, and the pucture Jou've made i$ in action om your screen, feature of your film library. For the day of the new sport, the new art, the new personal ability, is here. The months and years of experiment are past. The Ciné-Kodak is not a toy. It is an efficient, compact and simplified device for making motion pictures. Thousands are using it with professional results. Kodak Cinegraphs— Something New To supplement your program of personal os movies, Kodak Cinegraphs, 100- foot reels covering a wide variety of subjects, comedy, drama, Ciné-Koilak weighs only S lbs. Loads im daylight with amateur standard C6 m/m) Ciné-Kodak safety film, in the yel- dow box Cine-Kodak If it isn’t an Eastman, it isn't a Ciné-Kodak Full length films, which constitute a complete entertainment in themselves and include the biggest screen successes of famous stars, may be secured at a modest rental from the nearest Kodascope Library. A complete outfit, for movie taking and projection, may be had for as little as $140 Thousands of Kodak dealers are now pre- pared to show and explain the Ciné-Kodak to you. If your dealer is not yet ready, write us for the new Ciné-Kodak booklet, which tells how you can use the Ciné-Kodak artis- tically, swiftly, accurately and economi- cally. Your copy will come to you, without charge, when you sign and mail this coupon. Y 7 7 EASTMAN KODAK CoO., Dept. E, Rochester, N. Y. Please send me, FREE and without obligation, the booklet telling me how I can easily make my own movies. I esis sites aeaicicennsssreeeibeatiie spiok balinhanithambinsmascanaemeeeaaaaaaaae

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A VLOTOLINE WAVE LASTS from Shampoo to Shampoo NO MATTER how straight your hair may be or how frequently it requires curling now, Vlotoline will keep it in a beautiful, natural looking wave from three to four weeks unaffected by heat or dampness. Vlotoline is a harmless, colorless liquid non- alcoholic and greaseless. Apply Vlotoline to your hair preferably after a shampoo. Curl it at home with combs or curlers or take it to your hairdresser if he does not carry it and have him use it before marcelling or setting the wave with combs or fingers. It is excellent for setting a permanent wave. Have a Vlotoline wave before leaving on your vacation. Remember it lasts from three to four weeks. 4 ounce bottle $1.50, enough for 3 or 4 months. You will find Vlotoline at shops listed below or order direct from Vlotoline Laboratories, Inc. OFFER! Try Vlotoline once and you will never be * without it. Mail this coupon with 50c and we will send you a trial bottle—enough for four ap- OLINE jpg Reg U.S. Pat.Off VLOTOLINE LABORATORIES, Inc., Depi.G-6, | (VLO-TO-LEEN) ( 224 E. 42nd St., New York i 1 enclose 50c. for which send me a bortle of Vioroline— enough for at least four applications. VLOTOLINE may be purchased at the following stores: BAKERSFIELD, Calif.: Weill’s—BROOKLYN: Abraham & Straus, Batterman’s, Martin’s, Namm’s— BROWNSVILLE, Tex.: McKay's Pharmacy—-BUFFALO: Wm. Hengerer; J. N. Adam & Co.—DEN- VER: Daniels & Fisher Stores Co.; Denver Dry Goods Co.—EASTON, Pa.: Wm. Laubach & Sons— EL PASO, Tex.: Popular Dry Goods Co.—INDIANAPOLIS: L, S. Ayres & Co.—LOUISVILLE, Ky.: Stewart Dry Goods Co.—NEW YORK: Altman; Bloomingdale’s; Franklin Simon; Gimbel Bros.; James A. Hearn; H. C. F. Koch; Lord & Taylor; Macy's; Saks-Herald Square; Saks-Fifth Ave.:; Stern’s— PATERSON, N. J.: Diskon’s—PHILADELPHIA: Gimbel’s PIQUA, O.: J. W. Brown Store— PITTSBURGH: Joseph Horne Co.; Kaufmann & Baer Co.; Kaufmans—PORTLAND, Ore.: Meier & Frank Co.—ROCHESTER: Sibley, Lindsay & Curr Co.—ST. LOUIS, Mo.: Stix, Baer & Fuller Dry Goods Co.—SAN FRANCISCO: Raphael Weill & Co.—SCHENECTADY, N. Y.: Carl Co. [ BEND, Ind.: Robertson Bros. Co.—TRENTON, N. J.: Goldberg's McKelvey Co. SOUTH YOUNGSTOWN, 0O.: G. M. 'THE GENTLEMAN Markey’s Gene HARPER’S BAZAR JOCKEY Story (Concluded from page 118) to win. Fanfare and Granuaile and Princess Kara seemed miles in the lead, and between them and himself a half- dozen good mounts, jockeying for posi- tion on the turn. No, he could never win. He would be lucky to finish. But Bright Morning was running like a deer. At the turn there was shouting, and two horses in air, and a crash as the roan Yevgeny fell. Bright Morning soared over the high fence, cleared the ditch and landed, one iron hoof an inch from Yevgeny’s unconscious rider. On they streamed around the turn. The next three jumps were behind him _ before Spider ‘realized, and dimly, far ahead, loomed the stands and the crowd. Now he could let Bright Morning have his head a bit. Dazedly he saw the invincible three holding the lead. Blanding Bell, the Piper, Zander, Hobbledehoy and Straightaway were ahead of him. And no slackening of the terrific pace. Now they were rising to a brush-jump that hid a treacherous water-ditch. Zander was down! Forward flew Bright Morn- ing, and took off almost alongside Hobble- dehoy. As they landed, Bright Morning stumbled and Spider lurched upon his neck. Then the great bay found his feet, and off they went, and somehow Spider regained his stirrups. Coming alongside Hobbledehoy again, he felt himself sway dizzily, felt that he could never last another hurdle. Then a blast of cold air cleared his brain, and he saw that Straightaway and the Piper were coming back to him. He talked confidentially to Bright Morning, and the huge horse lengthened his stride. Now he was alongside the Piper and Straightaway. Slowly, slowly, the Piper and Straightaway disappeared behind. As they cleared the next jump, he saw, with a start, that Granuaile was down. Then she was up again, and galloping riderless, ahead. Wildly she crossed in front of Blanding Bell, and Spider heard the jockey’s curses. Nothing more dangerous in a steeplechase than a riderless horse! Bright Morning was stretching ahead at an amazing, steady stride. And Spider urged him on. Now he was riding beside Blanding Bell. Just ahead—startlingly close ahead— Fanfare and Princess Kara rose to the gray wall. Then the riderless Granuaile topped it. Bright Morning gathered himself for the jump, rose serene, landed, and was away. LANDING BELL was behind him now. Ahead flew the yellow and blue silk of Derrick Strang, and the green and black of Kipp, the favorite’s rider. But between them and Bright Morning galloped the menace of the riderless chestnut mare. Only two more jumps—and then the stretch! The cold wind stung Spider’s face, and blurred his eyes with tears. Bright Morning was going like an angel—but Fanfare and Princess Kara would never come back to him now. Ahead the riderless Granuaile raced crazily alongside Fanfare. Fanfare’s jockey swore and struck out with his whip. Then at the jump Granuaile swerved—blundered into Fanfare—and a little man in_ green-and-black silks careened over the fence, without his horse. Princess Kara had topped the jump, and now Bright Morning was over. On, on, down the course they flew. Two lengths ahead fluttered the blue-and- yellow silks of Derrick Strang. Des- perately Spider urged his horse on. Bright Morning had proved himself swift and sure-footed beyond expecta- tion, but what could he do now? Hatred of Derrick Strang—whom Diana had once considered marrying—whom Diana might again consider marrying—flickered through his brain. A buffet of icy wind. Clamor from the crowd. Ahead, the high brush-top of the last hurdle. Strang, scarce a length ahead now, suddenly swerved his mount to the left. on, ‘“* Look out!” Spider shouted. He saw the trick. The lowest of jockey crookedness. Strang was trying to force him into the side panels of the fence! And Spider realized that he could not claim a foul. Anything that happened before the last hurdle was passed could be blamed on the horse, ““Get over—curse you!” he cried deliriously. But for answer Strang grinned with malice, and forced him into the pocket, Not one horse in a thousand could clear the fence at this disadvantage, but Spider pleaded with Bright Morning, and Bright Morning responded. Now Princess Kara and her rider were in the air. Now Bright Morning had taken off and flung himself, twisting, upward. Spider held his breath, and lurched almost out of the saddle as they landed. And he saw Princess Kara, in landing, go to her knees. But the veteran black mare was up again— Strang had miraculously saved his seat— and they were away, half a length ahead of Bright Morning. N° YW they were in the stretch. Spider, dizzy in his saddle, could hear Princess Kara blowing. Strang was using his whip and cursing hoarsely. Spider carried no whip. He pleaded with his horse. Was Princess Kara slowly coming back to him—or was it hallucination? They seemed to be racing boot-to-boot down a canyon black with people. Faint cheering sounded from far off. The world rocked around him. He was slipping, slipping. . . . ‘** Vow!” he cried desperately. And he could scarcely hear his own voice. But the great horse beneath him heard and surged forward with a superhuman effort. Princess Kara’s tortured blowing was at his elbow now, and Strang’s curses behind. A roar from the crowd. The post flashed past. Bright Morning had won! And in that instant everything became dark, and Spider swayed drunk enly, toppled from his saddle, and fell beneath the drumming hoofs of the black mare, Princess Kara. Three horses thundered over his crumpled body. Then the crowd beheld a_ splendid, Amazonian figure of a woman rush out upon the course, and there was Diana, her face pale as a flower, kneeling beside him. Furor broke around them from the stands. Old Cavan ran out, very much frightened, and eager young men with cameras came scrambling over the white rails. In the midst of all this confusion appeared Sybil Sage, quite bewitching in a pale green costume, specially designed for the race. As she approached, with dainty steps, she smiled at the camera- men, whom she felt sure would recognize her. “Tsn’t it too wonderful,” she said sweetly to a reporter, “‘he backed his own horse, at 50 to 1. That means he has won seventy-five thousand dollars! Poor darling—is he hurt?” : Then it was that Diana arose from her knees and walked across to Sybil Sage, and what she said to her no man will ever know, but the Circe of the cinema faded into the crowd. With a fierce, possessive light in her eyes Diana turned, and, stooping, lifted up the pathetic little heap of muddy silk and breeches and boots in her arms. e “Darling,” she murmured. “ Darling! and she said it several times. Spider’s eyes fluttered open. ‘‘Don’t— don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Oh, my dear, I won't leave you— ever!” Then she turned to Uncle Edgar Boltwood. ‘“He’s not hurt, thank God, but he’s ill. Will you get a doctor? And you—” to Cavan, the trainer, ‘‘—bring his saddle, please.”’ The crowd fell away, and there was something heroic and magnificent in the spectacle of Diana, striding off toward the weighing-in enclosure, carrying her hus- band in her arms like a child. a a ao mt mt ae ee Ss le

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St of rying f the it he that Was se, cried with cket. clear pider right Kara right nself, eath, le as ara, the ‘in— at— head ider, hear sing vider his ning ion? 00t aint The was | he But and The charm of smiles depends on sparkling teeth, and for those Pepsodent can be counted on invariably. HEN teeth lack gleam and whiteness, it is usually because they are film coated. By running the tongue across the teeth, this film can be felt. Modern dental science charges it with many tooth and gum disturbances; with most of the clouded teeth one sees, with much of the prevalence of pyorrhea. Ordinary brushing has failed to combat film successfully. Thus thinking people, chiefly on dental advice, are adopting a new way in tooth and gum care called Pepsodent. Fitm—Enemy or SoUND TEETH AND Gums For years dental science sought ways to fight film. Clear teeth and healthy gums come only when film is constantly combated — removed every day from the teeth. Film was found to cling to teeth; to get into crevices and stay; to hold in contact with teeth food substances which fermented and fostered the acids of decay. Film was found to be the basis of tartar. Germs by the millions breed KEEP FILM OFF Removing film on teeth is ac- corded high importance by the modern dentist. So Pepsodent is chosen for its unique therapeu- tic and prophylactic qualities. YOUR TEETH Thus the price of teeth like pearls, is regular film removal in this way Send Coupon for 10-Day Tube Free in it. And they, with tartar, chiefly cause pyor- rhea and most gum disorders. Thus there was a universal call for an effec- tive film-removing method. Ordinary brushing was found ineffective. Now two effective com- batants have been found, approved by high den- tal authority and embodied in the tooth paste called Pepsodent. CuRDLEs AND Removes FILM Firms THE Gums Pepsodent acts first to curdle the film. Thea it thoroughly removes the film in gentle safety to enamel. At the same time, it acts to firm the gums— Pepsodent provides, for this purpose, the most recent dental findings in gum protection science knows today. Pepsodent also multiplies the alkalinity of the saliva. And thus aids in neu- tralizing mouth acids as they form. It multiplies the starch digestant of the saliva. And thus combats starch deposits which might otherwise ferment and form acids. Piease Accept Pepsopent TEsT No other method known to present-day science embodies protective agents like those in Pepso- dent, the quality dentifrice. Send the coupon for a 10-day tube. Brush teeth this way for 10 days. Note how thoroughly film is removed. The teeth lighten as film coats go. FREE—10-DAY TUBE Mail coupon to The Pepsodent Co., Dept. 1223, 1104 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago, IIl., U. S. A. WI eet Sec see eh Be City Other Offices: The Pepsodent Co., 191 George St... . . - Toronto 2, Can. 42 Southwark Bridge Rd. . London,S. E.1, Eng. (Australia), Ltd.,137ClarenceSt. Sydney, N. S. W. Only one tube to a family 2504 PEPSODENT The Quality Dentifrice—Removes Film from Teeth

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This newest of Parisian perfumes comes in all toilet preparations It will seem especially refreshing and fitting for the Summer months in TOILET WATER FACE POWDER—BATH SALTS (TABLETS)—~TALCUM and AFTABATH POWDER C The fragrance of your sweetest dream say Paris PAVOTS JARCENT SILVER POPPIES ROGER & CALLET PARIS ~NEW YORK CREATORS OF FLEURS d‘AMOUR ~ Le JADE AND MANY OTHER RARE PERFUMES HARPER’S BAZAR THE LAND OF ROMANTIC ENCHANTMENT (Concluded from page 97) kitchen staff must be reduced to lunacy after a week of such hours as that. Off the beaten track, however, meals become curi- osities, and I shall never forget the one that we bought in paper bags at a way- side station, when confronted with twelve foodless hours of dusty travel. It began with a cold fried omelet with bits of potato in it, and went on to two innocent little fried fishes, their tails fast in their mouths; then a fried cutlet thick with batter, a piece of rice bread of the size, shape, and consistency of half a brick, and an orange. The rice bread is very odd, looks and feels like a bisque statuette, and tastes something like a cracknel. It is anything but satisfying. Olives, to- matoes, and oranges are delicious; the oil is usually good, and if they don’t make it too greasy, you can generally get a palat- able dish of pollo con arroz, or chicken with rice. The salads are excellent, though we were warned against them on account of the dubious water in which they are washed. But the Manzanilla is a beverage for gods! The first thing we learned to say was “Quadro manzanillas!”’ and we said it all the time. It is a light white sherry with an after-taste of hazelnuts, and it is an honor to its inventors. NE of the first things we did was to make arrangements for places from which to view the celebrated processions. I do not exactly regret the good pesetas that we spent on that balcony, but I should never do it again, and if you spend next Easter in Seville, I should not advise you to do it either. What I should do next time, is to take the processions of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday very casually, for there is plenty to do in the evenings without them, and so save curiosity and enthusiasm for the latter part of the week. One evening, for example, we visited a favorite café of the populace. They showed us up a back staircase, and we came out into a little box, high up in the air, from whence we looked down on rows and rows of men and boys, in their work- ing clothes, massed on both sides of café tables, all drinking water, apparently, and furiously applauding a very ordinary per- former who was flirting her pale blue saiin skirts at them from a raised platform in the center of one side. Presently some pseudo-flamenco singers were announced, and out they came in classic style, the women sitting in a semi-circle, spreading their bright flounced skirts, clapping their brown hands, while a man dancer filled the chair at each end, dressed in skin-tight high-waisted trousers, and a little monkey jacket. In front of the circle adancer swayed and swirled, and snapped her long bronze fingers. They were not very genuine flamenco, but the audience amused us, especially a beautiful girl in the next box, with the most exquisite nose you ever saw, and eyes like glowing black coals. They said she was a rival dancer, and she certainly was a supreme beauty. ANOTHER night, we went to the dance ** recital of the pupils of Otero, a famous maitre de ballet who has trained most of the performers at present before the pub- lic. These girls, all in their early teens, gave a display of first-class Spanish folk- dancing, all twirling skirts and fluttering feet and fingers; as different from the sensuous, bending, tigery flamenco as it is possible for dancing to be, but extremely interesting in its way. One handsome girl was temperamental; she rolled her great eyes at us and frowned, and her dances became a black and purple tragedy. Another, sprightly and supple and fresh as a coat of new paint, whirled her red skirts like a tornado, and turned her dancing into flaming comedy. And all the while the entire half-circle kept up the deafening rattle and spat of castanets, the most exciting noise in the world On still another night, we went toa cop. cert of the best flamenco singers of South. ern Spain, and that was worth double the price of admission. Perhaps you do not love flamenco music, but we thrill to it. One of the most exciting moments of my life was when I heard, at a way-station outside the train window, a native begin to wail and quiver a strain of authentic flamenco, not because he was paid for it but because he felt like singing. The singers are all Nifios or Nifias of some Spanish town or other, as one might say the ‘“‘Texas Kid,’’ or the “Chicago Bear. cat”’; they are all called nightingales, or canaries, or sweetest songsters; and every one of them, according to the printed program, is the best in the world. Their songs all Jaud their own particular town or province and vituperate the others telling how worthless and no-account they are. They begin with a fascinating guitar passage, during which the singer throws a patronizing “Olé” or two at the player, and then suddenly bursts into a piercing, long-drawn note, like nothing in the world but the wailing of an Irish banshee. Just when you can hardly bear it any longer, the voice breaks into an inimitable series of shakes and quavers, till, if you arean amateur of flamenco, you go simply wild with admiration. But it is like olives— you do or you don’t. We emphatically do, and so we were very happy that evening. But the thing that I shall remember when I am ancient and crumbling, mouth- ing toothlessly about the fashions of my youth, was our rambles in the little quarter of Santa Cruz by moonlight. This quarter of narrow winding ways and unsuspected flowery squares is hidden between the high walls of the Alcazar gardens and the gardens of Murillo. It is the ancient Jewish quarter, and the most Moorish part of Seville; and at present, they told us, it is the living place of those charm- ing and wealthy ladies who do not pay their own expenses. OU turn your back on the Cathedral, and go through a pointed arch ina great theatrical-looking wall, hung with roses. Then you cross a cobbled square, planted so thick with orange-blossoms that the perfume hits you tangibly in the face. You pass under a pointed white-washed arch, and that is the entrance to this little paradise of winding ways, roofed here and there with jasmine and climb- ing roses, hung with flowery balconies, behind which you feel the peering of great Oriental almond eyes; and grilled entrances to patios, greener and bluer and whiter, and vocal with more tinkling fountains than the patios of any other quarter of this patioed city. All the steep narrow houses have been freshly painted for Easter, with here a white one, and there a coffee-colored, and here a pale orange, there turquoise blue, and opposite old rose. You could eat off the stone pavements, lit from above by swinging medieval-looking lanterns, while over all rides “that orbed maiden with white fire laden that mortals call the moon.” You turn a sudden corner, and emerge into a little moonlit square, planted in the center with a homely garden of stocks and gilly-flowers, their country perfume contrasting with exotic jasmine and orange-blossom. After wan- dering in ecstasy till your supply ol adjectives is worn threadbare, you sud- denly come out again on the densely packed crowd in front of the great side- gate of the Cathedral; and though you seem to have left processions behind you hours ago, a huge car with taper-lit Virgin is just emerging from the close; and in a blare of orange light, a silver saeta trills its unearthly Arab wail, and you feel that you are back to real life again. Marjorie Howard. — s+ HM -«

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AR fo! FUL Y S9S7 123 iC moving Cold Cream : as Beauty Experts Urge u do toit, if my ation begin entic Or it, The some t say NOW Bear- S, OF REDUCED me IN PRICE To Correct a Grave Mistake in Skin Care 230 LARGE HANDKERCHIEF SHEETS...50c (Big size—90 sq. in. each) Due to volume production, the price of Kleenex ’Kerchiefs has been greatly reduced. With 30% more ’Kerchiefs in each box as well, the present price of Kleenex is scarcely more than half what you paid before. Their town hers, they uitar rows ayer, cing, vorld Just nger, series rean wild io cally that mber uth- f my arter arter acted | the d the cient orish told arm- ; pay dral, in a with uare, that face. shed this ofed imb- nies, g of rilled ‘and kling ther the shly vhite here PLEASE ACCEPT a 7-day supply of this NEW and utterly different way to try + > Makes cleansing creams 4 te 6 times more effective. Holds your make-up fresh hours longer than before. Corrects oily skin and nose con- ditions amazingly. + ee - A. 7OW it has been discovered that i by removing cleansing cream skin, the cleansing power of cold cream can thoroughly from your be multiplied from four to six times. That’s because it has been learned that towels, cloths, etc., being in- sufficiently absorbent, largely rub the dirt back in, and thus foster many skin disorders. To meet that condition, a new and utterly different way of removing cleansing cream has been developed. Results on your skin will amaze you. Send the coupon and a 7-day supply will be sent you. Virtually every beauty authority urges this new way. Scarcely a star of stage or screen It is far cheaper to use Women by the thousands are flocking to its use. but who employs it. than spoiling and laundering towels. Ends two beauty mistakes It ends the soiled towel method, judged dan- gerous to skin beauty. Too often you thus rub dirty cold cream back into the skin. That fosters skin blemishes. It is a prime cause of oily skin and nose conditions. To use cold cream effectively, you must remove LEEN ABSORBENT KERCHIEFS To Remove Cold Cream—Sanitary It invites blackheads. SPECIALLY POSED FOR KLEENEX 'KERCHIEFS BY IRENE RICH, CHARMING WARNER BROS, STAR it all from the skin. Towels, cotton cloths, paper substitutes, won’t do it. It ends, too, the mistaken use of too harsh paper makeshifts; not sufficiently absorbent to thoroughly cleanse, too harsh for delicate skin fabric. End mistakes, and you'll amazing difference quickly in your skin. those note an Your make-up will hold hours longer than before. Your skin will lose its oily look. Your nose will seldom call for powder. Send coupon A few days’ use will prove the results of the Kleenex ’Kerchief beyond all question or doubt. Mail the coupon. A full 7-day supply will be sent you, Kleenex’Kerchiefs— absorbent— come in exquisite flat hand- kerchief boxes to fit your dressing table drawer. > Professional size : Sheets 9 x 10 inches . . FOC Ends —Oily skin and nose conditions amazingly. —The expense of ruining and laundering towels. Keeps —Make-up fresh hours longer than before. —Lightens skin several shades—quickly. For COLDS Never Again Use Handkerchiefs They Re-infect—Spread Germ Contagion ARGELY on medical ad- vice, thousands now use Kleenex *’Kerchiefs for colds. For thus one discards at once the excretions that spread—that re-infect as well. Soiled, damp handkerchiefs are bad. They carry possible contagion—re-in- fection—with you. Remember this when you or your children have a cold. Damp handkerchiefs, too, tend to chap and irritate the nostrils. Kleenex ’Kerchiefs are dry, fully absorbent and fresh every time you use them. Thus no chapping or skin irritation. You dis- card like paper. Next cold, try them. 7-Day Supply—FREE KLEENEX CO., H.-7 Lake-Michigan Bldg., Chicago, IIl. Please send without expense to me a sample packet of Big Kleenex ’Kerchiefs —absorbent—as offered.

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124 lovely nails that distin rguish ‘shionable hands Enchantment at your finger tips . . . This marvelous new liquid polish, that has set the vogue in the world of fashion, brings to your nails the delicate blush of rose petals above dainty white half-moons. Alluring, lustrous nails .. . Everywhere feminine nails now gleam with this new manicure .. . the wonderful gift of Glazo. No buffing. Just a flick of the brush over the nails and, instantly, they glow with irresistible loveliness. Not for an hour or a day, but for a week Glazo lustre keeps its enticing beauty. Neither soap and water nor work ‘can dim its radiance. And it will not crack, peel or turn an ugly brown. The Original Liquid Polish Complete with Remover . . . Nails polished with Glazo are more beautiful, more ~~ fashionable. No buffing necessary. Make Glazo, the originator of this vogue. Then you will know that your hands and nails are of the latest mode. sure that you get Like the most expensive im- ported polishes, Glazo comes complete with separate re- mover. This Glazo Re- mover insures better results and prevents unnecessary waste of the precious Glazo Liquid Polish. You can get Glazo in the toilet goods department of your favorite store. The dainty twin bottles hold the secret to fascinating, fashionable hands. Ask for Glazo by name. The Glazo Company, 307 Blair Avenue, Cincinnati, Ohio; 468 King St. W., Toronto, Ont., Canada. Fifty Cents Try GLAZO Cuticle Massage Cream. It shapes the cuticle and keeps it even and healthy HARPER’S BAZAR PARIS OFFERS HER MID. SEASON MODELS (Continued from page 91) MATERIALS The usual winter materials with empha- sis on: VELVETs—For suits, frocks, and ensem- bles, evening gowns and wraps. Satrs—For both afternoon and eve- ning. BROADCLOTH—F or ensemble coats with fur trimmings. TweEEDS—For sport and travel with novel use of crepella, kasha, and wool jersey dresses. Tricots—Many sports. TussoRE AND LINEN—For the summer models included in these collections. TAFFETA—Used by Chanel, Louisebou- langer, and Drecoll. SitK Votte—Used for afternoon and evening frocks by Chanel. Quantities of chiffon, et cetera, et cetera. new versions for DETAILS SLEEVEs—Summer frocks frequently sleeveless, but autumn ones almost in- variably long. Novelties noted: Chanel, an elbow sleeve in mauve taffeta. Jenny, a slightly full sleeve, embroidered, with a section of the under-arm part of the bodice, while rest of gown is plain. Deuil- let, a double 1840 coat sleeve. WalsT-LinEs—Have ceased to be an issue, though they continue to play about the top of the hip, sometimes slightly above, particularly at one point, some- times dipping below at one point. BreL_ts—As important as ever, the day- time type still found on evening gowns, with square or oblong buckles of dia- monds or other stones. GrrpLEs—Important for both after- CLEVER noon and evening gowns. They fe. quently tie in front or at one side. DEAUVILLE HANDKERCHIEFS—A most important revival. Often made of the material of the frock, especially when it is of lace or chiffon plain or printed, but also often of figured material when the rest of the gown is plain or vice versa. Some. times the only note of color on a neutral frock, specially for country or sport. Tres AND Bows—Ties are extremely important. Quantities of frocks tied on the shoulder, at the hip, in front, at the back of the neck, occasionally like an apron in the back. Many coats for after. noon tied over to one side. Many cravats, DIAGONAL ErrEcts—Diagonal effects, both of trimming and of cut, are very good. JewELRY—Many houses are making special imitation jewelry to complete a special gown. Often this is in gold or silver. Sometimes it is jeweled. Premet’s are particularly important, and the con- spicuous novelty is a gold curb chain worn just under one knee. New imitation diamond jewelry shown in several houses, notably Lelong’s, Chanel’s and Bernard’s, Lelong is using ‘embroidered ”’ jewelry ex- tensively on plain velvet or chiffon gowns, Skirt Lenctus—While the skirt re- mains the same length for sport, street and general morning and afternoon wear, there is still the same tendency to lengthen the evening skirts in accordance with the increasing vogue of the uneven hem-line. Many evening gowns have really long points, though this is no novelty as the effect has obtained for a long time. Chanel’s new taffeta evening skirts, while they are uneven, are longer everywhere than skirts have been recently, while her best satin evening gown would be called really long. MAKE-UP IS PART OF THE ENSEMBLE (Continued from page 58) This is a general rule for achieving that opalescent brilliance that is so effective under evening lights. The attitude of the American beauty culturist concerning make-up is one of sane moderation, and each salon has its own individual versions of the necessary preparations, some of which have been chosen for mention because of their par- ticularly convenient form. ELIZABETH ARDEN For the woman who believes in preven- tion as well as cure, Venetian Waterproof Cream is a light pink protective cream, that may also be used as a base for powder, and is perfect for evening make- up. This salon believes in a natural make- up, and has an especially wide range of exquisite foundation creams that include Venetian Amoretta Cream and Ultra Amoretta Cream, the latter for a dry skin. MARIE EARLE Women with delicate transparent skins that do not take kindly to powder will like Eau Mysterieuse, a clear as crystal water, that gives the velvety appearance of very fine powder when rubbed onto the skin. Blanc Gras, a splendid finishing cream, is a veritable first aid to amateurs in make-up, because of its concentrated form, and Email 77 is a liquid powder for evening use that will also prevent sunburn, as it contains an ingredient that is impenetrable to the sun’s rays. DOROTHY GRAY Again, natural make-up is the phi- losophy of this salon, and they have a well- deserved reputation for their clever system of powder blending for individual skins. A splendid assortment of liquid and paste rouges may be found here, and Russian Astringent Cream, the founda- tion cream from this house, is excellent for a dry skin and may be adapted for an oily skin by a previous application of Russian Astringent Lotion. ROSE LAIRD This beauty culturist is avowedly more interested in skin prophylaxis than in make-up, but notwithstanding that fact, a really remarkable array of imported colored face powders are found here, for both daytime and evening use. A greenish powder, Emerald, is used for a foundation make-up for a red or blotchy skin, to neutralize the unsightly blotches. Over this, make-up is applied, using Coraille for blondes and Rubis, a deeper carmine, for brunettes. PRIMROSE HOUSE One of the best aids for any amateur at the art of make-up is to start with a complete case of the necessary prepara- tions. Primrose House has such a case, illustrated on page sixty, collapsible and waterproof and packed with cleansing cream, cleansing tissues, foundation lotion, medium rouge for daytime and lighter for evening, lipstick and powders. Ko-Hul, a preparation to darken the lashes and stimulate growth, is very easy to apply successfully. HELENA RUBINSTEIN This salon, well-known for its beauty accessories, has a large assortment of powders and excellent rouges. Greet and mauve powders for evening for spe cial skins, Cupidsbow, a self-shaping lipstick, are among the clever com trivances that are new. Asa preparation for make-up, Valaze Beauty Grains may (Concluded on page 126)

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for JULY 1927 pees fre- Hygienic Freedom c Such as Women Never Knew Before - also st of ome- utr Peace-of-Mind ... Comfort . . . Immaculacy mely d on t the e an fter- vats, ects, 00d. king plete id or net’s con- hain ation uses, ird’s, y ex- wns, L re- and vear, ‘then 1 the ‘line. long ; the time. while here > her alled Easy Disposal and 2 other important factors Disposed of as nda- easily as tissue. lent No laundry. yr an na This New Way is Changing the Hygienic Habits of Millions by Banishing the Hazards of Old Ways Filled with Cellucotton wadding, the world’s super- —Positive Protection, Plus an End Forever to the absorbent, Kotex absorbs 16 times its own weight in a Problem of Disposal moisture. It is 5 times as absorbent as the ordinary e b> = fe cotton pad. oe + 4 It discards easily as tissue. No laundry—no embar- 4" By ELLEN J. BUCKLAND, Registered Nurse rassment of disposal. A F It also thoroughly deodorizes, and thus ends all fear True protection—5 times | for OU wear gayest, sheerest gowns without fear; of offending. as absorbent as ordinary tchy you meet every social and business exactment in cotton. = peace-of-mind and comfort, this new way. Only Kotex itself is “like” Kotex — eper It supplants the hazards and uncertainties of the See that you get the genuine Kotex. It is the only sanitary napkin embodying the super-absorbent Cellu- cotton wadding. old-time “sanitary pad” with protection that is abso- lute. Millions of women are flocking to its use. The name is Kotex. Doctors urge it. Nurses em- , . : S It is the only napkin made by this company. Only ateur ploy it. Women find in it the scientific solution of 2 ; pT age ea as ith a their oldest hygienic problem. Its use will make a Kotex itself is “like” Kotex. po great difference in your life. You can obtain Kotex at better drug and department oe . stores everywhere, without hesitancy, simply by saying nsing What Kotex is “Kotex.” Comes in sanitary sealed packages of 12 in —_ Unknown a few years ago, 8 in every 10 women in the two sizes, the Regular and Kotex-Super. Git Gite sein. Ps better walks of life have dis- — . | Kotex Company, 180 North (3) rassment, at any store,* the carded the insecure “sanitary ; £s Michigan Ave., Chicago, II. simply bysaying‘‘Kotex.’’ very pads” of yesterday and adopted Kotex. “Ask for them by name” KOT EX PROTECTS—DEODORIZES sreen Saeed also through vending - spe- cabinets in rest-roooms by 7 . Kotex Regular: Kotex-Super: No laundry—discards as sping West Disinfecting Co. 65c per dozen 90c per dozen easily as a piece of tissue

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. dozens of times you've noticed it. The climax of a long evening ...acabaret, crowded, warm. . . a merry party sit- ting close . . . bodies twist, necks crane to watch the enter- tainers. Something unpleasant creeps in. Under the arms, dampness . Stains . . . inevitably, odor. Nature's sure reaction! But Nature never catches you off guard. Twice a week you, like millions of men and women the world over, use your Odorono for checking excessive perspiration and odor. That’s what gives you your assurance—which soap and water can never give—of constant after-the-bath fresh- ness, of continuous daintiness. HARPER’S BAZAR THE HOME OF Bs so that immediately on arrival, with all doors opened, one can see through four rooms, the perspective being further accentuated by a looking-glass in the large drawing-room exactly opposite the entrance. This looking-glass, through thicknesses superimposed, itself effects added perspective. On the right of the hall are a little drawing-room and a library. All these rooms open on the garden as on a patio. On the first floor are the bedrooms, bathrooms, dressing-room, and on the last floor the studio. Before examining the principal rooms let us note that the coloring generally adopted is beige and white with wood- work lacquered in a dark brown tone. In this way we pass from one room to another without clash and the house seems larger for this generalized harmony. The entrance is modest, as is befitting; paving black and white, walls painted a grayish tone. The only things in this intentionally cold room, at the foot of the stairs, are two sconces of cut crystal which shine from their thousand facets. In the little drawing-room, whose rotund form has been respected, a white and brown scheme is enlivened by mirrors, Venetian sconces, seats with slip covers of blue crinoline. I was going to omit a collection of flasks which permits the master of the house to distinguish himself in the art of making cocktails, of which he brought us back from America an_ astonishing number. Beyond, the library guards its books, multicolored prisoners, behind a lattice of wooden squares. Bernard Boutet de Monvel has painted the over- mantel of the Directoire firepiace as a bas-relief en grisaille. Opposite, set into the shelving, a desk invites you to write. You feel that in this room no one will disturb you, no one will cross this room, the last one on this side of the building. Now, let us go back to the other wing in which the dining-room is situated. It is treated as a little polygonal temple, the ceiling of which is upheld by eight col- umns, between which, in the evening, the drawn hangings form a continuous drapery, closing the bays and giving the temple the requisite intimacy and seclu- sion without which there can be no fit ceremony. In this setting one is ad- mirably disposed to relish the charm of guests, the wines, and the good food. A successful dining-room is one which leaves memories, so I do not forget you, beautiful alosa, and you, ducks with delicious olives. But I must speak of the table which held them and which is not without importance in a dining-room. It is of fine mirrored glass and wrought iron, the iron serving only for mounting, reduced to its simplest expression. Like the room itself, it is octagonal. The top is made of mirrored panels: a central panel and the others radiating. The base is also eight sided, covered with mirrors. In the center of the room this piece of furniture is like a large flower of light, especially when it is set with glassware and silver. CLEVER BOUTET DE Sitie’s (Concluded from page 67) MONVEL Article From the ceiling hangs a bright chande. lier of Venetian glass suspended from a large starry rosette. This entire room is all radiance and the floor itself follows that movement whose point of departure is the table, ” The large drawing-room extends jp two directions: toward the axis of the fireplace and the looking-glass in the distance, of which we have spoken, and toward a pergola terrace which is like an open-air prolongation of the room. The color scheme of this room is white, beige, and black. The white note is sup- plied by the tone of the flat painting of the wall covering. As to black, it appears in different materials: lacquered wood- work, deep and comfortable furniture, without wood, covered with a heavy lustrous satin, ebony of the piano, polished marble of the fireplace. On a level with and widely opening on the terrace, this large drawing-room seems to be a mysterious and somber part of it. According to the season and the weather, one passes from one to the other and willingly finishes here a cup of coffee or a conversation started there. On the first floor the principal room is a bedroom, situated over the dining- room, whose flowery balcony blends with the verdure of the neighboring gardens, In this room a little intimate corner, one step up, is laid out around the fireplace. You are attracted there by two good arm- chairs and by books within easy reach. The bathrooms, with modern equip- ment, are not to be overlooked. Bernard Boutet de Monvel wanted them entirely white, apparatus and facings in porcelain of extreme cleanliness. Equally choice are the wardrobes around the dressing-room; smooth doors between mirror pilasters. Finally, on the last floor is the studio, a workroom soberly painted in gray, where the canvases, turned toward the wall, tell of the work of the artist. To close, I shall speak of the garden on which open all the living apartments. It is to you that this dwelling owes its charm, little shallow garden, with white pavement allees surrounding a lawn framed in boxwood. Up three steps, the pergola, whose square posts uphold vases and a trellis top, dominates this garden which itself, through all the opened windows, is mirrored in the looking-glasses set ex- pressly for it at the farther end of the rooms. Only the flowers give a note of disorder to this rigorous design, but in Paris flowers are of such short duration! The walls which shut out the neighbors disappear beneath the ivy and green plants; the eye roams easily over these walls to seek the verdure of adjoining gardens, oasis of peace and fragrance in the middle of Paris. And thus is agreeably completed by nature this chosen dwelling, orderly, and inspired by the master of the house, of whom the architect, in a friendly col- laboration, had but to translate the tastes and desires. The result of this collaboration is @ pure Bernard Boutet de Monvel style. MAKE-UP IS PART OF THE ENSEMBLE (Concluded from page 124) used as a soap substitute with marvelous Tesults and a more penetrative soap sub- stitute is the Valaze Open Pore Paste Special. The rite of perfuming is a final detail of the toilette that is often approached with little or no subtlety. This best ally of the modern enchantress has long been a fine art of the exquisite Euro- pean who uses the same alluring fra- grance throughout her entire toilette. Those who would translate themselves into sweet odors that always recall their own individuality often have their personal perfumes blended for them by 4 specialist like Anne Haviland, whose fascinating theories of perfuming have gained for her a clientele that im- cludes many of New York’s smartest women.

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a 2 hhenay Si cdr ied OQ, oulurier WHOSE PARIS ESTABLISHMENT DICTATES THE FASHIONS OF TWO CONTINENTS ly C A PER A totality of effect, a supreme unity of ensem- ble—this I have always held, is the logical goal of the mondaine dernier cri. Yes; I have stated that no matter how tasteful each item of the costume may be in itself, without unity a woman is not smartly gowned. For this reason my clientele finds in my vit- rines those little things of such immense im- portance—the purse, the parasol, the bag, all in the Lelong genre. But I have long known that next to the gown itself the most important item is the perfume —the aura that completes and enhances the ensemble of a smart costume, and gives it that intimate and expressive note finale. And how deplorable to have one’s most ex- quisite creations not quite arrive, just missing perfection because their wearers lacked a par- fum sympathique! (Of course there are scents exquisite in themselves, but not conceived from the point of view of the couturier.) So I have made —and to this task I have ans (O cipal ML lo / FUMER brought all the talent at my command —three Lelong perfumes, which I give the generic name Tout “ Long; specifically, “Modulation A, Mod- ulation B, Modulation c.. My “A” isa regal odor, for the evening. It is a scent worthy of an extreme formality, it sup- ports a mood of high social exaltation. My “B” is a hopeful merry scent, appropriate for the afternoon costume. My “C” scent is ak dae as sunshine, which it suggests. Pour les sports! There is a discovery behind these perfumes, that I propose to develop in future announce- ments to my American clientele. Suffice it to say, for the moment, that I have found a new principle, of mathematical and logical exacti- tude. I have in effect created three perfumes that correspond to the primary colors of the scale—Red, Blue, Yellow. From this I have evolved perfume harmo- nies that please me, the perfumes of a cou- turier, my own. ; : ? Me Feuer may Now be Prakasa 112 the —hoves LP sted SD velow B.ALTMAN & CO. * SAKS—FIFTH AVENUE + KURZMAN + JAY THORPE + JOHN WANAMAKER LORD & TAYLOR + FRANKLIN SIMON * L BAMBERGER + BONWIT TELLERCO. + ABRAHAM & STRAUS MARSHALL FIELD & COMPANY + MANDEL BPOTHERS + CHAS. A. STEVENS & BROTHERS JOHN VICTORLEE - L.S. AYRES & COMPANY : AND AT THE PLAZA + THE BILTMORE - ROSENBERG'S J. L. BRANDEIS & COMPANY THE AMBASSADOR + THE COMMODORE THE DRAKE + THE BLACKSTONE + THE SHERMAN + THE CONGRESS + THE STEVENS +: AND THE LASALLE NEW YORK: 55! ATT TTT TTT |IUCI EN LELONG. DA Ri if! MMT FIFTH AVENUE

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128 HINDS Floney €-7tlmond CREAM REG U & PAT OFF Your children— don’t let their skin sunburn OUNGSTERS thrive on sunlight. They soak it in through every pore; grow strong and healthy on it. Shoo them outdoors these sunny days. But—protect their deli- cate skins from painful sun- burn. You can—with Hinds Honey & Almond Cream. Here’s the way. Before they go out, smooth Hinds Cream on their faces and hands, necks, arms and shoulders; powder over the Hinds Cream. Then their skins won’t burn. For Hinds Cream and powder protects the skin from sun- burn and dust. Keeps it soft, and fresh, and young. (Hinds Cream soothes, too, a skin already burned.) Try Hinds Cream. Just fill in the coupon and mail. Try THIS EXPERIMENT Hinds Cream, with pow- der over it, effectively prevents sunburn. Prove it to yourself. Cover a | section of yourarm with Hinds Cream. Powder overs it. Leave the rest of your arm bare. Now ex- pose yourarm to the sun, rhe section protected by Hinds Cream and pow- der will not sunburn, B— Leave rest of arm The rest of your arm will. are. A—Apply Hinds Cream and powder. Made by A. 8. HINDS CO. A division of Lenn & Fink Provucts Co, In Canada, A. S. Hinds Co. (Canada) Limited Distributed by Lehn & Fink (Canada) Limited Try HINDS CREAM—Prevents windburn, prevents chapping, softens skin, protects skin, cleanses skin, soothes skin, softens cuticle, makes powder cling to face, smooths “‘catchy fingers,” after shaving, pro- tects against alkali, protects from hard water, for children’s skin, makes enlarged pores normal. © t.aF.P.co. Name Address Buy Hinds Cream in the 50c. and $1.00 sizes. You get more at less cost. Leun & Fink, Inc., Sole Distributors, Dept. 487, Bloomfield, N. J- Send me a sample bottle of Hinds Honey and Almond Cream, the protect I'his coupon not good after July, 1928 P t ) ng cream for the skin | HARPER’S BAZaAp THE RETURN OF THE ARTIFICIAL Richard Le Gallienne’s Article (Concluded from page 63) Democracy always dreams of aris- tocracy. Napoleon, the revolutionary artillery-man from Corsica, dreams of a family of emperors, kings and princes; the blacksmith Mussolini dreams of leading the people back again into the safety of those old-established institu- tions in which he was born. And, without their knowing it, behind the democratic masterfulness of such men there is, in their very mastery, a power that in- evitably uses them for that reconstruction of a momentarily disorganized world, which, in a deeper way than has been realized by the simple-minded prophets of “liberty, equality, fraternity,” restores society to those everlasting laws of nature which differentiate the strong from the weak, and the fine from the coarse, and make rulers and ruled as naturally as they make flowers. All the nineteenth century dream of democracy has culminated in a recogni- tion of aristocracy, which has nothing to do with governments or political theories, but which recognizes that aristocracy, properly so-called, is something else: a way of living, an attitude, a manner, of “style,” which, whatever the wrongs or the old aristocratic system against “the people,” has something to teach them which it is well worth their while to learn. This something “the people” have been very rapid in learning. They have looked upon their demagogues, with their dirty shirts, black nails, and promiscuous manners, and have realized that, whether or not they were right in their political ideas, they lacked something which these gentlemen and ladies who were their enemies possessed. And, instead of leveling down to the prophets of democ- racy, they have had the good sense to level up, and to learn from those politi- cally destroyed aristocrats those lessons of social refinement and distinction which, at all events, their old task-masters were capable of teaching them. The paradox of democracy is that its conflict with aristocracy has taught it that there is no harm in all men and women being gentle- men and ladies, and the present return to the artificial is in assertion of that democratic right. Here is where I see the reason, and even the hope, of the present return to the artificial. Mr. Beerbohm prophesied a new age of artifice. Mr. Shaw has fulfilled the prophecy by wearing evening clothes. However, Mr. Shaw does not fill the entire landscape. Others are on this strange old dancing-floor of the years, others who have instinctively come to the same conclusions, and who indeed go much further than merely wearing evening-dress. With these others, mostly very youthful persons, I have a great deal of sympathy, and, I hope, some under- standing of their attitude. For them artificiality is a mask which is at once amusing and protective. Even to ques- tion it had become a waste of time, a waste of that stuff, that youth, which a great authority has told us cannot endure. The years are few, the winds of Time blow swiftly, leaving little behind. A brief hour is left, a transitory oppor- tunity. To play, to pretend, to dance, to wear those old discarded romantic masks to hide the tears of our disillu- sionment, or to veil our fearful hopes. Our fearful hopes! What are they? That the world may become real once more, that behind our masks, behind our veils, the reality of things may take refuge, till it is ready to emerge in a truer, a sincerer, re:mbodiment. That reémbodiment will mean a joyous and serious acceptance of life as it is, its energies unimpeded by hypocritical con- ventions, of insincere moralities and specious sentimentalities. In fact, from this present Age of Artifice will emerge a world natural in the true sense, natural as the world has never dared to be before. And, paradoxical as it may sound, oy fashionable Artifice means that Romane is on the way back—escorted by Reason, for real romance is no denial of reality, by: only a part of it. i O USE Nietzsche’s phrase, the wor at present is undergoing a complete and drastic Revolution of all the Valyes Hard and unsympathetic as contempor. ary Youth may seem, and is, it is engaged with perhaps little consciousness of what it is doing, in testing the values of life as they have been presented to it. It has been brought face to face with much dis. illusionment, found much false that was offered it for true, and, not unnaturally— like all rash revolutionists—it has gone tp the extreme of believing that all the Past, as represented by its teachers, is untrue, and that, rather than tinker with it *twere better to shatter it to bits, and then remold it nearer to the heart's desire. So it has hardened its young heart, and, while it strives to work its will, it has gone on masquerade. Hence resylt many distressing and foolish manifesta. tions, such as always accompany revolu- tions, and are always temporary. The good and bad of the past are confused together, and Youth, as it has always done, though perhaps never so arrogantly as at present, turns a deaf ear to all wisdom but its own. ‘These tedious old fools!” So, wherever we look, in all the arts, as in social life, we find a dead-set against all naturalness, or expressiveness, all emotion, melody, grace, and even all beauty itself, as we have formerly under- stood these things, because they have come to represent to youth an old order which it considers to have played it false. Even such usual human characteristics as kindness, gentleness, pity and agreeable manners, have become démodé, and are regarded as signs of senility and softening of the brain. A hard worldliness is the note of this new cynicism, and a travesty of paganism has replaced, not merely a travesty of puritanism, but the homely old Christian virtues, which have come to seem as laughable as old-fashioned ora- tory. Young girls affect a Rabelaisianism of language which we have formerly associated with barrack-rooms, and every form of affectation is welcomed in propor- tion as it is further and further removed from “nature.” To this fetish of formalism woman has sacrificed the immemorial loveliness of her hair, regarding it apparently as a form of rhetoric; and, ‘the enemy of man,” asit is the fashion for her to proclaim herself, she wears it as mannishly as possible, chopping off its sentimental luxuriance, straightening it and flattening it like some gunman, or tough, and as afraid of the suspicion of a kink in it as a negro house- maid. Yet, with all these ungracious and ugly extremes, there is in this return to formal- ism, as I began by saying, an emulation of some of the virtues of aristocracy, such as restraint and style, though it expresses itself sometimes in grotesque parody. It is a welcome protest against sansculot- ticism, or, as we say nowadays, Bolshev- ism, it is a corrective against that form 0 socialistic brotherhood which has to often expressed itself in a tramp-like slovenliness, a week’s growth of beard, and stocking-feet. Uncomely as it may be, it is better than all such expressions of idealistic sloppiness. Also, it has 4 certain histrionic charm. It is better t play at being aristocratic than being “ourselves,” if that means being unkempt disorderly and dirty. After all, the powder-puff, the lipstick, and the manr cure-set are great civilizers, and tiresome and pathetic as are the manifestations ol vanity to which these civilizers have give rise, they have unquestionably raised the standard of personal fastidiousness y democratizing the ideals of elegance and style. 3A

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Reason, lity, but le world of life as Tt has uch dis. hat was urally— » gone to he Past, untrue, with it, its, and heart's 3 young : its will, ce result inifesta- ’ revolu- y. The -onfused always rogantly r to all ious old he arts, against ess, all ven all y under- »y have ld order it false. ‘istics as greeable and are oftening s is the | travesty nerely 2 | homely come to 1ed ora- isianism ormerly id every propor- emoved nan has ss of her herself, rossible, uriance, ke some 1 of the » house- ind ugly formal- nulation cy, such xpresses parody. nsculot- 3olshev- form 0! has too mp-like f beard, it may ressions t has 3 etter to n being nkempt, all, the e mami Hiresome tions ol ve give ised the ness by nce and for JULY 1927 129 THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE utterly unknown to these cocky little weaklings—I don’t believe he’s doomed. Also, he ‘used to possess the average amount of humor. It wasn’t much, but if it could be revived he could be made to see what a frightful ass he looks. Then, too, he knew Panglos and his well-known reputation and if I suddenly blurt out that Leigh’ is the ‘beloved Hyacinthe, the betting is that the good old primitive sensations of jealousy, fear, and an over- whelming desire to stand without dis- trust may bring about his rescue. By gum, it’s good enough to try.” HEN Christina Venning caused an appalling nerve disturbance by pushing back her chair. The floor was rugless. She was a heavy floppy person, given to sudden noises. She said in her raucous voice, “Let’s go out and see if Nature is making her usual mess of things,” and waddled across to the piazza. And as all the others were completely worn out and smoke-dried, they were very glad to follow. Leigh, who had been dying for sunlight, made a bound for the door. Pitt remained at the table. With one leg swung over the arm of a chair which was hardly big enough for his wide shoulders, and his well-shaped head thrown back, he was an attractive figure in that nice room. A very good-look- ing fellow, he should have been hard and tanned, dividing his time in pretty equal proportions between work and exercise. When Morden had been round a course with him two years ago he had driven a Jonesian ball. His clubs were rusty now. According to him, golf was a game for people who suffered from ar- rested development. He merely exercised his tongue. But as Morden was about to spring his big surprise and discover whether there remained anything human under Pitt’s veneer, Leigh made a dart from the door and placed herself between them. “Who’s coming for a walk?” she asked. Pitt shook his head and lit a cigaret. She turned to Morden. “Are you going to waste this lovely morning?” “No. As a matter of fact I was going to put it to an excellent use. But if no one else has any legs I'll walk you off your feet. I can tackle the other thing later.” She astonished him by saying, quite gravely, “I'd very much rather you did.” Whereupon she shot an odd smile at Pitt, ran her arm through Morden’s, and led him into the sun. NEITHER of them spoke again until they had cleared the house and its curiously unkempt garden. They turned off the road to the left and were skirting a shadowy wood. The valley lay stretched out below them, proud and fertile. The huge effort of man was shown in its cultivation, the natural genius of the earth, trained and ordered, so that it ran not into wild excesses but perennial burgeoning. Masses of white clouds, shaped fantastically, passed from time to time across the sun. Somewhere near by in the woods a bevy of crows was indulg- ing in raucous cawing. Probably they were the intelligentsia of their kind. And as Morden watched the girl whom he had seen so often on her way to the toom in which Panglos had written his plays, it seemed to him that she had been born to be a faith, a reliance, a refuge. In addition to the young beauty of her face and body she had sensitiveness and emotion, a fine simplicity and frankness, and in her eyes, more now perhaps than before, the indication of a noble soul and a Senerous spirit. She gave out health, strength, and sanity as did the wood and valley, and might have stood to Rodin as Woman, who, according to the original tule and ancient practice, would burgeon like the earth. Among the unessential people in that house she was as out of Place as a sea-gull among parrots, as the actual sky seen through a window of a theater set. It was a tragedy that she should be wasted on Pitt as he had now bec ymme. Cosmo Hamilton’s Story (Continued from page 65) She talked as she kept stride for stride with Morden. “‘T miss the old house,” she said, “and my responsibility.” “You must,” said Morden sympatheti- cally. ““Of course I know very well that I was no real help to Edmund—what did I know of life? But it was good to believe that the mere act of his reading his work to me day after day gave him confidence. Confidence! ‘Does that strike you as a curious word?” “No,” said Morden, “‘not in his case. Brilliant as Panglos was, a master crafts- man, he had the humility of all great workmen. He never believed that he knew everything there was to learn. That’s why every one of his plays was an improvement on the last. Poor old Panglos. I miss him frightfully.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears. ‘So do I,” she said. “I loved him. He was so veritable and unalloyed-—not spurious and adulterated like the people we’ve left behind.” She might have added that he had an extraordinary fascination, as well as tenderness and the gift of laughter. It didn’t surprise Morden that she con- fessed to love. What filled him with as- tonishment was the fact that she had engaged herself to Pitt before that sudden fatal illness which had taken Panglos from the stage. And he wondered whether perhaps this engagement had brought Panglos to the mood for death. HE said, “What have you done with his rooms?” “T’ve left them just as they were.’ “Shall you always leave them like that?” “Ves. ... Every now and then, at night, I go up at the hour when Panglos and I used to smoke a pipe together and sit in my old chair. We were very old friends and I like to think that his spirit, which must be earth-bound, because he adored you and left much unfinished work, comes there and listens to me. There is nothing morbid in such a thought. I call it loyalty.” Leigh put her hand on his arm. “The next time I’m in town,” she said with a catch in her voice, “‘may I join you?” “Do,” said Morden. ‘‘He’d like that very much.” They came to the end of the wood— to a place where the hill was open, wild and rough, with heather growing in a wilderness of bracken among which scrub oaks stood like pigmies. A strong breeze was blowing in which there seemed to be the tang of the sea. She drew up suddenly and put her foot on a rock. She said, “‘ You’ve been wondering why I suppressed the fact just now that I am Edmund’s beloved Hyacinthe, as_ he always called me—haven’t you?” “Ves,” said Morden, “I have.”’ “You were disappointed in me for that.” “Yes,” said Morden, “ I was.”’ “You thought I had something to hide from Jack which had better remain hidden?” “Ves,” said Morden, “I did.” She nodded. “I saw it in your face. Go on being honest and tell me this: if you imagined that my relations with Edmund were the same as those of other girls with whom his name was attached, why did you think it worth while to side with me against Jack and see if you couldn’t make him human by telling him the truth?” Morden stuck to honesty. “TI thought it worth while,” he said, ‘‘ because Jack used to be a friend of mine and I’m devoted to you.” “In spite of your suspicions?” “In spite of everything.” She gave him a grateful hand. “TI shall never tell Jack or you or anyone what I was to Panglos,” she said, with a curious gravity. ‘“‘That’s got to remain unsaid. And as you in- tended to help me without an explana- GON..." “Tt doesn’t matter a bit.” ’ UT he wasn’t honest in that. He was sufficiently out of range of the spirit of the age to hope to the depths of his heart that she had been nothing more to Panglos than a faith, a reliance, a refuge, and the inspiration that he had known her to be. Then, too, as he had discovered when he had introduced Pitt, he loved and wanted her. She had been captured by Pitt, who had youth on his side, before he could go to Panglos and ask for permission to speak. His chances had been small in any case then, and because she was still engaged to Pitt they were even smaller now. All he could do was to help. “T stopped you just as you were going to tell Jack,” she went on, “because I want to do so myself.”’ “Then I’m glad you did.” ask her why. But she, knowing Morden’s delicacy by its practical application—hadn’t she been treated with the utmost chivalry by him during those three Panglos years? —instantly told him why. In the manner of women she went the long way round. “T loved Panglos, as I have just confessed. But not in the sort of way in which I was burning to love.” “You mean in the wifely way?” “Yes, which begins with the love of loving and develops into possessive love— the wifely-motherly way.” “And when you saw John Pitt . . “The search, on which every girl goes, was over. He was the man of dreams. I suppose it’s amazing to men, who are cautious, that we should know at first sight the one to whom we are ready to give everything and face trouble, pain, and possible disillusion.” “Most amazing,” said Morden. “Nine times out of ten men ask themselves and others why women, and especially lovely women, ever consent to marry the sort of creatures who follow them about. But it isn’t always caution that holds us back from proposing. We know at first sight, He didn’t ” too. Sometimes it’s humbleness—a sense of inferiority. Did you ever think of that?” HE laughed. “ Jack forced me to think of that.” “But he loved you from the moment he saw you. It was stamped on his face.” “T know. But it took a month in which to get him to say so. And then in the usual way it was I who proposed to him.” “You mean in a manner of speaking?” “No, I don’t,” she said, laughing again. “‘I mean literally in so many words. One of the reasons why I loved him was because in those days he was new and young, natural and healthy, with burrs all over his coat. It’s incredible how quickly the poison of high-brow infantilism has reduced him to what he is.” “Tt’s unbelievable,’’ said Morden. “The change dated from the night that he was the guest of honor at the monthly dinner of the Anthropophagi.” “Who the dickens are they?” “The men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. From that moment he was a different person and being new to the city, and never having been among what he calls the Literati before, he was an easy mark. That was six months ago. Gradually and gradually since then his blood has become like water and all the lover in him has petered out, so that he has forgotten to kiss me when he sees me or find the slightest thrill at the sight of me.” “He ought to be kicked,”’ said Morden, “or, on second thoughts, packed off to a sanatorium which is run by a prize-fighter. He is suffering from swollen head. No, I’m wrong. It’s cirrhosis of the vanity. Whatever it is, it’s appalling. It’s turned a once virile, honest, and original-minded fellow into the mere conceited echo of the sham intellectuals who scratch each other’s backs. If I had not been brought up to play the good old game of golf according to the rules I should beg you to give him the chuck without another thought.” Was it humbleness which prevented him from adding “and marry me at once?” She shook her head. “I can’t. He happens to be the man who has my num- ber on him. He and I fit into the huge picture puzzle which makes up life— that is, the little part of life that belongs to the brief period in which we are con- cerned. I’ve got to give him a chance.” “All right,” he said. “It isn’t for me to argue. If I can be of the slightest assistance, let me know.” “T needed this,” she said. “It has brought me to the cross-roads. There’s going to be a fight between the Modernist and the Primitive that will raise the dust.” “Yes, but does the Modernist fight?” “I’m optimist enough to think that Jack hasn’t become sufficiently a Modern- ist to have lost the use of his fists. At any rate I love him enough to try.” Her chin went up and the look of challenge that he had seen before came into her eyes again. “T am full of passions, prejudices, principles, and pity, and every other ingredient of which trouble is madé up— trouble being life—and if I’m not to be taken seriously, I’m not to be taken at all. As a bachelor Jack may continue to indulge in his intellectual adventure as long as ever he likes, but before we go to the altar he will have to be made to prove that something does matter—and that something must be me.” OMETHING did matter to the Modernist after all, it appeared. And that was food—at any rate to those ad- vocates of the creed who were spending the week-end with Pitt. Having break- fasted well from eleven to twelve, lunched robustly from one to three and tea-ed with chocolate cake from five to six they were ready and eager to put away an excellent dinner from eight to ten. Leigh and Morden had enjoyed a long and delightful walk. Finally they had watched the sun go down from the top- most point of the hill, gravely and with- out words, as became witnesses to the death of a day. They came back to the house to find it gleaming with lights. It made a beacon in its loneliness to the surrounding country. In the large old- fashioned sitting-room the guests were prowling about impatiently like animals in a zoo. They had scented dinner and could hardly bear the agony and distress of waiting to take their places at the table. None of them had washed. They were not in exactly the same condition at that moment as they had been when they appeared for breakfast, for the reason that tousled heads were more tousled, un- pressed clothes in a still further condition of creases. Mental spasms had wom them out, so that they were all, for a wonder, utterly wordless then. AC THE sight of Leigh, sparkling with health after her exercise, Weeman, looking more than ever like a sort of dilap- idated Pickwick, raised his piping voice. “Food, food, food,’’ he cried. ‘Where have you been all this time? Don’t keep us waiting any longer, for pity’s sake. We're starving.” And Stogel, who had been glooming hungrily in a corner, bounced up and down like a huge India-rubber ball. “Oh, God! oh, God!” he said, “this Sunday smell—it’s agony to me.” And with a really pathetic unrestraint he made a dash for the door which led to the kitchen and sniffed and sniffed. Leigh waved her hand and ran up-stairs. “T’ll go and fetch Jack,” she said. She found him sitting at the table in his den with his head on the back of his chair and his feet on his manuscript. He was fast asleep. He was surrounded with the butts of cigarets, which went to show that he had been working, or trying to work, for an hour at least. He opened his eyes as Leigh went in and the sight of her beauty and exuberant healthiness moved him to momentary warmth. Admiration flicked into his eyes before he could retire behind the stucco of his pose. And Leigh put her arm round his shoulder. (Continued on page 130)

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130 Tretelse-taceMmet-telelela-behamt-me (5 PTedahetel-mboet-sem-telemuceeelseu-y Aum erywhere, It is crystal-clear, gas safe, harmless, effective. No color to stain. No odor to onflict with your perfume. OFT am detele-Mh 4-1) sh amcomere! rel=saceyer-) Mett-lecesectioluae-tele meets barrassing odor. Heck-Conard Company Kansas City ge CHECKS PERSPIRATION THE Cosmo HARPER’S BAZAR SPIRIT OF THE AGpR Hamiulton’s Story (Continued from page 129) “Have you missed me, Jack?” she asked, with her adorable face within an inch of his lips. Pitt yawned and stretched. “The muse, my mistress,” he said, “the fool— has had me in her arms.” Leigh drew herself away. As many times before, his roundabout announce- ment of having outgrown the vulgarity of affection was like a blow in the face. “Have you been frowsting all the afternoon?” He resented the word. “You have a way,” he said, “of being egregiously undergraduate—by which I mean a hundred per cent. uncouth. If you must know—and I suppose you must—I’ve been dallying with words, going on with the mosaic of unintelligibility which I intend to cal] a novel.” He laughed at that. And so did she. In fact it was almost a guffaw. ‘‘When are you going to let me read your opus? I’m dying to know what it’s all about.” “It’s about nothing,” he said, proudly. “May I remind you of the fact that I am not writing for Sally, the chewing-gum queen, nor for the women whose fetishes are pearls and chinchilla, who dip into a book between bouts of bridge and danc- ing—and then only if it’s been labeled decadent or is something they ‘ought’ to read. This thing of mine has nothing in it but a mood, a vice, an evasion. It has no plot or story in the common manner. Its characters are not persons, but sym- bols. They talk but never discuss. I am writing it solely for the edification of the unclouded brains of the English-speaking world to the number of exactly three hundred. Therefore I must pay its expenses myself because every copy will be given away, duly autographed. Intelli- gence and money never go together.” “What rot you talk,” said Leigh. And this, oddly enough, was very high praise to Pitt. He was all the more frightfully pleased with himself because he had actually managed to write a hundred and seventy-six words. His usual average for an hour was ninety-six or so. : “It’s astonishing,” he said wearily, “how really difficult it is to write any- thing that no one can understand. It requires a special genius. There is only one man alive who can do it in addition to myself. I’ve forgotten his name.” EIGH stood back and put him under a minute examination. What a paradox he was! Built like an athlete. with a small, round, well-cut head, immense width of shoulder, standing six foot one, he ought by the intentions of Nature to have spent the day from sun- rise to sunset hacking at trees with an ax, or, stripped to the waist and with rippling muscles, clearing undergrowth. It was not less absurd to see him in that room and in that attitude than in a velvet lined atelier of a famous dressmaker messing about with patterns and pins. He had loved her in those days and said so, had been made giddy by her loveliness and flung into honest articulation by her touch. It was almost six months—con ceive such a thing—since he had kissed her. All the same, for what he had been when she had known him first, Leigh loved him and was filled with a burning desire to haul him out and stand him on solid earth. As she had confessed to the sympathetic Morden she was wholly and magnificently woman, ready and willing to give in abundance but demanding a return. Her pride had been deeply wounded at his gradual unresponse, his complacent disregard of her feminine charms and wiles. Her vanity, of which she had as much as every honest woman, had suffered a tremendous shock. If, at that moment, however, he had broken through his stucco, caught her into his arms and, after primitive words, kissed her breath away, she would have can- celed immediately her plan to jerk him back to sanity. As it was, she might have been unlovely, ungraceful, old. And even when she stood in front of him, exuding beauty as a rose gives out the scent of heaven, he remained indifferent and unmoved. In fact he looked through her as one might look through a window at an interesting object somewhere in the near distance and said, “Yes, ars est celare artem There is not the slightest doubt.” And he waved his hand about and added “Not easy, not easy.” WHEREUPON, chilled to the mar. row, Leigh turned on her heel and left. “All right, then,” she said to her. self, “if I can’t tempt my way through your hideous affectation I'll batter jt down.” By this time, angry and impatient cries were rising from below. The chorus of “We want dinner, we want dinner” was being led by little Alex, whose soft fat hands were beating time on the stairs, But Morden was in the bath and Leigh on her way to one, and the old-fashioned woman who refused to be called a maid had no intention of serving dinner until every chair was filled. Even when Pitt, unwashed and up- brushed, had taken his place at the head of the table and all the others, twitching to eat, were duly seated, it was necessary to wait for the belated arrival of that “disgustingly muscular person Morden” and the representative of “vain and trivial womanhood” who powdered her nose, colored her lips, and ran a comb through her hair. With the entrance of the baked meats silence reigned—at least a sort of silence. Little Alex especially illustrated eating with succulent noises and much elbow play. It was Christina Venning, a quick eater, who announced presently, much to Leigh’s astonishment and delight, that she had been speculating all the after- noon as to the identity of the beloved Hyacinthe. If she had been primed to make this statement by Leigh and Morden she couldn’t have done so at a more appropriate moment. She said, “It’s pretty obvious that Panglos, in a moment of unusual delicacy, left all his money in this dramatic way so that the recipient should not be tarred with the same brush as all the other women who went in and out of his life.” Weeman chipped in. ‘“‘Most women would be tarred and feathered,” he said, “and walk along Fifth Avenue at the busiest time of day in order to come into half the money he left.” Stogel agreed. “But you don't imagine, do you,” he asked, “that the papers won’t quickly ferret out who the person is and publish her photograph with an interview? I give them twenty- four hours.” And Pitt said, trying to dismiss the subject, “A chorus girl, a fluffy-headed Broadway gold digger, Lulu something.” UT Christina Venning, who wished to goodness that she might be left so large asum of money by a dead dramatist of any other man, turned suddenly om Morden with a gleam of cunning. She had been vastly intrigued. “How silly I am,” she said, as though every one didn’t know it. ‘Why specu- late? Here’s a man who can tell us who she is. Here’s a man who shared a house with Panglos, knew all his women, and, ol course, was well acquainted with the beloved Hyacinthe.” Looking at Pitt, Morden said quietly, ‘I know everything. Why not? She came to my house every afternoon at four o'clock and left again at seven, and on her way up to my top floor where Panglos did his work, she dropped in to see me several times a week. An adoreble person. I would gladly have made her my wife.” “Oh, ho,” said Master Stogel, ‘2 collec- tor of second-hand goods.” And won 4 burst of laughter. Oddly enough Pitt was interested now. He regarded Morden as a man of rectitude, an old-fashioned person who held that women should be virtuous, a? all that sort of thing. In his own nalvé (Continued on page I 32)

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aE en, he d. Ip might resting ‘tance, arlem, And added, mar- el and © her- rough ‘ter it it cries rus of ”” was ft fat stairs, Leigh hioned . maid r until id un- e head tching ‘essary f that den” n and od her comb meats ilence. eating elbow quick uch to , that after- eloved ned to lorden more s that licacy, ic way tarred other ife.” women e said, at the ne into don’t at the ho the ograph wenty- iss the headed thing.” hed to ‘o large tist or ily on a She though specu- us who 1 house and, of th the juietly, 2 She oon at ‘n, and where d in to Jorz ble ide her ( ollec- won 4 erested man of n who is, and h naive Exquisite Rubinstein creations for daily care—in summer Cleanse—Y outhify Valaze Water Lily Cream—most delightful and Juxuri- ous of all face creams—cleanses wonderfully—contains a youth-giving essence seeped from myriads of water- lily buds. Keeps your complexion exquisitely fine, soft- toned and entrancingly smooth. 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Besides eee the problem of what to wear with voguish white shoes, Ariel lends an added charm to the evening costume. rtcraf Silk Stockings “That AreSuperior” Each Month ANew Golor pAagsHA THE SPIRIT OF THE AGHa Cosmo (Continued from page 130) days he had looked upon Panglos with a very definite horror and believed that every woman with whom he had dealings must of necessity be a drab. “‘ You would have married her, Morden?” And the answer was, “‘Gladly, thank- fully.” URING all this Leigh’s eyes were dancing with excitement. Without any effort on her part the battering ram was at work. Morden signaled to ask whether he should continue to answer questions or swing the subject out of general dis- cussion so that she might take it up with Pitt. To which Leigh signaled back, “Go on, go on. Nothing could be better.” “Do you mean to say that this girl was shut up with Panglos every blessed day?” Morden answered Christina Venning’s question with a preliminary smile. “Every day including Sunday,” he said. “And as you all seem so keen to know about this incident, this romance, I see no reason why I shouldn’t tell you that it was the only one of Panglos’s numerous affairs that never got about.” “Everythiag gets about,” said Wee- man. “We have the telephone, the mail and telegraph services, the paper, the water supply, and women.” “Perfectly true,” said Morden, “but the regularity of her visits and their curious time of day put the gossips off because she was generally considered to be a nice young person who came to type his work. Besides she always came on foot. There was never any sign of a machine with a silver angel on the bonnet. If your memory wasn’t so short, Jack, you could give her name.” “T could? Why?” “You often met her in my rooms when she had finished with Panglos.” “In your rooms? I did?” Pitt was astonished. ‘Yours? But all the people I met in your rooms were golf maniacs and tennis fiends. I’m perfectly certain there was no one there who came under the easily recognizable heading of what was known as the Panglos girl.” Before Morden answered this he shot another quick glance at Leigh. He re- quested to know whether this was the precise moment in which to chuck the bomb. Hadn’t she announced her inten- tion of doing so herself? In the nod that she gave him he was convinced that he read the words, ‘‘ Yes, chuck with all your strength.” AND so he did, turning back to Pitt. “How about an afternoon shortly.after you loomed over the horizon and came to tea with me? I mean, if you can remem- ber, the second time. There were three people in my den. One was a tall, motherly, and therefore worried woman, my sister; another was a dried-up thin man who had tired eyes from wading through manuscripts and therefore wasn’t a publisher. The third was Hyacinthe. If there had not been a table between you as you came in, you would have fallen on your face.” Every one could see that Pitt, coming out of his fog of indifference and trivial posturings, was throwing his thoughts back to the hour and day which Morden had described. It was no more difficult to look into the mechanics of his brain than those of an open clock. The blank expression, the jerk of the head, the gasp, the open mouth, the widening eye. ... “ Leigh!” It was almost a scream. “He feels, he feels,”’ cried Leigh in her heart. ‘There is hope for both of us then.” The whole ghastly truth marched company by company into John Pitt’s brain. A chorus girl, a fluffy-headed Broadway gold digger, Lulu something. ... Leigh, his future wife! “Well, why not?” asked Leigh. And when, with his face gone white, he met her smiling eyes, it was easy for her and for Morden to see that the bomb had Hamilton’s HARPER’S BAZAR Story blown him not only through the roof of the house but into the realization that hi creed was the most pitiful drivel; tha by God, something did matter and tha; something was himself. ‘ Rather as a doctor watches the ef. fects of drugs upon a patient, Morden studied Pitt during that pulsating pause All his respect for this young felloy would have been revived if he hag sprung to his feet, flung aside affectation seized Leigh by the shoulders and de. manded to know what she was to Panglos then and there. With keen excitemen; and joy he saw the veins swell up in the forehead of his friend, and an immeng horror swamp the usual complacency oj his expression. He saw him undergo the agony of the common or garden man, as} is demonstrated in a street accident, 4 hospital ward, in war. He would have given a very great deal if Pitt had had the courage to be perfectly natural under these trying circumstances, allowed him. self to be swept away by whatever wa; primeval under his so-called intelligen: assumption of complete neutrality emotion. : He had to confess to himself that Leigh was acting well, brilliantly. There she sat between Stogel and Ambler with a most tantalizing smile on her red lips, her eyes dancing with amusement. She played the part of brazen hussy almost too well for him. S AND as he turned from Pitt to put her under a close examination he was quite unable, after what she had left unsaid on the hill, to form a definite conclusion as to her relations with Panglos. She had not been frank for once. She ha strengthened in his mind the uneasy feel- ing that her love of Panglos had placed her in the category of all the other women who had passed in and out of his life It was a thought that he hated to hold. But to his intense chagrin, Pitt proved that the anemia of intellectualism wa: firmly inhis system. He loaded his fork with peas, laughed, and said, “‘ Why not?’ —echoing Leigh. It was as though Leon Erroll had entered, beautifully drunk balancing a hundred slippery plates in « cunning right hand, into the middle of the most dramatic moment of Pagliacci He then twisted the conversation along 4 trivial tangent and held forth in the best intelligent manner on the subject 0 happy endings. It left Leigh as flat as a pancake an Morden like a pricked balloon. Until half-past eleven that night Pit was the life and soul of the party. No one had ever seen him so amusing or s absurd. He insisted on caricaturing th: grave and pompous addresses of univer sity professors on scientific subjects am even held up some of the _best-know! leaders of his own set to the most utte: ridicule. All on ginger ale. It appeared to Leigh and Morden tha the unexpected identification of the be loved Hyacinthe had left him, after th first rough shock, without an ounce ‘ decent feeling. He had bounced back t carelessness and indifference as a punch ball returns to the fist after a shatterin blow from the shoulder. It was not until a general move Wa made from the table, late that night that Leigh got a chance to discuss he disappointment with the sympathet! vandal. They withdrew together iro the room in which there was a fog ‘ smoke and went out to the piazza whic was bathed in the light of the moon. ‘“‘He’s too far gone,’”’ she said. “ was a most appalling failure.” ; “To think that even that didn’t work I’m flabbergasted,” said Morden. “W ha are you going to do?” ? ; For a moment Leigh stood with he shoulders against one of the pillars, ! young Diana, tall and splendid. “T sha write a note to-night in which I sha resign from my position as fiancée. I sha’ leave it on his desk to-morrow mornil: before going to the station. I shall neve see him again.” “Then what?” (Concluded on page 134)

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LGE the roof of on that his rivel; that r and that es the ef. t, Morden UNg pause, ing fellow he had ffectation, S and de. to Panglos, excitement | up in the nh immense lacency of ndergo the | Man, asit ccident, a ould have t had had ural under owed him. itever was intelligent itrality to that Leigh There she ler with a od lips, her ent. She sy almost to put her > was quite unsaid on clusion as She had She hac neasy feel- ad placed ler womer wf his life to hold. itt proved alism was d his fork Vhy not?’ ough Leon ly drunk lates in Idle of the Pagliacci on along a n the bes ubject 0 ncake ant night Pit! r, Noone ing or s turing th of univer jects an est-know! nost utter orden tha of the be after th ounce ‘ d back t _ a punch shatterin: move Wa: at night iscuss he mpatheti ther {ror a fog ¢ zza whic noon. aid. “I jn’t work es Wha with he’ se, Isha > mornin hall neve With the atomizer top... O a new, non-greasy brilliantine... a fluid and hair food combined curling A vegetable dressing that sets the wave, adds youth and life to the hair fo A new, perfected brilliantine. In a unique package, with an atomizer top. A vege- table brilliantine, that is both a food and curling fluid for your hair. Marcelle Brilliantine gives life, lustre, youthful beauty to the hair. It sets the wave, keeps your hair in place . . . soft, radiant, and clean. A food . . . for Marcelle Brilliantine feeds the tiny follicles, the hair cells. Light and airy, non-greasy, it will not mat or “streak.” Ideal for those who s/eek their hair. Atomizer Top for Marcelle Brilliantine comes to you in a bottle that will grace any boudoir. An atomizer top for proper and easy application. Your permanent wave—minutes of intense baking—has dried your hair. Or your curling iron has baked away some of its life and flat- tened the naturally round hair that grows from each follicle. Greasy hair dressings keep the hair flat. It mats, and when the grease becomes set the hair loses its lustre and life. Marcelle Brilliantine, as it feeds the hair, Correct Application promotesits proper growth. Sprayit on with the atomizer top. Or spray your comb if you prefer. Likeamillion bottled sunbeams thetinyatomsof Marcelle Brilliantine impart a lasting radiance. Leading Department Stores and smart oe now display Marcelle Brilliantine Or sent di- rect to you if your shop can not supply you. If you order of us, please give your favorite store’s name. With the atomizer top— $1.50 per bottle. Fill-ins, 75c per bottle. Slightly higher in Canada and foreign countries. Delicately perfumed. In five tints... Naturelle, lanche, Couleur de Rose, Rachel or Fleur Marcelle Poudre de France .. . a French face powder of fine texture and purest ingredients. es de percher. $1.00 in the United States. A sample of each sent free upon request. Marcelle Creme de France . . . a French vital- izing, cleansing and massage cream. A perfect blending of purest ingredients that revive jaded tissues and nourish the skin. A most efficient cream, lovely to use. $1.00 inthe U. S. Please mention shade of powder preferred. by BEGGS . . . Marcelle Building . . . 1731-1749 No. Western Avenue, Chicago © Beggs, 1927 — The atomizer tops serve a double func- tion: first, ease of application; second, uni- formity, for the fine spray can be evenly applied in a second. The atomizer top can be removed and used again and again with Marcelle Brilliantine fill-ins. Each Marcelle Brilliantine bottle with atomizer top is packed in a carton with an interesting booklet fully describing the advantages of Marcelle Brilliantine de France and other Marcelle requisites.

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134 - | lf Y ou Lived in Paris — If you attended all the openings of the great Paris houses, if you lunched at the Ritz every day, you could know no more of fashion than if you read Harper’s Bazar. For the price of one luncheon at your favorite Paris restaurant you can have in intimate knowledge of the newest fashions. Six dollars will bring you Harper’s Bazar for two years at just half the single copy price. Harper's Bazar, 119 West 40th St, New York Please send me Harper's Bazar for two years. I enclose check or you may charge this tome. (Extra copy | free for cash.) Name DLA ikeieisedtidddhinsudecisctiedcademawesnadosewhthsscencuctebiedseatastebeaey City State $4, HARPER’S BAZAR 5G For two years at half the single copy price HB7-27. | $2 extra for Canadian postage; $4 for foreign; regular subscription price $4 a year. THE Cosmo (Concluded from page 132) “Oh, well,” she said, ‘‘I’m young. I shall nurse my wounds in a quiet corner and, as soon as I’m convalescent, resume the inevitable search. I must do my job. I may have the luck to find a man who will love me decently and honestly in the good old-fashioned way, but he will be only a substitute, a sort of understudy. He will belong to a part of the picture puzzle into which neither of us fit. All the same I sha’n’t wear the martyr’s wreath instead of whatever is the most becoming hat at the moment. And there will be children, thank God. I am a born mother, and I will make it my business to see that they shall fit into the scheme with very much better success. At least I'll do my best.” Morden held out his hand. you luck,” he said. It was not caution that held him from telling her to her face that he would re- joice to make her his wife. It was humble- ness—for the reason that he was much too old for her. Youth to youth—that was his motto, if he had one. He was to remain a lonely piece in what Leigh had called the picture puzzle of life. Leigh held his hand for a moment warmly and gratefully. She said, “I am honored in being your friend.” But when, later, she went up to her room, it was not to go to bed. Fora little over an hour she sat at the open window watching the lights go out one by one, like tired eyes, in the valley below. Her heart was heavy and her spirits at zero point. She felt that she had been an unwilling witness to an act of suicide. In no other way could she describe to herself the attitude adopted by Jack Pitt at the dinner table. So far as she was concerned, that man had cut his throat. It was irightful, sinful, a deplorable waste. She was angry, in the way in which every normal, warm-hearted gener- ous person is angry, at the sight of ruin. “T wish UT just as she was going to bed her door opened and Pitt entered. She wheeled round in astonishment. It seemed to her that even he must have realized the fact that he had cut the thin thread which had kept them together through those widening months. “What do you want?” she asked. He shut the door and locked it, and when he turned again her heart leaped at the sight of his face. He was white and blazing with anger. There was nothing of the Modernist in his new expression— nothing of anemia, fake intellectualism, artificiality. In the angle of his jaw, the honest rage in his eyes, the set of his shoulders, he was the Primitivist. She had all she could do to refrain from utter- ing acry of joy. Here was Pitt, the man. Not John Pitt, but Jack Pitt, who bore her number, as she had seen it at once in Morden’s studio that unforgetable after- noon. He strode across to where she stood and seized her roughly. He didn’t care whether he hurt herornot. Neitherdid she. “Now then,” he said. ‘‘What were you to Panglos? Come on, out with it.” And he shook her so that her bobbed hair fell over her forehead like that of a foreign pianist in a moment of ecstasy. Hope, excitement, delight went to her head like wine. She said, “Why should I tell you? You're absolutely nothing to me.” “Nothing to you?” He shouted the words. “‘You belong to me. I own you. You’re mine.”” He drew her against his chest and kissed her over and over again— honestly, healthily, and with the passion of the common or garden man. “I love you,” he said, “you fool. What do you mean by talking such cursed rot?” And he pushed her away so that once again he could take her by the shoulders and shake her into the realization that he was the king of beasts, the royal male, the owner of her body and soul. And that time he hurt her so much that she nearly screamed with joy. “All the same,”’ he said thickly, “I’m going to know what you were to Panglos. \nd, by God, if you don’t tell me I'll force it out of you.” SPIRIT OF THE AGR Hamiulton’s HARPER’S BAZAR Story ‘“*Why do you want to know?” Shown. breathless. ae “You’ve never wanted t, know anything about me before, You didn’t care.” “We won’t go into that. The fac remains that I own you. Your Past js mine as well as your future. Everythin, you’ve ever done or thought belongs to me. She threw back her head and laughed Reveling in this marvelous and unex. pected recovery, this breakdown, she made up her mind that every last stick and stone and piece of plaster of his affec. tation should fall about his ears. She would make him stand naked and ashamed among the débris. H" BACKED away from that laugh. ter. Every ripple of it went past his ears like the whistling of machine-guy bullets. “T tell you that I love you,” he said, “And that my respect and admiration have grown up about your feet like the great stones of a plinth. Even through the yellow hours of days and months of my blasted tomfoolery, while I’ve mucked about with these driveling little worms, I’ve loved you.” Seeing that her laughter hurt him, she laughed again. “I don’t believe yoy,” she said. “I’ve seen no proof of it.” “Proof? What proof was needed? Under all conditions, sane or crazy, play- ing the silly ass or going on with my job, I love you and am yours.” He caught her by the wrist and yanked her to him and kissed her on the mouth. ‘““Um-m,” she said to herself, for that was what she wanted and to which she had the right, and almost fainted in his arms. “Proof is always needed, daily, hourly proof, and as you didn’t give it I’ve torn you out of my heart. As to what I was to Panglos, who loved and proved his love, you have nothing what- ever to say. This is your house, but this is my room, and if you don’t get out I'll cry for help and have you flung down- stairs.”” She said this on behalf of every living woman as well as _ herself, and pushed Jack Pitt away. And if she hadn’t been convinced al- ready of his complete and absolute cure, what he then proceeded to do must have clinched that gorgeous fact. Like the typical he-man hero of the novels and moving-pictures on which he had poured such scorn, the hairy-chested primitives who, in daily life, hack down trees with axes and clear the undergrowth, see red when moved to rage and jealousy, demand purity of their wives and sweet- hearts, and thrill to sentiment, he whipped a gun from his pocket and held it to his hip. A gun—ye gods, a gun! the sight of it. “Now, then,” he said, his eyes blood- shot, his voice hoarse. ‘‘That’s enough from you. If you don’t tell me what you were to Panglos and what you did in his rooms every cursed day, this is the end of the whole business for you and me. Go on.” Longing to throw herself into his arms to mark his restoration, she tilted her chin defiantly and said, “Why do you want to know?” That question, like her previous laughter, shattered his principles. He gasped and fumbled for words. He might have come from the honest backwoods with an unpacked grip down-stairs. “Say it, say it,” she said. “Because I love and adore you and the ghastly hell of jealousy is more than I can stand.... Go on. Tell me the truth, or by God I'll finish you and put the gun in my mouth.” “I’ve promised never to tell.” The gun was cold on her breast. “Tt’s an absolute secret,” she said. The thing quivered over her heart. “He was my father,”’ she said. The gun was pitched through the window and fell with a_ thud. And giving a cry that must have been heard in the valley, he possessed her lips. “Um-m,” she said to herself, while her tears fell, “‘um-m, I needed that.” She adored fo

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136 he “Vagabond Sash’’ is the New SUMMER GIRDLE of the Fashtonables. An inspiration of Just the ‘‘hittle bit of something’ that makes you feel well dressed yet leaves you free as air. Sold in Only the Better Corset Shops. LOOK FOR THIS LABEL VAGABOND, SASH The JulySale at Chicago’s original Btetoemelcelas Among the interesting items in our July Sale is the LUNCHEON SET illustrated. Made of hemstitched entirely by hand in “blocks’’ and “wreath” design — obtainable only at “Litwinsky’s — 18x54 inch Runner—12 Mats 12x18 ins.—12 Nap- kins 15 x aga, ular Price $60. July Sale Price 950 (Ob co] Ob ©) ut Linens and Laces during July Send for New Catalog iwinshy THE LINEN STORE Inc 36 So. Michigan Boulevard } y y 4 } “— larversity Club Burlding Chic Ey sie) HARPER’S BAZAR EMPTY SHRINES Elisabeth Finley Novel Thomas’s (Continued from page 85) occurred to Susan that she ought to be proud of herson. His professors now con- sidered him remarkable, a scientific genius, but his abilities were not available for con- sumption in her circle, his coin did not pass currently. People in general, and girls in particular, did not care whether he had isolated a germ or was on the way to discover a cure for leprosy. Johns Hopkins might declare him brilliantly promising, but he presented to the ordinary observer a shambling, awkward exterior, and while the report of his scientific researches encouraged Susan to hope for a future celebrity, advanta- geous to her salon, it had never melted the icicles from her heart. She bade him Godspeed with a relieved good-will when Dick finally carried him off, on the small yacht his mother had lent him for the trip. El Gato Negro, a cabaret of the second class, chiefly patronized by Cubans and South Americans, bored Dick. The silhouettes of black cats, Pierrots, and Pierrettes that decorated its walls, were only a naif and old-fashioned attempt at sophistication. The dancers offered nothing novel to a young man whose theatrical education had been the Follies, and who had taken his B.A. from Florence Mills and the Plantation Revue. He was about to suggest that he and Jim go on to one of the little theaters where they gave Zarzuclas, short pieces with a tabasco-like “pep,” when Jim, who was holding the program very close to his near-sighted eyes, read out a name. “Miss Personality.” “That sounds a bit different,” said Dick. ‘‘We may as well have one more go at it. Same old thing,” he added a moment later. A dark slender girl was dancing the tango. “Rotten,” said Dick. ‘Miss Per- sonality has no temperament. Come on, let’s go.” But Jim did not hear him. He was leaning awkwardly forward, his figure bent almost double, his near-sighted eyes strained and starting as he stared across the dance floor. “Well, if you feel that way about it!” laughed Dick, sitting down again. AMES made no reply. The girl had left her partner. She had thrown aside the great Spanish shawl which had covered her and she was dancing alone, her arms and bosom bare, her dress a wisp like sea mist, swaying back from the long line of her thighs as she floated in and out among the tables that edged the floor. “By Jove, Jim, you’re not such a bad picker after all,” exclaimed Dick as she came nearer. Her blue-black hair bound her head closely like a ribbon of moire, the eyes in her pale face had a purplish hue. Like pansies, thought Dick. His heart gave a wild thump—his circulatory system was easily affected by beauty. “God,” he cried, “that’s the fascinating woman I’ve ever seen!” Jim had risen, throwing over his cup of coffee with his elbow as he did so. He made a stumbling step forward. “Alberta, Alberta!” The name came clearly without his usual stutter, as if his heart spoke for him. The dancer stopped short before their table. She looked startled, not al- together pleased. Then suddenly she reached out her hand and her laugh rippled, her red lips opening on her white teeth like a pomegranate on its seeds. “Why, James!” she cried. ‘And you’ve upset the coffee just like the old days!” James, too, laughed happily. She had not seemed to be making fun of his clumsiness, but rather alluding to it as if it were an endearing peculiarity. “Won’t you sit down, Miss Per- sonality?” Dick pulled out a chair. He was never exactly backward with women. The girl was ravishing, prettier than any of the beauties of the Broadway revues, different, too. “Miss V-Varley,” introducing. most corrected James, Alberta hesitated. It was quite in accordance with the instructions of the management that the dancers should join appreciative clients at their tables, And Alberta had acquired a surface hardness during her two seasons jp Havana, that enabled her to joke easily in several languages, with the somewhat questionable mongrel clientele. Some. times she even enjoyed it—she only {el short when it came to non-professional hours. HE slipped into the proper seat Fortunately, James’s next remark reassured her. ““Where—” he began. Then with the tact that springs from fine instincts, he did not complete the question. “We were so sorry never to have heard from you. Carlion always said he thought you would write.” She understood. She had somehow always suspected that Darcy had not posted the letters. She was glad of it now. It would make it easier to go on. James went on talking. He seemed to be trying to pave the way for her. “T’ye been visiting the family at Palm Beach, Mother’s hot on a new villa. ... ” ““What’ll you take to drink?” inter. rupted Dick. ‘‘A highball?” “Champagne, please. Pol Roger, sec, 1911,” replied Alberta promptly, It was good for the trade to have men order wine. “Attaboy!” cried Dick. “I see you know how to get the best out of Havana.” She drank quickly enough when the wine had been brought, glancing with rather artificial coquetry at Dick, but when he had filled her glass for the second time, she let it stand untasted except for occasional quick, little gulps. She had turned toward Jim and seemed almost to have forgotten Dick. The new Jim, Alberta was reflecting, had grown up to his especial brand of ugliness. She liked the look of him. His big features, grotesque in a boy, were almost imposing in a man. Time hasa trick of evening things up. His stutter was observable only occasionally; she remembered that he had said that he would overcome it, and it was evident that he had overcome more than that. “Carlion hates Palm Beach,” Jim was saying. “Mother had to invent an art society to keep him busy, and he’s organizing a one-man show.” ‘“And what have you yourself been doing, James?” she questioned him. Dick interrupted again, this time in generous praise of his friend. “Jim won't tell you,” he said, “so I will. Besides automatically becoming a multi- millionaire at twenty-one. .. .” “Shut up, can’t you ?” said Jim. “Curses, by the way, on my in- provident ancestors who have left me at the mercy of mere parents. Besides being, as I have said, this impressive plutocrat, Jim is pretty hot stuff on the scientific side. Johns Hopkins is crazy about him. What’s the blamed bug you’ve isolated or invented?” James flushed. ‘“There’s one good thing about scientific research,” he said seriously. “Even if a fellow doesn't discover anything at least he can close up false trails.” He spoke gravely, and with a certain authority. Again Alberta thought him immensely improved. E HAD asked nothing about the interval since they had met. She wondered if he were avoiding it purposely. “I’ve been here two years,” she sal finally, thinking it best to throw 4 bridge over the chasm at once. “Perhaps you did not know that Granny died and Victoria got married, I was all alone, so then...” she hesitated, “I went to Italy to study violin, but I got ill there and couldn’t go very far. This offered,” she made a gesture toward the silhouetted decorations of El Gato Negro, “‘and I took it.”” There was 00 use of her going into the past more deeply than was absolutely necessary; since the Carlions knew nothing of what (Continued on page 137)

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for JULY 1927 EMPTY SHRINES Elisabeth Finley Thomas’s Novel (Continued from page 136) had happened between Darcy and herself. And why should she mention a voice and a career that had diminished to the vanishing point? “Oh,” she added, “I forgot to tell you about Sandro. He is a little Italian boy I brought back with me from Italy. He is eleven years old now. I got him a job here as page to take the coats and sticks. It makes it less lonely for me, having him. In the summer we go to Miami. I dance and play at one of the hotels that is open all the season.” : “Miami must be a hell hole in sum- mer,” commented Dick. “Oh, no,” said Alberta, “Sandro and I go to the beach for swimming. We sit in the shadow of the white windmill. I hear him his lessons and we read Italian.” Alberta did not add that they generally ended by talking of Milan, il maestro, La Mamma, while Sandro built sand castles in distant imitation of the Duomo or the leaning tower of Pisa. Sandro had the temperament of an artist, not of a scholar. Nor did she allude to her occasional revolts against the disillusioned present with its drab outlook when she felt that she would do anything, make any compromise with decency and honor, if only she might break away from the sordid routine of this lower theatrical order. “Tt’s getting late, and I live way down O'Reilly. It’s been wonderful, seeing you again.” She rose, holding out her hand. “Can’t we run you home in the car?” asked Dick. She noticed for the first time that Jim’s friend was handsome, blue eyed, well built, and strong for all his slenderness in his smartly tailored clothes. “Or better still,” he was saying, “‘come out on the yacht for a cocktail.” They were walking toward the cloak room. The other guests had left. Sandro, in the vestiaire, glowered at Dick ominously as he handed him his hat, the last one left upon the shelf. His duties were over for the evening. “What ails the infant matador?” laughed Dick. “Tt’s Sandro,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I won’t go on the yacht this evening. I’m always tired after danc- ing.” She often wondered if she did not owe to Sandro’s scowling chaperonage more than she did to her own courage. Jim’s bulging eyes scanned her thin face gently. “Of course you shall go home,” he said. “We'll tuck you in somewhere, young man.” He put his hand on Sandro’s shoulder with just the right gesture. ‘You will lunch with us to-morrow instead.” Dick’s low roadster stood long and shining in the moonlight outside. The three sat very flat on the front seat, their legs stretched out in front of them. James held Sandro in place on the running board. “We'll call for you at 12:30,” said Dick, as they stood on the narrow side- walk in front of her lodgings. “Good night.” “Good night.” “The Signor with the eye-glasses is molto simpatico,’ commented Sandro. “He wishes well to thee, Alberta.” Dick was silent for some time after he and Jim had climbed back into the car. He turned on the exhaust and raced for the dock at top speed. “Who is she, anyway?” he asked finally, when they were seated on the deck of the yacht. _“A girl I used to know,” was all that Jim chose to answer. Alberta hada right to her own reticences, he thought. She should tell Dick as much or as little as she chose. What she had been in the old studio days, what she had become in the Interval, mattered nothing to Jim. Now and a thousand years from now,” he remembered the phrase, and he did not change it. No girl would ever care for im, he knew that well enough. His experiences at dancing school and college Proms would have instructed him if he ad not always known it. Well, he must take it out in isolating a... . You needn’t be so beastly reticent,” said Dick. He got up and stretched himself. ‘Well, I’m going to turn in. So long.” VEN in the noonday it was delight- fully cool under the gayly striped awning on the deck of the Tango. Alberta, leaning back among the cushions, sipped her coffee, and revelled in the spotless brilliance of the little yacht. She enjoyed material things, when they were elegant, not just shoddily expensive. The luncheon had been delicious, the French chops especially. The meat in Cuba was generally so appalling. Sandro had been invited, too. He lay at full length, after the manner of his country- men, in the sunshine that flooded the stern. The lighthouse on Cabanas and the white and blue houses of Casa Blanca gleamed dazzlingly. Havana, op- posite, shimmered like a parti-colored ribbon along the shore. Dick had gone below to look for some snapshots which he had taken of a cock- fight. James leaned across to her. “Listen, Alberta,” he said, stuttering this time quite as much as in the old days, “if-if I can help you ever in any way, p-please don’t misunderstand me—I mean if you don’t like—I mean the Gato Negro doesn’t just seem—you see, I’m the only kind of a fellow a girl Gm... “T couldn’t find ’em at first,” Dick had reappeared in the gangway. He threw a cushion on the deck and sat down at Alberta’s feet to show her the photographs. And he rather monopo- lized Alberta the rest of the afternoon. ig BECAME evident almost at once that Dick was giving Alberta a rush. A boat was kept flying between the yacht and the dock with notes in which he proposed every conceivable way of seeing her that was compatible with her evening engagements. The races fitted best with her leisure and his tastes. She liked dashing out at breakneck speed along the Malacon, through the Vedado to the track, where he always had a good box. Dick’s wide acquaintance among trainers and jockeys took him often to the paddock, and James and Alberta had a chance to talk. “Whatever became of that tenor, I wonder,” Jim said one day. ‘‘ What was his name? Darton—Darcy. Carlion thought him a fearful bounder, but I rather suspected Mother of having a crush on him in a mild way.” Alberta had felt the blood recede from her cheeks. She hoped her voice was steady as she answered, “‘I wonder.” “IT picked a twenty-to-one shot in this race. Jenkins gave me the tip. I put on a dollar or two for you, Miss Varley.” Dick had rushed up from below, three steps at a time. ‘“‘What a bad actor!” He followed the start through his glass. The horse came in first and Dick was elated. ALBERTA gradually, in a fragmentary sort of way, learned of Jim’s ambi- tions. “It’s the only career,” he said. “The finest in the world, too, the one where a man can really take up the torch from the previous generation and pass it on when he has finished. The arts aren’t in it, with their renaissances and decadences! Art is individual, but science! Having,’’ he hesitated, “having more or less of a bank account is going to help a lot. In the first place it leaves me freer than most fellows, and then as soon as ever I really specialize I’m going to shell it all out in the line of laboratories and clinics. Thank God, Father didn’t hold me down with a trust fund for life— and it costs me very little to live, I loathe swank. I guess that’s because I’m a misfit where style is concerned! Do you remember my bum laboratory on Forty-seventh Street? Funny, wasn’t it? Well, I wish you could see the one at Johns Hopkins. 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Frederick Stearns and Company, Sole Importers, Detroit Created by PLEVI a eoecrerumes® nae see RANCE io a. aa ae “nd ul narew Geller uses carac this park as trimming °° her Lin of patent leah 1 opalescent kid. § dashing steP -meta or guf- Brochur e On Reques Style Andrew Geller | + + EXQUISITE FOOTWEAR : .- : 1656 BROADWAY NEW YORK Guinan A Nene Lik ee eee AS ON pe Ot to nd oe we HARPER’S BAZAR EMPTY SHRINES Elisabeth Finley Novel Thomas’s (Continued from page 137) of the men James most admired, ending with a prophecy of the possibilities in future discovery. During these recitals James’s plain features were lighted with a fire of fanatical enthusiasm, until they appeared almost handsome. Jim meant every word he said. But he also meant more than he said, much more. He meant that to him this pursuit of science must take the place of everything else that came to other men so easily, to take or leave. His very sense of balance and proportion taught him this. He saw himself as an in- congruity, biologically speaking. Scien- tists are inevitably perfectionists. He glanced toward Dick, stretched on the sand at Alberta’s feet, splendid as a young gladiator—the wide shoulders, the deep chest, the strong thighs, the perfectly arched insteps—and then at his own spindling, knock-kneed shins, dwindling into big, flat feet. Ugh! It was un- thinkable. OMETIMES, instead of going to the races, they all went for a swim in the small, close bay of Marianao. It was on the return from one of these expeditions that Dick, seated on the deck, smoking in the twilight in a silence intermittently broken, suddenly said, “Jim, I intend to marry Alberta.” For a moment there was no reply. The two men’s cigarets glowed like twin fire- flies in the dark. Jim was glad that it hid his face. He could not keep the muscles quite steady. It is one thing to give up, but it is quite another to give over. Of course, he had never really hoped, even for a moment. ‘““Do you know anything against it?” continued Dick. ‘Not that I’d care if you did.” “IT know only that to me Alberta is the one woman in the world, and that I'd give my soul to be just the sort of a fellow that you are.”’ He had blurted it out before he knew it. ‘““You don’t mean. . “T don’t mean anything,” more lightly, ” James spoke “except that I’m not a marrying man.” He achieved a rather forced laugh. ‘Wedded to science, you know, and all that sort of thing. We future Pasteurs and Curies have to make sacrifices. Go in and win.” And Dick required no urging. Ex- peditions of all sorts became even more frequent. Jim stayed on the yacht now, pretexting that he must catch up on some scientific reading, and left the situation free for Dick to operate unhampered. At first he had thought of leaving Cuba for the North at once, but upon reflection he decided that Alberta might need him (his presence acted as a sort of unofficial chaperonage), and that he would stay until the volatile Dick should be defi- nitely declared. He scarcely dou! .ted her reply. Dick was splendid, even though uncertain. He wondered if he would make her happy. He must, he thought— no one could fail Alberta. He had always hoped for himself, in an indefinite sort of way, that he would find her again, or some one just like her, but, then, there was no one like her, of course. And when he had found her, for a moment he had thought ... but it was only for a moment. He fancied that her gaze flickered with a sort of reluctance to look at his ugliness, though her eyes were always kind. He spent a good deal of time with Sandro. He loved children, and had a sort of natural paternalism, the result perhaps of affections denied at home. Alberta noticed this. Jim must marry a woman who could give him children. HERE are many excursions to be made near Havana, and Dick and Alberta profited by most of them. Dick picked them out of the guide-books that he had never even glanced at heretofore. He was already making love to Alberta in a way that he hoped was unmistakable. As a matter of fact, Alberta was not sure of its significance, but Dick was amusing, good-looking, altogether charming with his casual gaiety and laughing noncha- lance. And, above all, there did not seem to be in him that ‘unpleasant beast in ambush that had looked out at her from so many men’s eyes. Yet she did not feel the real understanding between them that existed, for instance, between her and Jim. With Jim she was quite at ease, perhaps it was because she had known him longer. Strange that he had never made love to her, even a little, Since that first afternoon on the yacht he had made few references to the past. Evidently that fluttering kiss behind the arras had been only an instinctive, boyish reaction to beauty. She had represented the primeval woman to him. In the light of a wider experience she saw this. Of course he was still un- attractive, especially in contrast to Dick, but he had individuality, was no longer negligible, and, despite his clumsiness, supremely a gentleman. Though not assertive he did not seem shy any longer That phrase of his, ‘“‘now and a thou- sand years from now”; she had never forgotten it, but it could not really have meant anything. Men were all the same, even the ugly ones. No doubt he was just like the others. There was no use count- ing on anything deep or lasting. The glamour was gone from life long ago— Darcy had taken it with him. She could see very well whither Dick was tending. Fortunately, Americans did not drive hard bargains, like the Latins, that was one comfort. She hoped that she could cheat a little with this jolly handsome boy, without incurring un- pleasant obligations for herself. Men’s feelings did not matter, they had none that were permanent. If it had been James, she would have acted differently, partly because of her affection for the Carlions. But it wasn’t James. Dick was certainly very fascinating, and Jim preferred any fine new microbe to her society, she reflected, slightly piqued. T CAME, one afternoon when Dick and she were sitting in the Miramar at tea. They had been dancing. ‘Do It Again” drowned the chatter at the other tables. “T guess I’ve got the soldier’s psy- chology, I need a band to help me march to battle,”’ said Dick, leaning across the table. ‘I’ve something to say to you, and you know what it is.’’ His ruddy face was just a little pale as he went on. Alberta shuddered. She had hoped to keep the thing just as it was, pleasantly iced for polite consumption. ““Can’t we cut out that sort of thing?” The eyes raised to Dick’s were not quite the pansy eyes of old. It was as if a torrid sun had burned the dew from them. ““No, we can’t.”” He looked at her fiercely, like the strong young animal he was. ‘“‘No, we can’t, and 4 s just this, Miss Alberta Personality Varley (God, what a name!).”” Dick was heartening himself by a flippancy that he did not really feel. “I want you to marry me,” he gulped. Marry him! Alberta had not been prepared for exactly this dénouement, would have feared it if she had, yet instantly the temptation leered compel- ling at her, and she knew she would yield to it. Dick observed her hesitation. “Ves, marry me, and why not? If you think I don’t know my own mind, ask Jim whether I didn’t say to him the very first crack out of the box that you were the woman, my woman!” Dick spoke boldly, but for ‘the first time in his life without the usual confidence that he felt in the invincible power of his desires ‘““Marry me?” repeated Alberta. Here it was again, the opportunity, the door ajar. She had not even pushed it, and everything that she wanted, that Granny had wanted for her, lay just on the other side. The Harveys! She knew that name through the papers, knew what it stood for. Then blindingly there rose before her like a smoke-screen, shutting out the vision of a splendid, care-free future, full of opportunity, the miasma of her past. Darcy! Milan! She would (Continued on page 139) as afte eee A S&S ES we ate 4S BR PA See ee lh. i: a ae ix nt ot a a an

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— eee OV ‘ | for JULY 1927 EMPTY SHRINES Elisabeth Finley Novel Thomas’s (Continued from page 138) have to tell him, risk telling him even about the child. Then he wouldn’t want her. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, agonizing under the cover of the table. “But your people, I’m not your class.’ She temporized feebly. “Class? How do you get that way?” said Dick. ‘Class? There isn’t such a thing. Once upon a time, Alice in Won- derland, when your ancestors lived in England, or in Spain, or wherever they did live, I don’t give a damn, class may have existed. But when you are my wife, and I take you to Palm Beach or New York, or even Newport, you'll see what rot that sort of stuff has become. Noth- ing toit. You're much more my idea of a queen than Mrs. Masters of Manhattan, or Queen Arabella of Boobania! ! And I’m going to marry you.” Her silence had reéstablished his confidence which had flickered only for a moment. ‘“‘Say you love me, but even if you don’t, I'll marry you just the same.” He put his hand over hers. She got up. “T can’t answer, not to-night,’”’ she said. Her face was drawn and pale. “You don’t need to. It’s settled.” He took it with a high hand, but he paled under his tan. Suppose, after all, she should refuse him? He wanted her, not to be hidden in corners, after the manner of a “kept woman” on the West Side, where their guests would be a few semi-detached husbands, questionable girls, fat Jewish brokers, or movie sheiks. He wanted her, but he wanted to flaunt her and her beauty in the teeth of totter- ing traditions. His ‘‘set” would go down before her, he knew. Presently she would be the rage, the fashion, re- ceived everywhere in a world that asked for little except beauty, and for few credentials provided it was amused. Of course, there was the family, but Mother had always given him everything, and Father didn’t matter anyway. A large part of the cash came from her side of the family. Mother was not of the old- fashioned sort that still talked about “aristocracy.” (Fatal, that! He recalled stuffy seasons in Tuxedo where he had visited an aunt). Mother’s was the kind of social instinct that rose to new necessi- ties, the snappy kind that did as it willed, invited whom it pleased. She would see at once that Alberta would be an asset, not a drawback. “T’ll be here with the ring to-morrow at twelve-thirty,’’ he said with an assurance ~- he did not feel, as he left her at her door. ,’ ALL night long Alberta stared into the ~ dark. After all, need she tell Dick? If she kept silent, how would he ever know, and Alessandro was faithful. Most stage women had had an affair or two before they were her age. No doubt he had accepted that much by implication. She closed her eyes resolved to sleep on a final decision. But in a second they were open again. With a start she realized that she was compelled to be honest. How could she bring herself to cheat a man who perhaps wanted children? Of course, she argued against herself weakly, he didn’t seem the type who would take on responsibilities, he was too gay and casual. He had never been interested in Alessandro like Jim. Fate had acted for her so far, why should she try to be wiser than her own luck? Why not let that feature slide? There would be ways of accounting afterward— Then all at once she knew absolutely that it must not be done in that way. For her own sake she could not endure it, couldn’t go through the long, long lie, the sense of failure to herself. She resolved to tell. Exhausted she fell into a confused sleep. FINALLY, toward dawn, she got up and sat at the window. She began to back up her voluntary decision by hard reason of common sense and ex- pediency, learned in the school of het Cuban experiences. She refused to senti- mentalize. The pendulum of her tired mind swung to the other extreme. After all, she had known from the first that she was going to accept Dick, and the thing to do now was to play for high stakes, cards on the table. This time there should be no catastrophe, after her marriage was consummated. She would tell Dick about Darcy and the child to- day, and she would also insist that he tell his family. Then they could take it or leave it. That much should be right about the thing. Love did not g:eatly matter. She liked him as much as she ever would anybody. She did not seem to have much left to love with, that was all. She wondered what Jim would say. Dick was attractive to most women, she could see that by the way they looked at him at the races. She knew enough about passion-driven men to feel reasonably sure that her confession would be made at the moment when the high tide of desire would sweep away all hesitations. But she wanted more than that; she wanted to be placed firmly on a basis of truth with him and with his family in the beginning. They must receive her with their eyes open, or not at all. If they did receive her, she would show them that she was equal to their position, and she would make something of their Dick for them too, not of course a Jim, but still something. These thoughts still swirled and criss- crossed in her mind as she slipped her head through her one-piece frock and pulled her stockings to an unimpeachable tightness over her slender legs. Her small, close hat was vastly becoming, and she ran down stairs, quaking but determined. SHE found Dick waiting at the door. She had never asked either of her friends to come up to her room, nor, for that matter, had they suggested it. He helped her into the tonneau and turned toward Marianao. It was not until after they had swept the curve of the Malacon and passed the dusty glaring villas of the Vedado that, without turning toward her, he said, “Well?” (Dick was surprised at the quiver in his voice. This time he cared alot). ‘I’ve got the ring.” Alberta was steeling herself. It was difficult, almost beyond power of accom- plishment to say it. Even he might... . She had thought of waiting until they got back, but that would not do either. Things would have only gone farther by that time. Now—she must do it now. “Dicky. ...”’ the words came halt- ingly over her dry lips, ‘I have something to tell you, something that may make you change your mind.”’ Dick spluttered inadequately the usual platitudes expressive of the eternity of passion—‘‘ He would always. . . . There never could be. ... There never had been . . . et cetera, et cetera.” But Alberta interrupted him; she felt her courage ebbing. She must hurry, or it would fail her completely. “Dick,” she began again. She had meant to tell her story skilfully, had even rehearsed it in imagination, giving herself the best of it wherever she could, be- ginning at the beginning, but omitting sordid details. Now, somehow she couldn’t make it happen in that way. “Dick,’’ would she ever get started, she wondered. “Dick, I ought to tell you—I’ve been married, only he was a bigamist. I had a child, and I can never have another.” There it was, out—the very worst of it first. She had not even led up to it. Dick’s hands on the steering wheel grew suddenly white in the intensity of their grasp. “Tell me about him,” he commanded hoarsely, tortured by the natural jealousy of a young male for another man, ignor- ing the question of the child. "THEN at last she achieved it, bit by bit, in halting fragments at first, and then more fluently, her heart beating wildly. Even he might think the circum- stances too damning. 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O¢ Extremely Mild 10D ct Cinders in Eyes should be dis- lodged this soothing way When you get a cinder in your eye, don’t rub. It only makes matters worse. Instead, take a dropperful of ee healing Murine and ¥ thoroughly flush the eye. This will usually remove the offender. Always carry Murine when travel- ling to guard against eye irrita- tion resulting from cinders, smoke and dust. Also use it to refresh your eyes after motoring, golf, tennis and swimming. It’s guaran- teed to contain nothing harmful. URINE; FOR Your - EYES- Mail to Murine Co., Dept. 24, 9 E VE Ohio St., Chicago, forbook checked: O “Eye Beauty” 0 “Eye Care” Name Address .... City . soe SOD wcnipmegecens lease PRINT your name and address in PENCIL EMPTY SHRINES Elisabeth Finley Thomas’s Novel (Continued from page 139) leave her, shove her back into the ugly— for it was ugly—life of El Gato Negro. How could she ever bear it again? But when she had quite finished, Dick stopped the car in the scant shadow of a tree that edged the links of the golf club. Turning toward her, he put his arms about her almost tenderly. Then without a word, he caught her to him with all his funda- mental fierceness, kissing her wildly. And youth answered youth, and nature would not be denied. “And so, Dick, you don’t care? You want me, anyhow?” she whispered. In that moment her gratitude had all the warmth of love. The ring, a huge sapphire, weighted becomingly her long white fingers. He had persuaded her that they were abso- lutely engaged. Dick ate his lunch with his left hand, so that he might not be forced to let go hers. “And you will write and tell your people everything—you promised, you know—this very evening?” “Of course, I will,” answered Dick. He wished she would not harp on that feature of it. She meant more to him than any child, and he was in the confi- dent mood of all lovers, yet the situation did present difficulties. Oh, well, Mother would play up as she always had, he guessed. That evening, however, in the solitude of his cabin he wrote and tore up half a dozen letters. The final draft, which he edited carefully, omitted several important details. “THROM Dicky!” Mollie Harvey took an envelope from the pile of letters that lay on the small silver tray beside the single cup of black coffee that she allowed herself for breakfast, before her morning dip. It was eleven-thirty, and the sun from the patio cut bright patches in the cool shadow that fell on the tessellated floor of the arcaded terrace. She leaned back luxuriously in her wicker chair. Cyril Maidstone, who had wheeled down from the Poinciana as usual to join her, sat at her feet. They were both in their bathing suits. Geisha girls and mcusmés promen- aded in riotous confusion over the gay chintz of Mollie’s short tunic. Green slippers tipped her feet, and a kerchief, also of green, was knotted fetchingly over one ear, almost covering her “bob.” Cyril, who was the wrong kind of hand- some, had been frequently assured by Platzky and other film magnates that should he fail with widows, he could always make Hollywood. His brown arms were sufficiently muscular, and he had the straight, strong Greek neck and the curly hair that are inevitably associated with love and villainy. His regular profile, now raised toward Mollie, would have served adequately to advertise a new brand of cigarets or to illustrate the latest fashion essay in “What Men Should Wear.” “‘Tt’s about a girl or money, I suppose,” said Mollie, cutting her son’s letter with the handle of her coffee spoon. “Synonymous,” commented Cyril. “‘Fortify me with a cigaret, will you, Bobo?” Mollie called Cyril ‘ Bobo” for no discernible reason, except that women invariably re-christen what they love. E HELD out a case which had been lying beside him, and gave her a light from the gold initialed briguet she had brought him from Paris. She took three puffs, blew a few rings, and applied her- self to the letter. Suddenly the cigaret landed in the middle of the patio. “Good Lord,” she cried. ‘“‘Thisis .. . Oh, heavens! How ghastly—he wants to marry.”’ Her hand flew to her breast. “Annoying but not unusual,” Cyril spoke calmly. ‘Who is she?” “T don’t know—he writes so badly. It’s all crisscross. Let me see—Havana— heavens!’’ She put the tiny embroidered breakfast napkin. to her lips, her eyes moved from side to side across the page, following the writing. She sank back, handing the letter to Cyril. “DEAREST MOLLIE, “You are the most understanding woman in the world, and I’ve met the most wonderful girl in the world, and the whitest, too.”’ (Methinks he doth protest too much, reflected Cyril). “Wait until I tell you—she won’t even consent to a definite engagement until you have given your blessing.” (Sly minx, thought Cyril). ‘I want you to see her. She’ll make Palm Beach sit up and take notice. Now, the thing for you to do, Mollie darling, is to send her a wire at once, asking her to visit you. I think I could persuade her to come. You'll love her. She’s awfully well educated, speaks several languages, and has lived abroad a lot. I’m no good at letter writing, as you know, or else I'd tell you more about her. But that will be quite easy when we meet. I shall expect to hear from you by quick message as soon as you get this. “Your loving son, “Deck.” “P.S. And I sha’n’t come back with- out her, ever. So it’s up to you. Wire at once.”’ “The blackmail of the affections!” remarked Cyril. “How dreadful of Dicky,’ groaned Mollie. ‘‘He doesn’t even tell her name. Goodness knows what she is. He’s much too young. I was married when I was sixteen, you know.” Cyril smiled faintly. The kerchief which bound her “‘bob” had become displaced. It showed the scars made by a five plane operation in face lifting last season in Paris. “Do help me, Cyril dear,” she wailed. “Dick is so high-strung. He might do anything, marry her or kill himself, or something. It’s awkward, too, just now,” she went on. “I mean about you and me. I’ve never told you, Cyril, but Dick has never liked you. Just jealousy, of course, which is natural, and some ridiculous idea about the slight difference in our ages. I’ve been putting off telling him that we are really going to be married.” YRIL was silent fora moment, still hold- ing the letter in his hand. It occurred at once to his eminently practical mind that the facts deplored by Mollie might greatly strengthen his own position. Cyril had always feared Dicky’s opposition to his inappropriate marriage. The young autocrat could, at the very least, make it uncomfortable, perhaps even endanger Cyril’s plans. Mollie’s was a weak and vacillating nature. He perceived at once the opportunity for advantageous trad- ing. “You can’t oppose a boy like Dick too directly,” he said slowly. “You have to play him like a tarpon—let the line out before you pull it in.” “Oh, Cyril, it is too wonderful to have you near to advise me,” cried poor Mollie. ‘His father was always so unsympathetic. Do you suppose I ought to go to Cuba?” ‘Let me think, darling.” Cyril clasped his knees with his brown hands and looked out meditatively into the patio. He was bringing his best powers to bear upon what he felt might be the most crucial moment in his suit for Mollie’s millions. ““Why not let her come here, as Dick suggests?” he said finally. ‘‘ The simplest way is always the best. You can’t antagonize Dick—you remember the last time! He’ll kick over the traces and tell you about it afterwards. You could look her over much better here than in Cuba. If she proves to be out of the picture, Dick will see it when he compares her to— well—to such a woman as you, Mollie.” ‘“*How dear of you, Cyril, to say me.’ Mollie did not want to go to Cuba. It would mean leaving Cyril. Of course she trusted him—still, a man alone in Palm Beach—it was almost like throwing him to the lions, or tigresses. The easiest way appealed to her. Mollie had always (Continued on page 141) ’ ’ NG srissssess Ore, | ‘6 Sais as transforms your gray *~ or faded hair to its original color IN ONE BRIEF APPLICATION giving it a lovely radiance and youthful allurement. 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Gam bole enth Ave., B k ‘ Y EMPTY SHRINES Elisabeth Finley Novel Thomas’s (Continued from page 140) followed easy ways. Her atrophied con- science suggested only a feeble resistance. “But wouldn’t that be binding—like recognizing the thing officially?” ‘Not in a place like Palm Beach. It’s all too casual, no one notices anything.” Cyril gave her instep a fond pat. She felt her scruples receding. ‘‘ However, if you have a better suggestion to make. . . . Of course go to Cuba, if you think best. With the Moxons and Cynthia Dare I dare say I could while away the time somehow.” Cyril stretched himself lazily, like a strong young beast of prey. It was part of his stock in trade to be in- sistent only in love-making. The usual indolence of his manner made his ardors more convincing. HE HAD risen and was looking down at her, with the violet eyes from which he seemed able to switch the light on and off at will. “I don’t want you troubled,” he said gently. ‘I have it!” he cried suddenly. ‘Why not ask Susan Carlion to invite her? That would place the girl in the eyes of the community, without connecting her so definitely with Dick. How’s that? I know now they need me at Geneva!” He struck an attitude, pulled playfully at an end of the green silk handkerchief, and finally bent back Mollie’s head and kissed her full on her painted lips, so quickly and gayly that she had not time to answer more than ‘‘Splendid!” She was easily persuaded to what she secretly desired. “Tl write the wire for you at once, darling.”” If Susan declined to help, he reflected, they would still find a way. And Mollie must not be given a chance to change her mind. He stepped inside one of the long doors that opened on the terrace and stooped over the tiny buhl desk in one corner of the big room whose windows gave upon the sea. Although, as Mollie’s secretary, he had long been accustomed to luxuries, he never failed to notice and value them as things now essential to him. “Le superflu chose si necessaire,” he quoted mentally, dipping his pen into the bronze ink-well by Benvenuto Cellini. The telegram read quite simply: ‘Extend my invitation to your friend and come at once Stop Apologize not sending wire direct to her Stop You forgot tell name Stop Heaps of love ““MOLLIE” They could decide definitely in the meantime where to lodge the young lady, he thought. He rang for the butler, a stately elderly person who resembled the Bishop of Durham. “Get that off at once, quick message, will you, Simpkins?” ‘Quite so, sir,” said Simpkins. YRIL sprang out through the long door, and, seizing Mollie by the hand, dragged her half running down the steps to the lower terrace where the wheel-chair stood waiting beneath an arch. A pant- ing negro pedaled them down an avenue of palms toward the golden strip of sand which prolonged the exclusiveness of Mol- lie’s estate to the borders of the ocean. “Let’s ask the Carlions to lunch at Bradley’s,” he suggested as they sat drying on the sands. ‘We can talk better without the servants.’’ Cyril liked to be seen in public with Mollie. It lessened the chances of a frightened re- treat on her part at the last moment. HEY both loved gambling and usually spent the afternoon at roulette. The little round tables and the chairs with | the green legs looked very attractive on | the veranda of the famous gaming house. Both women were diversely smart in dresses that expressed their opposite personalities, in the same degree that a monogram expresses a full name. Susan’s distinction was emphasized by her gray chiffon with touches of jade, and a cloak that added to her length of line. The sophisticated simplicity of Mollie’s plaited skirt and soft blouse of beige crépe was almost juvenile. “They say it lasts three years,” re- flected Cyril, reviewing the renovated features of his fiancée in the searching light reflected from Lake Worth. ‘“‘She’s astounding.” It had turned out that they were only three at lunch. Carlion had gone up beyond the inlet to paint. “He doesn’t like Palm Beach, you know,” Susan said. “It’s too artificial. He says Spizner invented it, did better by it than God, really. He thinks the municipality should put up a monument to him and his architecture.” “Tt’s just as well that we’re alone,” Mollie discarded preliminaries. ‘Cyril and I have got a favor to beg of you.” “You’re not going to ask me to be a flower girl, are you?” Susan, whose humor was rather elephantine, was in high spirits. Spizner, who fitted his lady clients with houses as easily as another might with frocks, had assured her that she could have her housewarming in three weeks. “‘Certainly,” said Susan, when Mollie had finished the explanation difficulties. ‘“‘Certainly, I shall be glad to put her up.” USAN rose the more obligingly to the situation because she did not for a moment forget that she was a newcomer and that Mollie’s house was conceded to be one of the most amusing in Palm Beach. Her dinner list included nearly every one of note. Only the people of the Tuxedo group looked at her a little askance, and even they had been known to capitulate on occasion. She was the real center of the Prince of Wales’s set, and it was a,foregone conclusion that she would b¢ able “‘to put Cyril over” when the time came. After lyncheon they strolled into the big gaming room, hot and airless in its bleak, windowless shadow. Mollie was addicted to ‘‘hunches” and always had a “‘system.”’ This afternoon she intended to “‘pyramid”’ on the date of Dick’s birthday. She staked Cyril liberally and sat down on her lucky chair at her favorite table. Susan had evaporated into the sunlight. She had an appoint- ment with a decorator, and didn’t like gambling. S THE Havana Special pulled into the Poinciana Station, Dick looked up and down. the platform. Rolls- Royce number two, that usually met trains, was nowhere in sight. “Darn it!” he ejaculated. ‘‘They must have counted on the Express being late.” Alberta, standing under the station shed, felt strange and embarrassed; she wished that she had not consented to their arriving together, but she had been urged into it by Dicky, who could be very persuasive when he chose. It had been Jim who suggested the solution that met her wishes half-way. Dick and he had gone to Tampa on the yacht, and she had followed with Sandro by steamer. The journey had been rather a problem in every way, and she had not known just what to do with Sandro while she should be at Palm Beach. But Jim had again come to the rescue by taking the boy of her | North with him. They had become great | friends, and Sandro, with the Italian passion for affectionate service, was look- ing forward to acting as page in Jim’s lodgings. Jim knew about Darcy now, too. Alberta had told him with a strange pain in her heart. But he only said, “‘You’re Alberta. Circumstances are just... just like the clothes of the soul. You take them on and off. There’s nothing really changed.” “After all,” she thought, “he does distinguish me from mere organic matter!” Alberta had been both astonished and delighted at Mollie’s telegram. That she should have capitulated so readily seemed miraculous. She attributed it to the good offices of the Carlions, who had evidently spoken well of her. She could not guess that Dick had never mentioned her name in his letter, and that Jim had (Continued on page 142) Also Obtaimnable In Canada On the beach and at Casinos — on. Fifth Avenue and in their homes—connoisseurs of cigarettes agree. That is why the de- lightful Marlboro le) (ale MOM le mrtere| wins 7 acre w (el 0 instant favor with discriminating smok- ers everywhere. Marlboro Bridge Score sent free upon request. CIGARETTES Mi ld as. 7) Always fresh— Wrapped in heavy foil. Created by PHILIP MORRIS & Co.,L™ Inc 14 West 18th Street, Dept kK, New York

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142 VERYTHING you want FE a sports coat to be, Ekconoor is. Styles that are the smartest to be found, tailored and finished with a skill that assures perfect fit. Fabrics, distinctive in their colors, and impervious to dust,wrinkles and moisture. Seldom will you find such a combination of qualities as represented in Ekcomoor Coats, displayed by leading shops everywhere. ++ EDWARD KRIEGER & CO., INc. TWO-THIRTY-SEVEN WEST 35TH STREET New Yorx gt + peo Ep ‘COATS TOWN WEAR EMPTY SHRINES Elisabeth Finley Novel Thomas’s (Continued from page 141) not written to Susan in a month. Now, however, facing the situation, she had | misgivings. ‘* Let’s take a chair instead of a motor,” she proposed. “It looks such fun, and some one told me there won’t be any in use by next season.”’ “‘Right-o,” said Dicky. He was a little nervous himself, now that the show-down was at hand. ‘“‘Are you sure you wrote everything?” Alberta’s gloved hand lay on his coat sleeve. She whispered so that the chair- man should not hear. “‘Everything,”’ he answered, lying like a gentleman. There was no possible reason why he should ever tell his mother, or any one else, that miserable Milanese story. Even the Carlions did not know. | Jim had assured him of that. The facts had staggered him a moment when he had first heard them. Other people might not even believe it. (It was none of their business anyhow.) It had been awfully white of Alberta to tell him, though he almost wished she hadn’t, sometimes. T SEEMED a long distance to Villa Miraciel, though the sudden twilight had its beauty for lovers. The chairman wheeled doggedly along the ocean drive. Alberta was trying to imagine what Dick’s mother would be like. Dick was not good at description, and had only furnished her with the meager informa- tion that Mollie was a good sport, and a regular fellow. He had added that she was a small woman, and quite pretty. Alberta pictured her as daintily ethereal, with a gentle dignified merriment and a kind bonhomie. It was evident that she must adore her son. Yet Alberta grew cold with fear at the anticipated ordeal of a first inspection. Of course Mrs. Harvey must be endlessly kind, or she would not have accepted the situation. Alberta felt less unfitted for taking her place among the people whom she was about to meet than she had in the old studio days of the Carlions. She had read and thought and, above all, lived. She knew that she was no longer crude and awkward, and she meant to show Dick’s mother how sincerely she wanted to be a good wife to him, and fit har- moniously into the different scheme. No doubt it would take time to learn the technique. She remembered the refine- ments in the mutual intercourse of the Carlions—the balanced poise and fluency with which Susan had treated every incident in that world of finer instincts and gentler manners. The opportunities would be big, too. The people she would meet would be people of prominence, men and women whose wealth or whose power were a national influence. HE sky was very clear and cloudless, and the ocean indigo and flat; the chair began to follow the line of a high, blue stucco wall. Purple bougainvilleas clustered over it. They drove in through a wrought-iron grille which stood open under an arch. A long avenue of palms stretched before them, and at the end on a slight rise of ground, lay the beautifully straggling Villa Miraciel. ‘‘That’s the house,” said Dick some- what obviously. The entrance door, barred by another iron gate, was closed, but when he rang a big bell at the side it was scarcely a second before two foot- men appeared in the vestibule. One paid the chairman, and the other preceded | them up an inner flight of steps toward a room on a higher level. ““Madam was not expecting Mr. Rich- ard until later,” said the footman. As he spoke, he raised a heavy curtain of red canvas. For just a moment they were the spectators of an extraordinary scene. At the piano, pounding the keys with mechanical precision and glancing back over his shoulder, sat an extremely hand- some young man. A beautiful mulatto woman, the color of fine bronze, beat her hands together as she sketched the steps of a dance, her long bare legs crossing and recrossing. But it was the third figure in the group that arrested Alberta’s astonished gaze, the tiny figure that came prancing forward, head down, legs inter- twined in a frenzy of motion. The heels of the red. slippers barely touched the floor; the muscles in the neck stood out in the unnatural effort of movement; the lips were set; the thin arms pendulous and dangling. A wisp of hair hung limply over one eye; the little body in its trans- parent slip of black chiffon was childishly small, but there was something in the articulation of the bones that was old, sinister, macabre. It reminded Alberta of an engraving of Durer’s called ‘‘The Dance of Death,” which she had once seen in Carlion’s studio. “*Mo’ pep in de right leg, Mis’ Harvey,” cried the negress, her big teeth gleaming between lips painted on a gray powdered face. “Mother!” cried Dick. A pang shot through Alberta, a pang of pain and dis- illusionment. Dick’s mother! Why even Granny ...even Mrs. Withers... . She turned away her head. But Dick caught her hand, and advanced with her into the room. It wasn’t just the way he would have chosen his mother and Alberta to meet. Why hadn’t Mollie seen to it that they were alone? “‘Mollie!”’ he called again. The young man at the piano stopped short. The dancing figure in the trans- parent black chiffon slip, flesh-colored stockings and red shoes, remained in the dislocated pose of a dilapidated polichin- elle. The manner of their arrival had beena distinct contre temps. Cyril, rising from the keyboard, bridged the uncom- fortable gap. “There must have been a mistake about the motor, We sent it to West Palm Beach to save your crossing the bridge on the train.” N OLLIE had pulled herself together, even a delinquent lady may have social technique. Advancing toward Al- berta, she took her hand between both of hers. ‘‘ My dear! My dear!’’she cried. “‘ We must like each other.”” She kissed Dick, and slipping in between him and Alberta, thrust an arm through theirs, drawing them farther into the room. “A harmless version of the eternal triangle,’ she laughed. ‘Do forgive me, I’m a sight.” She rattled on, pulling a bright scarf that had been tied loosely about her shoulders upward toward her throat, conscious, as always, of relaxing muscles. ‘‘To-morrow at the same time, Miss Johnson,” she turned to the ne- gress. ‘**Now let me look at you.”’ She held Alberta away from her. ‘You are lovely, my dear. Isn’t it absurd Dick never told me your name. Alberta? How pretty. I’m so sorry about the mix-up with the car; they must have changed the time table, or something. Miss Winkle, my housekeeper, was to have met you with a note. You are to stop with a friend of mine at first—propriety, you know. This place is a hot-bed of gossip. The car would have taken you there at once. And I was coming down in all my pretties to call on you before dinner, after I had had a little talk with Dick. Not that it matters, but I’m sorry to have had you condemned to ride in one of those dingy old hired chairs. Perhaps you will stay here a few moments with Cyril—Mr. Maidstone, I mean, while I go and change. I won’t be a moment. Dicky, come with me. I can talk with you through the door of the boudoir.” (To be continued in the August issue) HARPER’S Bizap “When We Were Very Young”- MAINE NEW HAMP-SHIRE VER-MONT MAS-SA-CHU-SETTS RHODE IS-LAND CON-NECT-I-CUT Just as we learned the names of the states when we were very young, so Harper’s Bazar has learned the delights of New England vacations, the of the hotels, and the names best -asiest ways to reach them. In these six little states there are pine forests that come down to the ocean’s edge, rocky coasts and sandy beaches, moun- tains, lakes, deep woods and trout brooks. Good motor roads and special train and boat schedules bring this vacation land within a few hours of the logical starting point. HARPER’S BAZAR TRAVEL DEPARTMENT 383 Madison Avenue New York City ae ow eV,

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a for JULY 1927 —$—$——— Gor Mot ers to-De An Abdominal Supporter With a new feature 9.50 up fane Bryant 1 W. 39th St., 16 W. 40th St. NEW YORK 15 Hanover Place, Brooklyn CHICAGO DETROIT ST. LOUIS PHILADELPHIA BALTIMORE BEAUTIFY Your Wrist WATCH with a alee PEARL BRACELET Pearls Strung on Chain $ 1 ATTACHED TO YOUR WATCH From your jeweler. If he cannot supply you, write us. JACK J. FELSENFELD 15 Maiden Lane Wew York City BOOKS WORTH READING Reviewed by BAIRD LEONARD TWILIGHT SLEEF. P. T. BARNUM’s Own Story. the bridge since the days of ‘‘The House of Mirth,” wherein poor Lily Bart was ostracized and driven to the chloral bottle for having been seen coming down Gus Trenor’s steps at an unconven- tional hour when his wife was known to be out of town. The shawled woman with a child in her arms has given way as a plot menace amongst our very best people to a Jewish manager waving a motion-pic- ture contract before their susceptible off- spring, and since Edith Wharton as a A tee deal of water has gone under | social chronicler still clings to the fine, if somewhat faded, flower of our citizenry, it is with such pale alarms that she must deal in her latest novel, ‘Twilight Sleep” (Appleton). It is, for me, as if she had | gone with a deep pitcher to an empty well. The unfortunate title is obstetric only in a figurative sense. It sums up the attempt of the various characters, with one or two exceptions, to pursue their happiness as painlessly as possible along the paths of least resistance, and the assumption is that Mrs. Wharton con- siders such a psychology typical of mod- ern New Yorkers who have money enough to lay carpets over life’s noisy boulevards. In spite of her technical brilliance, the whole thing reads like a résumé of the East Sixties by one who has never been | there. We all know, of course, that Mrs. Wharton has been there, but not, perhaps, too recently. Pauline Manford, the woman about whom the story revolves, is sitting oblivi- ous in the midst of a domestic situation which threatens at any moment, and from any angle, to destroy her. Her husband has grown apathetic, if not | actually indifferent, to her, and is prey to those subtle influences which frequently beset men of middle years whose wives have too little time for them. Her daugh- ter is hopelessly in love with a married man. Her son’s marriage is about to go upon the rocks, apparently because his | wife tangos not wisely but too well, and is bored with the way her drawing- room is done. Her exhusband, with whom she still keeps up pleasant and diplomatic relations, is suffering with a wound in his family honor which incites him, in the end, to downright melodrama. But Mrs. Manford sees no evil, hears no evil, speaks | no evil. She goes first to a Mahatma who | reduces her hips as well as soothes her soul (and how démodé that cult is most of the initiate know!), and later to similar expensive quacks named, with character- istic magic in this connection, Alvah Loft and Sacha Gobine. Into such a whirlpool of “altruistic” activity does she plunge herself that she hasn’t even time to grant her own daughter a few moments during which she might have received a fore- warning of impending disaster. ‘‘ Your mother didn’t expect to see you before lunch; now did she?” asks Mrs. Manford’s secretary of Nona, handing over at the same time her employer’s list for the day, which began as follows: ‘7:30 Mental Uplift. 7:45 Breakfast. 8:00 Psycho- analysis. 8:15 See cook. 8:30 Silent meditation. 8:45 Facial massage. 9:00 Man with Persian miniatures. 9:15 Cor- respondence. 9:30 Manicure. 9:45 Eu- rythmic exercises. 10:00 Hair waved. 1o:15 Sit for bust. 10:30 Receiving Mother’s Day deputation. 11:00 Danc- ing lesson. 11:30 Birth control meeting at Mrs.- % “The manicure is there now, late as (Knopf.) THE Earty Worm. FOOTSTEPS IN THE NIGHT. GROTESQUES. By Edith Wharton. By Waldo R. Browne. | BOOKS FOR THE GUEST-ROOM TABLE | PrEopLE RounD THE CORNER. | THe Foouisn QUESTION Book. By Robert Benchley. By C. Fraser-Simson. | STREET OF THE MALCONTENTS. By Mary Cass Canfield. (A ppleton.) (Viking Press.) usual. That’s what martyrizes your mother; everybody’s being so unpunctual. This New York life is killing her.” Now the New York pace is bad enough, goodness knows, even for those who are not so inconsistent as to sponsor conflict- ing enterprises an hour apart on the day’s schedule. But I am certain that it is not as swift as it has been represented to Mrs. Wharton, who has lived for some years in Europe, and therefore her satirizing, how- ever clever, of poor Pauline Manfield slips automatically into a quixotic cate- gory. And although a Life As a Fine Art Club does hold regular meetings at the Hotel Astor, I’m sure it would be pretty hard to dig up a League for Discovering Genius amongst the haut monde. Even if you could get a facial massage in fifteen minutes. Of course the plot falls away from Mrs. Manford in corollary ripples, with Lita, the insurgent daughter-in-law, doing her best—or her worst—to make everybody, including herself, miserable. That great consideration should have been shown her was only part of Mrs. Manford’s rose- spectacled philosophy. And what satis- faction Mrs. Wharton takes in showing Lita up—Lita, who, before her marriage, did not quite belong! In conclusion, after all the shooting (literally), Nona horrifies her mother by suggesting a convent as a preferable alter- native to marriage, and then hastily adds something which sets the tone of the book, “Oh, but I mean a convent where nobody believes in anything!” ALL that most of us who have not read Mr. M. R. Werner’s excellent biogra- phy know about P. T. Barnum is that he exploited Tom Thumb, brought Jumbo and Jenny Lind to this country, rode in a barouche around the ring of a circus which he ran with Mr. Bailey, and said that the public liked to be humbugged. As a matter of fact, the life behind these outstanding facts was lively and colorful to an extraordinary degree, and it has been set down autobiographically (com- bined and condensed from previous edi- tions by Waldo R. Browne) in “P. T. Barnum’s Own Story” (Viking Press) with a naive straightforwardness which suggests that the great showman, in spite of his Yankee shrewdness, never got much beyond the mental and spiritual reactions of an adolescent boy. He delighted al- ways to converse incognito about himself, and got a tremendous kick out of his bits of repartee, however feeble. He would do anything, however ridiculous, which would advertise his museum, of which he considered himself the most interesting curiosity. If we are to credit his story, some of his greatest coups resulted as much from magnanimity as from wiliness, and he points with pride to the fact that he refrained from charging admission to Tom Thumb’s wedding when the whole town was clamoring for tickets at any price. Aside from recounting his fascinat- ing adventures here and abroad with his novel entertainments—and the crowned heads of Europe apparently lived up to what the advertisements have been saying about them for years—Barnum’s own story carries a tremendous moral in that its hero quickly remade every fortune that he lost, thereby emulating the maxim of Confucius to the effect that our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. By Thyra Samter Winslow. | By H. I. Phillips. (Clode.) | (Holt.) (Dutton.) | By Cyril Hume. (Doran.) | (Har per’s.) | 143 PERSONAL See Yourself as Others See You NOTE I have purpose- ly omitted the Ulustratton of a beauttful girl atop thts advertisement. My message 4s of too sertous import to justify a con- sptcuous illustratton—a setting which might de- tract from the priceless- ness of thts sincere adotce. OO often do we fail to detect our own faults, and when they are of so personal a na- ture that even our friends hesitate to tell us, it is para- mount that we take every precaution to eliminate them. You can free your- self of the worry of perspiration with its attending odors and clothing stains by resorting to AB-SCENT. This matter of per- spiration and the deodorant we use— is not just an ordi- nary cosmetic prob- lem. A few years ago I made lengthy research and finally evolved AB-SCENT —a harmless, liquid deodorant — contain- ing no staining arti- ficial coloring and devoid of any irritat- ing effects. I have been using it ever since. Thousands of other women have also. Good Druggists, De- partment Stores and Beauty Shops can supply you, or I shall be glad to send it to you by mail. The cost, fifty cents (soc), has been kept low so that all might avail themselves of its benefits. Hficlas Fauthe 562 * FIFTH AVENUE ~% NEW ‘* YORK 4 a Originator of ZIP

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-tuad n sntellectu® a 9 yess* yon _ resstt xP Eee te * wager i a ‘coke HARPER’S BAZAR “One of these fine mornings these well-known United States will awake to find the "Lang. don Craze’ sweeping the coun- try!” says an acute “inside” observer of the films... And the foremost critics of the coun- try have saluted Langdon as successor to the great comic artists of all time!

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