Harper's Bazaar 1927-09

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ee ed C JUVS pw § a | | a Number 2579 SEPTEM 6oth Year BER 1927 CONTENTS Les diamants du Ciel By ERTE Fiction JESSE LYNCH WILLIAMS oo 63 to 65 The Noble Lord, Beginning a three-part Story, a Battledore and Shuttlecock of Anglo-American Satire Illustrated by W. EMERTON HEITLAND ZONA GALE 76, 77 Upper Chambers, A Story of a Girl Who Wanted to Reform Mar- riage Illustrated by SaMvEL Davis Ortts ELINOR WYLIE 06, 97 A Birthday Cake for Lionel, Whose Forty Candles Cast too Great a Light Illustrated by F. R. GRUGER ROBERT HICHENS... 104, 105 The Address Book, A Story of Two Ambitious Social Climbers Illustrated hy EVERETT SHINN ELISABETH FINLEY THOMAS 108, 109 Empty Shrines, Concluding a Society Novel with a Palm Beach Background Illustrated by WALLACE MORGAN Society and Special Articles CHARLES HANSON TOWNE writes on Servants Decorations by Betr1 WELD MRS. GEORGE U. HARRIS Drawn especially for Harper’s Bazar by MARY MACKINNON ALFRED NOYES lhe Ballad of Dick Turpin Decoration by RocKWELL KENT OWEN JOHNSON Beautiful Berkshire Gardens Photographs by SHERRIL SCHELI 98 to IoT THE NINTH INTERNA- 102, 103 A BRITISH TEAM FROM INDIA FOR TIONAL POLO MATCH Drawings by PAuL BRown JGHN ANDERSON. Give and Take in the Theater 106, 107 REBECCA WEST Why do I go to Parties? Drawing by HARRISON FISHER FRANK SWINNERTON Old London Keeps Forever Young Fashions A FOLIO OF NEW FABRICS 66 to 75 Describing the new fabrics from the important Paris and New York Houses Photographs by BARON DE MEYER and drawings by CHARLES MARTIN, BERNARD BouTET DE MONVEL, and GRACE HART FURS ; MARJORIE Howarp’s Monthly Paris Letter Drawings by REYNALDO LUZA LEAVES FROM A FASHION NOTE-BOOK. ... BARON DE MEYER Reveals the Source of a Bewildering Amount of Information on Many Subjects Photographs by BARON DE MEYER FURS FROM THE NEW YORK HOUSES. 92 to 95 LUCILE BUCHANAN Writes of the New Furs in the New York Shops Drawings by MALAGA GRENET SIGNIFICANT NEW HATS FROM PARIS.. Drawings by MARY MACKINNON PARIS COSTUMES OF UNUSUAL DISTINCTION Drawings by A. SouLIE So to 85 SO to oI LAST-MINUTE SKETCHES FROM PARIS 114, 115 AUTUMN FASHIONS FOR THE WELL-DRESSED MAN, by Sy1.172 Avis Les reproductions, OUS les modéles reproduits dans notre magazine sont la propriété de leurs créateurs. imitations ou contrefagons méme partielles peuvent toujours entrainer contre leurs auteurs des poursuites de la part des créateurs et de V' Association des Arts Plastiques et Appliqués en France et a l’Etranger. Published monthly by the Ray Lona, i ’ President. Opyright, 1927, by International Magazine Cx and Literary Copyright. im advance. Unless « an address give the They will Austin W. CLARK, INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE Company, INc., at 119 West goth Street, New York City. Cc. ARTHUR S. MOoOoRE, Treast H. HaTHaway, Vice-President. r. A : , mpany, Inc. (Harper's Bazar). All rights reserved under terms of the Fourth American International Convention of Artistic 50 cents a copy; subscription price, United States and possessions, $4.00 a year; Canada, $5.00; Foreign, $6.00 All subscriptions are payable otherwise directed we begin all subscriptions with the current issue. When sending in your renewal, please give us four weeks’ notice. 1en changing old address as well as the new and allow five weeks for the first copy to reach you. Manuscripts must be typewritten and accompanied by return postage. be handled with care, but this magazine assumes no responsibility for their safety. Harper's Bazar is fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted either wholly or in part without permission. Secretary.

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HARPER’S BAzap a fe oer | | Don’t forget Babucgusiil When you start toward any sport take along Salmagundi. Its chocolate morsels give energy lor the game and zest to the players. — And it doubles the oe of the “gallery”. tsa favorite for outdoors because oO the happy choice o dipped and solid chocolates; and the metal box isa protection against bad weather and hard knocks. On the way to the great outdoors get Salmagundi at the store that shows the sign 4 Chocolates © S.F.W. & Son, Inc,

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for s EPTEMBER 1927 Se eC a V 1 —~_ HEY say that in New York there \a is only one old lady left who ven- ) , .\ fy : eS, -. tare } P » aie { a rd \ 20) e CNTs U4 tv S NY Ta \ a nl t S bathing in her tub. I asked her where the cook usually bathed. She said she hadn’t the least idea. ‘Somewhere down-stairs,”’ she answered at last, vaguely. “But you have often said that you have the good of your servants on your mind; you try to advise them about their savings, their health, and so on. Why didn’t you make it your business to discover what sort of bathrooms they are given in this huge apartment-house?”’ When she finally looked into the matter, she was startled to see that there was a common bathroom for ten servants —a room as dark and dingy as it was possible for any room to be. Now, who could blame a tired and warm cook for stealing a bath in a porcelain tub, with sunlight pouring into the room, in the assured absence of her mistress? It was summer. A cold shower in such a place, followed by a delicious warm plunge would do much to bring back one’s lost amour propre—though of course the Swedish cook didn’t say it just that way to herself. But undoubtedly that is exactly how she felt when she stole her luxurious bath. I think she deserved it. I think, when one considers the contrast between our facilities and those of our servants, it is remarkable that so little that is unpleasant happens to us. I have yet to meet a servant who does not respond to warm, human treatment. There may be exceptions to prove the rule; but I have not happened to encounter them. Even taxi-drivers, who are public servants, which is worse than being a private servant, are responsive to politeness and consideration. A valet is quick to discover whether his master is a gentleman or not; and a lady’s maid is frequently much more of a thoroughbred than her mistress. It would be interesting to probe into the minds of our serving class, and find out exactly how we stand with them. The discovery might be illuminating; and it might not be flattering to our vanity. We learned, in Barrie’s satirical comedy, ‘*The Admir- able Crichton,” that everyone is bossed by someone else; that even the man higher up has a superior officer; and that even the most superior officer is beholden to an in- visible power. In the final summing up, we are all ser- vants—to somebody. If we would think of ourselves in terms of service rather than in terms of mastery we might be more merciful to those just below us. CHARLES HANSON TOWNE.

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HARPER’S BAZAR izar by > da Drawn especially for Harper's 1 MacKINNON MARY AVV US ? Cc A eorode f, ( DX MPhen: i. eS aS S mm & bh 3 ~ N) = “2 ~ = = : S S ~ > Ss & ? eI r . do Park, N UXE f 71 0

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 / / B ¥ eC a is eC — age ) VIIC Cc [ ie = THE NOBLE LORD oimning a ‘ -J 9. New 9 Ber Story, a nO ae oe S hutilecock ft ( - . + , od Fdouks ‘ ED ivcsituons Haiti, Gray as a Hein [) ILLUSTRATED HARLIE WHIFFEN was really a very nice boy until he became Lord Chaw- borough. And yet, to attribute the transformation to the flubbery of the English social system, as did some of my family who were his amused American hosts, is hardly fair toa poor but limited monarchy. Nor, for that matter, were his compatriotic critics quite correct in contemptuously blaming it all off upon the snobbery of a rich republic. I saw a great deal of this young man on each of his memorable visits, before and after taking the title, and I think the case of Charlie is inter- esting enough to describe in some detail, because it goes deeper than all that. It il- luminates inherent national differences, and the unfortunate misunderstandings that arise from them. As peoples, we are both too much given to telling each other in public of all we have in common, while thanking God in private we are not as they are. If sincere mutual esteem is ever established, it will have to be upon the opposite and more honest basis of appreciating our equally desirable dissimilari- ties. Surely we have languages similar enough for the attempt at least. For example, since my own hospitable rela- tives, with the kindest intentions in the world, played an important || part in spoiling this scion of the | British nobility, consider the atti- || tude of my Aunt Caroline toward our young visitor before she had | even met him. Picture to yourself a well-bred English boy, recently down from the university. He steamer approaching the skyscrap- ers of which he has often heard. This is his virgin visit to the States. He is, as yet, unharmed by flub- bery or snobbery. A modest boy, given to blushing and silences. He }| has been led to believe that all || Americans are rich and most of them vulgar. Thus far, on the Steamer, everything seems to be coming satisfactorily true, like the skyscrapers. || is on My Country! E HAS a letter of introduction to one of the wealthiest || women in New York. He has * — been told that the Americans are unduly Sensitive, He must be careful not to hurt their feelings. He is determined to praise everything in sight and to treat the new friends he makes as if they were his equals. His uncle, the present Earl, has amused the dinner table at home with tales of the toadying of prominent New Yorkers. But, after all, the youth’s at- titude toward them is not more insular than that of a Manhattanese on his first expedition to the unexplored regions west of the Hudson River. the | F By W. Now picture to yourself my fat and fabulously rich old aunt, seated serenely in her library. She has summoned me for my valuable legal advice. She wishes to have some college or other down South endowed by the Interde- pendence Foundation, recently established by the family. It is quite the thing nowadays to keep a Foundation. Employing cold-eyed experts to give away money for you saves the trouble and mistakes of private bequests. And it is less vainglorious, more “‘like us” to keep our family name off it. Especially as we knew that all the world would be aware that we estab- lished it anyway. ‘Interdependence Founda- tion” was my inspiration, my only contribution, I being one of the poor relatives. (Even the wealthiest families have them.) Well, I have given Aunt Caroline my views with as much impressiveness as I can command and she is now giving meacup of her caravan tea. “Oh, by the way, Dave, you know everybody, I believe.’’ Such a rich melodious voice, such a crisp, distinguished enunciation, and such a plain, plump old person and so badly dressed. She knows she can not dress well, so she prides herself on dressing badly and laughs about it. “Did you ever happen to hear of an English By CoriINNE ROOSEVELT ROBINSON *T others sing of soft Italian skies, Or deep-browed India, with its dome of blue,— But, dear New England, I would sing of you, | When autumn with her brush of dazzling dyes | Paints all your hill-tops with her gay surprise, Lobelia-red, or primrose colored hue, | Until the hope of all that she may do Glows, rainbow-tinted to our wondering eyes. Soft fields of grasses, rose du Barry shade, Reflect the deeper promise of the trees,— And I, who garner what her touch has made, Feel in my heart that message of the breeze With rush of love that stirs and warms like wine;— I am yours, and you are mine! family named—named—? An odd name; I’ve forgotten it.””. She rang for a servant and sent up-stairs to her secretary for a letter from the friend who was sending Charlie with a note of introduction... She ran her eyes over the letter. ““Whiffen—Whiffen,” and handed it to me. ‘Who may the Whiffens be?”’ ““The head of the family was over here some years ago,’ I replied, happy to maintain my reputation for worldly omniscience, ‘Don’t you remember Lord Chawborough ?” / ; d [ } \f2 a in the ‘Disrchabines EMERTON HEITLAND She was now offering She has ** Never heard of him.” me tea-cakes with her own hands. beautiful hands and is aware of it. “The Earl of Marrow—I think you had him for dinner.”” As a matter of fact I knew it, because I had been one of those invited and impressed—as became a young man from the country. ‘*Chawborough—Chawborough. Well, that’s a better name for a dinner guest than Sniffen. What was he like?” “Short, with a beard. Squirrel teeth and adenoids. He had a high voice and brayed. Not a bad sort, though.”’ “Oh, yes.”” _Isawthat she did not remember. ‘What kind of people are these Sniffens?”’ “Whiffen. Oh, they’re all right. sturdy old stock. Not at all smart. conservative, like us.” “Then why doesn’t the young man stay at home?” She evidently had not read the letter carefully. I handed it back to her, pointing out a passage on the second page. “He is what is called a struggling young artist. He wants to sell his pictures. New York is the modern Bagdad.” “They always want something out of us. : They never come over here unless | they do. I know them.” ‘““Come, let’s not be prejudiced merely because he’s English.”’ Good Quite Y AUNT accepted this toler- antly. ‘Oh, to be sure, || some of them are quite as nice as | we are,”’ she said broad-mindedly, | ‘‘when they stay at home. But | their austere and dreadful manners | are out of place over here, out of place everywhere except in Eng- land. They should either stay at home or learn how to behave them- selves abroad.” I was smiling. ‘ Well, you have seen certain of our own dear fellow- citizens traveling abroad. Nothing very austere, I admit, about them.” My plump old aunt chuckled. | **Would you care to be judged by 1 that type of American?” **All the same,”’ the old lady re- joined with more spirit, ‘‘no Amer- ican, even the vulgarest, would be guilty of such atrocities as their so-called best people commit over here in our homes. Dr. Matthew Arnold, for example.” fee of generations ago, when that distinguished critic came over like a mis- sionary to spread sweetness and light among the heathen, our family, as usual, had been asked to be kind to the visitor. We weren’t much interested in literary lions, as the older members of the family tell the story; we went in more for

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64 being fashionable and exclusive. It was in the days when it was the thing to snub. Now- adays the family goes in more for social ame- lioration than for social activity, considers it old-fashioned to be fishionable, regards itself be smart, and scorns ex- clusiveness as a forr of fear. Nevertheless, when Dr. Arnold can.c the family graciously consented to take him up, and fed him otf their justly famous dinners. But instead of sweet- ness and light, he spread bitterness and rancor. For he was not properly impressed by our lavish hospitality. He ridiculed us for it, and the family did not appreciate that. They did not as too aristocratic t fancy his telling them how to behave. They did not think he knew—accepting hospitality abroad and then criticizing it at home! They never forgave him for it. Worse yet, they never forgave England. “Oh, well, I must receive the young man, of course. He comes well introduced,” said my aunt, tossing the letter down. ‘He can’t help being English. It isn’t his fault.”’ So her secretary, Miss Carson, made an appointment for Charlie. SS WHIFFEN came to make his call, looking painfully grave. Perhaps it was mere shyness, but he seemed to me, looking on, more abject in the presence of great wealth than one of our own young men would have been, more than he had intended to be, at any rate, when on the steamer approaching the land of the dollar. We They worship it. As their own Chesterton says, “An American never talks of money in the hushed, awe-struck tones an Englishman employs.”’ Of course, the moment he set foot within my love money. “ He wondered wny, in that balmy atmosphere, my aunt seemed so cold.’ aunt’s enormous house, her whole attitude changed. He was her guest now. She gave him the warm, perhaps too effusive, welcome which is still characteristic of our people, even some of the smartest and most sophisticated, the true American tradition of hospitality, handed down, I suppose, from plain old pioneer days. It dies hard. COULD see that this disconcerted him at first. He was accustomed to a cooler, more condescending attitude when presented to great ladies at home. For Americans are not the only ones toward whom ‘“‘a certain condescen- sion’? is sometimes manifested. My aunt, conscious of a prejudice she wished to conceal, and not unfamiliar with the signs of awe in her presence, sought to put the young man at ease by showing him most distinguished consideration. An explanation presently dawned upon Charlie. It was coming true, after all, what his uncle, the Earl, had said about American Anglomaniacs. This elderly enthusiast prob- ably knew Burke’s Peerage by heart. Charlie felt more at ease. Because he was English, she had made his tea furiously strong. (Later, Charlie found that he could not take it so strong in nervous New York as in placid England.) She asked solicitously for news of his dear uncle, the Earl. She remembered Lord Chawborough so well, (The delightful old liar-—but she remembered his name, at least.) She hoped that Mr. Whiffen would enjoy his’ visit in America and begged him to save her an evening for dinner very soon. “Oh,” said Charlie, “thank you so much. You are very kind.” He had a rather high voice and he pro- nounced oh as if it were made up of two syllables—‘‘a-oh’’—but he did not bray. He was a nice- looking boy, with a good nose, an adequate chin and a broad forehead. The roast beef of old England was still in his cheeks, or is it the fog that gives to his blond type that tint of color? It is far more pleasing than the she said. dull grayness of the typical American complexion. From being merely _ sorry for him, a_ stranger in a strange land, and so young and frightened, my impulsive old ’ HARPER’S BAZAR aunt began to like him. Before the brief ang formal call was finished, she had grown quite fond of him. I could see that she was thinking, ‘*He’s just sweet.” And that was so characteristic of Aunt Caroline. She could seldom help liking people once she knew them. She went through a long and useful life, conceiving and forgetting violent prejudices. She would take up all kinds of people, have them for dinner, make much of them, do generous things for them and then, as suddenly, would become bored or offended and drop them without a word of explanation or any sense of unkindness, while the banished favorite, hurt and mortified, wondered what had happened to- cause the change. The arrogance of wealth and power? The fickle American character? Possibly. But one has heard of other ruling families in other countries similarly inconstant. HEN Charlie arose to take his leave, my aunt asked him for his address, remarking that he would be invited to dine as soon as she found what evenings she had free. He named his hotel. “Be good enough to write it down, please, Dave,” she said to me. When none of her secretaries is within call, my aunt is apt to use me or any of the rest of us for the purpose, quite as we are supposed to function delightedly as her cashier when we go about with her. She never carries any money and dislikes to touch the filthy stuff. As she seldom remembers to reimburse us for such trifling amounts, it sometimes proves rather expensive, this privilege of being a member of a great family like ours, especially for one who can not afford to share her dignified disdain for dollars. “Where is that hotel, Dave? I’ve never heard of it.” I had never heard of it either. Charlie turned to me and smiled. ‘“ Natu- rally not.”” The smile meant that he knew that I, like all the Americans, was rolling in wealth. ‘**But you see, I am stony.” She turned to me to interpret. what?” “Hard up,” I said. “Oh, are you?” My aunt beamed. She approved of young men being poor. It did them good. She often told me so. Charlie was more in favor than ever. I saw what was going on in her mind. I knew what would happen. But she was too tactful to do it now. She waited until after he dined at her house. Then, when he called—she approved of him for clinging to the quaint old custom of making a dinner call—she said, ‘‘It must be so dreary at a hotel. Why don’t you come and stay here until you are settled?” Charlie was overwhelmed and blushed. He was always blushing. “Oh, Mrs. Clifton— really—I say—”’ “Tt may be rather dull for you here. I live all alone with my two young grandchildren. But we can make you comfortable and Dave will be happy to take you about until you get your bearings.’ And, of course, I put in that I'd be delighted. “He is M* AUNT?’S invitations were usually con- sidered commands, so Charlie came and she herself selected two rooms and a bath, near one of the elevators, on the third floor, in the new town house, located at some dis- tance from the noise and turmoil of the avenues. She was always building houses. It was her one form of selfish indulgence. But, unlike most of our women, she paid no attention to them until they were completed. No wonder Gladwyn, her architect, pronounced her the perfect client. During the construction of this ornate and enormous one, she had been out of the country for a year, taking the children

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 “Mrs. Heming could sce herself very clearly as a countess and managed to see Charlie a number of times before he started out on his lecture tour.” around the world. I happened to be with her when she had her first look at it. My fat old aunt burst out laughing. “A very appropriate house,” she said, ‘‘for one of the mistresses of Louis XIV. But what a funny place for a plain old Presbyterian widow woman.” Well, even if it did not express my aunt, it expressed the architect’s idea of what she ought to be—sumptuous, imperious, formal, frowning, exclusive, all the things my aunt did hot care to be. But I suppose that must be the way she seems to those who derive their ideas of ~ great ladies” in New York from maga- “ines and novels written for the glorification of the rich and the edification of the poor out in the “provinces” I (where I come from). t seemed to take a long time for Charlie to become settled in New York. But, as my aunt still liked him, she insisted upon his remaining. “Consider it your home, Charlie. It’s too absurdly big for us, and we like to have you here. I am very sorry I can not see more of you”’—my aunt is one of the hardest working women in the world—“ but if the children don’t bore you, why not?” It was hard to resist my aunt. Even the children approved of Charlie. But then, like my aunt, they were fond of people, accustomed to having many guests come and go, and did not regard grown-ups as their natural enemies. They offered visitors more than the compulsory politeness of most well- brought-up youngsters who relax and escape from the room as soon as they have said what they have been told to say to strangers in the way they have been told to do it. As each of my aunt’s two grandchildren later played a part in Charlie’s destiny, I must let them intrude for a moment now. Carol was an incredibly considerate little girl of thirteen, at this time, whose skill with horses had not yet made her hard. She was going to be a beauty some day. (Along about the day that Charlie came into the title, by the way, but all that comes four years later.) As a family we are not very good-looking, but in nearly every generation there is an exception to prove the rule. Gregory, my aunt’s nine-year-old grandson, was not one of the exceptions, and I fear he had inherited the family (Continued on page 158)

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HARPER’S BAZAR — . ie Hee : iM [A \ howe Beige ( ill pe -— Reodior

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SEPTEMBER 1927 for <a eed

HE outstanding characteristics of the new fabrics of which our winter clothes will be made are suppleness of weave, velvety surfaces, small designs when there is pattern, and an immense variety of materials suitable to the so-called sports mode. You are shown, tor example, at Bianchini’s a charming striped lamé in gray and silver, and are told, “This would be lovely as a blouse with a gray tailleur.”’ the price. It looks so luxurious that you inquire “Seven hundred francs a yard,” you are informed. A blouse for a tailored suit at twenty-eight dollars and fifty cents a yard would have made our grandmothers, in their linsey-woolseys, faint with horror. Though they might have found such items in the ex- pense accounts of their own forebears. THINK instinctively of our grandmothers, because the most conspicuous influence in the new materials, when it comes to design, is undoubtedly that which we call “Romantic,” meaning, somewhat vaguely, the period between the ‘Twenties and ’Forties, when, as Phillip Guedalla says, ‘“The whole western sky of Europe was alight with the afterglow of Byron, and the young lions of French Romanticism were beginning to roar in Paris.” This influ- ence, a rather small cloud on the fashion horizon at present, is undoubtedly a reaction from

Cubism and Art Négre. The younger artists, especially a certain set of illustrators, first began to be attracted to it; then it spread to the fabric designers. This year, the annual ‘Bal du Grand Prix,” held at the Opéra on the night of the great race and marking the end of the official season, chose this period for its famous “Entrées,” in which well-known Parisians and adopted Parisians take part. Though balls at the Opéra are no longer what they used to be, it is not unknown for this special one to influence the coming mode, or reflect its leading feature. Of course, the silks are more affected than the woolens, but even among the latter, small checks, diagonals, and neat arrangements of dots and lines, quite naive in spirit, have replaced bold designs. It cannot yet be said, however, that Romanticism has reached the actual design of our clothes, and heaven send it never may, for a more inept type of dress could hardly be imagined for the active modern woman. The utmost that can be said so far is that masculine influence has passed silently away from women’s dress, and that formal afternoon gowning, at all the important events of the Parisian season, was more sweetly feminine than it has been lately. After the Romantic influence in design, soft- ness of surface is the leading characteristic of new winter materials. This, on the contrary, 67 A FOLIO OF NEW FABRICS FROM THE IMPORTANT HOUSES OF LR O his Y *- -Jiane btaii- ¢ erier { . Sinaia ( y on a / —J/UCHIaAIrnNe ‘| on Cc Depicted by Baron DE MEYER CHARLES MarrTIN Bernarp Boutet pE Monve. Described by Marsornre Howarp Charles Martin designed the Bianchini wall fabric with its pattern of fruits and leaves. applies more forcibly to the woolens than to the silks. All the new Rodier and Meyer woolens are tempting to the touch, with their new downi- ness that still adds nothing to their thickness; for both silks and woolens share in the ex- traordinary flexibility and suppleness that we now demand. An intermingling of metal threads, begun by the Rodiers a season or two ago, is another feature of the new woolens, some of which seem almost to ape the lamés in their soft brilliance. But this season the metal, instead of being applied always in patterns, is woven through the surface in a soft glimmering effect, more beautiful than any “spotting” of a gold design. This is another indication of the reaction against so much pattern for its own sake—a tendency especially to be remarked in winter- season clothes. Tae Roprer COLLECTION HE outstanding novelty at the house of Rodier is the new department of fabrics for interior decoration. This began several sea- sons ago, when some of the lovely linens and cottons of this collection were fashioned by their makers into table-cloths and curtains, which to see was to covet. I remember the very first time I was shown a Rodier collection these

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68 HARPER’S BAZAR A cA A 4 Ly 4% AANA DANE ANSON WM AMMA NWMWOwW’ Ww an \ RX S QU wer AWN SVs Ss ~~ i 7 i, 28 ( () ( ISSUS materials made me imagine lovely rooms, hung with oddly woven and printed silks, linens, and cottons, instead of the more banal cretonnes and chintzes. The Pavillon de l’Elégance at the Paris exhibition last year was curtained by Rodier, and the Jle de France, the new float- ing palace of the French Line, has hung his “fountain” curtains in the great windows of its saloon. But this curtains and _ table- cloths are not the only things to tempt a decorator. year, There are wall-hangings as well, of oddly blended materials, jute, silk, cotton, wool—impossible to guess the combination OULC (Left) Lirler cream-beige spots. A new brocade inspired by those of the middle of the nineteenth century has a satiny ground of Empire green ° lined with moire waves and flowers of gold. Widely fa- vored by the designers is a black chiffon velvet tissue with Another velvet of a more modern feel- ing is of “aubergine” color with diagonal lines in groups. of which Baron de Meyer has chosen the most effective to photograph on page sixty-six; and coverings for furniture to complete them, in those discreet, restrained color harmonies, based on browns and grays, which the Rodiers have made so popular in their dress materials. After the furniture materials, what I liked best in the new Rodier collection, were the jerseys, the prettiest of all being illustrated by Monsieur de Monvel in the model from Jane Régny on page seventy. Its dark green zig- zag lines on an openwork beige foundation allow the designer to forget all about trimming, and use the material in its own unadorned beauty. One of the new jerseys with the name of ‘‘Crépe Trykho,” in which one can recognize an old friend, is a mixture of silk and wool ina crépy surface, something like the well-known crepella. It is also illustrated by Monsieur de Monvel. These jerseys are all woven of kashmir wool, which gives them incredible softness. Some are mixed with gold; for example, one, which Worth is going to use a great deal, has stripes of openwork gold alternated with stripes of openwork dark blue wool. This really looks like hand-knitting in metal and wool t! reads.

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 69 |@ oe * ta Aj. a) The small-checked bodice is of a new velvet called “ Dro- guet.”” A new combination of raised velvet design and printing is shown in the small ivy leaf of raised velvet on a crépe ground, printed with little lines of beige. A lovely brocade as fine as a handkerchief, ““Dames de Versailles,” is reminiscent in design of the romantic period. Another type, already used for a sports suit by Chanel, combines four browns, from pale cream to seal, in a design like the wings of a wood-moth. One is fine as a veil and is printed with narrow darker lines. After the jerseys, here called “djersas,” come the new Kashatullas, openwork woolens re- calling coarse ‘tulle,’ whence comes their name. These are made in an immense variety of new designs, one of which is illustrated in the model from Jane Régny, drawn by Mon- Sieur de Monvel. Occasionally they add the word “djersa” to the rest of the name, and then they are meant for jumpers and sweaters, which it is hard to imagine have been made of material woven by the yard. The long series of kashas receives new re- cruits with new color combinations, mostly neutral in tone, and new designs. Some are mixed with gold, and others have the new velvetiness of surface characteristic of this year’s materials as a whole. Two most popu- lar among the dressmakers are ‘‘ Kashabure,” a heavy coat material, and “Kashagivror,” a fine wool frosted all over with gold. Gold is the Jeitmotif that runs through the whole col- 4} i i A NENG Mi |} | ‘iit : | } i Alt} {I li \ \ Hh) fl Ca i t ioe f° = lection, even in a dark plaid of yellow, tan, cream, and brown, where it is faintly suspected on the right side, while the reverse is frankly gilded. ‘‘Kashavelline,” a very velvety ma- terial for coats, is another success. ‘‘Vellor” is a fourth, a soft velours surface in kasha wool, frosted with gold on one side. On these bases a whole new range of color and designs is worked out. Soft grayish browns, grays, cream, and the whole gamut of beige are leaders, but the Rodiers prophesy a vogue for the “Havana” or tan-browns. Many shades are present in one design, and the pattern itself is less vivid and

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a a ( ISSUS OC more run-together, “fondu” the French call it. The ‘‘tweedy”’ fabrics are all in small designs of the “‘ pheasant’s eye” type, or in herring-bone All the “‘chevron” and diag- onal arrangements are favored. or diagonal lines. THE BIANCHINI COLLECTION | ONG ago Bianchini began to make furni- ture materials, employing some of the best artists of execute the day to the designs. This department is still one of the most inter- HAMPER © BAZAR REGNYJ HARPER’S BAZAR My \ z- ,/ REGNY The coat and skirt of this travel ensemble from Goupy are of Rodier’s nex ‘“*Kashavelline,” while the sweater and the lining of the coat are of “Crépe Tussakasha,” a compromise between tussore and kasha cloth. (Middle) With a skirt of ““Kashavelline,’ a new kasha with a wool velours surface, is worn LeYVv a sweater-blouse of ‘““Kashatulla” in beige and white and dark brown. (Right) A travel suit of dark green “Crépe Trykho,” a new Rodier fabric, is worn with a sweater of Rodier “‘djersa” in beige with a design of dark green zigzags. esting of this famous house. Baron de Meyer has photographed a lovely wall-hanging or screen-material, designed by Charles Martin, on page sixty-seven. In the collection of dress materials, the lamés are overwhelmingly in the majority. One would need the pen of a poet to do them justice. Here, also, the patterns are less aggressive, more “fondu” or melted. A novelty is the mixture of metals, both gold and silver, in the same design. Another, is the ‘“‘crackly” background of gold, like a certain type of china. Colors are soft, faded, mingled with white; at Bianchini’s they call them “‘dragée” colors. Some of the loveliest effects are in the so-called sports lamés, in which beige and gold, and gray and silver appear without any bright color at all. Some are ethereal and look as light in weight as they feel in the hand. Others have the appearance of thickness and heaviness, and are a continual surprise when one lifts them, on account of their lightness and flexibility. New shaded effects in weaving, and “washed out’ colors, looking as if they were

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 LELONG For this rose-beige travel frock Lelong uses a new woolen fabric from Meyer, called ‘‘M adiana.” “Tamisca” but finer. (Right) leda,” and is made from “soie shape,” or “waste silk.” much of the character of silk duvetine, but does not mark with wear. This is a sort of wool crépon, something like last year’s The collar and cuffs are of white starched linen. Another new Meyer fabric, used for a travel coat, is called “Pel- This fabric has The coat is old blue, trimmed with siik stitching and collar and cuffs of gray fox. faded by time, add to their soft blurred effect, which is a great contrast to the bold geometric and modern designs and colors we have had in the recent past. A ‘“‘veau mort né” or unborn calfskin in lamé in striking black and white is a vivid exception. Next in importance to the lamés are the vel- vets, plain, raised, printed, and raised and Printed together. The raised velvets are important, and dot designs are conspicuous among them. Worth has reserved a fabric in Which raised uneven gray dots, very small, are sprinkled over a rose-red surface. Most of the designs here are small and often flowery—quite ‘*Romantic” in fact. A marvelous new velvet is called ‘‘Diaphane,”’ a mere thin layer of velvet on a chiffon base. The great Bianchini success of the summer season, ‘‘ Flamenga,”’ a new sort of heavy crépe marocain, appears in new weights for winter. One is an extraordinary feat of dyeing, showing stripes of crépe and satin, in all the colors of the spectrum, which one is told are all dyed at once by a new and secret method. There is also a LELONG ‘ Cissus \ Vises new heavy “chiné” silk rep, which will make handsome afternoon costumes. ECTION OF COUDURIER FRUCTUS HE patterns that I most admired at Coudurier’s are drawn by Charles Martin on page sixty-eight. First, their great success, which every house in Paris is said to have ordered, a small cream-colored dot on a black velvet background. (Concluded on page 156)

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N : SY > \ N N . . es t \ N S ie \\" \ ‘ K \ : AO “y “ay DA 6 TN ‘~. yoy (Top, left) Haas Brothers’ transparent velvet, mounted on Haas Brothers’ fine crépe faille. Both fabrics are rather a bright blue; the velvet a bit darker. (Top) The figure at the right wears a frock of Cheney’s gold metal crépe satin, combined with Cheney's crépe Chenalure in a dull purplish blue. (Lower left) A semi-sports frock of Cheney’s Panadore in a shade of blue- green called ‘“‘Moonjade,” combined with crépe Chenalure, stitched with gold. ? EESCCEL Eee . REUSE ES BZ URES (Lower middle) Haas Brothers’ black transparent velvet is used for the full skirt, combined with a vivid red blouse of Che- ney’s Mirrokrépe embroidered in gold. (Extreme right) Haas Brothers’ supple velvet, so good this season, is used in black, combined in a manner typical of the new mode with mauve-rose satin. Other triangles show Mallinson’s arti- ficial velvets. Top, printed Orchid Tissue and chiffon barred with velvet. Bottom, printed velvet and velvet-dotted tinsel. HARPER’S BAZAR Feason HP ihiaaideel Vodels on this page from BONWIT TELLER MOST interesting development in American fabrics is the appearance of several species of really beautiful artificial velvets. These are in plain colors with a straight pile and transparent backs, or are of the panne variety. There are printed velvets and velvets brocaded on chiffon or indestructible voile, or tinsel-threaded tissues. The printed velvets are used, with an extremely new effect, for typical sports frocks, with slip or blouse and plaited skirts. This informal handling of an otherwise formal fabric is characteristic of this autumn’s mode. On the page opposite are two frocks of this sort, to be worn with harmonizing coats of wool fabric. Velvet 1s used combined with crépe and lamé tissue for more formal daytime frocks, and with lamé, chiffon, or satin for evening.

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ican s of e in cks, vets oile, new and wise de. » be t is 10re itin for SEPTEMBER 1927 Ly a . lo Snaller “Five-ounce,” that is five ounces to the yard, wool fabrics are newer than silk, and there is a tendency among designers to use them for early autumn frocks. Examples of these are shown on page seventy-four. In these fabrics classic fabrics have been reproduced, but much lighter in weight and finer in texture. Covert cloth, twills, and rep have been exquisitely counterfeited to make frocks to be worn as part of ensembles under wraps of heavier fabrics. An en- semble of this type is shown at the upper left on page Seventy-four. For evening wear extraordinary flexible twills have been produced, unlike anything of previous seasons. Chiffons are printed, run through with lamé threads, and brocaded with lamé. Lamé tissues for evening Wraps are as soft as satin and drape with its flexibility. Ove — e icate Lesions (Top, left) Mallinson’s printed Orchid Tissue shown below on opposite page is used in amber and beige colorings for this sports frock. Saks-Fifth Avenue. (Top, right) Haas Brothers’ printed artificial velvet in black and white is used to make this simple type of sports frock. From Saks-Fifth Avenue. Cheney’s transparent velvet in an off shade of blue-green, with applied motifs of crépe of the same color stitched on with silver. From Bonwit Teller. wae iis: (Lower middle) The skirt is gray wool jersey, from the Princess Textile Com- pany, with gray crépe blouse with applied jersey motifs. From Bonwit Teller. (Upper left) Cheney's satin-brocaded crépe for fur coat linings. Some have animal designs, others modern archi- tectural motifs. In beige and brown. (Top) Mallinson’s velvet on voile. Below, Cheney’s printed velvet, tinsel brocade, and printed tinsel chiffon. (Lower left) Cheney’s lamé brocade.

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Models from BERGDORF GOODMAN Forstmann, Huffmann are making woolen fabric s ideally adapted to the ensemble. The material of this dark blue coat is a fabric with a surface somewhat like a broadcloth, but.very fine and flexible and with a slightly pebbled surface and a high sheen. The frock worn under the coat shown above is of bright blue Phantomeen, a “five-ounce” wool fabric of the type that is now superseding silk for frocks. The coat, of Aexible, lustrous wool fabric, has the fabric worked two ways to give it texture. Another “ five-ounce” Forstmann, Huffmann fabric (that is, five ounces to the yard) is a new fine covert, a supple fabric that may be worn as part of an ensemble or as a frock by itself. This resembles we ry fine covert cloth, flecked with white. A very fine tweed-patterned fabric that has, at the same time, a kashmir surface, is a Forstmann, Huffmann coating that has none of the bulk of tweed, but all its charm. It is in a beige and brown almost invisible tweed design very good this season. One of the most successful coatings of this season is a new tweed with a large broken check in beige and brown. The fabric, from Forst- mann, Huffmann, has the charac- leristic soft touch given even heavy winter coatings this season. At the top and bottom of the triangle are other Forstmann, Huffmann wool coatings of tweed design, but very soft and flexible and woven with a_ bit of kashmir. At the sides are Phantomeen and Elfeen, two “five-ounce” fabrics.

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SST ie aoe Ven anf ¥ 4 An interesting coating is the new Forstmann, Huffmann soft tweed, woven to resemble fine lizard skin, but not imitation reptile looking. The unusually soft texture is due to the use of fine Australian yarn for flexibility. From Bergdorf Goodman. Alexa, a Forstmann, Wuffmann fab- ric, resembling a fine broadcloth but extremely flexible and with a pebbled surface, is used in black for this wrap. The large surplice collar and cuffs are of milk kolin- sky. From Bergdorf Goodman. Light gray tweed, from Forstmann, Huffmann, is flecked with darker gray. The collar and cuffs are of natural white wolf, extraordi- narily well suited to this type of fine and very light sports fabric. From Bergdorf Goodman. Transparent artificial velvet from Cheney has a soft bloom and beautiful highlights that make it lovely for draped evening wraps. It is gray- green, lined with the same fabric, and collared with a surplice of flying squirrel. From John Wanamaker. Vivid blue transparent velvet, brushed with gray highlights, is used for an- other evening wrap trimmed with light gray fox. This lovely velvet marks easily, but each mark adds to its silvery bloom and to its character. From John Wanamaker. The small triangle at the top shows a new printed sports flannel from Botany Worsted. At the bottom are two printed velvets typical of the new velvets designed this season for many types of frocks for sports and for the more elaborate genre of frock.

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HARPER’S BAZAR “When, toward five, they slipped in with Laird’s latch-key, the large cool rooms lay in the mysterious slant light of dawn. In this quiet the four in evening clothes looked, Marda admitted to herself, a bit out of place.”

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for SEPTEM BER 1927 “She herself had only ruiz round and round, trying lo express—what?” HREE in the morning, and light by day was never so lovely. Light held in the sky and ready to spill down the gray- black earth. The four in the touring car looked sleepily at the east. “Nice show,” said Boro, who was Mac Beauregard. “That’s a hackneyed idea,” Laird Marsh protested. “It’s not so nice, really. They do it better at the picture places.” “T like it,” Laura Parks admitted, “because the only illusion I have left is thinking that it’s nice. I expect Marda’ll be down on it as old stuff.” Laird’s sister Marda did not turn her head from Boro’s shoulder, nor did she open her eyes. “T’m off raving,” she said. Boro tightened his arm a bit and whispered: “Every last least thing you say makes me love you more. Isn’t that fool?” She answered: “I’m that, too.” AIRD, who was driving, asked where they wanted breakfast, and voted for an early choice. They had left the Brixton Prom, forty miles away, at the restrained hour of two, but a bad tire and a wrong road would bring them into town after four. Marda and Boro said they didn’t want breakfast. “My word,” Laird cried, “haven’t you two ever been in love before?” “That was then and this is now,” Boro contended. “There wasn’t any then,” Marda said, “and there’s going to be just one gorgeous now.” “That,” said Laird, “will be something of a trick.” Marda and Mac Beauregard were not listen- ing. “When we’re married... .” Beaure- gard had said, and Marda suddenly sat up. “Boro,” she said, “I’m terribly serious about trying to reform marriage. I think it’s the duty of every engaged couple to think about that.” “I don’t want any try-out marriage,” Boro objected, “I want to marry you.” “But the evolution of marriage,” Marda began, and Boro said: “Darling, don’t let’s relorm marriage this morning. Let me tell you What I’ve thought of. I’ve been thinking that the girl I marry will not be the same person as the mother of our baby . . . and isn’t that an Overwhelming thought?” “I shall too,” said Marda. “No. You'll have something different in BY ae Gale : UPPER CHAMBERS And Wheat Sestiperied lo ovle G;,. when Ake e orvrI" ILLUSTRATED BY your eyes then—you’ll be a mother in your eyes, Marda—something happens,” he con- cluded vaguely. ‘‘That’s more important than reforming marriage,” he defended. Laird and Laura were listening when Marda cried: “It’s to release motherhood that marriage should emerge. . . .” ORO looked up at the flaming east, where color and silver and light were giving way to an even gold. “My idea,” he said slowly, “we don’t even guess yet what motherhood really is.” At this they all laughed, so that a woman working in her garden looked indignant. Laura announced that the evolution of mar- riage was her favorite toast, and Laird growled that he wanted breakfast served abruptly. “Boro,” he explained, “is going to land a job in the Argentine this week, and marriage is all very well for him. But I want breakfast. Have you heard from Brantley yet?” he asked. “T’ll hear this week,” Beauregard answered. ** Any day now. And if I get the job, your sister and I'll be fleeing.” “Do they marry in the Argentine?” Marda asked. “I’m in earnest, you know. Oh, Laird, let’s have them come home with us now and get breakfast there. Father’s away, mother won’t be down for hours. And everybody can lay the table while I do the waffles.” “Can you make waffles?” Boro demanded. “Then you’ve got to marry me!” “No,” said Marda, “no matrimony and waffles, even with you.” HE Marsh house was of the small-town mansion type which, set in town, would have meant luxury. When, toward five, they slipped in with Laird’s latch-key, the large cool rooms lay in the mysterious slant light of dawn, rooms having the beauty and dignity of some middle-aged woman, who has slipped into harmony with living. In the dining-room the old mahogany, the Sheffield, the mirrors stood in an unexplained calm which seemed to smile. In this quiet the four in evening clothes looked, Marda admitted to herself, a bit out of place. Her gold tissue was garish and crumpled, and Laura’s rose Georgette looked a bloom out of season. The men, in Tuxedos, with hair rumpled up at the back, smoked and made talk, but “A restaurant would have been better,” Laird said abruptly, and Laura cried, “Do you know, I’ve been tiptoeing!” “But mother won’t hear us,” said Marda. (M catiod to ¢ }] ' arriade Fee) SamuEL Davis OrTts “T’m not so sure,” Laird put in. “TI thought I heard a stir in her room.” “Will she hate us?’ Laura demanded. “Mother never hated anything in her life . hot even me,” said Laird. “Why not take her up some coffee, Marda?” Marda laughed. ‘All right,’ she said. “I think Id like to see the effect of me on mother.” The first round of waffles had been served and Marda was dipping batter on the electric plate, when the door opened. Boro was helping, his arms about her, his hand over hers on the spoon. Laura and Laird were eating from the same plate of strawberries. They all looked up arrested as Mrs. Marsh came in. “Mummy!” said Marda. “Fancy your being up at this hour.” “This is my favorite hour,” said Mrs. Marsh. “How nice of you to join me.” She moved to the head of the table where the percolator stood. She was in crisp white, with something in peacock blue about her. Beside her clear face and fit gown, abruptly the crumpled gold and the rose Georgette appeared unwashed. ‘Was the party right?” she asked. “Tt’s still being right, Mrs. Marsh,” Boro told her. “This is the best part.” She was pouring their coffee, with deliberate attention to the tastes of each. She was so dainty, so groomed, so infinitely right, and she seemed to touch at things with the tips of her fingers. Looking at her brushed and glossy hair, Laura’s hands went sleekly over her tumbled bob, and Marda looked in the side- board mirror and frowned. “T haven’t been at a breakfast party in years,’ Mrs. Marsh said obliviously. She smiled about at them, seemed not to see their discomfiture; or, perhaps, it was in a wish to set them at their ease that she began to speak. “T had a beautiful dream last night,” she said. “T don’t join in the general loathing for people who tell dreams—may I tell you?” They assented as if they were relieved not to have to make conversation; and she began, looking beyond them as she talked: “WT WAS a chamber—no, a garden—well, it was open and starry. And the light!— good color, well-done light, you know—not garish, not even stagy. The quality of sun and snow and distance—one doesn’t see such light. And there were people—how shall I say? You know when you love some one at first, just at first, they look heavenly to one. .. .” “Yes!” said Boro and Marda and Laura and Laird, asone. “And always,” they added. “Exactly,” said Mrs. (Continued on page 150)

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HARPER’S BAZAR ~ . P ST) OF ee y YY if je NWallad by the hietiongeciilead iis | ( he 2 Dm Is a . Ovent. Here 1s the latest poem by T More ies C 4 i | | r | i THE BALLAD OF DICK TURPIN DRAWING By ROCKWELL KENT HE April stars looked quietly down Hidden and waiting; for whom? And why? Through the gathering dusk on London town. The clock struck seven. A step drew nigh. A smock-frockt yokel hobbled along It was King! Tom King! Dick Turpin’s mate. By Newgate, humming a country song. The black mare whinneyed. Too late! Too late! Chewing a straw, he stood to stare They rose like shadows out of the ground At the proclamation posted there: And grappled him there, without a sound. - oo I 2 y mene . ae? ° rere ° ° ° Three hundred guineas on Turpin’s head, “Throttle him—quietly—choke him dead! Trap him alive or shoot him dead; _ ¥ Or we lose the hawk for a jay,” they said. And a hundred more for his mate, Tom King. He crouched, like a tiger about to spring. They wrestled and heaved, five men to one; And a yokel entered the yard, alone; Then he looked up, and he looked down; . . : And, chuckling low, like a country clown, A smock-frockt yokel, hobbling slow; a , But a fight is physic, as all men know. Dick Turpin painfully hobbled away 5 pm™ In quest of his inn—The Load of Hay. His age dropped off. He stood upright. He leapt like a tiger into the fight. Alone in her stall, his mare, Black Bess, I stead her head in mute distress: Hand to hand, they fought in the dark; For none could fire at a twisting mark, For five strange men had entered the yard ; . And looked at her long, and looked at her hard. Where he that shot at a foe might send His pistol-ball through the skull of a friend. They went out, muttering under their breath; And then—the dusk grew still as death. But “Shoot, Dick, shoot!”’ gasped out Tom King. ‘Shoot, or damn it, we both shall swing! But the velvet ears of the listening mare Shoot and chance it!”’ Dick leapt back. Lifted and twitched. They were there—still there; He drew. He fired. At the pistol’s crack,

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1R EPTEMBER 1927 = The wrestlers whirled. They scattered apart, And the bullet drilled through Tom King’s heart. Dick Turpin dropped his smoking gun. They had trapped him now, five men to one. A gun in each hand of the crouching five, They could take Dick Turpin now, alive; Take him and bind him and tell their tale As a pot-house boast, when they drank their ale. He whistled, soft as a bird might call; And a head-rope snapped in his bird’s dark stall. He whistled soft as a nightingale. He heard the swish of her swinging tail. There was no way out that the five could see, To heaven or hell, but the Tyburn tree; No door but death; and yet, once more, He whistled, as though at a sweetheart’s door. The five men laughed at him, trapped alive; And—the door crashed open behind the five! Out of the stable, a wave of thunder, Swept Black Bess, and the five went under. He leapt to the saddle. A hoof-spurned stone Flashed blue fire, and their prize was gone. I] WAY, through the ringing, cobbled street, and out by the Northern Gate, He rode that night, like a ghost in flight from the dogs of his own fate. By Crackskull Common, and Highgate Heath, he heard the chase behind; But he rode to forget—forget—forget—the hounds of his own mind. And cherry-black Bess on the Enfield Road flew light as a bird to her goal; But her Rider carried a heavier load, in his own strug- gling soul. He needed neither spur nor whip. He was borne on a darker gale. He rode like a hurricane-hunted ship, with the doom- wind in her sail. He rode for the one impossible thing; that, in the morning light, The towers of York might waken him—from London, and last night. He rode to prove himself another. and leave himself behind; And the hunted self was like a cloud; but the hunter like the wind. Neck and neck they rode together; that, in the day’s first gleam, ach might prove that the other self was but a mocking dream. And the little sleeping villages, and the breathless country-side, Woke to the drum of the racing hoofs; but missed that ghostly ride. They did not hear, they did not see, as the drumming hoofs drew nigh, The dark magnificent thief in the night that rode so subtly by. They woke. They rushed to the wayside door. They saw what the midnight showed,— A mare that came like a crested wave along the Great North Road; A flying spark in the formless dark, a flash from the hoof-spurned stone, And the lifted face of a man, that took the starlight, and was gone. They heard the shout of the pounding chase, three hundred yards away. There were fourteen men in a steam of sweat and a plaster of Midland clay. The starlight struck their pistol-butts, as they passed in a clattering crowd, But the hunting wraith was away like the wind at the heels of the hunted cloud. He rode by the walls of Nottingham; and, over him as he went, Like ghosts across the Great North Road, the boughs of Sherwood bent. By Bawtry all the chase but one had dropt a league behind, Yet that one Rider hunted him, invisibly, as the wind, And northward, like a blacker night, he saw the moors up-loom, And Don and Derwent sang to him, like memory in the gloom. And northward, northward as he rode, and sweeter than a prayer The voices of those hidden streams, the Trent and Ouse and Aire; Streams that could never slake his thirst. He heard them as they flowed. 3ut one dumb shadow hunted him along the Great North Road. Till now, at dawn, the towers of York, rose on the red- dening sky, And Bess went down between his knees, like a breaking wave to die. He lay beside her in the ditch. He kissed her lovely head; And a Shadow passed him like the wind, and left him with his dead. He saw, but not as one that wakes, the city that he sought, He had escaped from London town, but not from his own thought. He strode up to the Mickle-gate with none to say him nay; And there he met his Other Self, in the stranger light of day. He strode up to the dreadful Thing that in the gateway stood; And it stretched out a ghostly hand that the dawn had stained with blood. It stood, as in the gates of hell, with none to hear or see. “Welcome!”” It said, “* Thou’st ridden well; and out- stript all but me.”

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HARPER’S BAZAR FOURRURES MAX Madame Leroy (/ : ty e ed J.) Madame Leroy, cf Fourrures Max, gave this evening cape a new, very feminine silhouette. The back line is much longer than the front, which gives the wrap its supple movement and curious elegance. The pelts of the body of the wrap are mole, worked so that the shoulders are given an original and becoming shape, but the border is a huge volant of kolinsky. Kolinsky bands are also used to end the huge bow-knot.

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EPTEMBER 1927 a s* 7) . ( L, —— there is more interest in 4S Tested i( A ED lhan in Novelty AP It, BY MARJORIE HOWARD 2 rue de la Paix, Paris. PORTS FURS: All varieties of goat, the skins taken from an unborn or extremely young animal, dyed and J/ustré in beiges, browns, grays, and in creamy white. Gazelle, sometimes stenciled or printed. Shaved lamb dyed in “‘fur”’ colors. Very young pony almost as supple as velvet, the best variety being Russian, some- times in the natural color, a light tan, and frequently dyed black. This is a specialty of Grunwaldt. Antelope in large quantities, sometimes in natural shades. Heim shows a new variety called “‘antilope argenté” which is shaded from light to dark gray. Natural seal, unplucked and undyed, leaving the silvery spots on the gray background. Shaved lamb, calfskin, unborn or extremely young, though the spotted ‘‘veau mort né”’ has grown too common. The newest calf-skins are creamy white and are thin and supple, beautifully marked, and suggest white broadtail. All these furs made up very simply on straight, slim lines, often combined with woolen materials, and sometimes trimmed with other furs. Almost invariably lined with kasha or other light-weight wool, as they are not very warm. In general, sports furs are simpler, less often stenciled or printed, and frequently left in their natural colors. Fur-lined travel and sports coats are very good. All the above furs are used, with nutria and its imitation in clipped rabbit in addition. TREET FURS: Astrakhan and all its derivatives are leaders. For morning wear Persian lamb, caracul, and astrakhan-breitschwanz, or broadtail taken when the lamb is a little older, when its greater strength gives better wear. Usually black, sometimes gray. For after- noon wear, nothing will exceed broadtail in smartness. Lines will be in general slim and straight, but while the top of the coat will be semi- fitted, the skirts show a tendency toward a slight flare. An effort is seen toward greater elegance in fur coats, both in new manners of treat- ing the skin to give added suppleness and thinness, and in more care- fully studied cut. Collars tend to be smaller, less enveloping, thus adding to the slender effect. The all-fur coat finds its rival in the fur- trimmed cloth coat, which continues its immense vogue. Black coats, frequently of broadcloth and similar woolen fabrics, are trimmed either with matching flat furs, or with long-haired light furs, generally beige or gray, unless silver fox is preferred. Beautiful coats are made of cloth in “fur” colors, the fur trimmings painstakingly matched. Shawl collars are good. Stole rever collars are also smart, the fur widening

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Breitschwanz is one of the season, because it is as soft and flexible most perishable. as ad ftitt The effect of this coat is double, most favored pelts in Paris this fubric and made with straight slim fronts that form a sort of cape finished with a collar of gray fox fur and turned-back toward the hem. Straight standing collars, especially of long-haired furs, fox or lynx, are sometimes cut to stand away from the head, in somewhat Medici style. When flat furs are chosen as trimmings they are used in smaller garnitures, frequently on diagonal lines. Astra- khan in grays and sometimes brown is a favorite flat trimming fur. A new long-haired pelt is Indian fox, which when carefully dyed and “lustré,” beige or gray, makes an agreeable and inexpensive substitute for regular fox. A revival of the fur-lined silk coat for afternoon should be mentioned. There is one from Heim in black crépe marocain on page 115. Madame Leroy of Fourrures Max is making afternoon coats, lined or trimmed with furs, in Bianchini’s ‘“‘flamenga,” in velvet, and in moire. She trims them especially with precious blue fox. revers of gray velvet. VENING FURS: — Here there is rivalry between the all-fur and the fur- trimmed wrap. Yet at every smart evening event, spotless ermine wraps are remarked, the skins beautifully matched and worked. The cape-form rivals the coat type. Beige-dyed or real summer ermine, immensely smart for after- noon wear during the Paris summer season, is Chinchilla is highly prized, and its imitations continue to improve so that across the room they deceive even the expert. Sables are rarer and rarer. Mink is still worn for evening by women who possess it, but it is no longer in first smartness. Wraps of lamé or velvet trimmed and lined with fur are smart. Entire linings of ermine are sumptuous. The real ermine may be re- placed by carefully prepared clipped white also not so frequently seen for evening. HARPER’S BAZAR rabbit, but the large collar must be of real ermine. The vogue of beige ermine for evening is growing when used as lining or trimming. In general, the coat shape is preferred to the cape type, but the latter is also seen, particu- larly when fur lined, as it is less clumsy than a coat shape when lined with fur. Combinations of brown fur and all-gold lamé were particularly smart at entertainments of the Paris season. I also remarked many red velvet wraps trimmed with brown furs, such as sable or mink. These three headings, sports furs, street furs, and evening furs, pretty well sum up the situation for next winter as the leading furriers see it. The illustrations by Luza supplement this summary and picture its typical instances. As will be seen, the furs of 1927-28 are more interesting from the point of view of workman-

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real ning ‘ing. the icu- han ions a rly son. med furs, the riers nent 1ces. nore nan- for SEPTEMBER 1927 GRUNWALDT ship and selection than from that of novelty in the pelts themselves, This is the outstanding characteristic of the fur situation for next win- ler. The second is found in the effort toward greater elegance in fur garments. Toward this end, everything possible is done to render the pelts themselves thinner and more pliable. That is Probably the reason that mink, hand- sine as it is, is no longer the first choice of ~~ Smart woman, as it was in the “boom” years directly after the war. She now prefers sceile breitschwanz, which is like cloth, and flexible cloth at that. The ideal of the furriers rp clients of those first after-war years, ; 0 be to make a mink coat as expen- Possible by adding to the number of ed, without consideration for the ac- I well remember the first anc Sive as skins us fompanying bulk. An extraordinary wrap of ermine is remarkable because it is untrimmed in any ay except for the exquisite working of the skins, which are laid in filets running in different directions. The model is left unlined so that it may be lined to suit the client, to develop ensemble idea between wrap and gown. mink coat { saw in which smartness instead of expensiveness had evidently been the aim. It was worn to the races by Jane Renouardt, the actress, and was made by Lanvin. As slender and straight as any cloth garment, its skins were worked simply in long lines, the sleeves and collar both small and trim. I thought it the best looking fur coat I had ever seen, but it was not long before all fur coats took on this svelte appearance, and gained tre- mendously in elegance thereby. But this year, the pencil-silhouette in furs will be rivaled by another, which I might describe as the “redingote” silhouette Its top part will be fitted, or semi-fitted, and its skirts will be cut with a slight flare. This is in accordance with the feeling for a bit more width in skirts which was a noticeable feature of Paris fashions as shown during the season. When fur coats are intended for afternoon or evening wear, they may adopt the uneven hem- line, to the extent of being shorter in front than in the back. This gives a graceful curving line, but is only appropriate to formal wear. One of the most interesting notes of the Paris season was the sudden appearance at smart afternoon functions of coats of white calfskin, so young and so supple that it looked like white breitschwanz. Louiseboulanger made a most successful model, three-quarter length, hung from the shoulders with a good deal of flare, and trimmed only with a big cravette, attached to the collar at the back, made of beige-striped white silk, and worn tied in a large bow under the chin. Lady Mendl wore this to several afternoon events of

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*“ Astrakhan breitschwanz”’ is used for this afternoon coat. This is broad-tail when it is a little older, so that the skin is less perishable but has all the lovely marking of the “ breitschwans.”’ importance. There is an example from Premet on the opposite page, drawn by Luza, which was worn to the races with flowery chiffon frocks during the Grande Semaine. The weather was perfectly despicable, you know, and fur coats were anything but unwelcome, despite the month of June. These coats are really something new. September, in addition to being “fur month” is also ‘‘millinery month.’”’ Some of the latest autumn hats are drawn by Mary Mackinnon on page 110. There is a very new tendency toward balanced trimming on each side over the ears. I cannot yet tell you whether this will *‘take’’; but if you look at the sketches of Mrs. Hearst’s lovely new things on page 113, you will see a Reboux toque, in wide satin ribbon, which embodies the idea. This toque is also worn by the Duchess de Grammont, always a pioneer in dress. The toque will still be important this autumn—so much we know definitely. During the Paris season it was worn extensively, often with a touch of aigrettes in the form of shaving brushes set at one side, HEI HARPER’S Bazar An important new sports fur is ante- lope dyed in shades of gray with a silver sheen. The coat of this newly treated fur has a gray cloth lining and fastens with a bright steel buckle. thus introducing a touch of formality into head- gear which has been lacking for some time. Slightly more elaborate, more feminine, after- noon clothes, and slightly more formal hats. If this be forecast, make the most of it! The Maria Guy toque, which was created for us, illustrates the present mode of combining more than one material that extends to hats. It also dips deeply in the back in an interesting line. The Agnés model is very interesting, because it shows a really new movement. Last year, you remember, Agnés set the Seine on fire with her “‘Croisiére noire,” the hat with the backward movement, inspired by head- dresses of the Congo belles. This year, she was hunting busily in her brain for a novelty, when it suddenly occurred to her to reverse the movement, from back to front instead o from front to back. So she worked this out in all kinds of materials and in many different ways, and called the result ‘Le Coup de Vent, or gust of wind, silhouette. It is partic ularly comfortable and appropriate with big winter collars. Some of these little hats have a set-on

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) head- time. after- | hats. ted for bining » hats. resting esting, pment. . Seine t with head- iT, she velty, “everse ead of iis out fferent Vent,” ularly winter set-on tor SEPTEMBER 1927 1 new sports mode that has appeared late in the Paris season is the wearing of coats of unborn calf skin, as thin and supple as velvet, and in creamy white. This model is belted with white. piece which curls forward on each side rather like a breaking wave. Others have ‘a profile reminiscent of a classic helmet, with a bit of algrette along the ridge to accentuate the line. Others, like the one in the sketch, emplov shirring to give the same line, more apparent in profile than in full face, as in the drawing. Still others, felts this time, have a deep crack in the top which gives the same movement. Her new little feather toques are a great suc- cess. The feathers are knitted into very light Jetsey straw, which fits the head as closely as a wig. Then they are swirled forward over the ears, like a raggedy bob, in a manner that really looks like short hair in a gale of wind. She wears this toque herself in chalcedony blue, with a chiffon Vionnet frock to match, and earrings and necklace of chalcedony beads. All these millinery ideas are interesting as indications, but the true autumn mode will crystallize when the Parisian returns to town and puts her seal on it. . Another significant little hat is drawn on page 114, with the suit from Talbot. This CHERUIT PREMET Gazelle is now printed in stripes so that it resembles the markings of the water snake. The coat shown here is in shades of gray and beige to wear with gray or beige costumes. coat and hat are the only indication I have yet seen of an Early Victorian influence in actual clothes, though as I have explained at length in the fabric article, the new materials are full of this inspiration. The only other tendencies of the Paris season with any bearing on coming autumn fashions concern color, especially, of course, evening color, as the light shades worn in the daytime at summer events are appropriate, in winter, only in the evening. I mentioned in the last number of Harper’s Bazar the importance of pink. At the very last daytime reunions of the season, mauve shades, sometimes with a cyclamen cast, were worn by many really smart women; and the yellows that I com- mented upon at Deauville early in the season, spread to Paris and were seen a good deal. Among the smartest women, the brighter blues had faded and toned down to aquamarine tints. In the evening, Vionnet’s lovely new pale blue, a cross between a light aquamarine and a pale hyacinth, began to be seen. White for evening held its place right (Concluded on page 122)

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HARPER’S BAZAR Yn fi Cae Wirral Worth makes a short straight afternoon coat of black cloth end trims it with beige fox. Black with beige fur is as smart as ever.

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AR SEPTEMBER 1927 BY Fe Yaron ole Meyer: MODELE OFFOSE Baron de Meyer y -_ = > . . ) vV1e VNaAKReCSNI11 oal VERGNE LEAVES FROM A FASHION NOTE-BOOK y } : ; > L, Meyer EReveals the oS Pewildering LS Yaron ade ever AK one s i le _Yource of a ‘i Cc eVvillg . ‘2 ne SA vusillion Onl — Sobiveks 18 rue Vaneau, Paris. HESE notes, impressions in fact, are part of my diary— a volume in which, most evenings, I try to record what I have seen and heard during the day that might prove useful for me to remember. Reading over the last few pages I thought it might amuse the readers of Harper’s Bazar to see for themselves from what sources my monthly contribu- tion to the magazine is elaborated. I shall not attempt to edit these hastily recorded observations more than is absolutely necessary to make them intelligible. They were written on the Normandy coast during my recent stay at a villa situated between Deauville and Houlgate. “St. Eustache,” which I mention, is a wonderful historical chateau owned by a friend of mine who has restored it with extraordinary tact and with much taste. Drove out forty miles across country to St. Eustache. Arriving in “Cour d’honneur” of the chateau find it choked with motor-cars. Romantic setting! A ruined abbey, century- old trees, an old-world mansion. All Deauville assembled on terrace awaiting luncheon. In the meantime ecstasies of delight because of view. Wooded hills, picturesque church steeples, blue expanse beyond. Most women suitably dressed for occasion. Country clothes designed for sophisticated rusticity. Marquise de J. in trim white marocain, pale blue sweater vest, large white Georgette flower, Panama straw hat, printed Deauville scarf in blues and violets, wash leather gloves, a walking-stick. She wears her clothes like no one else. M. G. pastel-blue knitted sweater with lavender designs (a Lelong exclusivity) worn over a white shirt with turned-down collar, plaited marocain skirt in matching blue, felt sports hat from Reboux, decorated by blue and mauve batik splashes, butterfly perched on hat, each wing a slab of emerald, sapphire spots, ruby eyes. Low- heeled straw sandals with tan leather edgings. Lunch is announced! ‘‘ Madame la Comtesse est servi!” Four tables of ten. At one of them a great prima donna, a famous painter, several notabilities. The dining-room is pale green. Additional tints are harmonies of beige and brown. I notice silver birds and much china on shelves. Mirrors are quite a feature of the room and are decorated with brown monkeys painted on the back of the glass which is mirrored only where it is not painted. Was seated between Daisy and Madame S. The former wore a sleeveless gown of printed chiffon, navy blue and cream. The long shirred coat of same material is part of the dress. Red roses are fastened on corsage and a navy straw hat is worn which has the new Reboux tendency of becoming a poke bonnet. Each hand is weighed down by a sy uare emerald the size of a postage stamp. The lady on my left wears a tailored pink alpaca suit. She extols the merits of her now famous white baby lamb coat, cleverly stitched, marvel- ously cut, designed by Louiseboulanger. Conversation about the coat: “Baby lamb? It looked to me like a linen dust- coat.’ ‘‘How absurd you are, Baron de Meyer, you should know that fur which gives the impression of a hand-woven 87

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BARPFER’*S BA Baron de Meyer VY) ( [ul ( oal a Block and /( Tite ( ‘x LANVIN texture is supremely elegant.” ‘‘Thank you for explanation. Now I know it’s fur, I realize how smart your coat is. Yes, the non plus ultra of chic!” I listen to snatches of conversation across the table. One woman says to another, “‘Does Rosie really pretend she is forty-two? What cheek! Why, she was quite a big girl in long skirts when I was but a tiny tot.” A little later from another part of the table, ‘‘I’m told she is quite sixty!”” “Why, much nearer seventy!”’ ‘Make it eighty and have done with it. Yet somehow she manages to look forty.” ‘“‘How does she keep so young?” “I hear she goes to Berne and does the Kocher cure.” “Oh, does she? I thought this famous doctor treated Argentine ladies exclusively. They take the trip from Buenos Aires on purpose, and all look seventeen when homeward bound!”’ Follows, coffee in the garden, under trees. The wicker arm- chairs are painted green and cushioned with white oilcloth. The coffee cups are gold luster and cigarets are presented to guests in ivory boxes inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The hostess tells us the boxes came from Cartier’s! Admirative exclama- tions! I stay behind to talk to a charming woman just back from the Lido. She was there a month and is tanned to the bone. Her bathing-suits are worn out, she says. Fancy sixty baths in thirty days. ‘‘Most of my bathing-suits came from Jane Régny, five from Patou, four from Lanvin, and three new ones were sent out to me by Chanel. The latter were all of them beige and were completed by red or green linen men’s dressing-gowns and by umbrellas to match.”’ ““Why did you need so many suits?” ‘Because all woolen materials shrink, yet are the most com- fortable for swimming. I never wear anything but tricot in the water. My outfit, however, included costumes for the water, for the beach only, for luncheon and for tea.” “T was under the impression every one wore pajamas at the Lido?” “Most people do and look very much covered up.” ‘“*This somehow doesn’t coincide with current report.” ““My beach garments strike an entirely new note. They resemble sports clothes for boys. Yes, short, scant, if you prefer, and very airy. Designed for the Italian sun.” “Sorry to hear you have discarded pajamas. They wer becoming to you!” ‘“T haven’t given them up at all. Some Mary Nowitzky de signed for me were much admired. Blue coats with scarlet crépe de Chine trousers, and beige tussore ‘Oxford bags’ with

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SEPTEMBER 1927 MODELE OEPOSE Baron de Meyer é = C a a . s he (rmine , hcket , BECHOFF a short brown jacket. They created a sensation. Yes, very daring, often fantastic but never uninteresting.” Return to the drawing-room. It is furnished in feintes nacrées. Shades of mother-of-pearl. Faint grayish blues, mauvy grays, rose as well as an exquisite pearly white. A fragrance of flowers pervades the air. All the perfumes of Arabia seem to emanate from the blossoms about us. Not really, for I see nothing but scentless flowers. “‘What you mistake for the fragrance of flowers is my new perfume. How is it you haven’t remarked on it before?”’ “Though conscious of it all the afternoon I did not realize it was a scent. Tell me what it is, unless you wish to keep it secret.” “A mystery indeed, but not for you. It’s a perfume called ‘Divorgons,’ one of the three new Ganna Walska scents. A perfume which not only lures but captivates and holds one bound in fetters. Once adopted, never discarded.” “How is it this artist consents to manufacture scents? Do not her art, her beauty, and her jewels absorb her entirely?”’ “Evidently not, for she finds time to create rare fragrances.”’ “A delightful pastime. Hers are perfumes rich in pure essence of flowers, for the sophisticated few and not merely meant as a commercial proposition. And above all they are perfumes which become individual scents by individual con- tact.” ‘“T’ve often heard it said of perfumes they had this latter quality. How is this possible?” ‘““By chemical reaction.” ““Has Ganna Walska produced beauty products, too?’’ “Indeed she has. She is assisted by the best specialists available and has the best medical authorities to advise her.”’ “T was told once all beauty products contained between 40 and 50 per cent. of water.”” “What kind of water?” “ Dis- tilled, of course, but who can vouch for it?” “The novelty of the Ganna Walska preparations consists in her using the waters of La Bourboule, the celebrated Spa. These waters are famed for their curative and _ tonic powers, containing radio-active and nutritive qualities. Come and see the lovely Ganna Walska bottles when we are both back in Paris. They are simplicity itself. The kind of simplic- ity which has made Paris the cradle of all elegance.”’ We hear our hostess calling. She wants her guests to visit the ruins and go on to a nearby chateau. She expects more visitors for tea and needs an hour’s rest. Country entertaining over Sunday is quite an exhausting job! Anne has been dining at a villa in nearby Houlgate. Sh

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says, “The party was very successful. Fancy, there was a pink table-cloth! Real linen—really pink! The dinner was fairly large—eighteen, I believe. Yes, quite original decora- tions. Superimposed layers of glass surfaces forming small platforms on the dinner-table. Oh, no, not mirrors. How antiquated this sounds! A collection of smoky rock-crystal balls on the glass were most effective. Yes, extremely rare, especially the large balls quite ten inches in diameter. Cristal de roche candelabra mounted in silver at each end of the table with a crystal bowl in the center containing pink roses. “The dining-room is gray, has white pillars and cream silk hangings over pale green. Chairs are lacquered gray, up- holstered in white patterned horsehair, and the fixtures are of sparkling crystal. The room is lit by black wax candles. No, not funereal at all, the general impression being pink and silver gray. Black candles are merely a modern note—a fancy!” “How strange this should be your idea of a pretty dinner! It isn’t mine.” “And what is yours, may I ask?” “Plain mahogany of an exquisite quality, high polish, and no table-cloth. Good silver, fruit but no flowers.” “How austere! I imagined that to leave a polished table un- covered was, for dinner, not considered good form.” “It may be bad form, but nevertheless it’s done in very smart houses. The quality of the wood may possibly be a fac- tor, for an ordinary table had better remain covered.” “What do you place upon yours?” “To start with, fine cambric circles bordered by real lace and under each circle mahogany-colored felt. This isolates a hot plate from the polished surface.”’ **What else?” “Sets of engraved ‘Baccarat’ glass, though used only on special occasions because of the servants. The more exquisite the quality, the greater the enjoyment of breaking glass.” Servants’ pleasures are very costly.” “A small decanter filled with mineral water as well as an individual butter-dish is placed beside each guest. I rarely use high centerpieces. Craning one’s neck to talk across the table and having to rise above the floral decorations is fatigu- ing.” “What is in the center of your dinner-table?” “An oval silver tray on a mahogany felt foundation cut the exact size of the tray.” “And what upon it?” “Fruit piled up, haphazard. Haphazard only in appear- ance, for I take much trouble with the arranging of still-life effects. Last week I used peaches, plums, red cherries, green almonds and figs. At no time of the year, however, do I omit to include black and white grapes on my tray. ‘In season’ grapes are merely decorative, but ‘out of season’ they strike the luxurious note. Yes, pineapples are effective, but too exotic looking.” “What difference do you make between a formal and an informal luncheon?”’ ‘‘None. Not even the largest luncheon party should im- press one’s guests as being formal. Formality is more suited to dinners.”’ “T am sorry you disapprove of flowers on a dinner table.” “But I don’t, only they should be used sparingly. Floral decorations are often overdone and can look very vulgar. Anyway, on a luncheon table flowers should be selected from among the old-fashioned kind. Cool looking mauve sweet peas, for instance, are very suitable—or yellow pansies. Avoid orchids or gardenias in winter—even roses. The latter look expensive, out of season, though perfectly lovely at their proper time in summer.”’ NNE shows me a card inviting her “d@ gofiter de 5 a 7.” “What is a gofiter? Please explain.” “It’s a French term for ‘tea party’!” **An afternoon reception with refreshments? What does one wear on such occasions?” “Elaborate sports clothes or a simple printed muslin or crépe gown with a large hat. Large hats at this time of the year are very fashionable. No, few people nowadays carry sunshades.”’ Next day—Anne’s account of the party: “TI finally decided to wear flowery mousseline de soie— shades of rose, of blue and mauve on black ground over flesh. Also, my pale blue Panama hat, fairly large but not really big. “The entire céte Normande seemed assembled. Such crowds! People came in for a moment, moved on, disappeared. An attitude conveying the performing of a civility rather than a state of enjoyment. Refreshments laid out on the dinner- table in the dining-room. A steaming silver kettle and tea, iced coffee, orangeade, Cerisette and port wine. Peaches and cream, pastry, and foie gras sandwiches. “At home a favored guest would have been asked to pour the tea. Here the butler performed this duty and footmen served each guest in turn. Footmen in white cotton gloves! Yes, a French custom. Rather clean, in fact. The windows open out onto a true Normandy landscape, meadows, green trees, and sea! The nearest approach to English country out of England.”’ “What were the women’s clothes like?”’ “They were good. An extremely modern assemblage of color, beige, white, and floral harmonies. Among the many printed textures, self-colored mousseline de soie gowns pro cuce almost a sensation. Navy blue, deep violet, bluish lavender, burnt amber, transparencies of all kinds—a feature of the mode. Skirts surprisingly long-looking in spite of the excessive abbreviation. An attempt to veil limbs, especially in the back. The bolero a dominant feature—a sheer, im- material, floating bolero. The sports atmosphere developed in tussores and washable silks. The much observed absence of horizontal stripes and especially of plaited skirts. I’m told they are on the wane. White gowns are numerous. There is a variety of strong color used to cheer up plain beige tricot. Favored shades for this purpose are lacquer red, jade green, cornflower blue. Color to be worn with beige takes the form of short coats, scarfs, big country umbrellas, and, of course, hats.” NNE, at my request, tells me of the good-looking gowns she noticed. “IT liked a white toile de soie costume which had a short jacket. Two scarfs, one forming a belt, the other a cravatte of navy blue polka-dotted material, complete the ensemble, which is chic. Also, a small sailor hat, with a navy grosgrain. “Another smart woman’s beige tussore frock is charming. Its only decoration are lines of emerald cabochon buttons down the front and a stitched tussore belt with an emerald studded buckle. A patterned black and green shoulder scarf and a little green felt hat. The latter ensemble worn by Mrs. W. K., an American. “Lovely is deep amber chiffon, long waisted with loose-look- ing bolero, devoid of sleeves. Skirt, long in the back, short in the front. Fairly large hat of superimposed layers of crépe de Chine in graduated tones of amber, beige, and brown cut out forming a scalloped pattern worn with this gown. Persian- looking palm-leaf brooch of emeralds edged with sapphires as only ornamentation. “Another lovely apparition was a deep flesh-colored coat- shaped gown of tussore, tied on the left hip, the skirt’s hem- line slanting in a marked degree on one side. Aviator’s cap of golden-brown velvet with faintly-pink flowers brushing one cheek. A very full ostrich-feather boa, matching the shade of velvet, is worn with this ensemble.” Anne, instead of finding the gof#/er dull, has thoroughly en- joyed her afternoon. She has listened to words of wisdom concerning the psychology of dress. She thinks I should use some of it in Harper’s Bazar. To please her, I shall. Here are some of the things Anne repeated. “Out-of-date notions which still prevail, such as coupling ‘virtue’ with ‘dowdiness,’ need revision. Good clothes no more imply ‘frivolity.’ They are, nowadays, a business asset and give a woman assurance. Such assurance develops poise, and poise eventually leads to success. The knowledge of what constitutes smartness is far more important than being smart oneself. Also, to know what not to wear is more im- portant than the reverse. ‘Smart’ in the modern sense is the striking of a novel aspect with what is serviceable in clothes. Nothing superfluous is smart. Successful fashions are merely those which are expedient.” On good taste: “Whether a mode is cheap or expensive rarely matters for only good taste makes it acceptable or not. Good taste is never bought with money. The costly part of it consists of mis- takes whilst acquiring it. Imitating other people’s good taste is often far more advantageous than trying to use one’s own. The novice, acquiring quantities of Paris clothes, does so be- lieving she ‘buys’ French smartness into the bargain. She finds out her mistake too late, generally only after having paid American custom’s duty.” HARPER’S BAZAR

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 GOuUPY inal P [2 oe | ( ee fo

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HARPER’S BAZAR Models on both pages from SAKS FIFTH AVENUE FURS FROM THE NEW YORK HOUSES EW YORK fiurriers have, it seems, definitely abandoned all those strange and questionable pelts that appeared New pelts are being used, but they are not ‘‘made”’ furs, not printed and dyed and pressed and shaved and ironed out of all recognition. are now apt to be of last season and the season before last. Furs the good established variety, subjected to clever tanning to render them exquisitely supple, and worked into gar ments of slender flattering lines with exquisite care and intricate workmanship. By LUCILE BUCHANAN r'ypical of this season is the Russian ermine wrap shown above, made with the pelts worked beautifully on the diagonal. The border that runs stole-like from hem to hem is of yellow natural marten to match the orange-yellow lining of the wrap. Exquisite furs are made on simple straight lines. Flared coats for daytime look old and démodé. All of the design of the coat is ac- complished by the clever working of the pelts, which often ray out fan-wise or cross the wrap diagenally from shoulder to hem. Sports furs are often bleached, rather than dyed. Mole is bleached to a lovely blonde beige, so is nutria. So-called natural golden seal is used in two tones for sports and more formal wear. On the whole, furs as such are taken more seriously, and trick collars, cuffs, flares and excrescences are less in evidence. Shaded natural broad-tail, shading from gray to darker gray to almost black, is shown by several of the New York houses. This is used for general daytime wear, for the sports type of coat or for coats for more formal wear

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for EPTEMBER 1927 uns Che Made Sntenuting By Chew Werkmamahip

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sie a. & ak: HARPER’S BAZ 1 R

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 — Models on both pages from H. JAECKEL

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BY C Lor Cc? ( a Cc HARPER’S BAZAR A BIRTHDAY CAKE _—> FOR LIONEL And Her SS 1s aS we Gam 8 (ast Ba Great a Li sht _ OR this purpose,’ said Shelley, ‘I wish to find two young persons of not more than four or five vears of age; and should prefer females, as they are usually more precocious than males. I would undertake to make a provision for the parents; and would bind myself to watch over the children as if I were their own father. If you can assist me in this scheme, I will withdraw from the world with my charge, and in some sequestered spot direct their education. They shall know noth- ing of men or manners until their minds shall have been sufficiently matured to enable me to ascertain when brought into play, what the impressions of the world are upon the mind when it has been veiled from human prejudice.’”’ A Newspaper Editor’s Reminiscences in Fraser’s Magazine for June, 1841. T WAS the fourth of August in the year 1832, and upon the round piny islet which lies at the head of Somes’ Sound two little girls were engaged in icing a birthday cake. The suave and windless air of afternoon hung warm between the spruce and hemlock boughs, and above the children’s candid foreheads their damp hair clung in glittering whorls and rings of red and brown. The face of Artemis was pallid with the excessive heat, but Jezebel’s cheeks kept the delicate brightness of snow- apples as she bent over the yellow bowl of caramel and honey. The syrup | creamed under her silver spoon; she | licked the spoon with the tip of her pink tongue and laughed. “Tt’s good, thank goodness, but | it’s damned hot,” she announced to | her companion. ‘I’m glad, all the same, that we boiled it; the beaten | white-of-egg sort of thing would never have survived in such weather as this, Missie, and you know he does like the icing better than the cake. It’s very important that the icing should be perfect, particularly || for his birthday. | “I don’t think Lionel quite likes | you to swear, Jess; of course he’s ~ never precisely spoken of it, but he always looks rather shocked by profanity. Last night when you said, ‘God blast my eternal soul to hell if I don’t prefer the purple calico,’ he turned quite pale; I know it made him nervous. You should be more considerate now that you're grown-up.” “Yes, Miss, and you’re an excellent person to lecture me upon that score; who was it that forgot to tell Loren about the tea yesterday, and who was it that dropped bayberry candle- wax on Plato? I'll swear as much as ever I please; if vou truly think Christian swearing upsets him I’ll say nom d’un chien or Zeus soter.” “That would be much nicer and politer, dear, and I’m sure Lionel would appreciate it. He She She ” What ILLUSTRATED BY F. R. GRUGER never scolds us, and so we’re apt to get a bit careless, but his own manners are so beautiful that I think we should strive to emulate them.”’ “Ah, the angel, the angel, angel love! As if we ever could be like him; that’s quite utterly hopeless, Missie. Nevertheless, you’re right; we must try to please him and to make him happy. If only my birch-bark book-marker were a little more worthy of him I shouldn’t mind so much; I should never have attempted to copy that steel engraving of the Coliseum on such a small piece of birch-bark.”’ “My pincushion is rather pretty, only he rarely uses pins,’ said Artemis with a mournful shake of her flame-colored curls. ‘Next year I believe I shall make him a balsam pillow.” “Needles and sang Jezebel laughing; then for no apparent reason she blushed until her cheeks were rosier even than “Next year we shall be in the What a horrid bore it sounds, pins . snow-apples. world, I suppose. doesn’t it?” “Terrifying, to me; I can’t think darling Lionel will ever be so hard-hearted as to take us there, among the wicked rich and the op- pressors and the tyrants. If I ever see a Lord Chancellor I shall perish of fear upon the spot.” “The critics are the worst, but if I meet one I shall kill him for killing John Keats,” cried Jezebel with spirit, tossing her pale bronze ringlets in the quiet air and allowing the golden tebtenhe r By Marton Loutse Butiss ~~ pel pceganaeae vaunts not her glory nor the haze That veils the last blue days. only sighs—obeys. With golden, broken heart spills summer fills. lightnings of her eyes to flash defiantly at some invisible foe. “Bloodshed is invariably wrong, save as an act of courage to protect the weak,” Arte- mis declared gravely. ‘Yours would be re- venge; I don’t think Lionel would like that.” “Can’t help it; I’m always sorry to worry the precious, but of course I expect to kill plenty of people when we go into the world. I shall simply have to kill Godwin, and the wretched beast on the Quarterly, and that lawyer fellow Whitton; I shouldn’t be surprised to find that I must kill Sir Timothy too, one of these days. When I think of Lionel actually hounded by bailiffs in the waste of London I could cry!” said Jezebel, and forthwith proved the truth of her words by a shower of glittering tears. HE clear gray eyes of Artemis had each of them a crystal drop upon their lashes, but she replied with admirable composure as she smoothed the icing over the surface of the birth- day cake. “To be consistent, you would have to kill the bailiffs also, and then you would most certainly be hanged, and that would make Lionel fright- fully nervous, as you know very well indeed. Jess, if we are really going into the world, I must learn to be brave and you must learn to be calm; otherwise Lionel will find us a great nuisance.” “TI know, I know, Missie; poor angel, we're quite enough bother to him as it is, and he is so ridiculously good to us, far kinder than we de- serve. We're spoilt, I’m afraid; he has been such a darling that he’s been imposed upon by the pair of us. Fancy his letting me choose such a hideous name as Jezebel merely because I was obstinate and had always felt sorry for her because she was eaten by dogs! What a stubborn little brute J must have been in those days!” “Well, dear, you were only five years old at the time, and Lionel wanted us to be per- fectly free to choose our own names; I don’t think he blamed you in the least for choosing Jezebel. He told me once that for one so young you had displayed a touching sympathy for the un- fortunate; he doesn’t care very | much for Jehu, or for Elijah the | Tishbite.” “T know he understands; it is so pitiful that nothing was left of her but her feet and the palms of her poor little hands! Only when I go into the world it may be better to call myself Jessica; I shall be fifteen then and Jezebel sounds silly for a girl of fifteen, though it’s all very well for a child.” “T wish we might be children forever, for my part,” said Artemis with a sigh, leaning her cheek upon her slender hand; the transparent pallor of her skin was luminous like a sea-shell in the green shadow of the pine-trees. Her hair was brighter than the gilded pine cones; it was bright as the little fire that danced in the stone oven over sweet- scented fuel. A shining tin kettle jigged above the flame; there was a willow pattern teapot and a silver spoon conveniently near the cup and saucer. “Loren has remembered the milk to-day, at all events,” said Jezebel happily, smiling at the birthday cake. “I wrote down everything, milk and candles and gingernuts and Gibraltars and raisins and angelica and a jar of Mrs. Fernald’s wild-strawberry jam. What a splendid supper, | | | mad |

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dren ‘emis nder was adow than little weet- igged ttern near y, at t the milk s and ald’s pret, tor SEPTEMBER 1927 “* Both of you?’ Lionel asked her in a shaken voice. intend to be my wives?’ and how delighted Lionel will be that we have arranged it all asasurprise! He loves surprises.” _ “Fancy needing forty candles for the darling; it doesn’t seem possible that he should be so old,” Artemis murmured pensively. “Forty really is rather old, Jess, if you come to think of It quite seriously; I dare say we shall be grand- mothers when we are forty, and wear caps, and perhaps suffer from rheumatism. Lionel isn’t a bit like that, of course; he’s divinely beautiful, for one thing, and then somehow he’s so extraor- dinarily swift and light and dashing. Even his gray hair isn’t a bit like other people’s gray hair; it’s more like quicksilver.” “Gray!” Jezebel shone and sparkled with scorn; it was as if some one had suddenly kindled a light behind the soft colors of her pink-and- White face and her hazel eyes. “Do you call that gray? It’s like the moon; it’s like the sun burning away the fog; it’s like the crests of the Waves breaking under the stars! You ought to be ashamed of yourself; how dare you tell me that Lionel’s hair is gray?” oe we. PPX MOR ; & N “But I said it wasn’t; I said it was like cuick- silver,’’ Artemis protested plaintively. “Don’t be cross, Jessie; he’ll be here any minute, and he mustn’t find us quarreling. You know how it upsets him, and we mustn’t spoil his birth- day supper with nonsensical arguments and squabbles. Besides, I love him as much as you do; I’m not so clever at putting it into words, but you know how much I love him.” “T know, Missie dear; you’re a good girl, and I’m a plumb fool, as Loren says.” Jezebel was laughing again; she leaned across a bar of sunlight and kissed her sister’s downcast cheek. “Don’t be sad, my poppet; you look like a little drowned pearl; you mustn’t cry. We both love him with all our hearts; we love him equally and he belongs to us both and to nobody else. He’s ours, and we’re his; nobody can ever, ever take him away from us, for all our lives forever.” “Suppose he should die!’”’ Artemis shivered; she was so pale that her gray eyes were black. “Missie! What infernal folderol! Lionel ‘Do both of you together He was so pale that Jezebel feared that he might faint.” isn’t going to die,” cried Jezebel triumphantly; she leaped to her feet and sang the joyful words like an incantation. ‘“He’s going to live, to live for years and marvelous years to come; so long as we love him he cannot die!” “Suppose he should get married,” said Artemis faintly. ‘Suppose, Missie, that Lionel should get married.” “Married! But you know quite well that he’s married already; that he has a tiresome wife somewhere who doesn’t like him very much any more. Imagine what an idiot the woman must be; imagine how ludicrous it would be not to love Lionel!” “Didn’t you ever think he might be rather fond of that lady in black who used to live at Prettymarsh? The one whose husband was drowned at sea on his way home from South America; the one who had the white Persian shawl and the seed-pearl earrings. Lionel used often to lend her books; they used to take walks together on Sundays while the other people were in church.” (Continued on page 129)

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HARPER’S BAzapr ee, — Photographs 9% Skerril Schell UI ile das 4. R. Shattuck’s house in Lenox, formerly owned by Edith Wharton

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SEPTEMBER 1927

well OnNSON : | | i | “Fairlawn” is the (Below) Beyond its name of Miss Adelet ample lawn ts seen the Knecland’s country Lenox home of Mrs. | place in Lenox. Raymond T. Baker. = j

BEAUTIFUL BERKSHIRE GARDENS Cie 5 a ee ee

| aa > | ( 4); lo situdilial ac [oo al once ET us be discreetly grateful that throwing cool shadows over the valleys. there are still green valleys and Home is the love of remembered land- wooded hills between the Hudson marks. Who in the shifting cities can and the sea that know not the expanding return after a year’s absence without a contamination of urban multitudes. sense of sadness at the disappearance of a lhe Berkshires, from the high canopied childhood memory whose passing is the green of Sharon to the collegiate hills of passing of something out of his own Williamstown by the green valleys of the youth? Here in the security of these 3 twisting Housatonic, is still a region of valleys, the hills will keep their familiar homes and gardens. The love of country line, nor will the corner of the tranquil that is implanted in the European heart, river under its corridor of elms and willows whether in Sussex or Picardy, by the alter by a foot its shaded, whispering way. <n, Rhine or by the Arno, is often but the When you return, you return home. aphs 7? love of a country that is beautiful. To No wonder that men of imagination Sche come to the Berkshires is to remain, and have sought its intimacy. Longfellow to remain is to love it jealously. There is lived across the road until the tragic 4 personal affection that one feels at once death of his wife. The Autocrat of the in its leafy thoroughfares, its white and Breakfast Table had his home on the steen villages, its cathedral elms care- road to Pittsfield, and Hawthorne at the tully tended. There is a friendly, inti- head of Mahkeenac looking toward Monu- ae about these hills; nothing ment Mountain told his Tanglewood come, nothing that dwarfs and _ iso- Fales. William Cullen Bryant wrote from ites mankind, but a green protection Great Barrington; Herman Melville, the

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HARPER’S BAZAR There are gardens with the quality of the unsus pected. Miss Adele Kneeland’s garden in Lenox has a magically classic touch in the midst of its bloom. author of ‘“‘ Moby Dick,”’ wrote from Pittsfield; Charlotte Cushman and lovely Fanny Kemble are traditions of Lenox. The first great estates in Lenox and Stockbridge were laid out in that period of expanding fortunes, the early ’80’s. The fashion of the day summered in Newport and came to the Berkshires for the autumn splendor of the woods. It is but a generation back since the golden Octobers when breaks, tandems, and four-in-hands were running the network of country roads. Hunt meets and hunt balls were the features of the season, and the smart thing to do was to ‘‘tool”’ through the Berkshires on an English drag with cracking whips timed to the silvery note of the coach horn. They came and laid out great estates and built their homes magnificently, as they saw magnificence in their day. The heavy mansard houses and the commodious frame mansions with their multiplied gables and strange distor- tions do not look so magnificent as they once did. But the gardens remain. For to take a home in this vast green wood is to establish a garden at once, be it imposing and formal with expanding perspectives, or intimately and affectionately ensconced in a sheltered nook. The homes of the Berkshires are set back from the public curiosity and there is a secret quality to these gardens, something hidden away that must be chanced upon. The formal estates have lawns that stretch like the meadows of an English deer park, architectural basins and marble descents, hedges and pylons of sculptured box and yew. Gardens from England and France bank their Owen Johnson’s own garden in Stockbridge.

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 Photographs by Sherril Schell —— A bit of the garden near the house. The formal estates have architectural basins and hedges of sculptured box and yew. Both pictures show Miss Walker’s garden in Great Barrington. tulips, larkspur, flox, and asters in battalions of vellow, blue, and red. Copper beeches and red maples stand out against the green like the Painted Mountain of the Arizona desert. Then there are other gardens where the inspiration has been more personal, with the quality of the unsuspected: gardens that interpret a turn of the hill, the background of a thicket, that open long glades through the tanglewood and make the rocks to flower around a trickle of water. There are French kitchen gardens banked with flowers, with fruit-trees en espalier and great hedges of Japanese quince which in May burst into a flame of red. There are gardens through the hills with twisting lanes and vistas of laurel and dogwood. And from each garden, there is always a different vista of valley and mountain- side. On Berkshire evenings in summer, the twilight is luminous and suspended, and long golden shadows move across the velvety lawns. The gray shoulder of Monument is cut like a cameo on the brittle horizon. In the autumn the maples set the hills aflame with their reds and yellows, and for a few breathless days their reluctant branches retain the streaming golden sunsets that are shot with mellow purple and tender amethyst. Even in winter and the stark wintry months of February and March there is no starved sense of desolation. Birch against the evergreen depths is like the mingling of winter and summer. Wherefore I repeat, if you would know the secret of the Berkshires, remem- ber that the love of country is always the love of a country that is beautiful.

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HARPER’S Bi ZAR A BRITISH TEAM FROM INDIA FO — The British officers, with a well of pontes, largely contributed \ to America in a determined Brook the cup which, four

THe INVADERS NCE again the United States must defend the Westchester Cup. The challenging team comes this time from India, a land where polo is almost a na- tional pastime. This Army in India outfit is prepared to make a very <e- termined bid for polo fame—a group of men who have, with the exception of Captain Roark, been playing together for months as did our sensational team of 1909. It is a team fresh from the hard and fast fields of India. These men are hard hitters, superb horsemen, and play a courageous and daring brand of polo. This team, for it is that from the word “go,” cannot be held lightly— it must be met by the very best in , : ee a America. The Invadess ave a téeam,not andivaclual stazs Capt. Geeage clears the way for the very able May Atkinson.

—_

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N oo“ ‘ “oe a They don't come any better than— ee 4 capt. Roark. § Lf cowie. =| ee \ On the beards Capteins Williams, George \ and Pert playzng the game. /

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—, | a oe —— % a slags Pores cc pie dye tet Pee Ie An Indian N.C.0 — “ w

A ae ae ae

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/AR —_ me for S° PTEMBER 1927 THik NINTH INTERNATIONAL MATCH balanced team and a superb lot by ‘he Princes of India, come “ effirt to win back at Meadow be) times, has crossed the Atlantic. THe DEFENDERS 7, defense committee has a knotty problem on_ its hands. We have the same splen- did Four to put on the Interna- tional Field that represented the country in 1924, but we also have some other good polo players, each striving to carve out for himself a place on the team. Hit- ting, team work, horsemanship, courage, and ponies being almost equal, there is just one little thing in favor of our defending team. That thing is a bit more speed and dash in acting, and that is the thing that will count for much in the terrific pace of those games cot to be played in September. ~ OQ abe ? pee CE eee a De le : Always in thenght place atthe vaght time able todo the xaght th: ng — My. Devereux Milburn, "Mobe iy” 2tvawnhi WAGE Ht, a Source mi a ilere a> > , Feiss rmen aS of rear, annoyance fov the nag gp oe ‘ iteaen ether team)? A Wher’ Lyre. ‘says “leave at” hewmeans it. and he'll like 4 pull of something Ike this for a goal to show that he aid. . - , i pene a ema Let's hope there's none of this Mi I : — this year. i. J-Wartson Webb wall give Some Nog a couple of Paul RPreww pleasant (?) afternoons. viestchester Gltmore ! 227 mexdow Brevtt. Co

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104 BY Rubee Ss THE ADDRES BOOK And How &H iY Mi, ff —_ ‘os ih ass Chih C Dials ILLUSTRATED BY EVERETT SHINN MAY be a snob. In fact I suppose I am a snob. But isn’t it natural to wish to be “in it,” if one lives in a great city? Being out of it in the depths of the country is really quite bearable. One doesn’t know any one, but there’s no one to know. Now I have never lived in the depths of the country. My destiny has obliged me to live mainly in London. I was born in the wilds of Hampstead certainly, but when I was only some three years old my parents descended the hill and established themselves—very foolishly, as I realized years ago—in Bayswater. So 1 may almost claim to be a Londoner, and I do lay that claim. I consider myself a Londoner. My parents—my dear father was a doctor and I am his only son, in fact his only child—were completely out of it in Bayswater. They knew only my father’s patients, which was equivalent to knowing no- body. But they were quite satisfied with that state of affairs. Where I got my strong social ambition from I don’t know, but it certainly wasn’t from them. They had none. It never occurred to them that there existed in London a marvelous organiza- tion called “Society,” complex, desirable, attainable, by some remarkable and fortunate people, even though they have had the danger- ous misfortune to have been brought up in Bayswater. I can prove what I say. In fact I am going to prove it by the career of Effie Smith, later Mrs. Burden, now Lady Burden, wife of Sir Larch- mont Burden, Knight, and no doubt, in process of time, Lady Burden, wife of Sir Larchmont Burden, Baronet, and eventually Lady Burden, wife of Lord Burden of somewhere or other. I know it will come to that in the end. For Effie has decreed it. And what Effie decrees in regard to social ambitions must come to pass inevitably sooner or later. She has a secret power like the power of the tides. A marvelous woman! But I and my darling cornered her once and she will never forget it. We, my father, mother, and I, knew the Smiths in Bayswater, because Mr. Josiah Smith, Effie’s father, called my father in when Mrs. Smith, the mother of Effie, got the yellow HARPER’S BAZAR jaundice. All this is many years ago, but I have to explain it. The acquaintance of the two families was made over the yellow jaundice, and ripened into familiarity, if not into friend- ship. In fact in those days—she may try to deny it now, but I am speaking by the book— I called her Effie and she called me Dick. I was educated in Bayswater and she was educated in Bayswater. I know she talks airily of Brighton now, but it won’t do. Others may be deceived. In fact they are. But I, the only son of Doctor Cradgett, formerly of Bouncefield Gardens, Bayswater, just simply know. And now we come to it. Effie Smith was born greedy. Before the first tooth came, not lingering on its way either, she must have made up her mind not only to get into society but to be a power there. Her father —he was an “importer of Japanese goods,’ whatever that may imply—made a good deal of money. Her mother looked important in 4 freckled sort of way. Effie would have some- thing eventually. She knew it, and gave he rself millionaire airs about it before she was ten. At

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 rege ae ca a i an ae “When we entered the drawing-room at Burden House, Effie remarked to my darling: ‘So glad to see youl Just a few intimate friends! If there’s any one here you don’t hap- pen to know, do tell me.’ Need I say seventeen, released from the Bayswater school she was never at school at Brighton; I could prove that if necessary—she started on that wonderful climb which has never ceased till this day, when she is known to all London as Effie Burden of Burden House, Knightsbridge, and Sprotcombe Park. Mullingsgate, Barkston, Sussex. That wonderful climb of Effie’s, from Bays- water to Knightsbridge, from Miss Smith, the importer of Japanese goods’ daughter, to Lady Burden, who entertains not everybody—she’s far too clever to do that now—but only the most remarkable people. Who shall describe it adequately, describe the heroism of it, the agility Ol it, the acrobatic daringness of it, the cold- blooded cruelty of it, its persistence, its thrilling patience, its contempt of exhaustion, its as- tounding staying power? Harold Lloyd going up the outside of a New York skyscraper was as nothing compared with Effie on her way to the topmost heights of the wicked world. All through that climb Effie has been shed- ding old friends. She began by shedding Bays- water, which incidentally included me. When she was twenty-one she had already quite done with Bayswater. Bayswater tried to hang on to her, scenting the glories of her future, but she wouldn’t have it. From the moment she married Larchmont—I still believe she chose him as her husband partly because of his Chris- tian name—she kicked Bayswater out of her life. She wouldn’t even be married there. Al- ready she had found out that a marriage at a church in Bayswater would be a fatal mistake at the beginning of a career such as she had designed for herself. So she was married in the country, and quite quietly, practically nobody there, no bridesmaids, no fuss, no reporters. This astonished some people who knew Effie, or rather who thought that they knew her. But her reason was subtle and extraordinarily char- acteristic of her. The Smiths didn’t know any- body who could make a ‘‘show”’ in the papers, so Effie wouldn’t have anybody asked to her wedding. She said marriage was far too sacred to be made a spectacle of. What she meant was that she didn’t care to have a list of names that we knew not a single person of all those present? But my darling didn’. choose to say so.” in the papers without a single good title among them. Larchmont, now Sir Larchmont, was then apparently quite an ordinary young man and by no means rich. But Effie hadn’t married him without having her reasons. He had one great asset. He had been educated at Eton and was able to talk, and did talk perpetually, of “the dear old Eton days.”’ His father was a merchant of some kind, but he had an enormous family to devour his money, and couldn’t give Larchmont a big allowance. When Effie made Larchmont think he was in love with her, he was eating his dinners for the bar. But she hawked him out of that, and got him first into the Japanese business, and then later into the great Marling, Prendergast, and Samson firm, which deals with the selling of big houses and estates all over the country. During her climb she somehow maneuvered Samson into obscur- ity and put Larchmont in his place, so now, as every one knows, the firm is Marling, Prendergast, and Burden. Larchmont had been (Continued on page 124)

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HARPER’S BAZAR KATHERINE CORNELL who will create in America the leading réle in W. Somerset Maugham’s 5 5 play, * The Lk the hag Viss ( Orie ll is conside re d the outstanding figure among our younger actresses. Her career has been deservedly meteoric.

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for TEMBER Gladys Cooper has been play- ing in “* The Letter” for several months in London. Strange to Dorothy Wilding say, this beautiful English actress has never appeared in the United States. GIVE AND TAKE IN THE THEATER =. ( wile Was # ~~ HE balance of trade in the theater, to borrow a phrase from the financial page, is at present in favor of New York and against London. Our plays are clustered about Piccadilly, our accents are frequently upon the Mother Tongue. It is the upside down of theatrical exchange, the reversal of time-honored, if not hallowed custom. That astounding offspring Uncle Samuel, or their Cousin Jonathan, has at last something more interesting than money. It ought to be a relief to us all. Until now the cisatlantic theater has echoed to the decorous modulations of the English hand-me-downs. Our Ellis Island stage has had its proper quota of bell-pull plays, causing our own actors, in consequence, to stretch the colloquial “beens” to more elegant “beans.” Their pains were for nothing. They must now teach their grandmothers to suck eggs and say “Iz zat so.” Time was when our politer dramas came, monocles and all, out of London. The urbane discussions of two lumps or one arrived for the season as invariably as the season itself, boxed and stamped at the customs. It was through them that our theater looked not so much at life as at high life in the innocent days when high meant up. War had not vet landed us on Lurope’s doorstep, nor peace put Europe on ours. , ; ¢ - oe [fs Saaenae ee lo © Two influences worked deeply to change the dramatic map, or perhaps a single influence had opposing effects. As the American stage scrambled to its still unsteady feet the London drama began a decline which is just showing its farthest range. The generation of English playwrights, needed sorely now, had prior obligations. A bridge is missing between an old and a new tradition. It was, in a sense, the very absence of such a tradition in New York which made the Amer- ican result so immediate and so intense. With few entrenchments to destroy, the thoughtful dramatists found at their disposal a fairly cosmopolitan theater and an audience at least faintly conscious of something beyond parochial interest. More sensitive than other arts to political and economic conditions, the drama began at once to reveal the efect of this special stimulation. It became somewhat precipitately national, turning vigorously to our own land and time for its material, and forgetting the rigid Spencerian texts of the copy-books. Much of it was pretty gruesome, but it was, if it means anything, particularly ours. Similar events had precisely the opposite ef fect in England. Almost at one blow the firmly established methods of the London theater went out. There was a huge shifting of inter ests, and a sudden passing of the actor-manager intend hor ils rama, but the old weds (Accugell system, followed by an immediate and benefi- cent passing of some of the chief actor-managers. They were spared, at least, the sorrow of the decently erstwhile. If this is generously archeological it has the merit of other exhumations in being reasonably to the point. It is closely connected with the fact that there are fewer English plays in New York and more American plays in London than ever before. In it, perhaps, is the explanation why, during last season, many of the chief successes on Broadway were first plays, and why in London little new talent is finding production. For in both countries there is a large amount of war money going, so to speak, on the stage. It is, obviously, the easiest and the most os- tentatious way, short of a brass band, for the newer Midases to achieve the self-flattery of patronage. A show is, whether any one goes to it or not, more public than an old master in the librarv—and to owners equally endowed, probably more diverting, a peculiar condition which accounts for the increased number of first-nights, the expression on the faces of the victims, and the high mortality among new plays. Instead of lifting the standard, as often under private patronage, the practise has created only confusion, since the patrons have no taste or manners of their own (Concluded on page 118)

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HARPER’S BAZAR P — = BY C be cileath Tinley ( ee

“) Yy ; AP lyn Seach A ee CONCLUSION HE morning after Cynthia’s party Alberta moved up to Villa Miraciel. Apparently Dick was sleeping off the effects of the night before, for she did not see him in the courtyard, nor in the big room beyond. She was glad, for she dreaded meeting him in her present mood. A maid installed her in a charming room adjoining the one destined for Phyllis. There was a balcony in common and a connecting door would also make for intimacy. Alberta’s room was rather stagily Spanish. It had an uneven floor of tile, unpleasant to walk on, but beautiful in color. There was a shrine with a Madonna in it on one wall, and a prie dieu beneath it, on which lay, somewhat surprisingly, a copy of the Decameron. True, the binding looked rather like a prayer-book. When the maid was gone, Alberta dropped to her knees upon the prie dieu. In her per- plexity she tried to project herself toward a God who must be in His heaven, if all were ever to be “‘ right with the world,” an assertion which she doubted. A bustling commotion in the next room awakened her from her reveries, or her orisons, or whatever her muddled attempt at devotion might have been called. She sprang up in time to see an apparition, fresh and blonde, white and gold, standing in the long window that gave onto the balcony. ““May I come in?” Phyllis seemed to enter the room on a sunbeam. ‘My inhospitable family are not exactly eager to welcome me. They are still asleep. I hear you’re Dick’s latest. Only this time (as always) it’s the real thing, and no wonder—you’re pretty beyond Has he been hitting it up lately? Or have you tamed him? I like your hair almost better than a bob. I’m thinking of letting mine grow again.”’ She rattled on gaily with- out leaving Alberta time to reply. ‘‘Have a cigaret?”’’ she reached out her case, and threw herself at full length on the chaise longue. ‘I hear you were on the stage. I adore the theater I should love to get into the cast of the Follies. I’ve acted in the Junior League. You must tell me all about life.” “T want you to tell me,” said Alberta. ‘I know it’s my fault—everybody’s keen so nice to me—but I don’t understand. You’re my age—you can tell me.” “I suppose you think we are all rotten, the way the movies make us out to be.”’ Phyllis curled her slender, silken legs under her. “Hortense is running my bath, but I’m simply thrilled at seeing you, and I’ve just got to talk. What do you want to know? You're not going to ask me to explain Mollie, I hope?” words. LBERTA felt as if she flushed. She hoped Phyllis did not see her. After all, her own mother! She must get some sort of solution to her problem immediately, however, before she saw Dick again. This was a “nice” girl, who had been to fine schools and who had lived sheltered from any forced ignoble contacts. If she could not explain, no one could. She would be unprejudiced, fair, on the inside. Perhaps, she, Alberta, was an outsider, was over critical. She drew a light wicker-chair near to the chaise longue. “T’d like to ask you about something that happened last night.”’ She clasped and un- clasped her hands nervously. Hesitating, her head half-turned away from Phyllis, she began a description of the party. The girl on the sofa gave a wild whoop. “Tsn’t Cynthia a scream?” she cried. ‘*She’s always a jump ahead of the devil himself. Just my luck to miss it. Tell me again—how did you say she dressed the part?” “Le bain de mademoiselle se refroidit,” squealed a French voice through the door. “T’m simply filthy,” said Phyllis. ‘‘ The East Coast Railway is the limit. I’ll leave the door open so we can go on talking. Have there been many more parties like that? St. Moritz was too dull for words. Give me my own, my native land, every time.” She was gone through the doorway. There was no use. Alberta saw it now—felt that she had flung herself once more against a closed gate. She would never know. She was lost, a stranger in a strange land. Where did she belong, she wondered. Not here—nor yet in the shifting vulgarity of cheap vaudeville, nor the sordid dangers of Gambrinus and E] Gato Negro. Where? Where? As she screwed the long earrings absent-mindedly on her ears, she realized that she must solve her perplexities alone. The table was very gay. Phyllis had taken her mother’s engagement to Cyril in good part. Live and let live was her motto. If you didn't

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 ‘Beyond on the dark water, lay a Spanish galleon, painted from prow to stern in silver.” interfere with people, they didn’t interfere with you. Marriage implied nothing permanent. Why shouldn’t Mollie enjoy herself for a few years? Cyril would provide agreeably for her last decade and have time to get something out of life himself afterward. She rather liked Cyril. One shouldn’t deny wholesome amuse- ment to the former generation. “If Cyril doesn’t object, why should we?” 7 had remarked to her brother over the cock- tails. ICK had managed to have a word with Alberta in the patio. “Forgive me, Al- berta,” he said. “Perhaps I had had a drink or two too many.”’ ;, Lt isn’t a case of forgiving,” Alberta replied. “But I’m beginning to be afraid I never shall ’ fit! The whole party “You're getting morbid! T’ll tell the world the party was going some—but it happened on an impulse. Everybody had had a few rounds of cocktails, and the whole thing just swung a bit too far. I told them you had a headache when they discovered you were gone. I was afraid your leaving like that would get you in wrong. They’ve all liked you and been awfully decent. Nothing happened, anyway. It was perfectly decorous. In fact, it went quite flat, the way costume parties generally do. Whenever the jazz stopped for a second we sort of stood around looking at each other. So finally they went for a moonlight swim, except me. I came back to look you up, you know. They’ve all been pretty decent to you.” The phrase grated on Alberta, yet it touched her, too. Goodness knew they had had enough to overlook before taking her in, and they had done it with their eyes open. Was she unreason- ably hard? And about a mere childish prank? Who hadn’t gone too far occasionally, in some ways? She hated to be ungrateful to them. ‘For heaven’s sake, Alberta, don’t begin analyzing. It’s high time we got married. Let’s hurry Mollie up and get set for week after next. Cyril will back us.” - OU must take Alberta to call on Granny immediately after lunch, Dicky,” called Mollie from the head of the lunch table. ‘‘ You will find her in the southeast corner of the Poinciana veranda, where she has sat at the same hour every day whenever she has been in Palm Beach, for the last twenty years. Noth- ing we can do will change her routine. That comes of marrying a Frenchman. You and I are going to be wildly irregular, Cyril darling, and never do anything twice the same.”’ She leaned across and tapped his hand lightly. The Marquise de Hautcoeur was something of an anomaly at Palm Beach. Perhaps with her perfect sense of the appropriate she knew this. At all events one (Continued on page 144)

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HARPER’S BAZAR MARIA Tiny hats, aimost caps in their snug- . » - . . - J hitting lines, are worn by many of the - . smartest women in Europe. Maria iruficarnl | Piaget o . Guy used two fabrics, black felt and black satin, for this toque that } / ‘ I J if . molds faithfully the lines of the head. Ch als ( roll Y ' Madame Agnés has developed a new { . ° e SJ movement in hats, a from-back-lo- ss C ares front movement that is decidedly flattering to most faces. Satiny blue felt is used for this “ Phrygian cap,” ornamented with a ring of blue stones.

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for * EPTEMBER 1927

BY ATE I ie | any WHY DO | GO TO PARTIES ?

Drawing by Harrison Fisher ACL niagOughl Wit wiphei ae of Lariniwge < molish riler explaiis everv omans J esire lo he Call « Pliinins HE other day I was lunching with a friend at Prunier’s, which is in Paris, and it struck me suddenly that the lobster is unjust to man. When it does well to him it does it so temperately, so grudgingly, compared to the ex travagance it shows when it does him ill. A bad lobster can easily cause us such suffering as to wring from us moans of agony. But does a good lobster give us such acute pleasure that we are forced to utter involuntary cries of ecstasy? It does not. Prunier’s does not echo with sounds of bliss. And a very bad lobster can kill us. But does a very good lobster, the best conceivable lobster, have any equivalent beneficial power? Ithasnot. Prunier’s is not glorious with the spectacle of its patrons being translated to a higher and intenser life. That is what I call unfair. “But have you never noticed,” said my friend, “that the same thing is true of lots of things in life? Particularly of parties? If you go toa party and are the most admired person there, you will find afterwards that you have not had any flush of gratification that anything like balances the deep chagrin felt by the woman whom nobody has admired. I don’t want to say that a party is usually an emotional battle-ground. The mass of guests no doubt are neither admired nor neglected, but merely sit about satisfied to be there because they value the friendship of the host and hostess, and like the certificate of social con- sequence. But so far as there is an emotional debt and credit account it doesn’t balance. Two or three women will have a sense that people have been really rather nice to them, but it will not be a very lovely sense, for they will be the kind of women to whom that sort of thing is always happening, and certain things get dulled by repetition. And there will be at least two women for each of them who will have a sense that they excited absolutely no interest or admiration, and again they will be the kind of women to whom that sort of thing is always happening, and certain things have a cumulative eliect! Haven’t you noticed that if you go into a ballroom the morning after a ball it always strikes you as sad, no mat- ter what fun the ball was, or what a good time you had? It is the thoughts of all the women who didn’t have a good time, turning back to the scene of their disappointment. Oh,

lobsters and parties don’t do the right thing by us at all.” Then we fell to talking of why we go to parties. By parties we meant, mind vou, real parties. Not places where you go to meet people whom vou like and talk, but the adult version of children’s parties, occasions when one has to put on one’s best clothes, take a clean handkerchief, say “Please,” and sit up straight. There must be a slight suggestion of starched dis- comfort before it is a real party, a call to spruceness that will make the female in one eager to go and the male in one want to stay at home. If it is to be a true party the element of good company must be excluded. There must be such a condition of crowds in incessant movement that it prevents any one from saying anything worth saying or listening to it if it were said. There must be nothing contributed by the persons involved except their presence, in its purely physical terms. N°“ why should we go to that sort of affair, when one is not a bore and one’s friends are not afraid of meeting one at close quarters and talking to one? There is, of course, the fundamental reason that most of us do not like ourselves very much and imagine that we have bought toleration from our fellows only by being clever or kind or amusing, and it flatters us enormously when there comes this demand for our presence which is the raw material of our personality, not touched up at all by those secondary qualities. I know that I am always glad to be asked to a party, whether I go or not, because it helps to heal a scar left on my infant mind by my Grandaunt Anne, who would have been much happier, as we all would have been, if she had been born into the other sex and could have been a sergeant-major of marines. When we first met I was nine years old, and unpleasingly com- posed chiefly of eves and enormous ears, and at the sight of me the old lady threw up her eyes and remarked in broad Scotch Presbyterian accents, “The Lord has maircifully preserved the child from all worldly temptations.” That remark has possibly caused me more trouble than anything that has ever been said to me in my life. If she had not said it I might have been a missionary to-day; but it had to be lived down. That is the great hold an invitation to a (Continued on page 120)

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(Top, center) A small velvet hat by Alex is from the wardrobe of Mrs. William Randolph Hearst, shown on these two pages. This type of hat is worn with aigrettes for formal afternoon occasions. (Right) The front view of a dress of heavy black crépe shows gracefully supple lines. Its extreme simplicity is given interest and movement by in- crustations of gold lamé on the bodice and hem. / oslumes from a baal | Ll Teloctec HARPER’S BAZAR CALLOT (Left) The back of the frock pictured opposite discloses the surprising fact that the front is a loose apron. The incrustations of lamé are car- ried around to bind it and tie at the waist-line. (Lower center) Another Alex hat is this almost- cloche model of black felt. A curlicue of multi- colored feathers mounted on the self-trimming in front gives the hat the new forward movement. his Wi avis <;Wardarobve

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for SEPTEMBER 1927 Under a coat of brick-red kasha cloth is vorn a frock of matching crépe, made with « drape at the side to form an uneven hem- The huge collar is of black astrakhan. Three models from PAQUIN Rather typical of Paquin—an_ evening This evening frock selected by Mrs. Wil- coat of gold and pink moire lamé, lined liam Randolph Hearst combines two with pink satin stitched with gold, has shades of pink. The bodice is pale pink a lovely surplice collar and cuffs of sable. chiffon, the flounces a deep beet-root shade. (Top of page) Wide black satin ribbons are used to form one of Reboux’s most successful new hats. This mode of toques is still followed by very smart women. Frocks, Het, nel Weape of Uonenal Tina 7 VOC VS, als, CA11C ‘ raps oO MuUsUuUa ~~ isliniclion

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HARPER’S BAZAR

O fear? bral xr Abace 5 2 > f fern had A2de nord. CAe fun << PAnande GF bua 4° /

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for SEPTEMBER 1927

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raniix > winnerton by ' ‘ ® Regent Street has changed now—Londoners think not for the better. OLD LONDON KEEPS FOREVER YOUNG Saat British Capital as S, 5 Jew know a is the SM ritis l apila as ©/winnerton , & very ) anouillectilk Bae on pee ayo will wrile of some pa O who on HE face of London is changing before me. Wherever I look, I see that something has appeared which was not there a year, a month, a week ago; and this experience, common enough in other great cities, is almost disconcerting in London. For the old-fashioned air of London has always been one of its charms for me. I can sympathize with those who want to clear away slums and build new gracious homes amid spaces and green gardens; but I like the places I love to remain always as they were when I first saw them. Some American girls who have just very hastily visited Lon- don, when asked their impressions of the city, said that they were struck by its homeliness and its little dotted green squares; and also by the small houses. Well, what now strikes the native is not so much the things to which he is accustomed as the things to which he is expected to grow accustomed in a night or a week. We have a grand new Regent Street, cnd we sigh for the old Regent Street. We have a grand new Fleet Street, and we long for the days of the old narrow Fleet Street, down which horse omnibuses used to run, with hansom cabs, four-wheelers, and their kindred vehicles. Even as I write, they are beginning to pull down the last jutting buildings upon the south side of the Strand between the Cecil and the Tivoli, and in a few weeks the Strand will be as wide at all poirts as it can be until some more ancient leases expire and further demolitions can be undertaken. It will then be a wide and perhaps (though not certainly) a noble thoroughfare; but it will have lost its character. It will have become another Oxford Street, and nobody could wish that London should possess two Oxford Streets. One is too many. But the outward change in London is a mirror of the inward change that is taking place; and this inward change is fascinating to watch. Before the war, there were young people, middle- aged people, and old people in the city. Now there is no such thing as age. Having in war-time tasted the excitements of youth, the elderly have no intention of giving up those excite- ments. From 1914 until 1918, all the inhabitants of London were saying that this was the age of the young, and it must suddenly have occurred to the more elderly that the cleverest possible move would be to recapture youth for themselves, and turn London into a young people’s city. This they have done. A lugubrious Continental philosopher, desiring to contrast England with his own law-ridden country, has neatly summed up the English system in a line. He has said (and in speaking of England he is more especially thinking of London): “In England everything is permitted that is not forbidden.” Few things are forbidden in London. The one irksome prohibition is that one may not purchase chocolates or tobacco after an hour midway through the evening. Apart from that, London is a remarkably free city. It is also becoming—except upon Sundays—quite a gay city. It is still given over to dancing. From time to time we are told that dancing is losing its hold upon the public, and of late there has been some talk of the fact that night clubs are not what they were. True enough. There are waves of tiredness of dancing. The night club has ceased to be a reckless and sensational affair, and is possibly less prosperous than it was in war-time. But what is the sequel? It is that all the night clubs are becoming restaurants where one may dance, and all the restaurants—even the old-fashioned ones—are creating dance floors, are hiring bands to play dance music, are engaging vaude- ville stars to give exhibition dances or vaudeville turns for the entertainment of the dancers and diners, and are maintaining a quite exceptional prosperity. Notably enough, the majority of the bands and the stars are Americans. American artists are as well known and as popular in London as they are in New York. Our musical comedies are all American, and they are all full of dancing. One may see young London ladies Charlestoning (Continued on page 142) HARPER’S BAZAR

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EPTEMBER 1927 117 OocK TURTLE SouP Fow youll enjoy its unusual flavor! for . ¥ OCK TURTLE! A soup famous for its own individual flavor, A soup which has helped many a smart cafe and fashionable Your appetite will tell you, at the very first spoonful, that this is a masterpiece in soup-making. It will give you an even better appreciation of why the women of America repose such confidence in Campbell’s. The best ingredients that money can buy. The utmost care and skill in blending. Women know these facts about Campbell's. diningroom the world over, to attract its distinguished patronage. The eyes of the trained soup chef will sparkle at the very mention of Mock Turtle Soup. For to him it is an opportunity—the coveted chance to display all the fine touches ow of his art. wv 2 When you consider that there are twenty-one different kinds of Campbell's Soups, you realize that the Campbell's kitchens offer a complete service in fine soups. Are you taking full advantage of it? Do you draw upon this wide variety of soups And Campbell’s French chefs can receive from you no more welcome a challenge to prove their skill. For here is a soup that is unusual. A soup that is difficult to make B andso seldom attempted in the home kitchen. ¢ Yet rightly made, it never fails to win the appetite, instantly and unmistakably. constantly to help you in your difficult and important task of giving the utmost charm and variety to the daily family . Y oy menus? Only the tenderest, selected calves’ head CAMPBELL SOUP COMPANY "f° —— . CAMDEN ,N.J.,U.S-A meat is used in Campbell’s Mock.Turtle Soup. " Tempting, toothsome pieces of this meat are blended in the rich broth of fine beef, puree See how simple it is. Your grocer has, or will obtain for you, any or all of the Campbell's Soups you select from the list of fullripe luscious tomatoes, sngw-white Look For THE RED-AND-WHITE LABEL celery, savory herbs and deft seasoning. A dash of truly European flavor livens the blend and aids in producing the distinctive taste printed on the label of the can. All that is required is to add an equal quantity of water, let the soup simmer for a few minutes, and then serve it, hot, savory, and invigorating. for which this soup is famous. I2 cents a can. I’m riding high, with feelings spry, Aglow with true ambition. I’m headed straight at lively gait For Campbell’s rich nutrition. IN THE DAILY DIE MEAL OR AS A MEAL SOUP BELONGS

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© Stein & Blaine y r ‘“‘Ambassador”’ in Caracul EVERY STEIN & BLAINE FUR COAT IS SLIM IN SILHOUETTE, LIGHT IN WEIGHT AND COMFORTABLE TO WEAR. EACH FUR COAT IS CREATED BY THE HOUSE OF STEIN & BLAINE. Stein 2 Blaine A CREATIVE HOUSE 13 and [5 West 51th Street, New York GIVE AND TAKE IN THE THEapg; (Concluded from page 107) to which they can lift the taste of the public. Their influence has been felt in a more general fashion, and felt more fortunately, in the United States than in England. In England, for example, most of this outside money has gone into musical pro- ductions, in spite of the tremendous popularity of American shows. Com- paratively little finds its way into dramatic enterprises, although it is said that the old-line theater owners have operated against the dilettantes, and in some cases have even raised their rentals for the English ‘‘ butter and egg men”’ in concerted discrimination. From whatever cause there is vastly less dabbling in play production in London than there is in New York. Aside from the tendency of American neophytes to produce plays instead of musical comedies and revues, a tendency aided, no doubt, by the fact that the musical field is tightly controlled by established pro- ducers, aside from this, I say, the ele- ment of gambling enters more generally into affairs in New York. In a high percentage of cases a new production is either an over-night hit or an over-night flop. Consequently to an inexperienced promoter any vest-pocket or attic-trunk manuscript has all the allurement of the stock exchange. He is ripe for the friends of his childhood who knew him when, and for the friends of his friends whose name is, often enough, legion. HESE circumstances, however, have created in New York that self-pre- servative of any art, the right toa hearing. Our playwrights, like our other suspects, are presumed to be innocent until proved guilty. It is the free and often too easy access to production which keeps alert and hepeful the clamorous freshmen, from whose turgid ranks may ultimately come at least one distinguished senior. For the most part this encouragement, such as it is, is lacking in London. There is, I suspect, haughty intolerance of the correspondence school plays, and all the feeble, shy, wistful, inept, and useless troop of manuscripts piled in such en- trancing mounds along our less _hide- bound theatrical thoroughfare. It is the last and probably the most fatal element in the stagnation of English playwriting. The legitimate heirs to the stage went to war, and there is no ready-made way to replace them. Except O’Casey, the post-war years have brought forth no man of obvious potentialities. _Noél Coward’s work so far has been flashy, reportorial, even a little Victorian in its careful sophistica- tion, but too trivial to do little more than reflect, as Michael Arlen reflects, the romance of the latter-day back- stairs. It may be the nervous overture to a brooding and penetrating commen- tary on contemporary civilization, but the evidence is not at hand. Since the established dramatic authors have slipped one by one into inactivity, or casual output, Somerset Maugham is left in the singular and somewhat sud- den position of chief of the now not-so- very-much-younger playwrights. His plays invariably reach production in both London and New York, sometimes, as in the case of ‘‘The Constant Wife,” with widely different results. HIS season we are to have here ‘The Letter,” a hit of London, in which Gladys Cooper appeared at the Play- house for a considerable run. At this typographical moment the plans for New York indicate that it will be done by Katherine Cornell under the direction of Guthrie McClintic. In it Mr. Maugham presents the more Pago-Pago aspects of Iris March in an adroitly made and theatrically effective tale. His curtain rises on a prologue almost identical in length, speed, and intent with the prologue to our own “Chicago.” A woman in a subtropical bungalow says “You cur!” to a vaguely retreating gentleman, and _ forthwith explodes some six cartridges among as- sorted fatal spots. The curtain comes down, and the succeeding acts exhibit the HARPERK’S BAgy lady’s strenuous efforts to save her . ren tion, her neck, and her husband all Ms same time. ; Though deftly and cunningly } the first act, in the London Produ lost some of its impact through the ing of Miss Cooper. Maughan. written for her a long and closely narrative in which she explains j: husband and her lawyer exactly happened. It is admirably yriy, sound convincing, and obviously », to be credible to the audience, ‘Ty suing suspense and the climax of th make belief imperative. Yet Miss (,, expounded her yarn with such palpg artifice that its fraud was at on parent to the dullest listener, anj later suggestion from her lawyer tha: was lying indicated merely that hy either deaf or deficient. He was parently, the last person to suspect veracity when a suaver performan: Miss Cooper would have made him first, and lent vigor and flaring in to his quiet suspicion. At any rate it does develop that story was a fake, for there are the and time-tried documents, blood bro to all our pet last-act mortgages anj whole dusty archive of dramatic pan The murdered gentleman, it seems. not arrive at the bungalow with felon) intent, but came at the jealous lj invitation, and was shot when he sai preferred his Chinese mistress to her slightly insistent charms. There ; letter to prove it. Maugham makes good use of this 4 tine material suggesting conflicts of 4 acter and inner stresses of emotion, 14 relieve the story of its usualness andm it continuously interesting. He creat consistent and often provocative stud) a woman who needs, on the stage, the glamour of an actress to give the romantic interest that an shameless, shameful lady had when appeared in print. In its original version, I am told, Mg ham wrote a niccly contrasting scen the last act wherein the character almost the identical positions they in the first act, again listen to L Crosbie’s story, this time the true of why she killed her lover. For) Cooper’s benefit and presumably at Maurier’s suggestion when he dir the play, the narrative was deleted, a cut-back, guardian deity of the m inserted in its place. In this inter the actual motive for the crime closed, and in New York the first sion, which cought to permit a s shading of acting, will be used. THE material appears si r rt hackneyed it finds distinction i unflinching honesty and brutal refus the author to sneak out sympathy {oj heroine. Maugham gives her the ¢ husband, and all the conspiring at stances for happiness. He makes. cheat and a liar, and something small-time sport along the suriace drama. She loves a man and kil and at the final curtain, when she st guilty and unpretending, she 1s ret less and unbroken. She drives 2 pressive foreign car, as a certall tinguished predecessor did, into 4 venient and effective tree, but @ with more destructive momentum, own adamantine passion galls embattled sympathy of the audi “T can’t help it,” she tells hers husband. “I still love him.” It is the only line in the play for her defense, a guilty line of viction, and Maugham builds out ¢ smashing and complete acquittal. ’ Of the other current or recently London plays, New York is lie} see this year ‘Interference, Fanatics,” and ‘The. Garden long threatened by Mr. Woods. To stage, already crowded with Ave plays, we are about to add Satu! Children” with Ruth Gordon, “Chicago.” The exchange, as is the habit “ changes, goes on, and ultimately P happily that hands across the be not nearly so strong as handclaps.

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for s EPTEMBER 1927 > BAgs LEAT O Save her rep Ir a \usband all cunningly | ndon Produc: through the 1 Maughan | and closely | explains + er exactly | rably write: obviously » | dience, ‘Th, climax of th, Vet Miss Cy th such palpj Was at once | listener, and r lawyer that rely that he . He was n to Suspect performance ‘e made him d flaring int develop that here are the ts, blood bro: ortgages and dramatic pap} in, it seems yw with feloni e jealous |: when he said | stress to her | as. There i | | 1 use of this 9 conflicts of c4 f emotion, w ialness and m ig. He creat vocative studi 1 the stage, ress to give that anoj lL y had when [ am told, M trasting scen e characters sitions they listen to L 1e the true over. For} ‘sumably at hen he dir vas deleted y this ie When one visits a motor car showroom, eyes and mind are i the focused upon the body of the car under inspection, sometimes cue entirely to the exclusion of the chassis. The inclination is to poems assume the goodness of the chassis—but the comfort, the con- er venience, the quality, of the body—its upholstery, its appoint- ng | ments, its beauty—these are submitted to the all-important — test of personal taste. The eager demand for the new models a equipped with Body by Fisher proves all over again that the - she is rem . pee . a" ‘ at outstanding superiority of Fisher Bodies in every price class, , a certain P & ° . id, into is the determining factor in the selection of a motor car ree, but a momentum agi CADILLAC 4 LASALLE 4 BUICK + CHEVROLET + OAKLAND + PONTIAC + OLDSMOBILE the audi» tells her sth m. the play ut! line of sel uilds out 0 cquittal. recent GENERAL MOTORS dd “‘Satur Gordon, he habit ¢ timately ?” oss the andclaps.

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© Stein & Biai , ‘*Emas’ EVERY STEIN & BLAINE GOWN IS CREATED BY THE HOUSE OF STEIN & BLAINE — THEN MADE TO THE INDIVIDUAL ORDER OF EACH PATRON. ALL MODELS ARE ORIGINAL AND AUTHENTIC. Stein 2 Blaine A CREATIVE HOUSE 13 and 15 West 5Tth Street, New York WHY DOI GO TO PARTIigg> (Continued from page 111) party has for me. It is a worldly temptation, and it is addressed to me. I see the same process working in Mr. Michael Arlen who has put the party into English literature as it has not been done since Disraeli, who has indeed given social activity a new prestige. He writes incessantly about them, and his respect for love-making and_ illness—perfect health was as unfamiliar to the characters of ‘The Green Hat” as chastity—is due to the fact that these are almost the only conceivable distractions which would really keep an enthusiastic party-goer from following his game. Now, those who know Mr. Michael Arlen are aware that he suffers acutely from personal diffidence. He has an inferiority com- plex which is explicable enough in a fragile Armenian brought up in an English public school; we are a robust people. It therefore seems to him a miracle that anybody should like him sufficiently to ask him to a party. But it happens constantly that he is asked to parties. The miracle happens every day. He feels as if he were living in a social Lourdes, and that gives his work the freshness and zest and wonder which makes people read it quite apart from its literary merits or demerits. The same sense of being an alien, and being received against all probability in the homes of the natives, gave Disraeli a similar exhilaration, which makes his descriptions of ducal halls shine to this day with the brilliance of wet paint, though it is the best part of a century since “‘Lothair” and “Coningsby” were written. We read them both with sympathy, for at the bottom of our hearts we all feel (thanks to whatever Grand aunt Anne we may have had) that we are under some physical or psychological handicap just as isolating as their racial difference. Most of us therefore are just as pleased as Mr. Arlen is to go to parties, though we are not so ingenuous as to admit it. ES, I go to parties because I am glad to be asked; and because I like to find out the secret dreams of people. To do that one must either know them very well or not know them at all. One must be able to walk into their houses at any hour or see them only at parties. And that last, to be true, is only of use when it is women concerning whom one is curious; for the revelation is made by the dress. I used in my serious youth to be a little distressed at the way my sex clothed itself, since it seemed to bear out the accusations of light-mindedness that in those anti-suffrage days were made against it, but now I am convinced that it is the beautiful emotion of modesty which makes us dress in many colored silks and satins. A woman says to herself, subconsciously, “‘Perhaps I am not very good-looking. Perhaps I am rather dull. Therefore I will wear that chiffon dress which is the color of wisteria, which is cut to float round me so that people will think of wisteria blown by the wind. So I will bring beauty and interest with me to the party in spite of my limitations.” Men used to begin a speech in much the same way, and end it handsomely with lace ruffles and embroidered waist- coats. But they gave up that modest attitude at the time of the industrial revolution, when they became flushed with pride at all they were doing with the machine. Did the sex that was responsible for the railway-train and the machine loom need to do anything to heighten its charm? It did not. So there- after they stumped about in sober standardized garments, and went forth to parties in clothes very like the clothes they wear by day but even more grimly uniform. Which, after all, is not so stupid of them if one takes it as mourning for some of the consequences of ma- chinery, for the dreary factory town and modern warfare. But women are rewarded for their modesty, since at any big party one may easily recognize that the women there find in their dressing-up a chance that men might envy of running away HARPER’ S BAZAR from themselves, of rem iking — their personalities for the evening, of escaping for an hour or two into pleasante destinies. That is not truce, of cours of very young girls. They dress % thoughtlessly as linnets sing, binding bright surfaces round their young lovel. ness, but having no particular idea oj what they want to look like. _ Not long ago I went to a dinner-dance in a small town in Kentucky, to which after dinner, there came some of th. loveliest young girls of the town. It Was an astonishing spectacle. The women who had been at the dinner were come enough, yet when these girls came jn jt was as if a chestnut tree that had been wearing only its dark green leaves had lit all its white candles at once. Certainly the children had enjoyed buying their dance frocks, but they had bought them simply becausé they were pretty frocks in themselves, not because of any relevance to their wearers. No, this purposeful dressing comes later, among those who have attained a certain age: say the age at which famous beauties marry Georgian princes. It is, however, no mere attempt at retardation of time. It is subtle than that. Even it may take the form of premature acceptance of age. Thanks to the wildness of fantasy permitted to evening dress, a woman, provided she starts at par so far as her looks are concerned, can isolate what quality her life has lacked and for that evening personify it. If fate has drawn her backwards through a hedge, then she can look classically calm. If fate has made her as stodgy as a rice pudding she can look eighteenth-century in a robe de style. And there is no place where she can get away with this disguise so well as at a big party, because of the closure it puts on intelligent conversation or it is difficult to converse intelligent) on anything for ten minutes without getting interested and using one’s own voice; and nothing betrays the tnut! about oneself so much as one’s voice On the occasions when there is real talk she may be sitting in white satin looking like Juno, and all at once the quality that has made her spend most of her lif troublesomely eloping on yachts will bk up and about and at work; or she maj be toying with an ivory and chicken skin fan and spreading skirts of glacé taffeta, and suddenly the quality that condemns her to be a rice pudding speaks again and has its way with her as usual But at a big party, where nobody asks her anything but when she is sailing for Europe and if she has seen “ Broat: way,” she can preserve the illusion, an be what she never could be at any other time. T is the nature of the illusion she de sires to preserve which I find interest ing: the illusion that predominates a parties, the illusion that most womer are trying to give. For it is an indication of what it is the times are failing to giv women which they feel they need. one looks at the photographs of a Victor ian lady en grande tenue one perceive that she was making with her superfluous) ample bust and pinched waist and th swirls of satin round her hips and legs considerable attempt to deny the facts of her physical being. That was nature enough considering the heavy emphas that was being laid on her racial value by the Victorian birth-rate. She wantee to prove that even if she had bee an entirely impractical organism biological ‘purposes there would st have been much of her to like admire. But now the emphasis has be shifted. If the Victorian woman too many children, the woman of to-@ has too few. In France and Englan where after all fashion is still made, thet are a large number of women who ary debarred from marriage because the destined husbands were killed in _" war, or, having survived, cannot allo! to keep wives; and the economic att prevents many other women whe * married from having any or ™é children. In America, though there 4 (Concluded on page 122)

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for S EPTEMBER 1927 E $? ng their yy new Perfume by Caron r idea of ner-dane: had beer es had lit Certainly ying their those F Georgian re attempt is subtler 4 the form lan no plac his disguis ause of U mversatior es withou one’s ov the yne’s vol is | ta itin looking juality tha of her | hts will | juality iding sp ‘r as 1 ybody e is sailing sen “ Broa illusion, a! at any othe ision she de- find interest ominates 4 uiling to gi ey need. | 5 of a Victor mnie perceiv' superfluous ist and s and | ganism would to like has yomal or h there ! 2}

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4A NN DOBBS» NEW YORK'S LEADING HATTERS Dosss Two-Piece Frock or Finest Kasamir Jersey AND SILK CREPE Dobbs Clot Les tee isha Dobbs Mats . Coats . rocks Aports Attire , designed fer - ~~ Autumn Days in ‘Lown or Country THERE Is DistincTION IN WEARING Dosss CLOTHES D QO B B 620 FIFTH AVENUE at 50th Street + NewYork WHY DOI GO TO PARTIEs;: (Concluded from page 120) fewer surplus women and more affluence, the prodigious artificiality of life has the same effect. A woman whose physical and psychical make-up caused her to wish to have five children would perhaps have less chance of realizing her ambitions if she were married to a man of moderate means who had to live in New York than she would have if she had been born anywhere else in any other period of history. To-day society almost neglects the racial values of women and lays its emphasis on her individual values. There may be plenty of emphasis laid on sex, but it will be on the play element of sex, the entertainment that can be got out of it, not on its biological functions. It is in reaction to this attitude that women have evolved the present fashion in evening dress. T HAS two characteristics which betray what women think of the new order. The first is that it reveals the natural structure of the body as much as Victorian dress concealed it. The modern woman may borrow the rvbe de style to look exquisite and eighteenth-century, but she omits the confining bones which were in the antique original; she wants to show the rounded strength of her body. She wears evening dress short, but not because she fears she may have to walk through long grass; she wants to show her legs. The kind of body they like to reveal is slim and strong, which the superficial mistake for an effort after boyishness, but which might be called an imitation of the serviceable spareness of the savage woman. In point of fact the amplitudes of the Victorian woman were such as_ the normal female would attain only in late life, and her premature development of them can only be ascribed to her un- conscious desire to hurry through the romantic age and reach a period when she would be let alone. Nor is short hair, even the Eton crop, any manifestation of any real desire for masculinity. It is, when one comes to think of it, an almost impudent manifestation of femininity. A woman who goes to a party with her hair sleek and brief is saying in effect, ‘TI am so satisfied there is an essential womanhood deep down in me, inherent in my flesh and blood and bones, that I can count on having a good time even if I shear off every artificial indication of my sex.” The other significant characteristic of modern evening dress is its frequent lack of differentiation. It is not nearly so varied as previous fashions have been. There are enough models designed to enable a woman to express all sorts of different ideas about herself. If she wants to look like Juno or like an eight- eenth-century marquise the very best dressmakers will help her. But what the mass of women want at the moment is to look like other women. The three most popular dressmakers in Paris just now are those who put their clients in the evening into a chiffon uniform which, when worn with shingled hair, goes some distance toward making them all look alike. In effect the women who wear this uniform are saying, “Yes, we are getting an opportunity to express our individualities, and we like it. But we also want an opportunity to express FURS (Concluded from page 85) through the season, and light greens be- came important, while gray made a tenta- tive electric-light appearance. A very in- teresting note was the velvet evening gowns, as one hardly expects to find them in the summer; but they were the choice of women of enough importance to make it worth while to notice them. Some quite deep décolletés unexpectedly ap- peared; and the revival of very large bright colored feather fans should be mentioned, for they have been con- spicuous by their absence for some time. HARPER’S BAZA} ourselves through the common |, through the race. Look at ys! te we still a homogeneous sex, that ~ traveled no way at all from our biologi purposes?” ~ ACH of those women separately a consciously has done nothing mo, than ‘“‘choose a frock”; but Collective they are expressing their judgment ,j history so far as it concerns the positic of women, just as in their manner ay bearing they have reacted to history . far as it affects both men and womer The beauties of our mothers’ day, sy as the Duchess of Rutland, Lady Dian Manners’s mother, cultivated a vague and distraught appearance, as if th world was infinitely mysterious and the did not know what it was all aboy: That was because the people of that ar when peace had lain unbroken on Englan; since the Crimean War and on th United States since the Civil Wx believed that they knew exactly why was going to happen to them and that}; would consist of a positive monotony ; prosperity and calm. They were deep] grateful for any hint they might from a _ hollow-eyed beauty that |i sometimes presented an _ unforetellabj complexity just as a delightful fairy-tale Now, again, the case is altered. Sing the Creat War we none of us know wha is going to happen to us, and we fancy i is all going to be about as calm as ; mountain thunder-storm. This time th beauties give us what we want by looking sophisticated and flip, as if they knex exactly what it is all about and foun the knowledge unperturbing. Again we don’t really believe them but we lik listening to the fairly-tale. Yes, the big party has its uses. | enables us to watch people who ar prevented by comfortable circumstance from becoming artists and intellectuak and expressing what they feel and think ir art and argument, but who nevertheles are full of vigor because they spring fron the stocks that can command succes and have intensified their power }) early nurture, and have therefore strong reactions to life which they express just i the course of living. And one observe all these things sweetly, because one i pleased that these people have wante one to be with them, because the herd ha: accepted one; which is to say one ob serves them accurately. PARTY has, as we noted before, th essential injustice of the lobster and it may be a horrible thing if one is snob. It can be as dangerous as battle-field if one falls on one’s knee before _Mrs. William K. Snooks th third as one ought to only before one: God; for she, not being God, will fa to exercise divine mercy if one puts thi thunderbolt in her hand. But on th whole it is a pleasing example of the gaiety and courage with which men ane women get for themselves what thi universe withholds from them, finding in masquerades by night a compensatio! for drabness by day, writing in stuffs an colors truths about their own needs tha! they could not tell in words, adding t the age the pinch of mystery or sophisti cation that makes it palatable: at # times gallantly getting on with life. j ; “ll show Daytime colors next winter will sho no revolutionary changes, they * Worth, for one, is continuing his ™ blue, and is using a lot of gray, ° : : - ’ combined with black; while for © ke white evening, he will continue to ma bi gowns and black gowns. A few fabs makers talk of tans and Havana brow! and most of them like the idea of gree Time will tell; but it is perfectly safe to predict that black, for the daytime, ‘ retain all its elegance. We simp cannot abandon it.

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BAZay ‘IES; OMMOon |p; Cus! Arey ‘X, that have our biologic, Parately ay 10thing mor t collective Judgment (j the POsSitio, Manner ap to history 9 and Women, rs’ day, such Lady Dian, ted a vagy as if thd ous and the: S all about > of that age n on England and on th Civil War xactly what n and that monotony ( were deep might ge ty that lif inforetellab ul fairy-tak ered. Sing s know what 1 we fancy ; calm as his time th it by looking they knev t and foun Again we but we lik ts uses. le who ar rcumstance intellectua and think ir nevertheles spring fror and succes power | efore strong press just i ne observes ‘ause one is ave wante the herd ha: ay one ot | before, th he lobster g if one is srous as one’s knees Snooks yefore one dy will fai me puts th But on th iple of th *h men an what th om, finding mpensatio! n stuffs an needs that _ adding t or sophisti ble: at a h life. + will shor they say 4 his ow? vray, ofter e for the nake whit: few fabnc na browns 1 of greens tly safe to ytime, Ve simp!) for SEPTEMBER 1927 Pee Her Grace in the priceless gown of ivory lace she wore at her wedding, which took place in the historic gardens of Blenheim Palace Offe. Duchew of Oo] larlborough > ormerly. MISS GLADYS DEACON of BOSTON Blenheim House—the palace of the Dukes of Marlborough near Oxford—was erected in 1723 ER GRACE, the Duchess of Marlborough, is one of the first peeresses of England. An American by birth, noted for her great beauty, she is the charming mistress of historic Blenheim Palace, manor of the Dukes of Marlborough for Over two hundred years. Among the women of her exalted station tradi- tions play a large part, and the beauty of exquisite grooming is a matter of daily etiquette none would dream of neglecting. The Duchess herself particularly stresses the need of a clear, fresh skin. Sells how to heen Ure Chautilion of ‘Beauly ‘Down to the modern woman,” she says, “the social leaders of every age thought that beauty, like a delicate hothouse flower, must be sheltered. The woman of social prominence today guards her complexion, too, but not with veils and para- sols. Instead she strides through wind and sun and frosty air, her skin exquisitely cared for with Pond’s Two Creams.” And the Duchess adds, “‘ For my own part they keep my complexion vigorous and healthy.” Soothing, Refreshing, Cleansing Cleanse your skin and keep it fresh and supple with Pond’s Cold Cream. Upon retiring and often during the day pat it generously over face, throat and hands. In a few moments its fine oils penetrate the pores, re- moving all dust and powder. Wipe off. Repeat. For a dry skin leave some of the Cream on overnight. A Soft Tone, A Delicate Protection For that exquisite last touch of loveliness for evening and when you go out, apply Pond’s Vanishing Cream lightly. It not only adds a smooth and glowing finish and takes your powder naturally, but it gives unfailing protection from all irritation. These Two Creams are chosen by women of high rank to cleanse and protect their delicate skins Free Offer: Mail this coupon for free sample tubes of Pond’s Two Creams with instructions. Tue Ponp’s Extract Company, Dept. W 122 Hupson Street, New York. Please send me free tubes of Pond’s Two Creams. Name a Street io City — =

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gust OF ORIGINg, Ba BAPE Oo DR YT An Ensemble Costume for early fall. Black Salin Broadcloth with ¢ loth of Silver Bodice | HARPER’S BAZAR THE ADDRESS BOOK (Continued from page 105) to Eton, he had a somewhat Roman ap- pearance, and he was essentially malleable. On these three assets Effie boldly staked, and from the moment she was married she took complete control of Larchmont and set out to turn him into a successful snob. The world knows whether she has attained her object. Larchmont now looks exactly like a slightly damaged Roman Emperor who, by some strange freak of destiny, has strong affiliations with the middle classes of England. When he talks he talks with weighty importance, when he is silent his silence is impressive. And he has a faculty of not seeing old friends on the lower rungs of the ladder which is only equaled by the ardent blind- ness of Effie herself. Also he has been in Parliament. Effie got him in, and a fellow from the mines of Whitehaven got him out, but not before Effie had persuaded a Consetvative Premier that Larchmont’s services to the party were deserving of the reward of a title. As a matter of fact Larchmont is a K. C. V. O., which looks very well on the outside of an envelope. And he won't bother to stand again, as there is every reason to suppose that a Baronetcy will shortly come his way without his con- testing another election. Effie has made him contribute very handsomely, and in a very public manner, to the Saturday Hospital fund. There is practically no doubt that it will be all right when the New Year’s Honors are distributed. Effie’s first married home was far away from Bayswater. She swept Larchmont with her to the other side of the Park and established him and herself in a discreet neighborhood on the south side of the interminable Cromwell Road. There they shed Bayswater, including my humble self. Since then they have shed South Kensington and gone to Bucking- ham Gate. From Buckingham Gate they have migrated to Queen Anne Street, from Queen Anne Street to Cadogan Gardens, and from Cadogan Gardens to Burden House, Knightsbridge, a lordly mansion with a side view of the Park. I am told, but I’m not certain it is true, that Effie is now in treaty for a corner house in Grosvenor Square. If she gets it their wanderings ever upwards will probably come to an end, as really the traffic makes Park Lane so very noisy nowadays. ’M VERY sorry, but I must now say a few words about myself, though I don’t wish to appear as an egoist. My name, as I’ve explained, is Crad- gett. This, of course, is a misfortune. Effie’s was Smith, but being a woman she has been able to conceal that fact under the married name of Burden, and very few of her now innumerable smart and celebrated friends have any idea who she was. But Cradgett I am, and though, in a laudable effort to get the better of circumstances, I have long ago added my mother’s name to it, and now invariably call myself Cole-Cradgett, there’s no doubt that I labor under a very heavy handicap. Then there’s the Bayswater business. That of course tells against me, though I am now established in Beckford Gardens which is close to Queen’s Gate, and am shortly moving to Queen Street yes, really, I assure you!—to Queen Street, Mayfair. Like Effie, I was born with strong social ambitions, but unlike her I lacked the subtle power which is hers in so marked a degree, the power to bend everything to the one great purpose of getting on and getting up. The consequence of this lack has been that while Effie has soared like the eagle I have only fluttered like a sparrow with the pip. And yet I did my best. And if I had trusted to myself I might possibly now be nearer to the peaks. I began by utterly refusing to be a doctor, and by going on the Stock Ex- change. I then fled, like Effie, from Bayswater and added the name of Cole to my other name of Cradgett. Es- tablished in Kensington I sought to fortify myself for raids upon the aristoc- racy of my beloved country by a clever marriage. I chose a Miss Mount, the daughter of a civil engineer, who had q little money of her own and a strong desire to shine in the social world, Un. fortunately my darling proved not to be an Effie. She wanted to be at the top she wanted it so much that often I have seen her dear brow beaded with perspira. tion as the legendary cry “Excelsior!” broke from her panting lips. But—she didn’t know how to get there. She cut the wrong people. She shed old friends too quickly, before we had consolidated the friendship of the new ones. She bluffed on twos and threes and let her bluff be seen through. In short, she made a muddle of it, and we were left panting in the middle distance while Effie scaled the heights. I MUST tell you that my darling and I, after our marriage, had called upon the Burdens, then living close to the Cromwell Road, and had been received— we got in through the ignorance of a new parlor-maid who was afterwards dis. missed—with cold politeness, although I presented myself as the old crony, Dick, and frequently murmured “Effie” in the course of the brief conversation. Our visit was “‘returned” by a presentation of cards by a commissionnaire, and then the acquaintance practically ceased. We asked the Burdens to dinner and received a polite refusal. No invitation came to us, though my darling lived in expecta- tion of one for nearly a year, and only gave up hope when Effie didn’t remember her, or wouldn’t see her, at the Private View of the Royal Academy for which I had somehow managed to scrape up a couple of cards. There is nothing, as you probably know, so mortal as the hatred of a woman fora woman who has ignored her socially. After this my wife didn’t like Mrs. Bur- den, and when Larchmont was made Sir Larchmont, and Effie became “my lady,” my wife was—well, not pleased Nevertheless we called again—this time in Cadogan Gardens—to offer our con- gratulations, and were refused admittance by a butler and two footmen, though we knew it was Effie’s ‘‘at home” day. (Since then she has entirely given up being publicly “at home” for fear of the wrong people getting in. So we had lost our last chance until the great thing happened From that moment my darling con- fessed herself conquered, and we settled down to the husks of society, while Effie stuffed herself full on the fatted calf. AND then the great thing happened! It came about in this most extraor dinary way. It’s all very well to jeer at coincidences in popular fiction and plays. I contend that coincidences are continu- ally occurring, and I can now cite my own case as an example. But wait one mo- ment! I must just explain first where Effie had got to by this time. She had got to the top, where she is now. Having passed through South Kensington society she had left it for a Melbury Road sort of set in which paint- ers abounded. Then she had got to know a few minor poets, a few novelists. Later on a dramatist or two, a pianist or two, some actors and actresses had gathered about her. A fairly well-known historian and a grave authority from the British Museum had presently fallen victims to her excellent cook. In their train had come some serious literary lights. Money coming increasingly to Larchmont, now in the big estate agency, Effie had been enabled to rent a house in the country, next door to the famous Countess 0 Marchmont who has, as every one knows, kicked up her heels in all worlds, and is as popular with Labor as she is with Royalty. Her Effie somehow managed to become intimate with. After that it was easy sailing. She drove with the swiftness ol the racing yacht Britannia before @ favoring gale right into the great world. She got to know the peerage. She was presented at Court. She entertained 4 minor Royalty and gave satisfaction. Then she bought Sprotcombe Park, cut practically every one whom she ha formerly been friends with, and started afresh, carefully covering up her tracks, (Continued on page 120

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0 had a Strong d. Un- to be the -top, iI hen erspira- ‘elsior!” ut—she She cut friends olidated Ss. She let her 1e Made panting e scaled g and I, d upon to the eived— f a new ‘ds dis- hough | vy, Dick, ” in the n. Our ation of hen the 1. We received came to expecta- nd only member Private which I ye Up a \ know, an fora socially. rs. Bur- rade Sir ae pleased nis time yur con- nittance ugh we , day. ip being e wrong our last ypened ng con - settled ile Effie alf. ppened! extraor- » jeer at d plays. continu- my own ne mo- t where e she is South it for a h paint- to know Later or two, rathered \istorian British “tims to ain had Money nt, now ad been country, ntess of » knows, ind is as Royalty. become as easy tness ol lefore @ t world. he was iined a faction. urk, cut he had started tracks, ——=—— | | for SEPTEMBER 1927 ——" ARFUM “PARIS, OM 5% FRAGRANCE OF GAIETY ~/ARFUM PARIS, the dlamourous joy of | hfe, wrth laughter and dears mrngled. Cfhe thrill of a rallenge and contrast —all the adorable charm of woman vs caught e 272 this matchless fragrance. . tf -— f Sx2 iprhle SZ Wh, CSS 20-L20LE (yf ees ie c ce, 0 zZ f 0U72C J / y, 27272 0778-9 Le OU727Ce . , _— y 2720 eS O77 Z ~ L/2 Lb 20 Co Co ] ‘Y~ ane 714. Fifth Alwenue , Tew York. CANADA — 55 MS Gill College Ave., Montreal

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Edward Thayer Monroe 4

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ERGDORF OODMAN 616 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK

‘Bergdorf-Goodman presents this distinctive . creation made of the finest Black Caracul, |

HARPER’S BAZAR THE ADDRESS BOOK

burning her boats, and leaving the Rubicon behind her. She now knew “everybody.” And to say this is not a mere facon de parler. It is, on the contrary, the announcement of a solemn and tremendous fact. For Effie is a prodigious laborer in the vine- yard of society. However late she stays up at night—and she goes to everything, first nights, dinners, charity fétes, balls, night clubs, supper parties, cabarets— soon after seven in the morning she is up writing invitaticns, and working with her private secretary, Miss Bromhead, on cards, on the arrangements of visits, on the settlement of house parties—she entertains every week-end at Sprotcombe Park—on the judicious elimination from her visiting list of those whom she has “got beyond,” on schemes of fashionable charity, etc., etc. Later, after an early breakfast, she usually receives her “‘publicity agent,” whose business it is to keep her name perpetually in the papers, and to arrange for the chronicling of all her movements and pursuits, for the descriptions of her dresses and hats and jewels, for the announcement of her hobbies, and for the publication of the names of all the important people whom she is in touch with. (I know about all this because I know Miss Bromhead, and am quite “thick” with Snipson, the publicity agent in question. ) \fter these hours of strenuous labor Effie’s “‘day” begins. And it lasts until well into the small hours of the succeeding morning. And now for the great event which gave Effie for a time into what I might humorously call the hands of Bayswater. HAD known for some time, through Miss Bromhead, that Effie possessed a social bible, in which were inscribed the names and addresses of all her important and celebrated friends, with comments on their different values, hints as to the probably best ways to “hold” them, notes on their characters, tiny essays about their habits, their tastes, their inclinaticns, guesses as to the amount of money they were likely to possess and the amount of social influence they exercised, and elaborate calculations under the title, “Whom should be asked with whom.” Miss Bromhead—of course unsus- pected by Effie—had become quite “chummy” with my darling, who fed her with mufiins at the Savoy, and even on one occasion comforted her with caviar and lobster at the Berkeley. She was one of those women who are apt to be- come expansive when carefully nourished on the food they care most for, and sedulously filled up, like some precious vase, with the liquids their natures crave. Apparently reticent and subdued, though practical, under the subtle influence of the appropriate viands, and the special brands she had a liking for, she rapidly developed into the most indiscreet of women \fter the caviar and lobster she babbled almost wildly to my darling about this marvelous “Bible” of Effie’s which though always called “The Ad- dress Book” was in fact the fruit of Effie’s now vast social knowledge, a record of her patient and successful labors in the vineyard, a careful guide to the future, a minutely thought-out warning against false social steps, an elaborate means adapted to the greatly desired end, the solving of all social problems, however complex, however difficult. Without this wonderful book, as Miss Bromhead, under the combined and subtle influence of caviar, lobster, and Chateau Lafitte—she couldn’t digest the other Chateau wines—almost franti- cally assured my darling, “Lady Burden would be Jost.” Now this is what happened. N a certain day, just when the London seascn was beginning with all its multifarious social activities, I left the city soon after five o’clock and went to my club, the Royal Automobile. I stayed there until seven o'clock playing bridge—my darling was away from home visiting her mother at Bexhill-on-Sea— and then walked a little way down Pall (Continued from page 124)

Mall and hailed a passing taxicab not far from the corner of St. James's Street. I gave the chauffeur my address, stepped in, and was confronted by a rather un. usually large and very expensive-looking bag—a woman’s bag. In the middle of one side of it were engraved in some green substance—jade, I afterwards knew— the initials FE. B. I picked it up, sat down and—mechan- ically, I seem to remember—opened it, Inside, in tiny but plain silver lettering, I read these remarkable words: Stolen from Effie Rurden, Burden House, Knights. bridge, S. W. Really! Really! I stared at the cheeky inscription. It was so like Effie to call herself Effie Burden, instead of Lady Burden. She had, I knew, arrived at that social altitude where all titles are dropped, where duchesses are familiarly called Jenny so-and-so, where even princesses are given nicknames, and queens are spoken of as “Tata Central Europe,” *“Marmozet Scandinavia,” and so on and so forth. Effie’s bag in my possession! Remarkable! I suppose I ought to have shut it. Let me be truthful. I didn’t. On the contrary I explored it, as Stanley explored the pathless jungles of Africa. What did I find? Face things, perfume, powder- puff, visiting cards, a mirror engraved with “Effie” in sparkling stones, and The Address Book. When I reached my home in Beckford Gardens, I was, as the servants used to say, and for all I know say still, “‘all of a tremble.” I hid the bag under an over- coat which, being liable to bronchial colds, I was fortunately wearing, paid the cabman and sneaked rapidly into my house. And that night, alone, and immured in my library, with whisky, Perrier, and plenty of Havana cigars, I read every word of Effie’s marvelous sccial cade mecum. It was a wonderful book. Effie’s whole social soul and brain were in it complete. It was, as it were, the record of her climb laid bare. I don’t believe there’s any- thing exactly like it to be found in the whole world. It wasn’t only a record. In it were the addresses and telephone numbers of all Effie’s important friends with comments and hints attached. Just to give you an instance. One entry was as follows: Corisande, Duchess of Barnstable. 22 FE. Park Lane. Remember the Duchess is very touchy about precedence. Has a strong temper. Very High Church views. Is fond of young men, especially of the dark, South American type. <A bad bridge player. No knowledge of music. Hates books. Never ask her with a literary man. Hunting, racing, ritualism of the Halifax type, her principal topics. Passionately fond of gossip, paté de foie gras, pine- apples, and old port. Likes ’65 brandy and good-looking professional dancers. Never ask her with the Marchioness of Cumberland, and never let Lady Cumvber- land be mentioned in her presence. Never speak of illegitimate children before her. Be sure to have ’65 brandy when she dines and to put a dark young man next to her. This remarkable paragraph will give you a clear notion of what the book was like and of the amount of brain and social knowledge Effie had put into it. It will also give you an idea of what the loss of the book meant to Effie. I realized that directly I had finished exploring. It was of course my bounden duty to return ‘The Address Book” to Effie on the following day. But I didn’t do that. Something held me back. I decided to await the return of my darling before taking any measures. A couple of nights passed while the book lay locked up in my library. Then saw in the Agony Column of the 7imes, which I am in the habit of reading regu- larly at breakfast, the following announce ment: Twenty pounds reward. Left in a taxicab, number unknown, in Picca- (Continued on page 128)

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“AR for SEPTEMBER 1927 127 cab not sc IVOR CONCEAL YOUR SKIN BLEMISHES her un- looki iddle ‘a new MART women have come to regard make-up as a cheap make-shift. nochent ; A painted face implies the need of concealing horrid blemishes on the ell If you care for your skin skin. But cosmetics cannot really hide the skin’s faults, nor correct the | Stolen , : . skin’s ill health. a according to a scientific If you care for your skin according to the scientific method of Elizabeth ~~ hod which ik ‘ Arden, you will have no need of artifice to make it look clear, fine and Lady method whic ceps it smooth. For the steps of the Elizabeth Arden Treatment supply the funda- woth: . i y leansing of the skin—with Veneti teeth mental needs of the tissues. By correct cleansing of the skin—with Venetian called healthy, a will have Cleansing Cream—you remove all the impurities which distend and darken mig no need of the artificial the pores. By toning—with Ardena Skin Tonic or Special Astringent—you yt bring up swift circulation to clarify the skin and firm the muscles. By pat- — subterfuges of make-up. ting and moulding—with Orange Skin Food or the delicate Velvoa Cream— hut it you keep the skin smooth and full, free from lines and wrinkles. If you just On the xplored hat did owder- raved Ss, and eckford used to all of a nN over- onc hial aid the ito my ured in r, and | every il vade s whole mplete. r climb 's any- in the record. ephone friends |. Just ry was ble. 22 touchy emper. ond of South player. books. man. Halifax ynately , pine- brandy ancers. NESS of umber- Ne er er. Be res and her. ll give ok was 1 social It will s of the d that luty to ffie on o that. ded to before e book ‘hen Times, y regu- ounce- in a icca- keep your skin healthy, it will be naturally lovely. Elizabeth cArden = recommends these Preparations for your care of the skin at home VENETIAN CLEANSING CREAM Removes all impurities from the pores. Cleanses and soothes the skin, leaves it soft and receptive. $1, $2, $3, $6. VENETIAN. ARDENA SKIN TONIC Tones, firms, and clarifies the skin. Refreshes and refines. 85c, $2, $3.75, $9. VENETIAN ORANGE SKIN FOOD Keeps the skin smooth and full. Rounds out wrinkles and lines. Excellent for a thin or lined face and as a preventive of fading and lines. $1, $1.75, $2.75, $4.25. VENETIAN VELVA CREAM A delicate cream for sensitive skins. Recommended also for a full face, as it softens and smooths the skin without fatten- ing the cheeks. $1, $2, $3, $6. VENETIAN SPECIAL ASTRINGENT Lifts and firms the tissues, tight- ens the skin. Important for the treatment of a fallen contour or flabby neck. $2.25, $4. VENETIAN PORE CREAM rai 7 iyi: : YICUC [. A greaseless astringent cream DEMEYER. which contracts open pores, cor- mare. rects their laxness and refines the ” coarsest skin. $1, $2.50. On sale at smart shops all over United States, Canada, Great Britain, in the principal cities of Europe, Africa, Australasia, the Far East, South America, West Indies and the U. S. Possessions. ELIZABETH ARDEN POUDRE D'ILLUSION Powder of superb quality, fine, adherent. Tinted with ‘*pure food’”’ colors. Wlusion (a peach blend), Rachel, Ocre, Minerva, Banana and White. $3. VENETIAN BLEACHINE CREAM A soothing and whitening cream, made with fresh lemon juice. Softens the skin and removes tan and sallowness. $1.25. VENETIAN AMORETTA CREAM An exquisite protective cream, gives a smooth natural bloom to the skin, prevents roughness. A becoming powder foundation. $1, y) VENETIAN ULTRA-AMORETTA CREAM Slightly more oily. An excellen Slightl) ly. A llent “ ” r nose cream.” Use under pow- der to prevent flaking or shine. $1, $2. VENETIAN JUNE GERANIUM BATHODOMES Imported soap made of purest vegetable oils, for the bath and the hands. Keeps the skin soft, smooth and fine. 50c a cake. $3 a box of 6 cakes. VENETIAN ANTI-WRINKLE CREAM A nourishing and astringent cream, made with fresheggs, leaves the skin smooth and firm. Excel- lent for an afternoon treatment at home. $2, $3.50. Write for a copy of “THE QUEST OF THE BEAUTIFUL,” Elizabeth Arden’s book »n the correct care of the skin according to her scientific method. © Elizabeth Arden, 1927 BIARRITZ: 2 rue Gambetta CANNES: 3 Galeries Fleuries LONDON: 25 Old Bond Street NEW YORK: 673 FIFTH AVENUE PARIS: 2 rue de la Paix CHI , , pa 70 E. Walton Place : WASHINGTON: 1147 Connecticut Avenue SAN FRANCISCO: 233 Grant Avenue BOSTON: PHIA: 133 South 18th Street DETROIT: 318 Book Building” ATLANTIC CITY: Ritz Carlton Block 24 Newbury Street NEWPORT: Casino Block SOUTHAMPTON: Job’s Lane LOS ANGELES: 600 West 7th Street

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dilly on Wednesday last, the twenty- seventh of April, a lady’s bag, en- graved with the monogram FE. B. in jade. Inside the bag inscribed in silver the following announcement: Stolen from Effie Burden, Burden House, Knightsbridge, S. W. Bag contains among other contents an Address Book bound in white and gold. Any one bringing this bag, or merely the Address Book, to Burden House, Knightsbridge, S. W. will receive the above reward. Any one found retaining the bag after this notice will be Prosecuted. HE agony of Effie seemed to glare out at me from this advertisement. I'm afraid, being human, this agony entertained me In fact the vulgar thought went through my mind, ‘Serve her right.” You see I stood for Bayswater rejected. This ‘‘serve her right’? mood persisted in spite of the ominous ‘“ Prosecuted” at the end of Effie’s advertisement. I knew I ought to go at once to Burden House, Knightsbridge, with the bag, but I couldn’t, simply couldn’t, bring myself to do it. Being a very much married man—my darling is a remarkable speci- men of the dominant female species in spite of her social shortcomings—I felt I must consult her before taking any de- cisive step. And she wasn’t due to return for ten days. During that interval I saw three more advertisements from Effie in the Agony Column of the Times. In the first of them the reward offered had mounted to thirty pounds, in the second to forty pounds, and in the last to fifty pounds. The wording of the last adver- tisement was also more poignant. It read thus, after the usual beginning: “Lady Burden does not care about the bag but she implores the person who has found it to return to her the Address Book it contained. No questions will be asked, the reward will be paid on the spot, and no fear need be entertained of any Legal Proceedings.” On the day that this passionate plea made the Times for once really interest- ing, my darling returned just as twilight was falling. The first thing she said to me was, “I’m shingled! What do you think of it?” And, taking off her helmet-like hat, she exposed her orange-colored head for my inspection. I warmly approved. To tell the truth I didn’t dare to do anything else. And then, leading her apart into the remotest recess of my small library, I told her the news. As she listened I noticed that under her coating of paint she flushed with excitement. HEN I had finished she simply said, ‘‘The book!” and _ stretched out her carefully manicured hand. Of course I gave it to her She didn’t come down to dinner. She didn’t speak to me again for I should think at least three hours. Something—I believe it was a fried sole—was carried up to her on a tray with a half bottle of champagne. It was eleven o'clock at night when she finished the book. Her maid—she had always insisted on having ‘my maid, ” like all self-respecting women whether they can afford it or not—then summoned me to her bedroom, where I found her reclining on a sofa in a maze of pink draperies. ““Well?”’ I said, as I entered. “Shut the door, Percy.” (My full name is Richard Percy Cole- Cradgett. I obeyed, and then again uttered a significant, ‘‘ Well?” “Well,” she said. “‘ This is our chance.” I sat down on something that my darling always calls “the tuft.” “Our chance for what?” I inquired “Our chance to get into Society at last!” she exclaimed. ‘Are you blind?” “T don’t think so.” “Well then, can’t you see? The We can Burden woman is in our hands make our own terms with her.” “But the terms she offers are fifty pounds. ”’ THE ADDRESS BOOK “Fifty pounds! What do we want with her money?” “But the bag isn’t ours, and we’ve no right to—”’ ‘“‘That’s just like a man!” she observed. “Pray why have you kept it ten days?” “‘T wanted to consult you.” ‘‘What about, pray?” When my darling says “‘pray” I know my duty. ‘About what it would be best to do,” I murmured with becoming meekness. “Well, I’m telling you!” she snorted. She has a way of speaking through her nose at critical moments which is very impressive. I sat back on “the tuft”? and replied soothingly, ‘And I am here to listen.” It was a disarming answer and it seemed to have its effect, for she con- tinued in a much less nasal manner, but nevertheless with the decision of a woman who is resolved not to spare. “We shall hold the Burden woman to ransom. We shall bring her to her knees at last.” “But how can we— “Tf you will only listen I will tell you.” From that moment I listened on “the tuft,”’ speechless, all ears. ‘We shall make a bargain with her and it will be this. She will only have this—”’’ she struck her bright coral- colored nails on the book—‘‘ back when she has launched us in her set. I shall manage it through Eleanora Bromhead. She is on our side already. I am the only living person”’—I found the qualification superabundant—“‘who has ever lavished caviar, lobster, and Chateau Lafitte on her. She will never find another to do as much for her, or half as much, and she knows it. To-morrow I shall take her out to—to—” she rolled her fine eyes, and seemed to be calling on the heavens for a sign—‘‘to Claridge’s and give her lunch there. You can leave the rest to me.” I left the rest to her and this is what happened. MY DARLING took Eleanora Brom- . head to Claridge’s and there gave her of the best, regardless of expense as I very well know, for I paid the bill. Even ‘65 brandy was added to the program with the following result. Eleanora, while dealing faithfully with a hot-house peach near the end of all things, revealed to my darling a hitherto unsuspected hatred of her employer, Effie, and swore later, over a glass of the ’65, that she would like nothing better than to see her “humbled in the dust.” My darling having pointed out that the humbling in the dust of her ladyship would do no good to our social prospects, Eleanora offered to do anything anything—that her hostess desired in connection with Lady Burden. She even used these striking words, as my darling reported to me later: am ready to go through fire and water for you. Only tell me what to do.” Fire and water having been ruled out as having no immediate bearing upon our social aspirations, the following plan was suggested to Miss Bromhead by my darling, and was passionately agreed to by her over a second glass of the ’65 tempered by Turkish coffee. Miss Bromhead was to go to Effie and tell her that she, Miss Bromhead, had ‘got on the track” of the lost Address Book, and of course incidentally of the bag, that they were in ‘“‘safe keeping,” that no offer of money, however great the amount, would lead to their restoration, but that they would be given up on terms. ” HE terms were as follows: Effie was to sign a document pledging her word of honor to take no proceedings in connec- tion with the restoration of the bag and its contents. She was to undertake to ask no questions. She was furthermore to promise to ask my darling and myself to every party of whatever kind, be it lunch, tea, dinner, supper, musical, or what not, and to every “at home,” reception, and ball which she gave during the remainder of the London season, and to invite us on at least four occasions to (Continued from page 126) spend ‘‘week-ends” at Sprotcombe Park, Mullingsgate, Barkston, Sussex. In addition we were to be numbered among her guests for Ascot week, if she took a house for the week, as was her usual custom. If all this were duly done, without inquiry, and without jibbing, the bag with its contents would be restored to her by the person now in possession of it through Miss Bromhead on the ensuing first of August. If, however, all this were not duly done, and if there were the slightest attempt to find out what had become of the bag, the Address Book would be instantly de- stroyed, after certain portions of its con- tents had been accurately copied out with a view to immediate publication in a prominent Sunday paper. HEN my darling informed me of these decisions I confess to being terrified. Visions of prosecution, even of hard labor, opened up before me, and I was so wrought upon that I uttered such words as “actionable” and even “blackmail,” and trembled on “the tuft.” “‘ Are you a coward?” she asked. For once I was strictly honest, and without hesitation I spoke the truth. ““Yes,”’ was my answer. “‘What are you afraid of?” she said. My reply lasted, I should judge, for about ten minutes. When I had ex- hausted the catalogue, she remarked, “Percy, you’re a fool!” I didn’t deny it. She might be right. How was I to know? “Shall I tell you what the Burden woman will do?” “Yes, if you know it.” “Of course I know it. She’ll sign the agreement—and she’ll keep to it.” —— suppose she doesn’t? Suppose she— “Then the book will be destroyed after all the incriminating portions have been given to the Sunday press.” At that moment I realized fully, per- haps for the first time, that the world is ruled, and always will be ruled, by women. ‘But will any paper print them?” “Will any pa—” she stopped short. Her contempt would not allow her to proceed. After a moment of bleak silence she was able to continue. “Is it possible you don’t realize that we have it in our power to drive the Burden woman out of society forever?” ‘But it seems to me that she has it in her power to put us both in prison.” “And what earthly good would it do her to know we were picking oakum if she hadn’t a friend left in the world?” “Do they pick oakum?” ““Of course they do! Wherever were you brought up not to be aware of it?”’ ‘In Bayswater, like Effie,” I replied. “Well, I wasn’t. J was brought up in North Ealing and my head is screwed on the right way.” “And isn’t Effie’s?” saying. My darling’s fine eyes flashed. “You wil’ very soon see whether your Effie is such a marvel as people think her!” she exclaimed. ‘If Eleanora Bromhead does as I tell her I'll undertake to say that you and I will go everywhere— verywhere—this season. I’ve already ordered a dozen new dresses from Re- ville’s. That will prove to you whether I have faith in myself or not.” I couldn’t help WAS aghast, but I dared not show it. A dozen new dresses! And how many hats? I was too terrified to ask. All I could do was to speculate—and pay. And speculate I did, in rubber and oil, with surprisingly fortunate results. I also had a flutter in Swedish matches which brought me in quite a nice little sum. Meanwhile Eleanora Bromhead did as my darling “told her,” and then rushed over to Beckford Gardens to report progress and to be rewarded with a nice little dinner and a bottle of Pommery (the only champagne she can drink with- out ill effects). The scene with Effie must have been tremendous. It seemed that at first Effie fell into transports of indignation HARPER’S BAzap and was for communicating at once With the police, and going with them “in person”’ to Beckford Gardens to dem the instant return of the “ Address Book.” But Miss Bromhead had sat so firm ap lied so sedulously that gradually Effie had been reduced to a different moog The Address Book, she was told, was not with us. It had been found in the cab by an adherent of ours, who, indignant 3 the cruel way in which Effie had treated, childhood’s friend—myself—had mad the conditions for its return on our behali but without any prompting from us Miss Bromhead had represented this mythical personage as resolute in the lists against snobbery, and absolutely determined to blow Effie’s social Teputa- tion to smithereens unless she instantly complied with the demands made upon her. Extracts from the Book, Miss Bromhead obstinately asserted, wer already copied out, and would be handed at once to the editor of The Populace for immediate publication in the event of Effie showing fight. Of course Ffie replied that she would prosecute the paper. Miss Bromhead had her answer ready. It was this: “Think of the scandal!’ These simple, yet sublimely effective words were, it seems, her answer to every threat made by Effie. Whatever Efie said she would do, to Miss Bromhead, to us, to our mythical adherent, to the editor of The Populace, was met by the inexorable Miss Bromhead with that one piece of terse and excellent English, “Think of the scandal!” ND in the end Effie did think of the scandal and capitulated. The docu- ment drawn up by my darling, with the cunning assistance of a clever lawyer who happened to be her godfather and devoted to her, was signed by Effie and held in our possession. A second document, relating to the eventual return of the Address Book, signed by an old, and totally un- known, friend, who was under obligations to me and whose name I shall never divulge to the public, was duly deposited with Effie. And the fact of her complete capitulation was conveyed to us by the following card: Sir Larchmont and Lady Burden request the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. Cole-Cradgett at dinner—at 8 o’clock— on Friday, May r4th. RS.VE. Burden House Knightsbridge, S. W That dinner was the beginning of our season, I may even say of our first season in London. At it we met, among 4 galaxy of other celebrities, Corisande, Duchess of Barnstable, and were edified to find that though of course Sir Larch- mont sat on one side of her Grace, on the other side sat a young Brazilian, with lustrous black eyes, glittering teeth anda skin of the softest, most delicate brown Illegitimate children were carefully banished from the conversation, we noted. At dinner there was an abundance 0 paté de foie gras, followed eventually by pineapples, old port, and ’65 brandy. Later on the tango was danced on 4 specially erected stage by two professional dancers, one of whom, the man, was only twenty-one years of age and had just ar- rived hot-foot from the Argentine. Our greeting by Effie and her subse- quent behavior to us at the dinners. lunches, musical parties, receptions and so forth which she gave profusely during the ensuing weeks, and at Sprotcombe Park, where my darling and myself wert included in house parties as per contract, showed her to be an accomplished womat of the world. Although of course her soul abhorred us she concealed her ab- horrence in a masterly manner. Het first reception of us gave us an indication of the line she had decided on taking with us. When we entered the drawing-room at Burden House on the occasion of that first dinner party she came forward, smil- ing with a detached sweetness which was perfect in its isolation, its lack of all real (Concluded on page 140)

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SAZAR at once with 1 them “in Ss to demand Iress Book.” So firm and dually Effe erent mood, old, was not n the cab by ndignant at ad treated -had mac n our behalf g from US, sented this lute in the absolutely cial reputa. le instantly made y 300k, Nie tted, were 1 be handed te Populace the event of ourse Effie secute the her answer ly effective yer to every ‘tever Effie omhead, to nt, to the met by the th that one nglish, hink of the The docu- z, with the awyer who nd devoted held in our nt, relating ie Address totally un- obligations hall never ' deposited r complete us by the Burden mpany of gett VP. len House lge, S. W ing of our rst season among a ‘orisande, ‘re edified Sir Larch- ice, on the ian, with eth anda te brown carefully we noted idance of tually by brandy. ‘ed on a ofessional was only d just ar- ne. er subse- dinners, tions and ly during rotcombe rself were contract, d woman urse her | her ab- er. Her ndication king with ing-room n of that urd, smil- hich was f all real for “Qh, but that lady’s gone to Boston, Missie, and besides, she njust be more than thirty; her hair has little white feathers in it over her forehead. _ She ien't a bit the sort of person whom Lionel would marry. Would love, I mean; of course he doesn’t approve of marriage. “What sort of person would he marry, or love, if you prefer the expression? asked Artemis in a low voice; she stared at Jezebel with dark dilated eyes, and her small breasts rose and fell quickly under her sprigged calico frock. “Why, some one . some one pretty and young . some one like us, I suppose, ” said Jezebel cheerfully, skipping beneath the hemlock arch which leaned toward the sea. “‘But let’s not bother about it any more; let’s have a nice little swim before supper instead. There’s plenty of time, because there’s the cat- boat now, putting off from Captain Pray’s slip. I’m hot as the seven hinges of hell—excuse me, Missie—and the water will be colder than the melted emerald of icebergs; it’s flowed straight from the frozen Pole itself. ‘A sunny pleasure dome with caves of ice.’ One for the money, two for the show, three to rer) make ready, and four... to... go! GHE pulled her faded pink calico frock over her curly head and flung it to the unmoving air; she dived from a pinnacle of rock into the sea. Her slim body flashed upward into sunlight like Excalibur’s naked blade emerging from the stream; she clove the water like a straight gold sword, and then suddenly she was supple and tenuous as a trail of bright seaweed. Artemis followed her slowly, dropping her sprigged blue calico upon the pine-needles and picking her way delicately across the slippery rocks. She slid into the waves with a peaceful shiver of contentment, and her milky skin was turned to moon- color in their tinted depths. Between the tall violet hills the Sound was a channel of fallen sky, profoundly azure, but under the shadow of the island’s pines and hemlocks the pool lay clear and green as well water. The children disported themselves happily for five minutes; then they scrambled up the steep rocks, shaking the moisture from their curls and chattering like a pair of birds. The warm August air soon dried their curls, at the same time painting them with the earliest fresh hues of sunset. They stood together under the dark hemlock arch and waved their hands to the approaching boat; their fingers made the fringes of two flowers, one white and the other golden. .\ man at the tiller of the boat waved back at them, and they blew him kisses across the windless air; their laughter carried their kisses to him upon a private breeze. He laughed at them although they could not hear him, and blew them a single kiss apiece. “Let us wear our muslin frocks to- night, Missie; it is a most suitable occasion for our muslin frocks,” said Jezebel as they strolled toward the log hut. “He will call them outrageously fine feathers, but he will admire them all the same,” replied Artemis, “especially if we wear the blue sashes and the amber eads; it was kind of the lady from Prettymarsh to send us the amber beads.” I? TOOK them precisely seven minutes to dress; they tied each other’s sashes, and sleeked each other’s curls with a tortoise-shell comb. There was no mir- tor in the log hut, but there was a superb set of the Greek dramatists, a rich row of Elizabethans, a splendid Plato, and the English poets from Chaucer to Keats adequately clothed in red morocco. ie eastern wall was a fine mosaic of the French and Italian classics; the Spaniards and the Germans were ranged to west- ward. Between the children’s cots were neatly disposed The Last of the Mohicans, The Spy, The Pilot, and The Prairie, together with Washington Irving’s Sketch Book and a few volumes of The Token, containing some of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s earlier pieces. Latin grammar or two and a Beginner’s Greek Book were flung invidiously upon the puncheon floor. In addition to these comforts and extravagances, the hut contained furni- SEPTEMBER 1927 A BIRTHDAY CAKE FOR LIONEL effectual haste. (Continued from page 97) ture of the simplest and most durable description; several bandboxes from Boston were piled upon the rustic shelves, to which a sylvan tissue of birch-bark still adhered. The sisters attired transparent book-muslin butter-colored and the other ivory- white; they encircled their slender throats with necklaces of amber. The blue silk sashes rustled gaily as they whisked them through the door and down the path to the landing-place. themselves in frocks, one TALL gentleman leaped from the catboat to the slip with a pantherish bound which made you believe him twenty until you saw his hair, and knew that it had taken twice as many years to refine its frosty silver and carve the delicate lines upon the brow beneath. Such noble and eccentric tracery was lightly etched at the corners of the mouth and about the eyelids; its faint hieroglyphics were beautiful in themselves, and doubly beautiful because they spelt gentleness and courage and a subtle sensitive grief, which turned to laughter on the lips and in the amazing brilliance of the eyes. The eyes were blue, like the sea between the channel of the mountains; their color was deeper even than the farthest sea. The gentleman was sunburnt; he was very thin, but sinewy and strong as a wild creature of the forest. At the same time he looked excessively fastidious and civilized; he wore rough clothes of country homespun, but his linen was exquisite and admirably laundered. There was a faint suggestion of the savage in his swift and haughty bearing, but you had only to look at his hands and feet to perceive that he was quite preposterously well-bred. He disengaged himself carefully and kindly from the children’s vehement embraces, and kissed them each upon the brow. “Are you good, are you happy, are you hungry, have you studied your Greek, and what are we to have for supper?” he asked them with a charming smile. “Birthday cake, angel cake, birthday cake for an angel!’’ they cried in chorus, jumping up and down in an innocent frenzy of excitement. ‘You thought we'd forgotten, darling idiot, didn’t you, didn’t you? Or had you forgotten it yourself, you angel, angel, funny funny angel? We haven’t studied our Greek, and we’ve had a swim, and we've made you a book-mark and a _pincushion, and we've Gibraltars for you, and angelica, and gingernuts, and strawberry jam, and the kettle’s boiling, and there’s fresh loaf sugar and new milk and a caddy of China tea from Boston! And we love you, love you, love and adore you, and we demand to be allowed to kiss you forty times for good luck!”’ R. LIONEL ANON, for so he was known in the little village of Somes- ville where he had lived for the last ten years, sank upon a rustic seat and warded away the two sisters with nervous but His slender hands were both gentle and elusive; nevertheless Jezebel succeeded in capturing one of them for an instant; she had covered it with kisses before it had time to evade her, quick as were its gestures of protest and control. “Easy, easy there; draw it mild, my dears,” he said pacifically, with a humor- ous lift of his rather serious dark eye- brows; the words were careless and colloquial, but the diction was clear and elegant in the extreme. One saw now where the girls had acquired their pretty manner of speech; their soft voices cut each word crisply and deliberately, and their laughter was pleasant and decorous even as they danced like infant maznads in the falling sunlight. “Listen, listen, Lionel, when are we sailing south, and must we really and truly go into the horrid old world, and will you ever marry any one else except ourselves so long as you live?” cried Jezebel in one jocund breath, sinking like a yellow blossom upon the shining pine-needles and clasping Lionel’s thin knees with both her arms. ‘‘We are so very curious about your plans for the winter; we don’t care about Chesapeake Bay again; we had far rather go to Florida and live on a river among the oranges and the alligators. We want most frightfully to go to Florida, but we are afraid that you intend to marry that pale lady from Prettymarsh and take us all to Boston to be educated properly and to visit the poor. Promise us that we need not go to Boston, and that you will never on any account marry any one except ourselves.” “You know, darling, you really should decide at once if you are going to have the catboat completely overhauled _ this autumn,”’ Artemis suggested tenderly, bending her lovely translucent cheek above Lionel’s cracked and salty sea- boots, “‘You mustn’t stay on the island until November this year, or you will be catching pneumonia again and driving us out of our poor little heads with terror. I protest that you owe it to yourself to go to Florida, or at least to that harbor on the coast of South Carolina of which Captain Pray has so often spoken; the climate of Maryland didn’t really suit you at all, and the catboat is brave enough to go wherever you choose to steer her. Do please, please swear to us that you will do as we ask you this once, and not be a stubborn angel any longer; you know we are grown-up now, and we only ask to be allowed to take care of you and to adore you always.” IONEL, for so we must continue to name him, stared at the two bright heads with pained and puzzled eyes; he ran his thin brown fingers through his frosty hair, and his hand so trembled with agitation that the locks above his brow were sprayed into the air like silver foam. “Really, my dear little girls, I hardly know how to answer so many questions all at once,” he said slowly in a some- what shaken voice; he patted their curls with a gesture of absent-minded affection, but his large blue eyes searched the distance as if eager for an avenue of escape. The polished tin kettle still jigged above the pine-knot fire; he heard its song, he saw its comfortable shininess, and his worried gaze grew brilliant with relief. “I’m rather tired, said gently. “I shouldn't very much mind having a bite to eat. If you would be so extraordinarily kind as to give me a cup of tea and a slice of birthday cake I should be uncommonly obliged to you, my dears.” A chorus confused and musical arose in unison from the throats of the two sisters; together they made a soft hysteria of concerted sound, which grew articulate upon such phrases as ‘‘ Beasts that we are!” ‘Poor darling! Poor angel! Out beyond Little Cranberry since six o’clock this morning!” and “I dare say that silly old fool gave you nothing but salt pork for luncheon!” Jezebel tugged distractedly at the salty sea-boots; Artemis ran to fetch a homespun coat unwetted by the spray of the deep seas beyond Little Cran- berry. One girl filled a tin basin with hot water and the other produced a pickle jar full of strong brown soap; the huckaback towel smelled sweetly of juniper. An air of childish domesticity possessed them; the island was their doll’s house and Lionel was undoubtedly their favorite doll. you know,” he E ACCEPTED their attentions with detached and indolent amiability; he was as quiet and very nearly as limp as if he had actually been stuffed with sawdust, but one knew that this com- posure was a defensive measure; as a man of flesh and blood te must needs adopt it in order to avoid being torn limb from living limb by the children’s love. He smiled; he murmured a courteous gratitude, but he looked upon the exhausted point of being killed by kindness. “Tired as the devil, aren’t you, my archangel?” Jezebel asked him; he shook his head and laughed, then ducked gracefully as she flew.to kiss him. He rose lazily and sauntered to the wood- pile, his hands in his breeches’ pockets. The axe stood upright in a cleft tree- stump; he swung its steel blade skyward until it flashed like a streak of moonlight in the sun. “Ah,” he said, “‘I perceive that Loren has left you plenty of kindling; so much the better for a starving man. Forgive me if I fail to assist you in setting the table; you know I always drop the tea- cups and mislay the sugar-tongs.”’ “Don’t be ridiculous, darling; you’re not to do a stroke of work upon your birthday. Loren has chopped the wood and brought crystal gallons of water from the spring; we’ve cooked you the most delightful supper short of heaven. Now sit down and don’t interrupt us upon any account until we call you.” The gray eyes of Artemis melted into tenderness as she spoke. Lionel sat down upon the pine-needles and leaned his back against the comfortable girth of an ancient tree; he drew a book from his pocket with a thanksgiving sigh, and bent his eyes above its fair broad pages. “Little goat bleat, little table appear!” cried Artemis ecstatically, while Jezebel danced about with the willow-pattern teapot in one hand and a wreath of smooth and verdant leaves in the other. “T’m Ganymede; I’m Ganymede,” she was saying. “We haven’t any laurel for a crown, nor violets, but we’ve mixed a little parsley in with the winter- green and it really looks rather well. Now I must pour you out a cup of tea, because I’m Ganymede.” The table bloomed like a miracle of shining damask and silver spoons; it grew up among the pine-trees like some exquisite mushroom. The girls seized long wax tapers and lit the diadem of forty snow-white candles which crowned the birthday cake. There was a bunch of pink dahlias in the center of the table, which matched the stripes upon the Gibraltars; the angelica was the color of icicles. There was a fairy-tale prettiness about it all which touched Lionel to the heart, but he wished very much for a small mutton-chop or even a boiled egg. He had been fishing the deep waters beyond Little Cranberry since six o’clock that morning. IONEL placed the wreath of winter- green upon his head without a trace of embarrassment; he seated himself at the table and helped himself to a spoonful of strawberry jam and a gingernut. ‘“*T have never in all my life seen any- thing one half so beautiful as my birth- day cake,” he said; his manner was impeccably courtly and grave; his smile was charming without mockery. “It is an enchanting combination of the Alpine Mountains and the Milky Way, a fabulous mingling of frost and fire. You are the cleverest little girls in the world to have made it, and the kindest little girls in the world to have made it for me.” “Oh, but we loved doing it, and we are so glad you like it, and we adore you, and would slave our hands to the bone for you if only you would let us!” they cried in a long unanimous breath. “ You have always worked so hard to take care of us, and to teach us Greek, and good manners, and kindness to animals, and the principles of democratic government, and the noblest poetry of ancient and modern times, and you are such an in- credible darling, and we do wish so dreadfully that we might be your wives. We would make such very devoted wives; only try us, dear, dear, dearest Lionel, and you will see what excellent wives we shall make if only you will give us the chance!” If some portions of this speech were pronounced in Jezebel’s clear soprano accents and others in the lower more poignant tones of Artemis, its complicated murmur reached Lionel as a single cry of passionate entreaty. Under his sunburn he turned distinctly pale; his eyes showed a wild rim of white around their dark blue irises; his head jerked backward in a gesture of alarm. Of asudden he assumed the air of a blooded horse who is preparing (Continued on page 1 30)

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cA ‘Portrait In Mink, rz there is no medium which lends itself better to artistic expression than mink —when the pelts are chosen for their supple quality and dark coloring. Full length model Ready to wear or to order—Sizes 16 to 42. Of dark, natural skins. For a limited period. $1750 Posed by Miss Desiree Tabor of “The Circus Princess” AECKEL & SONS Family Management Since 1863 546 FIFTH AVENUE Where 45" St Crosses §”" Avenue- HARPER’S B 1 ZAR A BIRTHDAY CAKE FOR LIONB, to bolt, maddened by the near approach of some remembered scourge. ‘*Wives!” he exclaimed in a voice vibrant with nervousness. ‘My dears, have you by any unlucky chance gone mad? What earthly need have I for any more wives. for any wives . . . for any wife, in fact? You know all about Mary at least, you have questioned me relentlessly concerning her for the past ten years, and you have learned quite as much as is good for you. You should have the common sense to understand that Mary is my wife, and that therefore I cannot possibly be married again.” “Ah, but my precious angel, who has said a word about marriage?” inquired Jezebel, smoothing his coat sleeve with pacifying fingers. “You really must not be so absurdly excitable, darling; your nerves are in a shocking state. Stop trembling; stop spilling your tea; now attend to what I am saying, Lionel. We have not asked you to marry us; we have only told you that we would like to be your wives. Surely the ceremony itself is of slight importance compared to our love for you; it is a mere remnant of superstition; as the legal tie is an outworn chain. We have often heard you say so, my sweet, when something in the newspapers has annoyed you.” “T was not saying it to you, Jessie; I may have murmured it aloud in a reverie; how can I tell? Certainly I never intended my words to be taken seriously by two little girls of fourteen.” “‘Juliet!”’ answered Artemis, quick as a wink of lightning, while Jezebel cried shrilly as a bird, ‘‘ But darling, do we not take all your words seriously and to our hearts? Have you not taught us every- thing we know, and did you not intend to teach us to love you?” “As a father; of course I wish you to love me as a father... said Lionel weakly. “Lionel, what nonsense! You are not in the least like any father we have ever seen. We remember our own father quite well; he was short and plump, and he wore a red beard. We have seen plenty of fathers in the village when we looked through the telescope, and they are all very much like him and not in the least like you. Don’t be an angel idiot; you cannot honestly expect us to love you as a father,” Jezebel protested with lively scorn. “As a brother then; you can love me quite suitably as a brother, I assure you,” Lionel began; both girls interrupted him before the words were out of his startled mouth. OU know you're not our brother; you're too old to be our brother, and too wise, and far too beautiful, and besides, you simply aren’t, and that’s all there is to it,” said Artemis tearfully, hiding her wet lashes against his home- spun coat. “You're no more like a brother than you are like a father; we’ve seen all the brothers of Somesville through the spy- glass, for don’t they spend every Sunday afternoon trying to get a glimpse of us from Captain Pray’s slip, and do vou suppose we haven't noticed their pink faces and their yellow hair and their funny shy smiles? They’re nice; I can’t help rather liking them, but if those are brothers—and you've always said they were the brothers of those pretty girls in gingham frocks—then you are something entirely different,” said Jezebel; a star had risen in each of her eyes. “You might just conceivably be a cousin,” she went on, thinking of Laon and Cythna. ‘You might be a god, and often I believe you are; sometimes when you are worried you might be the poor maniac in your own poem. But mostly, judging from your books, and from Shakespeare and Keats and so forth, I should think you must be either a lover or a very superior sort of hus- band.” “Good God, what in heaven’s name have I done to you, my children?” cried Lionel. He buried his face in his hands and his silver hair fell forward in a shower of light; he was laughing, yet several tears (Continued from page 129) trickled between his thin brown fingers as he laughed. ‘““That’s hysterics; that’s what Mr. Fernald had when her little boy wa: drowned in the Pond,’ Jezebel warne a solemnly. ‘“‘Loren told me about it; she laughed and cried exa tly as you are doing now. You must pull yoursel/ together and be sensible, or we shall have to throw cold water in your face anj make you smell burnt goose feathers and you won't like that, you know. You mustn't spoil the birthday Party; we're sorry if we've upset you, darling, by: you truly must be calm and eat your cake. “f “And have it too?” asked Liong rather wildly, ‘“‘must I have it too, Jessie, even if I don’t want it?” He lifted his head and smiled at her. and shook the hair back from his forehead, ““TF IT’S the word x "ives to which you object, dear Lionel,” said Artemis suddenly, in a small meek voice, “je can call ourselves anything else you like— we can call ourselves your—what js jt— thingumabobs—those ladies in novels who aren't married to their husbands.” “No. Artemis; a thousand times no: you must call yourselves nothing in the least like those — They are usually charming females, I admit, but they are inappropriate models for children of your tender age. You must be content to remain my wards, my beloved little sisters. You must be good, and patient for the present; if you will only do as I ask you I will take you to Boston this winter, and our kind friend Marianna shall buy you bonnets trimmed with ostrich feathers, and you shall learn the galop, and be introduced to the young poet Longfellow, who occasionally honors the town with a visit, and who has written a very creditable ode for the graduating class at Bowdoin. You shall have all the sherbets and _ chocolate eclairs that your hearts may desire, and even if vou should wish to go to church I should not seriously oppose the idea, as I think young people are entitled to a certain amount of innocent dissipation, and Marianna informs me that the organ recitals are frequently very fine,” said Lionel, speaking extremely fast and trembling more than ever as his charges stared at him with large dilated eyes. ‘Don't be silly, darling Lionel; don’t want Marianna or ostrich plumes or chocolate eclairs; we want you,” Jezebel replied firmly, clasping his arm with both her strong and slender hands. “Marianna is all very well for Pretty- marsh; her Persian shawl is nicer than anything the Somesville ladies wear, an we are grateful for our amber necklaces, but we don’t wish to bother with Mari anna this winter. She is your friend, at a pinch she serves as some one worth to amuse you during the summer, since you will not allow us to leave the island But our plans for the winter are quite definite; they have nothing to do with poor dear Marianna. We don’t care about the galop or Longfellow; we are determined to go to Florida, and to eat wild oranges. and to have a baby alligator as a pet, and to be your devoted wives, and to love you and take care of you forever.” ‘Both of you? ’ Lionel asked her in 4 shaken voice. “Do both of you to gether intend to be my wives?” He was so pale that Jezebel feared that he mij faint; accordingly she put her arms about him and crooned to him in a peculiat music of lullaby while Artemis answere¢ for her. ; “Of course.” said Artemis, “why shoul we quarrel over a ridiculous | ttle poit oht like that? Have you not always Ase us to go share and share alike? Have you not instructed us to be generous, ol and never to permit the petty vice jealousy to poison our sisterl) iffection: How can you expect us to qui urrel about you,"when all your dear advice has taug® us love and tolerance and charity to eac® other?” ‘My God, my God!” said Lione! “Is it possible that I have erred ole respect also, having intended s upreme}) Continued on page I

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{ZAR NEL n fingers ay What Mr. SOY Was e] warned me about tly as yoy ll yoursel; shall hay; * face and feathers now. Yoy irty; we'r irling, but eat Your ed Lionel e it too, it?” He : her, and rehead, which you d Artemis ‘oice, “we you like— hat is it— in novels jusbands.” times no: ing in the ire usually t they are en of your ontent to ved little id patient ly do as I oston this Marianna med with learn the he young lly honors who has e for the You shall chocolate esire, and to church ie idea, as itled to a issipation, the organ ne,” said fast and is charges eyes. ionel; we h plumes nt you,” + his arm er hands. r Pretty- icer than wear, and necklaces, ith Mari ir friend, 1e worthy ner, since he island are quite do with yn’t care * we are nd to eat - alligator ed wives, e of you her in a you if He was he mi ms about peculiar answered iv should tle point renerous. vice ol iffection’ rel about is taught vy to eacn Lionel d in this ipremely for SiPTEMBER 1927 g EAUTy IS NOT FOUND ON THE BARGAIN COUNTER , * gf he ee = = PRIMROSE HOUSE SKIN FRESHENER is one of the most popular Primrose House Preparations. A fragrant lotion astringent for the face; to be applied after cleansing. $1.25, $3.00, $70.00 HE bargain counter is not the place to buy beauty prepa- rations. The woman who really values a good complexion will never use inferior powders, creams or lotions whose purity is in question. In spite of all the alluring claims, beauty does not spring like magic froma jar of cold cream ora lotion bottle. It is the result of scientific treatments and the use of the proper preparations. Primrose House is New York’s smartest beauty salon. It is the rendezvous of the most discriminating women of society and the stage. They come to our salon regularly for the famous Primrose House face molding treatments and they use Prim- rose Preparations exclusively in their homes. Primrose House is not maintained by an individual. It is an institution that has devoted years to scientific research on the part of men who understand the com- plexion and its needs. Its products are world famous for their purity. They are made from the finest ingredients that money can buy and are compounded with the utmost skill and exactness, Each of these preparations is designed to accomplish a definite end and, if applied according to instruc- tion, the results will soon show in the mirror. By special arrangement with the most reputable stores and shops, Primrose House Preparations are sold throughout the United States. If you are unable to purchase these prepara- tions at a store convenient to you, you may order from Prim- rose House direct. Free Course of Treatments Mail the coupon below for our course of face molding treat- ments entitled, “Here Dwells Youth”. It tells in minute detail how the registered nurses in Primrose House administer the face molding treatments for which this institution is world famous. . Fanendad > | | PRIMROSE HOUSE, 3 East 52nd Street, New York City. R Please send me a copy of “Here Dwells Youth”, and the other booklets T have checked, Treatment for Dry Skin.......... Treatment for Oily Skin.. Treatment for Lines and Wrinkles.... The Secret of a Youthful Face and Neck......... | Name co ecccecccccececccocccecccess coceee sone 1: Address oconsdumacesetegssbsevncions’ ovacnngrccccssesneososscaseseseese pene DWELLS Youry, LPRIMROS E HOUSE

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COFFEE POT Original by Paul Revere (1734-1818) Now in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston In addition to creating modern silver designs to enrich your table, International silversmiths exercise their skill by reproducing the most fa- mous pieces of Early American workmanship. You will find these hand-made reproductions so faith- ful, so mellow and lovely, that only an expert can_ distinguish them from the originals. The coffee pot shown above is $285.00. Ore MATT GY F ; Py | Wo a a ~ V4 / i {/ / a-_* j | [T/A cad Fi a | {{\ ‘a, j Uf | | W/ 4d / YOUR STERLING is perhaps the only one of your household treasures that years cannot harm. You are choosing for all time. You have seen patterns. . . patterns . . . patterns. Design after de- sign, until your head is in a whirl of silver. From such a bewildering array, how can you select a pattern that has more than the mere prettiness of passing fash- ion? How can you be sure you are getting one of the few really great designs? By limiting your choice to patterns based on fundamental decorative themes . . . patterns whose inspiration is deeply rooted in the history of design. Take, for example, the patterns pictured here —Wedgwood, Minuet, Fontaine and Trianon. Wedgwood achieves in sterling what Josiah Wedgwood developed in pottery —a flat surface made fascinating by intricate, cameo-like figures cut in relief . Minuet takes as its theme the scrolled pediment—the most distinguished char- acteristic of Early American doorways, and furniture . . . Fontaine expresses the magnificence of the Renaissance—a par- ticularly fortunate design for the homes where the Spanish, French or Italian influence predominates . Trianon, Grecian in outline, looks to France for the gracefulness and warmth of its ornamentation. Each of these patterns, you see, has a notable background. Yet each is orig- inal, modern, in that classic elements have here found new forms or mediums of expression . . . Choose the design among these that appeals most to you personally—and rest assured that its charm and ‘‘correctness’’ will endure, untouched by the vagaries of passing fashion. A complete service of hollow ware to match each pattern. “*I'm most enthusiastic about this new book. Every hostess should read it.’’—MRs. JOHN ALEXANDER KING, Associate Editor of Delineator. “Correct Table Silver—Its Choice and Use’’—A new book, supervised by Miss Elsie de Wolfe, noted hostess and America’s most famous interior decorator. Exquisite full-page illustrations of tables set with sterling—beautiful reproductions of silver museum pieces. ‘‘Correct table settings for every occasion,’ *‘Choosing silver for ‘cor- rectness,' ’’ “' A practical beginning for a set of sterling,’ ‘Informal and formal services,” “The care of silver.’ These are but a few of the chapter headings—questions that are settled with final authority. Though this is an expensive book to produce, it will be sent to you without cost except mail- ing charges (10 cents). The edition is limited. Use the coupon. INTERNATIONAL SiLver Company, Meriden, Conn. Enclosed is 10 cents (coin or stamps), to cover mailing cost of ‘Correct Table Silver—Its Choice and Use.’ a ah a sw i 5. Garin le ae Ga oe 0 ERE POE PE ate et EE Oe Ee eee City H. B.—-9-27 PE ag tec sb sh li Deke deed, “orion HARPER’S Be ZAR

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Mrs. De Wees Kelly, Wilmington, D 660 Fifth Avenue, New York d, Ore. el. Marie Earle preparations are on sale in leading shops all over the country. Write for free booklet, “The Other Side of the Moon.” Address Dept. A. ESTABLISHED PARIS 1910 AT NEW YORK For a complete facial treatment at home, use Marie Earle’s Essen- tial Cream, Cucumber Emulsion, and the right lotion for your skin. NOW 660 FIFTH AVENUE CITY HARPER’S BAZAR 'A BIRTHDAY CAKE FOR LIONEL (Continued from page I 30) well toward these innocents?” And he laughed more wildly than ever, running his fingers through his hair until it flew as fiercely as a meteor’s above his worried brow. “T am a fool,” said Lionel aloud, but to himself, ‘I always was, I ever will be a fool. But it is a pity that I contrive to involve others in my particular madness. Marianna warned me before she went to Boston, but I did not, I could not, believe her. I thought that her own—ah, flattering preference for me had given her illusory notions about the little girls. She was right, and I was blindly, doltishly, ludicrously wrong. I am a fool, a damnable insensate fool.” “Lionel, Lionel, you are not! How dare you call yourself such hideous names, when you know quite well that you are a darling and a saint?” cried Artemis in a soft storm of indignation; she fluttered like a dove defending its violated nest. ‘“‘How dare you, Lionel, how dare you to our faces, while we adore you as we do?” JEZEBEL was trembling with rage and loyalty; she pounded Lionel with her hard little fists and at the same moment essayed tokisshim. “Angel, my precious angel, will you take back those wicked words this instant, or do you wish to break our hearts?” she demanded in a breathless whisper. “Decidedly not,” replied Lionel. “That’s the whole trouble, my dears; | don’t wish to break any one’s heart. I have never wished it, but apparently I have always accomplished it with sinister ease. You are fourteen, but so, as you have said, was Juliet. I am forty; I am far too thin for symmetry, my hair is gray; I rarely meet with a looking-glass, but it is highly improbable that my countenance, which has been engraven with lines of care since I was twenty- five, has grown more comely with the years. No, Jezebel, it’s no good calling me an archangel; I am a very mortal man, sufficiently intelligent, but neither strong nor beautiful nor wise. If you must fall in love, let it be with some one of your own age; I will take you to Boston as soon as I can possibly manage it, and Marianna shall give a dance for you at Christmas-time, and you shall have favors and ices and all the things that you have always wanted.” “But Lionel dear, those things are frivolous and unimportant; you have taught us to care for lovelier things than those,”’ said Artemis gently. ‘* Would it not be far better to go sailing down a river in Florida, between green banks where the birds are bright as flowers and the wild oranges brighter than stars? The three of us together; could anything be sweeter or more peaceful than that? {nd the Boston climate will be very bad for your chest, remember; you will quite likely go into a consumption. Be a lamb and decide upon Florida for all our sakes.” “It would not be peaceful, my dear,” said Lionel sadly. “I do most earnestly assure you that such a plan would not be peaceful, now that you have both of you determined to fall in love with me.” “Ah, Lionel, don’t be so unsympathetic; it is not a question of determination; we have fallen in love with you because we cannot help ourselves,” cried Jezebel. **You are obviously the most marvelous person in the world, or out of it, for that matter. You are our darling, our treasure, our own; we can divide you quite happily between our hearts) Why, you have said it all, over and over again, in your poetry, in the tales you have tol. us. ‘True love in this differs from gold and clay, that to divide is not to take away * Can anything be plainer than that, darling?” “Really and truly, Lionel, Jessie is right; you mustn’t be selfish, you mustn’t forget. ‘If you divide suffering and dross, you may diminish till it is con- sumed away; if you divide pleasure and love and thought, each part exceeds the whole. . . .’. Now there you have it in a nutshell, and you wrote it yourself.” “I,” said Jezebel radiantly, ‘‘could be ‘the comrade of your wanderings over heaven’; I'd like that best, ang Missie could always be soothing and quiet like the lady in the ‘Sensitive Plant.’ It would be an ideal arrange- ment, in my opinion.” She kissed his hand, and gazed at him with golden reverential eyes. “*Tdeal,’” Lionel repeated wearily. “Quite so, my child; it would be an ideal arrangement, but not a practical one. It grieves me beyond words to disappoint two dear little girls, but the plan js visionary and fantastic past all reason.” “Reason be damned,” cried Jezebel with a grandiloquent gesture of « ontempt, “Excuse me, sweetest, I mean to hell with reason. It is you who are fantastic: you are denying all your principles, and talking in the most prejudiced and narrow-minded manner. ‘This truth js that deep well, whence sages draw the unenvied light of hope.’ If that teaches anything at all, Lionel, you are being uncommonly silly.” “Well,” said Lionel a little drily, “some one has certainly been silly, but who that person was, or at what precise time his silliness was perpetrated I am not prepared to admit. Leave it at this; you are too young to understand ‘Epi- psychidion.’” “Then why did you read it aloud to us when we were seven?” Artemis asked him reproachfully. ‘*You know we had learned most of your poetry by heart before we were grown-up, and you never told us that it wasn’t suitable and true.” “And don’t forget, while you are being so superior,” Jezebel added, “that Harriet was only sixteen when you married her, and Mary only sixteen when you ran away with her to France. We should be delighted to go to France, although we prefer Florida because of the alligators.” “That was different,” said Lionel, but without fire or conviction. He looked profoundly depressed and rather ill; every tiring minute of his forty years was traced in the lines upon his brow. “But why, but why?” “We will wait another twelvemonth if we must, but you have often said that our minds were remarkably mature.” “ Darling, you have no notion how happy we can make you if you will allow us to try,” and, “ah, my angel, don’t be sad; I can’t bear you to be sad;” these ascending cries and several others echoed in Lionel’s ears and circled about his head like sea- birds. He was aware of a severe neuralgic pain in his temples and a strong impulse to escape from the island immediately and at all costs. “But why is it different, why on earth is it different?” reiterated the children’s musical voices. Suppressing a nervous desire to scream, Lionel answered gently, “T suppose it is I that am different; I suppose, as a matter of fact, that I am too old. 1am far too tired to run away with you, my dears; I will take you to Boston, but I will never run away with any one again so long as I live, and that I must warn you will not be long unless you will consent to keep quiet for at least 4 moment.” HEY were awed by his words; 4 sudden silence fell like balsam from the air. Lionel relaxed to a peace which was so nearly pure weariness that he lacked the energy to pour himself another cup of tea; the first stood cold and un- tasted beside the birthday cake upon the shining supper table. oe The forty candles were coals of tire to his imagination; he felt almost intolerably sorry for the children in beholding the frosting upon the cake, the pink dahlias, the glittering silver But he was even more tired than he was Sorry, the travail of pity was beyond his strength, and he closed his eyes so that he should not see the veil of tears over the face of Artemis and the amazed ane innocent anguish of Jezebel’s regard. It must be remembered that Lionel had been fishing the deep waters past Little Cranberry since six o'clock that morning, and that he had caten an sufficient lunch and no supper at all. the children had been blessed with the (Continued on page 130 spoons.

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ZAR for SEPTEMBER 1927 VEL st, and Ks ng and ensitive arrange- ssed his golden Wearily, an ideal al one, ‘appoint plan is ‘eason,” Jezebel ntempt. ell with ntastic: les, and d and ruth js ‘aw the teaches : being drily, ly, but precise 1 I am at this: 1 ‘Epi- ~ id to us ) asked we had - heart 1 never | true.” e being “that nh you sixteen “rance. “rance, of the ¥ ? 7 7 a ¥ + « ¥ ¥ al el, but looked > every ‘Ss «Was e will must, minds arling, ve can » try,” sad; I ending jonel’s ce Sea- uralgic npulse liately . earth \dren’s ervous rently, ent; I im too y with oston, 1\ one must wu will ast a meee a_i Ms pear ‘ds: a from which te % Complimenting the woman of today ~ ie Vy gowns of | [Ye "Kitten’s Car trépe » or "Woleskin Superior” ihlias, it he P i* ‘ ‘ 4 Sorry; | produced by olatin Crimes p V, \ e 2 “1 |\) Haas Brothers Fabrics Corporation Fifth Avenue ,New York. pw } ‘ pa GowN BY BRUCK WEISS that nes aig TR ah: NSLS in in- 1. It h the aR a A ts ee bey ea hint — *-£% ce a Re acer ics hee

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AGT AE INA LER a REE GRR. AN 6 DK REET. Sa AmeNooR aes a? Ga AE egy, ¥ @ JHIs smart Coat of Leopard and Fitch is but one of a large collection of individu- ally styled models, fashioned in the finest furs —at prices that are relatively moderate. A.JAECKEL & CO. Jurriers 6xclusivel Fifth Ave. Bet. 35-36 Sts., New York HARPER'S BAZAR A BIRTHDAY CAKE FOR LIONR, (Continued from page 134) common sense to provide their idol with two boiled eggs or a mutton chop he might possibly have come to another decision regarding them; the question must remain forever unanswered upon the scroll of time. His sentiments toward them were benevolent rather than romantic, but he was an excessively soft- hearted person and for the delicate dividing of a second their fate may have trembled in the balance of his mind. It was his wretched headache which upset that balance; that, and the rec- ollection of the striped Gibraltars. Lionel loved to scour the sapphire waters of the Western Way, but he was an in- different sailor and the dead flat calm of the afternoon had been most unpleasantly lifted upon the long rellers of the Atlantic. At this moment he was feeling far from well, and even the terrified silence of the children failed to persuade him to un- close his eyes and promise to take them to Florida. He was aware of their entreaty in every sensitive nerve of his bedy, but, as the neuralgia drove a horrid tenpenny nail of pain into his forehead, he grew more and more de- termined upon Boston and the assistance of Marianna Bland in the matter of female education. Ab, YES, Marianna had been right all along; she had warned him tenderly and repeatedly of this danger, and he had been deaf as an adder and blind as a bat. ‘My dear friend,” she had told him upon the occasion of their last Sunday night supper together, “the responsibility of those two charming but impulsive children is too much for you; you are beginning to look sadly worn and worried.” And she had put another spconful of chicken salad upon his plate, and filled his glass with the very light white wine which agreed so well with his taste and digestion. She made an en- chanting picture in her soft black frock and creamy cashmere shawl; her hair and eyes were quiet and shadowy as the twilight beyond the open window. A faint perfume of syringa entered with the air; the lilacs had been dead since June, but a long succession of flowers flourished in these northern latitudes, and nowhere better than in Marianna’s summer garden. It was a pleasant evening on which to walk among roses and heliotrope and mignonette and tall white hollyhocks like clustered moons. It was a pity, perhaps, said Lionel to himself as he sat with closed eyes before the glimmering birthday cake, that Marianna’s husband had been of so fiery and jealous a disposition; the terms of the will were a bit hard upon Marianna. If she married again she forfeited all her comfortable life; the house at Pretty- marsh, the smaller house in Boston. Sea- captains are notoriously — tyrannical; Captain Bland had desired to possess his lovely wife even beyond the grave. But Marianna had always declared that she didn’t care in the least; that she was sick of marriage; that she adored her freedom and her mitigated solitude. And Mari- anna read Plato; she was capable of friendship. An enchanting creature, Marianna; so cool, so kind, so undemanding and so intelligent. “If a star from heaven falls into my apple orchard, do you suppose I am such a fool as to make it into an apple turnover?” she had asked him once with delicious reassuring laughter. Lionel felt that he could trust Marianna; she was as safe as the white church on the hill, as silent as a pretty ivy-covered tomb, as exquisite as a gossamer web spun upon the grass at dawn. She would never offend his sensibilities, she would never ask questions, and by some peculiar magic of sympathy untouched by in- convenient violence, she would always do exactly as he pleased. She could love him, and then again, by a transcendent act of devotion, she could quite easily not love him if he didn’t wish to be loved. She could not fail to be a remarkable influence for good upon the girls’ im- petuous natures. What was it that she had said to him before she left? Something about a simple féte champétre or picnic which she pro- posed to arrange for the children’ pleasure when she returned in September “Poor little darlings, they’ve never kn any one of their own age, Lionel: = tragic, when you come to think of jt! rd course they have had every possible : vantage of education; association a your brilliant mind is the highest privile E upon earth, as I have long realized to . delight, and your spirit is so noble wee manners so flawless, that the girls i learned much from the perfections ro observed. But—forgive me, my pwd friend, you need not be assured that | adore you—you are pessibly—byt are you not, dear Lionel—a thought eccentri a thin hair’s breadth beyond the bx und. aries of common wisdom of the yw ne My friend, do not mistake me: it js your charm, the rarest of your spiritual graces —but nevertheless, you must confess yoy are eccentric. I think perhaps we should afford Jessie and Missie the opportunity to meet some few companions of their ag. even before we take them to town. Thee village people are decent souls; nay. they are more than that. They have not the advantages of wealth and wide culture but they come from excellent stock: { characters, and indeed their breeding are above reproach. I shall not hesitat, to ask the Somes lads and the scns of Mr. Fernald and Captain Pray to m picnic.” . Lionel remembered Marianna’s words quite plainly as he sat with closed eyes before the birthday supper-table; they came to his senses as softly as the notes of a wood pigeon. He could recall her tranquilizing murmur like the music cfa dream; his headache receded in leng waves of diminished pain as he listened t the memory of her words. A’ THIS particular hour of dusk, b knew that the Somes lads and th sons of Captain Pray and Mr. Fernal would be lounging upon the porch cf th village store or strolling toward the whar' where the schooner from Bangor swung to and fro under yellow riding lights Doubtless these lusty fair-haired fellows would already have supped heartily upon salt pork and beans or corned beef an cabbage, but he had no reason to suppos with his mind’s eye perceiving their in genuous visages, that they would accept with reluctance a dessert of gingernuts angelica, and birthday cake. “Dear children,” said Lionel, opening his wild blue eyes and smiling sweet! at Artemis and Jezebel, “please don’t be frightened; stop crying, my dear littl girls, and hear what I have to say. | am not angry; I have no intention of scolding you any more. My idiotic head has heen aching rather badly, but that’s of consequence, except that for a mem ntit made me slightly cross. Never mind; it’ better, and you must forgive my rudeness Only, it seems a thousand pities to waste all this magnificent supper; the three of us cannot possibly eat it all. What would you think if I were to take the dinghy over to the village, and bring back a few of those agreeable yellow-haired brother’ A party on Saturday night never comes amiss. They are all of them good boys and very fond of frosting, I assure you. No, Jessie, the exertion will not do me aly harm; on the contrary, it is precisely what I need. You may kiss me good-by, but be quick about it; I shall be back in half an hour.” i He was gone, so swiftly that the wine of his speed ruffled their curls even ® their hearts were stirred by amazemetl He ran rapidly down the path to ti landing place and leaped into the dinghy; he had fitted the oars to the row-locks and was flying across the smooth harbor before they had recovered their quickeneé breath. The moon rose over the eastel mountain, and presently the dinghy ™% lost among the shadows of the willor trees which lined the farther shore. “Well,” said Jezebel in a faint an¢ solemn whisper, “so that’s the end “3 that. I suppose you know he’s oe the slip forever. He'll always be kind and charming, but we shall never have him to ourselves again. There’s no & crying over spilt nectar; we must let him (Concluded on page 140)

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AZAR NEL jor SEPTEMBER 1927 Ki children’s September lever known ionel; how ik of it! O§ Possible ad. lation with “st Privilege lized to my noble, your girls have Ctions they > MY dear ired that | v—but are it eccentric the bi und- the world? ; it is your A Don Deigo Photo itus al graces confess yoy s we should /pportunity of their ag wn. These 3 ay, they ive not the i de cultur stock; their - breeding, ot hesitate he s« ns of ray to my na’s words closed eyes A able; they s the notes recall her music cf a d in Ieng ™ cAristocrats of Simulated Gems. a ONLY RIVALS OF GENUINE | the whar gor swun OCEAN PEARLS SINCE 1896. ing lights red fellox urtily upon ‘a i. re Perfectly matched Tecla necklaces, possessing all the characteristics Se nature endows upon its finest jewel creations, aaah $25.00 and up. 1, open ig sve ->}—_——P tea —+1-- ea BEGINNING SEPTEMBER FIRST, TECLA CREATIONS CAN BE sioee PROCURED EXCLUSIVELY AT THE FOLLOWING RETAIL STORES: it’s of n minds is Bullock’s . . . Los Angeles, Cal. Marshall Field & Company . . Chicago, IIl. a Denver Dry Sian Co. . . Denver, Colo. Meier & Frank . . . . .. Portland, Ore, — Frank R. Jelleff, Inc. Washington, D. C. Miller & Rhoads, Inc. . . Richmond, Va. he dings } Frederick and Nelson . . . Seattle, Wash. Mermod-Jaccard & King Hot Springs, Ark. brother: Gladding Dry Goods Co. . Providence, R. I. Mermod-Jaccard & King . St. Louis, Mo. al tah H. & S. Pogue . . . . Cincinnati, Ohio Scruggs, Vandervoort & Barney St. Louis, Mot a J. L. Hudson ae . . . Detroit, Mich. R.H. Stearns & Co.. . . . Boston, Mass. preci Kaufmann’s . 7% — Pittsburg, Pa. T. Eaton Co. . . . ~~. Montreal-Toronto ,e back it La Salle & Koch. . . . . Toledo, Ohio The Higbee Company . . . Cleveland, O. — Lebeck Bros. . . . . Nashville, Tenn. The White House. . . San Francisco, Cal. nazemel Levy Bros. Dry Goods Co. . Houston, Texas Wm. H. Block & Co. . . Indianapolis, Ind. a ee McCurdy & Co., Inc. . . Rochester, N. Y. Z. L. White & Co. . . . Columbus, Ohio row locks th harbor : pucker Created in y Only Gold, Platinum ney 00 our Paris and Genuine Diamonds - Laboratories used in Tecla Settings e end d 398 FIFTH AVENUE vend NEW YORK »ver have NATIONAL TECLA WEEKS :: SEPTEMBER 157 TO 157 sg— é py “3 no use st let him )

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aye = s ~*~ “~~ = es £ é wiki " ie Spe ¢ ve Gown from Kurzman OW LE ; Aerli 1d Silver C vailasiaile Che chville HARPER’S BAZAR SEVILLE + - SFIRD We truly believe that this newes truly believe that this newest pattern in Towle Sterling, the SEVILLE, reveals a personality that is distinctively, unmistak. ably yours, Bride of 1927! It is as daringly, confidently different from all silver pat- terns of the past as you joyous young rebels have dared to be different from your mothers! Look, please, at this Seville spoon. In its simplicity, its finely poised slenderness, doesn’tit suggest your own slim grace, your direct frankness and sincerity of thought and feeling? With such freshness of detail, too. That proudly arched crest, the softly curving shoulders, the rounded mouldings that frame the pure loveliness of the panel —these are all new. Beauty that 1s onslevine but not costly And have you seen anywhere else in silver an ornament like this delicate fretwork— adapted from the finely wrought design on one of those old Spanish chests called varguenos (var-gayn-yos)? This same motif is elaborated with exquisite detail in the Seville dishes and bowls and tea service. Here in the SEVILLE is that quality you prize among all things— individuality, ex- clusiveness! Is this exclusiveness of SEVILLE expen- sive? you ask. . P F. ’ { nd >. ; i ee, i = ai Si . of J See how gracefully the vargueio motif has been adapted to these beautiful and useful sEvILLE dishes —made to meet the modern demand for a solid silver table service which shall harmonize throughout.

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LIT attern eals a ‘istak. ingly, r pat. oung i your In its ness, your vught etail, softly lings panel ilver rk— sign illed otif the vice. you , eX- pen- for SEPTEMBER 1927 / /P ern as Your oiceil olf OF YOUTH IN FLAWL No, because Sterling Silver is always eco- nomical—in its intrinsic value as a pre- cious metal, in its age-long permanence, its burnished beauty that only grows softer and richer with years and use. And you can buy a “beginning” set of SEVILLE—say, enough pieces to serve your husband, your- self and two guests — for as little as $30, 00. If you build upon this set as occasion offers, at wedding anniversaries and birth- days, adding enough new pieces to serve one or two more guests, it will surprise you how soon—and how inexpensively — your solid silver table service will be complete. No matter which Towle pattern you choose, vou will be able to carry out this same plan of economical building. In the selection of your pattern, you will be helped very considerably, not only by the great variety offered in Towle Solid Silver, but also by the knowledge that you can choose with perfect confidence in the permanent beauty of Towle designs. Sntrinsic = Ln ee that pow aes changing fashion You need have no fear that any of them will go out of fashion. Fortunate ly, things that are truly beautiful are always Sclionshde, and the proof of this lies in the fact that Towle patterns 10,15, even 20 years old are, ESS STERLING like the lovely pieces made by those fine old craft ancestors of Towle, the Moultons of the 17" and early 18" centuries, just as fashionable today as they ever were! In your selection, therefore, your own fee sling i is your best guide. Your pattern will almost select itself he cause it will be what you like, what best suits your own indi- vidual taste and the other appointments of your home, whether it be the smartly mod- ern Seville; or the charmingly simple Mary Chilton, Lady Constance or La Fayette; the southern colonial Vi irginia Carvel or the stately Lady Mary. the courtly Louis XIV or d’Orleans; — Jor vou—FREE 5 a : ; Che Sook: of Solid Silver We have prepared a charming 24-page blue- and-ivory volume, filled with a wealth of silver information,called The Book of Solid Silver. Its retail price is *1.00. If you are really interested send us 10c to cover mail- ing costs,and the name of your jeweler; we shall see that you receive a copy without further charge. There is a convenient cou- pon below. THE TOWLE SILVERSMITHS Newburyport, Massachusetts Member Sterling Silve rsmiths’ Guild of America een shes lver COLONIAL—EARL le ae ) Na Javeile ofa onslance The purest Early Ameri- can simplicity wrought in flawless Ste rling. of this Colonial ancestor. angles Soft curves replace the spoon’s ee wae oS FRENCH INFLUENCE y % / of ous XIV d ( )y eans The finest French period — finds here its loveliest Most costly and regal of all Towle patterns — in- modern expression. spired by the Regency. Y AMERICAN STYLE ¢ } irginia ( arvel A Colonial Virginia mir- ror lent its garland to grace this-lovely pattern. hws ( hslion Puritan in name and re- straint,moderninwarmth and grace of line. THE TOWLE SILVERSMITHS Newburyport, Massachusetts I ENcLose 10 cents: Please send me a copy of The Book of Solid Silver NAME STREET CITY AND STATI My jeweler is ——-9

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MODEL BY NEW YORK MANGONE MODELS ARE FEATURED BY THE BETTER STORES IN OVER TWO HUNDRED CITIES. HARPER’S BAZaAp THE ADDRESS BOOK (Concluded from page 128) humanity, and, just touching our eager in my darling which doesn’t fit in with th hands, remarked to my darling: notions of the best people. They find = “Sogladtosee you! Justafewintimate fairly right. At least I think ‘so. Bu friends! If there’s any one here you don’t somehow she won’t “‘go down.” : happen to know do tell me.” And Effie knows it. Need I say that we knewnot asingle per- How my darling hates Effie! Her ha. son of all those present? Butmy darling tredis such that when the first of August didn’t choose to say so, and the conse- came round and Miss Bromhead called quence was that we passed an evening for the Address Book (according to the which could hardly be designated as jolly. contract), my darling at first refused to Later on, however, as party succeeded __ give it up. party, and people became more accustomed “She sha’n’t have it!” my darling ey. to the sight of us, we found ourselves on claimed. “Not if she comes to me for it bowing terms with quite a choice selection on her bended knees.” ; of the great. The week-end parties at It was then that for the first time since Mullingsgate—Effie cancelled her lease our marriage I was forced to play the man. of a house at Ascot for the “week,” un- Sheer terror of criminal proceedings drove doubtedly on our account—were the me toashow of determination, and eyep. greatest trial tome. My darlingsomehow _ tually, after a domestic scene which | didn’t “go down” with Effie’s terrifically shall never describe, Miss Bromhead de. smart and critical friends. The dresses parted with the Address Book, and the from Reville were of course in evidence, knowledge that the only person who hag together with marvelous hats from Paris ever ministered to the needs of her ca. and elsewhere which cost me a pretty _ pricious palate would minister to them no penny. I was even let in for jewels from more. Cartier’s, including a diamond tiara Since that day the Burdens have given which I only managed to pay for by selling —_us the cut direct, and my darling and [ are out at a heavy loss a lot of Selukwes. But scarcely on speaking terms with each in spite of it all my darling didn’t “go other. down.” Being from Bayswater I don’t like the And of course Effie “‘spotted”’ it. sin of unfaithfulness even in thought, but We endeavored to give a smart dinner. __ really there are moments now when can't I say endeavored for all those whom we | help wondering whether things mightn't asked, including of course Sir Larchmont have gone better for me if I hadn’t mar- and Effie, unfortunately happened to be ried my darling. There’s something about engaged for the night we selected. And her that—but I mustn’t brood over that, now we are moving to Mayfair. But I Still it isn’t much good to keep on don’t believe the move will advance us _ shrieking “Excelsior,” if you don’t-“go very much. There seems to be something down” with the duchesses, is it? A BIRTHDAY CAKE FOR LIONEL (Concluded from page I 36) go gracefully and make the best of a never forgive us if we are rude to our damned bad business.” social inferiors. He says we have none, “Oh, Jessie, Jessie, how shall we ever but that’s sheer nonsense; these sill bear it?” cried Artemis, lifting her little | boys are obviously our inferiors in ever white face to the moon. ‘And now of respect. Nevertheless, let us be polite course Marianna will get him. I knew to them; it will please Lionel, and serve it all the time; I never really liked her, in to distract our minds from our misfor- spite of the amber necklaces.” tune.” “No more did I; but what can we do? We mustn’t bother Lionel any longer; HE sisters rose simultaneously in a we may make him unhappy, we may crisp rustle of book muslin; by the even make him ill, but we cannot make illumination of the summer moon they him change his mind. We had better smoothed each other’s crumpled frocks go to Boston and forget our sorrow ina and _ straightened each other's sashes whirl of frivolity. Stop being a woman If their faces were stained with tears wailing for her demon lover, Missie dear, | such marks were no more than a dust ol and set your thoughts upon the galop dew upon two unfolding flowers. Even and young Mr. Longfellow!” Jezebel’s in the cold and silvery moonlight their eyes were preternaturally bright; it was bright curls were pale gold and flame impossible to say whether it was moon- color above their candid brows. : light or tears which shone within their “‘T wish we might have a mirror," sald depth. Artemis with a plaintive sigh. The sound “IT dare say you're right, Jess; my of oarswas audible in the stillness; Lionel’ heart is broken, but perhaps time may laughter chimed far away, and was heal the wound; I’m sure I sincerely hope answered by a loud guffaw. so. Now what about these wretched “Perhaps when we go to Boston louts who are coming to devour Lionel’s | Marianna will give us a mirror; I rather birthday cake; do you suppose it will be believe she will,”’ said Jezebel, rumpling necessary to be civil to them?” her pretty curls above her childish fore “We shall have to be civil; Lionel will head and her large excited eyes. SONNET | a I should die I would not care at all. Let rain and sun repeat their miracles; Let Beauty strike those hidden, muted bells Whose chimes upon my ears too faintly fall. I shall not think of anyone I love Not even you!—and I shall gladly be One with the earth’s renascent mystery, One with the reaching grass 2nd trees above. If you should die? The pathways that I go May hold less light for me, and something less Of happy questing . . . But I do not know, And, coward that I am, I dare not guess. I only pray that God will never show That way, how much I’ve lost of loveliness. Eleanor Chase.

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ZAR \ with the Y find me So. But Her ha- of August ad called 1g to the efused to arling ex. me for it ime since the man, ngs drove ind even- which | thead de- , and the who had f her ca- o them no ave given ‘and I are ‘ith each 't like the ught, but en I can't mightn’t dn’t mar- ‘ing about over that, keep on don’t -“ge NEL le to our ave none, hese silly ; in every be polite and serve ir_misfor sly in a n; by the 100n they led frocks 's sashes. ith tears a dust of rs. Even ight their und flame ror,” said The sound .s: Lionel’s and was » Boston +; | rather rumpling ldish fore-

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Det. MONTE-HICKEY poryear HARPER'S [ZAR OLD LONDON KEEPS FOREVER YOUNG (Continued from page 116) as they wait for underground railway trains. Those young ladies who are more mature—I dare not say that they are older—walk swayingly along the streets as if they were about to join the throng upon the dance floor. Dancing and tennis are the rage; and if in both these sports the execution leaves something to be desired, at least the spirit in which both are ventured is astonishingly enthusiastic. hus London keeps young. HIS summer has been a lively one for Londoners. They have had tennis at Wimbledon, and they have had good row- ing at Henley. They have witnessed the Centenary cricket match between Oxford and Cambridge, and they have sclemnly embraced a new sport—that of grey- hound racing after an electric hare. I have not myself seen this last sport, but from newspaper accounts the racing of dogs is the most important thing that has happened this year. And _ besides sports, we have had the Chauve Souris and the Russian Ballet with us. ‘The Ballet has aroused rather less enthusiasm than usual, and those who have spoken to me about it have found much fault with the ensembles. I did not care for the new ballet, or rather, the semi-new ballet, called “Les Facheux.” The music seemed to me to be disagreeable, and the choreography tedious. ‘‘The Cat,” however, another new ballet, was an extraordinary success. The dancing of the two principals—Serge Lifar and Mlle. Nikitina—was amazing. The decor, said to represent a sort of sublimated kitchen, was amusing, even though I could not ap- preciate its meaning. As for the Sitwell- Berners ballet of “‘The Triumph of Nep- tune,” this has been condensed and altered, and it is much more interest- ing than it was. It is still not among my favorites, and I am inclined to be- lieve that the Russian Ballet has never surpassed ‘Petrouchka,” the perfect subject for ballet, perfectly executed. Most of the novelties seem to me to suffer from the. sterilizing self-con- sciousness of the intellectual move- ment, and to be more amusing to their inventors than they prove to be to those whose lot it is to witness the performances. \s an old-fashioned person, I think that art consists in something besides private little jokes which can be appreciated only by the initiate. T THE Tate Gallery just now there is an exhibition of the paintings of Charles Conder, to which the authorities of the Tate have given a really good show- ing. Conder’s work is not very much in accordance with the current vogue in either thought or painting, but it is none the worse for that. This delicate art is very attractive, very soft, very shadowy, and I think Conder’s range of emotion limited. Nevertheless, the emoticn is there, and it is impossible to see these pictures, and the painted fans in which Conder delighted, without distinct pleas- ure. Such an art as his has its due place among civilized satisfactions, and the directors of the Tate show good taste and good sense in affording space for anything so charming. I always, by the way, enjoy a visit to the Tate Gallery. The purchases were not at one time very wise, and they may not all, even to- day, give every comfort to connoisseurs, but as an exhibition of modern art the gallery is very well. The best exhibition of modern art, in my opinion, is that which is to be seen at Chicago, but there are many good things, as well as some in- sufferable ones, to be admired at Mill- bank. I wonder if my readers are acquainted with the view across the Thames from the Southern Railway’s track just at the point at which the Tate Gallery comes into sight? It has a singular beauty, and I never tire of it. My own entry to London is usually by this route, and those who travel to London from South- ampton come by the same line. The river is glimpsed for the first time; one 4 has a hasty sight of Cheisea, the Tate Gallery; and then building intervens The little picture is past. Ando each time I get this tantalizing peep rai the railway carriage window, I gay . myself that this is a scrap of authentip London, such as no other city can parallel \n authentic scrap of London— nj I hope he will not regard the - tion as offensive—is Mr. H. \. linsen; and Mr. Tomlinson’s first nove which will be published about tg time that these words appear in print, begins with a glimpse of London from iL river: de % rip. om- The steamer moved up river at half. speed, and the sounds of life fell with the sun. The shores grew blurred. The quiet was the dusk. The ship itself was hushed, and her men abcut their duties appeared at a task spectrally, out of no. where. She might have been trying t reach her destination unobserved, . . . Yellow glims appeared low down in the shadows that were Kent and _ Essey That day of summer had gone. (ply the wan river and the sky remembered it, A figure rose from the group on the fore- deck, and his voice, surprisingly uplifted, was as if he had been compelled to an important announcement. **There’s the Great Smoke. London. London.” OW in my opinion only a great writer could have written this book, which js called ‘‘Gallions Reach,” and Mr. Tom- linson is growing better known every day, as those who can distinguish fine work from the second best are becoming ac- quainted with what he has written. 4 new and cheap edition of his masterpiece, “The Sea and the Jungle,”’ has just been issued, but “Gallions Reach” is Mr Tomlinson’s first novel. I defy anybod to read the chapters describing a gale and the sinking of a ship without an excite- ment comparable to the excitement which such an event in their own lives would rouse. Mr. Tomlinson, beginning his book in London—as every good Londoner should do—takes his hero into very strange and wonderful worlds, and this also is what a gcod Lendoner should do. But Mr. Tomlinson does it with a fineness and a beauty which only he can command now that Joseph Conrad is no more. And in the end he brings hero back to London, which it is quite a romantic thing to do, and a journey whi needed courage upon the part of both hero and author. It is back to London also carry my reader, back to the roar of the streets, to omnibuses, the taxicabs which turn rour —like cats—in their own tracks, if the do little else, to the policemen who weat white sleeves upon their coats in order that drivers shall see sig i London murk, to rain that We will go, if you please, to U new Reptile House at the Zoo, which has just been opened to the gaze of visitors It is a fine affair, and in it may be seen lurking all those snakes, alligators, a! even dragons which have been placed in surroundings as nearly like thos which they are accustomed as _ ingenuities of zoolegists can contr London is flocking to this Reptile Hous as formerly it flocked to the new Aqué rium; and I must admit that, granting the legitimacy of confining animals for t observation of multitudes, this new arrangement reduces to a minimum Ui objections felt by humanitarians to su that I must familiar the enormous r soot. imprisonment. London at moment is going to the Zoo to see the Dragon, going to witness some of the spt rts wht I have mentioned earlier, and in Ue evening is dining out, seeing -\menca musical comedies, and ending up ” supper and dancing at the old fashi . restaurants with the dance floors and We jazz bands from the United States As the dark evenings come, Londoners . y +m we begin to read more. Next 1 onth will talk about what they are react and why.

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LZAR VER the Tate intervene. And yet peep from say to authe Ntic Nn parallel, lon— and > descrip M. Tom- irst novel, bout the in print, 1 from the r at half. | with the The quiet tself was eir duties out of no- trying to ed. ... wn in the id Essex re. Only mbered it, l the fore- - uplifted, led to an here’s the don.” reat writer <, which js Mr. Tom- very day, fine work oming ac- ritten. A isterpiece, just been ” is Mr anybody a gale and an excite- ent which ves would nning his Londoner into very and this er should it with a ily he can “onrad is brings his is quite a ney which both hero at I must e familiar rmous I urn round Ss, if they who wear ; in order ls in tl like liquid se, to U which has { visitors. L\ be seen itors, al placed in those to | as the contri\ tile Hous ew Aqua anti

ls for the this new imum t ns to suc moment e Dragon, orts whit 1d in the \merit an © up by fashioned rs and the tates. oners Wil month we reading,

SEPTEMEBER 1927

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never saw her at Bradley’s nor on the crowded beach. Whenever she came out of her corner suite it was to sit quietly with her tambour of embroidery in a sheltered corner on the land side of the veranda. To-day she was an objet de luxe to be appreciated by the connoisseur, for she was dressed with that perfect elegance only attainable in one of her years by a combination of personal taste, a remem- brance of past fashion, a hint of the mode of the moment, and the services of a grand couturier. She had heard of Dick’s engagement and was worried. As for Mollie and Cyril, Mollie had always been hopeless. But young lives—that was different! A JOYOUS “Hullo, Granny” in- terrupted her meditation. Dick coming up from behind was stooping to kiss the Marquise. “This is Alberta Varley,” he said draw- ing Alberta after him. Alberta stood quite simply in her plain white dress, looking down at the Mar- quise, recognizing her really as a great lady, an ideal. And the Marquise looked back. Her eyes, wise, piercing, kind, gazed straight into Alberta’s face. “My dear,” said the Marquise de Hautcceur. “My dear.” -She drew her into the chair beside her. “You are in luck, my good-for-noth- ing,” the Marquise smiled up at her grandson. “ Now leave us together. We will talk. A man is in the way between two women—even a charming young man like you. We must make acquaintance. Fetch her in half an hour.” HEN Dick had retreated down the long vista of the colonnaded piazza, the Marquise turned the direct gaze of her bright blue eyes, keen from observation, kind from experience, toward Alberta. “And what do you want of life and Dickie?” she asked disconcertingly. Alberta paused only a moment. ‘“Oppor- tunity,” she answered. Her words astonished her. She had been startled into clarifying her own motive “Opportunity!” repeated the Mar- quise. ‘And what for?” She had a way, when she cared to use it, of drawing from people the very essence of themselves. They seldom resented it. Her age gave her privileges and a latent power in her contributed to her authority. This time Alberta hesitated longer, not with any idea of evasion, but in order to express the truth accurately. “First I want to understand,” at last. The blue eyes of the Marquise gave out a spark. She leaned forward in- terested. This girl was out of the ordinary. “And what do you want to under- stand?” * All of this!” Alberta made a circular gesture. “I get perplexed. I love the beauty, the hospitality, the kindness of everybody, the nice voices, the manners of people like the Carlions, Mr. Andrews, Mrs. Cunningham too, but often I can’t get down into reality. There is so little time. ‘No one has a home, only a hotel or a restaurant—I mean they fill their homes with crowds. I do so long for a home. I suppose they’ve had what I want and tired of it. But—” she hesi- tated again, “I’ve had what they often imitate just for fun, ugly things, (I'll tell you some time) and I hated it.” The Marquise nodded. “The Circus set, my dear, is the enfant terrible of American society. And when you understand, what do you want to become?” “A lady like you,” answered Alberta. “You see, I wasn’t born one,” she added sincerely. ‘Granny always tried—but— well! It’s even more important to die one than to be born one, isn’t it? ’ The Marquise smiled. “And when you have become a lady—I quote your own phrase and take you for the moment at your own valuation—what then?” “T don’t know yet. But I shall find out. I am learning. I read. I look. When I know, when I have become, I can begin to do. Already there is Dick to be helped. He’s only idle. He must have she said EMPTY SHRINES (Continued from page 109) a career. His father will give him a chance. We must get back to a big town where people compete, where they must use their tools; I don’t only want to get, I want to be,” Alberta flashed. ‘There is so much we must do outside ourselves. I know the difficulties. Dick does not. Think of all the talents that go to the wall just for lack of a little shove. I have seen it, felt it. We must get back into life good, bad, hard, and easy. And of course Sandro must be educated!” “And who is Sandro?” Alberta explained. ‘Jim Dunscombe is looking after him now,”’ she ended. “T hear Jim is by way of becoming a Pasteur or a Ledoyen,” commented the Marquise. ‘Years ago in Paris I told Susan Dunscombe that the boy was un- usual. I remember I quoted Lamartine, ‘The finger of destiny marks the soul, not the forehead.’ Unfortunately, Susan is superficial. I suppose James also is in love with you. It is of your ages! My dear, I like your views. I am at the end of along road. You are at the beginning, but the altitude is the same. Will you forgive an old woman her questions? One must have knowledge before one can give friendship.” She stretched ou her hand with an air of bestowing. The Marquise was still a power and she knew it. Her approbation of Dick’s marriage would be of more value in the North than all of Palm Beach’s facile ad- miration put together. Many a social position grown in Florida sunshine got nipped in the New York frost. She could establish for this serious girl real rela- tions. “Come to me with your perplexities, my dear,” said the Marquise when Dick had come to fetch Alberta. ““See that you deserve her, my child,” she said to Dick. Again Alberta’s heart swelled with gratitude. ‘OR some days Mollie and Cyril, the Moxons, Phyllis and her following, which included the Dares, had been de- bating whether to “take in” the Braith- martes’ “Silver Ball” at Miami. The Braithmartes had a show place on Bis- cayne Bay which feverishly rivaled the Palm Beach palaces. It boasted fourteen bedrooms, each named after some famous courtezan, and furnished in the style of the period to which these daughters of joy had belonged. There was the ‘‘ Diane de Poitiers,” on whose ceiling the silver crescent intertwined with a gold.n “H” against the blue background; the “‘ Ninon de Lenclos,” rosy with pink taffeta and wreathing flowers; the ‘‘Pompadour,” powder blue and silver; the ‘‘ Maintenon,” austere and dark and reserved for spinsters or elderly widows. The household was the last word of elaboration. A floor-maid stood in the bedroom corridors to minister to any possible wishes of the guests. She thrust her services upon them with the invari- able question, “Will madame lie down, write a letter, or take a bath?” If the reply to any of these suggestions was affirmative, she removed the elaborate cover from the bed, placing the pillow at an angle hospitable for rest; or laid the paper and envelopes on the blotter, lifting the window shade to give more light; or turned on the bath, having first spread a richly embroidered and initialed mat before the tub. Many of the guests who lacked presence of mind and decision, found themselves spending most of their time in the bath. HE reception-rooms of this magnificent establishment were thoroughly in keep- ing with the bedrooms. The entrance-hall resembled the Pennsylvania Station. Even the magnificent tapestries and a huge fireplace did not suffice to make in- timate conversation possible around the elaborate tea-table, dwarfed by the sur- roundings. The great dining-room was better. The pale citron satin that covered its walls was damasked in time- toned browns and greens, by the splendid straight lines of royal palms. Sir David Preen, the great Jewish art dealer, had brought it from France; it had been woven for Madame Grand, the famous West Indian beauty who became the wife of Talleyrand. One could not come to Florida and omit going to the Braith- martes, provided one got the chance. On this occasion they had a houseful of guests from the North, and had re- served extra rooms at the hotel for the Palm Beach contingent, who would pre- sumably be there but one night. “We'll have much more fun,” said Phyllis to Cynthia, “being on our own at the hotel. Mollie and Polly as chap- erones aren’t very devastating, and it will also give my future sister-in-law a chance to see the house. By the way, Cynthia, I can’t make that girl out at all. She’s been on the stage, even sang in a cabaret, though the family are trying to keep that dark, why I don’t know—it would make her a lot more interesting to feature it. She doesn’t seem to have any pep. The other evening, for instance, we had a mad discussion on sex at Zuzu Johnson’s dinner—Freud and that sort of thing. Zuzu’s read Kraft Ebling, too, and—well, there wasn’t much left out about the new- fashioned vices. Alberta did not say one word the whole time. You might have thought she didn’t know anything about life. What are you going to wear to the Braithmartes’? Izzy [Einstein has promised to lend me the crystal head- dress from his last New York revue. He telegraphed for it last week.” The Prince and the Archduchess having signified a cordial acceptance of the Braithmartes’ hospitality, those who had pleaded a previous engagement found themselves suddenly free and a fleet of motors left next day for Miami. HE Harvey party arrived at sunset. Phyllis and Alberta had adjoining rooms at the Royal Palm, and Hortense unpacked her mistress’s dressing-case swiftly, disposing about the room the two or three photographs, the elaborate toilet set, the bits of real lace of her ele- gant equipment. Alberta had as yet none of these refinements of travel, and Hortense attended to her belongings summarily, with ill-concealed scorn. “One sees well that it is not a young girl of the world, even from the chemise— no embroideries by the hand, and a lace more than ordinary.” The two girls had already gone down to join the others on the open-air dance floor for a turn before it should be time to dress. Gilt-edged cards on the dressing tables at the hotel had informed them that the Braithmartes’ closed motors would await them below at eight-thirty. Dancing never tired Alberta. It was as natural as breathing; it seemed to simplify life, one fell into its rhythm. She floated round and round in the twilight with Dick; this world and its perplexities seemed to drop away. They were just two happy young things moving to the tune of the universe. She dressed for the party with meticu- lous care. Her supple waist and soft swelling breast, fuller than that of most American girls, emerged, wrapped closely in shiny silver folds, from the white tulle of her skirt. On her shoulder she pinned a white camellia. HIS year the Braithmartes had out- done themselves. Helen Braithmarte had given the occasion her best thought. No other hostess in Miami could possibly have secured the Prince. She decided that the féte should be al fresco with the magnificent house used only as an en- trance, a decor. Attired in a superb Venetian costume of white and silver brocade, she received her guests in the great hall. Alberta was greeted with flattering emphasis. The Prince had placed her name first on the list of those he wished to meet in her house. “This is Miss Varley,” she prompted her husband to a more observant atten- tion. “The Prince. ...” The arrival of a fresh group of guests interrupted her. Alberta and Dick passed out through one of the many long windows that left the whole side of the house open to the sea. A broad terrace lay before them. On either side of a flight of steps which led down to the water, stood two magnifi- cent negroes. nude save for loin-cloths HARPER’S BAZAR and turbans of silver. Their flicker; torches held aloft lighted the ¢ = fleet of silvered gondolas lying moored below. Beyond, on the dark water of the Bay lay a magnificent Spanish galleon painted from prow to stern in silver, the sails silver, the masts silver, the ropes silver. A spot-light drenched it in artificial moonlight, leaving the rest in shadow Alberta gasped. Close beside her she heard the Prince. “T came because of you,” he said slipping out from behind an urn. Dray. ing her hand through his arm he led her to the steps. The Shelton girl, as usyal without a partner, had detained Dick for a moment. The others were exclaiming over the beauty of the scene. As the gondoliers, in silver also and wearing azure sashes, propelled them out to the galleon, Alberta could see, looking back, the dark orange groves hung with silvered fruit, the whole crop of a season sacrificed to an evening’s entertainment. Behind were taller trees draped thickly with glittering tinsel that drooped like Florida moss from the branches. The Prince gazed avidly at Alberta as he helped her out of the gondola. On the deck the small tables, lighted by immense candelabra, were piled high with silvered fruit in bowls of crystal A harp played music as thin and eerie as moonlight. ALBERTA and the Prince leaned on the rail, watching in the flare of the torches the gondoliers ferrying the guests from the terrace. Suddenly the Prince turned to her. ‘“‘Six years ago to-night I saw the headless body of my younger sister hurtled from a window of the Palace. That she is a saint in Heaven is the only certitude I have found in life.” The flickering glare from the shore lighted his face, revealing its structure; for a second she saw the real man behind the symbol. Her hand sought his, simply, and the Prince did not misunderstand. “Then to you, for a different reason,” she said, “this must seem as unreal as it does to me.” He had let go her hand with only a friendly pressure. “As untrue as if I had died with my sister and were looking back out of reality at shadows,” he answered. “All my old life was unreal. When I drove out as a tiny child, seated in the high- swung landau next my Norland nurse and she held my hand to my fur cap in salute, they even changed the aspect of the streets for me. Men on horseback rode before me to clear the way. People curtsied along the sidewalk. Reality stopped to let me pass. That was the beginning. Symbols, symbols, always symbols! Then I was affianced to the ugliest of my two cousins—it was the young, pretty one I wanted to marry, of course, but there were not princes enough in Europe to go round and she had, per- force, to wait her turn. That was 4 symbol, too. Of what, I wonder? One of my children is deaf, another has a strange malady that defies diagnosis In the old days we had our ermine in which to wrap our tragedies, our straw- berry leaves to crown them, but now they are stripped stark. We dare not face them. We live only by forgetting. My wife is valiant. If we had loved one another, hardships would have drawn us closer Now they separate us by their sordidness She takes her satisfactions with her church, her priests, andI. . . .” HE Prince broke off into a blank s- lence, but in a moment he began agai. “‘ And you Americans, free in that beautl ful democracy of your earlier history, free to be natural, to live simply—not in the enforced simplicity of poverty endured, but a simplicity by preference! And you do this!” He made a gesture toward the tinseled forest on the shore. “This: Sell your birthright, tangle yourselves 2 elaborations and in lies and,” he laughed. “use us, a Prince and an Archduchess, ® an advertisement for real estate or bait for your parties! And the reason I like you, Alberta Varley, is because there § (Continued on page 145) { { a N f Poo disg

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AR ering ts toa noored iter of alleon, er, the - Topes ‘tificial hadow, er she > said, Draw- led her $ usual ick for aiming sO and em out looking ig with season nment. thickly ed like erta as hted by d high crystal eerie as ined on > of the e guests Prince -night I younger of the e shore ructure; 1 behind and the “Then he said, does to . only a with my out of d. “All I drove he high- urse and n salute, of the ack rode People Reality was the always d to the was the narry, of s enough had, per- t was a er? One er has 4 liagnosis rmine in ur straw- now they ace them. ly wife is “another, us closer yrdidness with her blank s- san agail. at beaut story, free rot in the endured, And you oward the “This! rselves I » Jaughed. luchess, 3 e or bait on I like » there is for SEPTEMBER reality in you.” His tone changed. “And I want that reality, Alberta, in Cintra!” “Prince, his elbow. ” , “\t your command,” answered Prince Waldemar, as he followed her to the creat table in the center of the deck. * Dick, already seated, raised his glass to Alberta. He was flushed and heavy- eyed. She had seen him like that several times lately. She did not enjoy the heightened after-midnight gaiety that most people mistook for wit. Her owr perceptions were never blurred. Pres- ently he would be noisy and silly. said Helen Braithmarte at THE ball ended just like any other ball, in the small hours of the morning. A breakfast of scrambled eggs and griddle cakes was served on the deck of the galleon for those who had remained until the end. When the splendid dawn that had blazed its trail stealthily through the tropic night fell on the faces of the Braithmartes’ guests, the scene was as dilapidated as the fantoches of a Mardi Gras. It was the moment of disillusion, the unmasking of spirits as well as faces. But the revelations of the sunbeams were not necessary to add to the pain of disgust in Alberta’s heart. Cyril had tried to kiss her in one of the gondolas where she had floated with him between dances; behind the sails of the galleon she had seen Cynthia and Dick, lip pressed to lip. She knew he would explain it away—the wine, the excite- ment. She would believe him, did believe him. The explanation was just what was damning. Here he was, too, playing the dangerous flippant game of mock passions. She could have _ re- spected anything that was real. But then, people were born to his puppet-like artificiality. She must remember. She made no comment as they motored back to the hotel. Dick, heavy with sleep, sat in the tonneau; and Phyllis, gay as a lark, but more strident, chattered continuously. They all went to their rooms to get rid of the fatigue of the night, each in his own way. \t six o'clock that evening Alberta awoke. A note on the pincushion from Phyllis informed her that she had gone over to the beach for a supper and dance with the Moxons; that Dick was still sleeping off his jag, and that Cyril and Mollie had returned to Palm Beach. She added that they were planning to fly back via air-plane next morning. Alberta felt horribly lonely, lonely as she had never been before. She could have joined Phyllis at the beach as she suggested in the letter, but that would not help her, she knew. She must think it out herself, look it in the face. She decided to go for a walk. HE streets, filled with small shops, prosperous-looking marble banks, big department stores, rows of real estate ottices, models of houses in the windows, seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. The town was so big she could not get beyond it, though she walked for an hour. As she was passing @ corner on the outskirts, a large sign over the entrance to a sort of open-air theater attracted her attention—* Fri- Volity Flappers.”” She paid her fifty cents to a young woman uncomfortably enclosed in a glass case, who looked quite able to face the world without that protection, and passed under the green-painted wooden archway that spanned the entrance. There Was a large garden within with ows of wooden benches, and enclosed on two sides by a whitewashed wall covered with a lattice-work design that made the place look like a real theater. Electric fans blew a disheveling zale over an audience which, even in the open, exuded a perfume of peanuts, perspira- “ion, and banana peel. Alberta dropped Into a seat near the back; she had neglected to provide herself with a Program, but she did not care. She felt sunk, as Phyllis would have described it. The jokes were vulgar, the dancing Poor, the whole production tawdry and seys "Kn “sgusting. She wondered what impulse EMPTY SHRINES (Continued from page 144) had made her come in. Moreover, the whole thing only awakened painfully depressing memories. Granny’s death, Darcy’s failure, Victoria’s defection. She was about to leave, when a small figure trotting up the aisle attracted her attention., It was that of a tiny child, a girl, not more than five years old. The evening was hot, and she wore a little white smock, which slipped off at one shoulder. Her soft curls had the whitish hue of spun glass. Her innocent baby- ishness seemed somehow to trail clouds of glory through this dull auditorium. Alberta thought instinctively of star dust and asphodels. In her arms she carried a paper bag from which protruded several bananas and the end of a ham sandwich. Making her way toward the stage, she took her seat on some steps at the side. She was evidently an habitué. Alberta was interested. The black-faced comedian had danced his way into the wings. A team was coming on. Alberta glanced up casually—her atten- tion had been centered on the child. Then her breath stopped. She stooped hastily and picked up a program that someone had let fall under the bench in front of her. ‘‘Dandine and Bud Lasalle in their famous impersonations.’”’ She got up and moved forward two or three benches. She knew she could not be mistaken. Her heart beat so wildly she could scarcely see them, yet there they were, Victoria and Bert Barstow, older, shabbier, and bearing the unmistakable imprint of failure. Bert had still some- thing of his old superficial smartness, but his face was lined. She recognized his slits of eyes and the over-wide mouth that might have been merry had not dope and drink made him the unpleasant degenerate that he was. Poor Bert was a hideous burlesque of his own possi- bilities. Alberta had seen it all at a glance, but her gaze focused on Victoria; Victoria, the pretty blondeness blurred and coarsened, the fine outlines of her face bloated and lost, until she looked like a bad water-color drawing; Victoria, her voice strident and hard, a mere feeder for Bert’s coarse jokes and indecent allusions. Alberta hid her face in her hands. A WAVE of longing. of pity and *™ affection swept over her. She got up hurriedly and followed the child who had started to mount the flight of steps laboriously. “Well, for the lord’s sake,” screamed Victoria, turning on the stool in the dirty dressing-room, and kicking off her slippers. ‘T’ll tell the world it’s about time I heard from my sister! Nice sort of a girl you are! By your get-up I’d say you were on the up-grade.”” She looked apprais- ingly at Alberta. ‘“‘Just because you were sore that I left you in Jacksonville was no reason for you never to write.” “But I did write,” said Alberta. She had put her arms around Victoria, and was kissing her, her eyes full of tears. It was Darcy’s fault again, of course. He had not posted her letters to Victoria or the others. She saw it now with certainty. He had wilfully cut her off from everybody. ‘*Mamma,” the little girl held up the paper bag to Victoria. ‘‘ Hello, Snookie! Hello, Alberta,” Bert, from the back- ground, was casual as ever. He drew two wooden chairs away from the make- up table and offered one to his sister-in- law. Sitting down himself on the other, he took Snookie on his knee. Victoria was still sulking. “It’s a hell of a family party,” said Bert, ‘“‘but there’s no use _ heaving bricks.” He began peeling a banana for Snookie. “My youngest unmarried heiress here looks down and out. She’s a cute little flapper all right.” He kissed the child’s soft cheek tenderly. His shabby clothes were held smartly across his hollow chest by the one button of fashion, and Alberta noticed that his necktie—Bert’s taste in neckties had always been superlative—was as smartly knotted as if it had not been frayed and faded. His prisonlike pallor, however, was more pronounced than of old, and a eye. nervous twitch distorted, his left Yet as he held the baby figure close in the curve of his drooped shoulder Alberta had never liked him half so well. Who could have guessed that Bert was paternal? ‘‘Look out, Bert, she’s smearing the front of your vest with the banana skin. But you should worry, of course. I’m the original dry-cleaning kid. Naphtha’s as natural to me as water, and I can always pay for getting your other suit out of hock with my salary, while you lose your money on the horses, or do the sob stuff over Snookie. Why didn’t you star in ‘King Lear’ anyhow, instead of going into vaudeville? He’s one awful mess, Alberta,” she turned to her “sister. “T’ll tell the world he is. But I’m crazy mad about him yet. Guess I always will be What do they call the thing—a complex or something? Well, I got a Bert-complex, and it would take chloroform, enough to kill, to cut it out. Have a _ sandwich?” She held out Snookie’s bag to Alberta, having first extracted a doughnut for herself. ‘“‘What’s the dope about yourself? Married or single, or a little of both?’’ She was the same old Victoria. There was something pathetically valiant in her assumption of gaiety. Alberta could guess at the history; the Winter Garden had never materialized, and Bert, despite his real talent as a comedian, had failed through his lack of structural strength and solidity. Victoria’s dress, hanging on a peg, was of the sleaziest cheap silk, and Snookie’s toe stuck out through her worn red shoe. ’VE BEEN visiting the Carlions at Palm Beach,” she said, answering her question. “Didn’t I tell you to tie up to that bunch?” commented Victoria. ‘What did you do in the meantime?” Alberta rehearsed her invariable story, scumbling where she could and leaving out Darcy. “* And now I’m engaged to Dick Harvey,” she said winding up her recital. ‘“*Not a son of the Mrs. Richard Harvey —the multi-millionaire that gives those orgies at Palm Beach?” Victoria evidently read the papers. Her astonishment checked for the moment her realization of the discrepancies in Alberta’s recital. “*T saw where she had gold faucets on her bathtubs and real diamonds in the heels of her dancing slippers. You aren’t stringing us, are you, Alberta?” “No,” said Alberta, “I really am engaged to Dick.” ‘Well, if that isn’t the cat’s whiskers!” Victoria gasped. ‘Sorry we can’t stay and meet hubby. The show moves on to-morrow. Poor relations are in the road anyway, I guess. When’ll you get married?” “IT don’t know, soon I suppose. I’ve had quite a lot to bother me the last few days, but as soon as I get things straight- ened out in my mind. . . .” “Don’t let your young man get away from you, whatever you do; don't flirt with your luck,” cried Victoria. ‘“‘Why, he isn’t even a Jew or a daddy! It’s more than a girl has a right to expect.” ALBERTA got up. She wanted to get “™ away from further questioning and to think out the new features of the situation that her meeting with Victoria presented. “I must see you again, Victoria,” she said. ‘‘Perhaps afterwards I could help you, you know, about Snookie or something. Can’t you manage to come to the hotel early to-morrow morning?”’ She scribbled her room number on the corner of a program with a gold pencil from the handbag Dick had given her. “Sure, we'll drop in to-morrow if we can manage it.”’ Victoria’s manner was without eagerness, indifferent even, but there was the flicker of an undercurrent of thought in her eyes. “So long, then!” She turned toward the dressing- table. When Alberta got back to the hotel, she found a note from Dick lying on top of a florist’s box, informing her that he was quite fit again, and having looked for her in vain, had gone over to the beach casino to join the others. He added that the lobster had given him a touch of ptomaine, and that the starting hour for Palm Beach would be at ten next morning, weather permitting. Alberta tossed the whole night through; the images of the evening and the night before, so con- trasted, and yet both so perplexing, crossed and recrossed her mind without continuity, in the hopeless tangle of a nightmare. Whichever way she looked was dis- appointment and disillusion. On the one hand the old life represented by Victoria at its most sordid and un- successful; on the other, the new life reached by Dick at its most awful and irresponsible. FINALLY she fell asleep, and dreamed that she was drowning in a dark ocean with Victoria. Beneath the waves she could see Snookie’s face, and in a silver gondola above her Dick was kissing another woman. The glare of the hot morning sun awakened her. There was a little dressing-room beyond her bedroom; the Braithmartes had ‘“‘done” their guests rather well. As reality gradually re- constituted itself in Alberta’s mind, her glance was attracted by something which seemed to be moving on the sofa. At first she thought she must be dazzled, or dizzy; then she sprang out of bed. There on the couch, her little smock pulled away from one shoulder, her curly head resting on her curved, dimpled arm, lay Snookie. She stirred softly in her sleep. Something rustled and fell to the floor. It was a paper. Alberta recognized the florid handwriting of Victoria. “Dear Alberta, I’m leaving you Snookie. She’s got no future with us, not with Bert the way he is; and I could never leave him. I guess I’m more wife than mother, anyway —or else perhaps Bert’s like my child. He’s crazy about Snooks. I shall tell him you wanted her for a few weeks—that I thought the change in food would do her good— but Alberta,’ here the words were heavily underlined, ‘you must keep her. You said you wanted to do something forme. Dothat. We'll look after ourselves. I won't butt into your life. But you can give Snookie a chance. I do want sweet- heart to get her chance. She’s some little dancer already, but God knows I don’t wish her to go on the stage. I’m going to change our team name so as to take no chances on your finding us, and it’ll be a whole lot better for Snookie, too. A ‘pipe’ or two more will make it all right to Bert about Snookie. Funny about everything, isn’t it? It’s a great life if you haven't got knock knees. Love, Victoria. P.S. Snook’s dresses are all so torn, I only put in the pink georgette and the china silk with the blue ruffles. P.P.S. She can’t digest milk, but you can feed her most anything else, from hot dogs to gorgonzola. Send us a postcard, General Delivery, New York City, how she is as soon as you can.” OR a moment Alberta stood aghast. Then suddenly a great rush of joy swept over her. Here, here at last was the answer. After all, life had not cheated her, even though she could not have a child of her own. It would be something for her and for Dick to live for, to plan for. Their chance at im- mortality, of renewing youth when they themselves grew older. Snookie would help solve all problems; adorable Snookie curls, skin, dimples, all that a baby should be. She fell on her knees beside the sofa. Her action awakened Snookie. Her heavy lids opened lazily. She lifted her flushed cheek from her curved arm. Then her gaze widened. There was fright and anguish in the limpid blue depths. Her lip trembled pathetically. ‘**Daddy! Daddy! Mummy! Mummy!” she wailed. (Continued on page 146)

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y Ferre ivuibll WEDGEWOOD MINTON Cp: | Other items _proportion- ately priced. All carried in open stock. Sparkling Beautiesin Glass and gorgeous displays of china and earthen- ware await you at PLUMMER’S! Lovely adorn- ments for the table possessing the mingled qualities of beauty and usefulness. ~~ PLUMMER’S—on 35th Street, a few doors off Fifth Avenue—has served the discrimi- nating for many years. An entire building (shortly to be augmented by the adjoining premises) is devoted to the most glorious display of glass and china one can find anywhere. And prices are always at the level where they should be. ~Those un- able to make their purchases in person because of distance or the lack of time, will find our Mail Order Department prompt and careful in filling orders. A new and brilliant catalog will be mailed on request to Department HB. WH. PLUMMER 6 Gf IMPORTERS OF Modern and Antique China and Glass 7 East 35th Street, New York HARTFORD, CONN. 36 Pratt Street NEW HAVEN, CONN. 954 Chapel Street gnennnyy = ~ (= ROYAL — = ROYAL = fy G Te Y CauLDon Y WORCESTER, '= DOULTON [x COALPORT (7 2 EMPTY SHRINES (Continued from page 145) Alberta was terrified. “Hush, Snookie. I’m your Aunt Alberta. Daddy and Mummy have left you for a visit with me. Don’t be frightened, darling.” But Snookie’s cherub face was now distorted with convulsions of grief. Alberta grabbed a dressing-gown from the nearest chair, and gathering Snookie in her arms made for the telephone. She thought the idea of food might pacify Snookie. Her appetite for bananas had impressed her. *‘Snookie shall order her own break fast,’ she said. “A _ nice breakfast, with bananas and lots of bread and maple syrup.” But Snookie failed to respond to these blandishments. She lay rigid and scream- ing in Alberta’s arms. Alberta looked about her desperately for something to amuse her. “What on earth has happened?” cried Phyllis from the doorway. Snookie’s screams had awakened her. ‘‘What a dreadful brat—wherever. . . . ?” Snookie’s cries had gradually become automatic, she was now yelling tearlessly with her mouth open. She stopped for a moment to stare at Phyllis, but became deafeningly vocal again, almost im- mediately. Meanwhile Alberta was ex- plaining. She found it more difficult, somehow, than she had anticipated. Especially as she noted a curiously suspicious look in Phyllis’s eyes. When she came to the part about keeping Snookie, Phyllis was already getting Dick’s room on the telephone. He came at once, and burst into loud laughter at the sight of Alberta endeavoring un successfully to make Snookie sit on her lap instead of lying like a stiff board across her knees. The child had begun to cry again; tears seemed to stream from eyes, nose, and mouth at once. “The little devil’s got a temper of its own—what’s it all about anyway?” said Dick ** \lberta’s gone completely mad,” said Phyllis. The coldness of her tone dis- mayed Alberta. It was all so un- fortunate, the screaming child, and the way Phyllis had taken it. Now she must begin over again—tell Dick. She bungled it badly. It hardly sounded like the truth. If she could only have paved the way, or if he could first have seen how lovely Snookie really was. Having sobbed herself into exhaustion, the child now clung around Alberta’s neck, her face averted. Alberta handed him Victoria’s letter. He read it through without comment. ‘“*A mess she’s put us in all right,” he said at last. “But of course she can’t get away with it. We'll run them down somewhere.” “But I want to keep Snookie!” cried Alberta. [OOKING down at her, Dick perceived * for the first time that she was in her dressing-gown. One bare white foot was stuck into a pink mule, her hair curled riotously in thick tendrils round her face. The child’s blonde head against her own made her more alluring. It was a lovely arabesque of nature’s major intention. Dick did not reason, but his atrophied soul stirred within him. He could refuse her nothing. Even Snookie was included in his embrace. ‘We'll fix it up some- how,” he said. ‘‘We’ll all get together back in Palm Beach.”’ He saw that she was trembling on the verge of collapse; her lips were shaking. He didn’t share Phyllis’s doubt, of course, but she couldn’t be allowed to do anything so preposterous as to keep Snookie perma- nently. “Come on!” he cried. “You girls get packed up, have your breakfast, and we'll wrap up the papoose and fly back at once.” What else could he do, he reasoned? If they attempted to leave the child here the papers would cook up some awful story. Why did beautiful girls have to have relations? Mollie and Cyril would have to help him out somehow. They landed at Mollie’s private dock. Snookie, tired out, had slept all the way. “‘ Made it in forty-eight minutes,” said Dick, taking off his aviator’s helmet. ‘ HARPER’S BAZAR The fresh air had made him optimistic He was inclined to look upon the thing as a joke. Alberta wouldn't let hip carry Snookie, who, completely covere by the traveling rug, looked like a big package in her arms. It was the morning cocktail hour. Susan Carlion, Mollie and Cyril were assembled in the patio at Villa Miraciel. The Marquise, her face in shadow and her feet in the sun, sat ina wicker bergére in the corner “Hello, Alberta,” said Cyril. “What's in the package—Bacardi ocr Veuve Cliquot?” “nh . it’s a baby!” said Alberta She put back the shawl and sat down quickly on the nearest chair. Snookie, still sleepy, loo!ed out hazily at a yellow butterfly that was perched on a hibiscus near at hand, and dozed of again. Surprise and perplexity were painted on each face in the group, though their reactions to the phenomenon of Alberta's arrival with a baby was in each instance different. Suspicion lurked in all but one of them. There was an embarrassing pause. “Since we are all among friends.” said Dick airily, ‘‘ Alberta might as well get it over and done with and tell yoy about the mess her sister’s got us into Of course none of you will mention the matter outside.””’ He glanced Susan. toward HEN Alberta had finished there was complete silence for a moment. As the prospective head of the family, Cyril was the first to break it. ‘The main thing to do is to avoid. . “Avoid what?” Alberta looked up at him. “‘Complications,” answered Cyril, hesitating. She thought of his hot kisses in the gondola. ‘“*T mean to keep her!”’ she said, looking at him scornfully. Mollie was clinging to him, sobbing hysterically into an initialed handkerchief extracted from his pocket. “But surely, Alberta,” said Mrs. Carlion, ‘‘you can’t expect Dick, Mollie, any of us, to consider such a preposterous solution. You are under no obligations whatever to the child, or to your sister. I remember quite well that she was a vulgar young woman. After all, you admit that she left you alone in Jackson- ville. Whenyou are more reasonable. . . .” “T shall never be more reasonable, because it’s our chance.”’ Alberta stood up. She was holding Snookie like a shield across her breast. ‘‘Let me go inside and lay her down for a second.” She was back at once. No one had spoken. “It’s my only chance for a child,” she continued. “When I lost my own baby, I didn’tever... 2” If a charge of T.N.T. had exploded in the sunny patio of Villa Miraciel, its effect would scarcely have been more startling. “Your baby! You were married? Then you've lied to us, lied to us all along!” Mollie came out of her handker- chief and her hysteria, her cheeks flaming, her fists clenched. “T was never married,” said Alberta slowly. It must be that Dick had not told them. She felt as if she were standing stripped naked in the open court, but she went on, speaking hurriedly and looking down. ‘‘The man turned out to be a bigamist—his name was Darcy, Paul Darcy. Mrs. Carlion knew him. He left me in Milan. I had 4 child born dead. I never saw it, I was too ill.” “You dreadful, dreadful girl,” screamec | Mollie. “You've deceived us all and lied to Dicky, poor, poor Dicky.” Dick was kneeling beside Alberta now. He sprang up. “Shut up, Mollie, o you'll be sorry for it. Alberta didn p to you or to me or to anybody. ht made me promise to tell. along that you knew. hf save a} business but mine and I wanted to this discussion and fuss. And there's not one of you—no, not one—that’s fit to hold a candle to her. Look at Phyllis, with her petting parties. Yes, my dear, I saw you out in the Garden of Eden in@ (Concluded on page I4 She thought all | It was nobody's} ix

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; LO AN UNS the : a OTTLAMNM from PROCURABLE AT SMARTEST SHOF SPOKEN TRIBUT oF Disc PITAL TLALL the atelier of NON an OlEs THE EMPTY SHRINES (Concluded from page 146) wheeled chair, only last week. And you, Mollie, pretending. ... And me. God, but we’re rotten, every one of us.” He was facing them all now, his head in the air, the sun shining into his clear, blue, flaming eyes. “And we'll keep the baby,” he cried. A voice, a trifle deep, the voice of age, came from the bergére. It had in it a note of joyous triumph. “Dick, Dick, among all these naughty children, you only have attained your majority,” said the Marquise de Hautcceur. Dick did not hear her. He had just perceived that Alberta had vanished into the house, and was running madly across the court to find her. “T'll have her out of the house before evening,” Mollie chattered with rage. “OF course A whole thing’s a pure invention. I don’t believe a word of it. The child is her child and. “Hush, Mollie.”’ Cyril laid his hand on her arm. ‘‘Let’s consider the thing reasonably. What difference does it make even if it is her child? She’s excited now, but it’s going to be quite easy to persuade her to give the baby up. She will understand that she must. The wife of the head gardener at Newport would be glad to take it. She has seven already. No one would ever know. We could bribe the woman not to talk.”’ “But we know,” wailed Mollie, begin- ning to cry again “Carlion always maintained that she was perfectly respectable,” interjected Susan, anxious to de fe nd her own position in the situation. ‘Men can usually judge,” she added. Cyril looked at her gratefully. The invitations for the double wedding had been out weeks. He foresaw compli- cations, dangerous postponements. Per haps, even, on Mollie’s part an awakened sense of _ respons sibility for the dis- consolate Dick if she succeeded in break ing up the affair, or a disorganizing nervous reaction if he insisted on going through without approval. 111i Marquise, silent in her corner, was listening. ‘‘Fatality is not speaking through their little mouths,” she com mented mentally. Aloud she said, “In spite of your planning, it is Dick and the girl who will decide.” ‘\lberta’s made a tremendous hit in Palm Beach,” went on Cyril. He did not agree with the Marquise that the matter should be left to chance. ‘‘ The Prince told me only yesterday that he wanted us to visit him this summer at his estate in Cintra. No one else has been invited in all Palm Beach, and if you ask me, it’s due to Alberta. Of course he is «cing to include you and Mr. Carlion.” Ife turned toward Susan. Cyril’s powers really merited a larger opportunity ‘Perhaps you ought to think it over, Mollie,’ suggested Susan. She did not wish to swing too quickly in the direction of Cyril’s plans, but Cintra and royalty tempted her. H \LF an hour later Mollie had been persuaded to reconsider, and Cyril went to fetch Alberta. She came into the courtyard quietly, accompanied by Dick, who was deadly pale. Mollie said all that she had to say. She had misunderstood, she would overlook, and they would take things up where they had left off When she had finished Alberta spoke calmly. ‘I can’t stay now, I could never stay, no matter what you said or did. I should never have come. You are not my people, I don’t belong here. You telegraphed, I can see it now, because vou were afraid to refuse Dick his toy, and then when the Prince and other people thought me pretty and you found | was a success, you didn’t inquire for the truth of me, nor want it. You didn’t care. When at last it was forced on you the truth was too strong for you and you would not consent to the only real thing that I have done since I’ve been here, keeping Snookie.”’ “‘We can arrange all about Snookie,” said Cyril, soothingly. “It will come right in the end, the way you want it.” **No, Cyril, it would never come right. It’s on a false basis. I don’t love Dick, HARPER’ though I like him dear! early.” took his hand in hers with an affectig = gesture. ‘But it’s you - ot ak life, the whole thing. | don’t want j ever. It wasatemptatio: all my life to be among ni people, lagi, and gentlemen, but. she hesitate ** After I got here they weren't here. th ladies and gentlemen—only a few. ; mear, I had wis he like the Marquise and Mr. (ayj ! \ 4 arlion I'm sorry, but I’m telling the exact trut now. \nd you wouldn’t have minded I had flirted and drunk and kissed oth women’s husbands, just to amuse mys or them. That wouldn’t have om reality, and ae is the only thing y are afraid « I could not live amon you ever again. I loved the beauty ay; luxury, and your being so good to py, went to my head and I kept on, knowig all the time—well, that the shrines we, empty. So I am = going away wi Snookie this very night. I’ve got ¢ money, some Mr. Carlion gave me es ago for posing. ‘A ransom from lif he called it.”’ ‘But where will you go?” asked Dic in agony. ‘Il don’t know yet, Dick,” answer Alberta. HEN, across the court stalked Fat dressed in the livery of Mollie Harvey’ head footman. On a silver tray carried a telegram. ‘‘ Your man brough it down from the house, madame. | thought it might be important.” paused before Mrs. Cariion Susan opened the yellow envelo; casually. The tensity of the situatio: was broken for a moment by the mer familiar detail of a telegram. Meanwhik Cyril, undiscouraged, had _ begun hi plausible persuasions over again. Womer seldom resisted him. He _ would se Alberta alone, he reflected “Oh,” cried Susan, rising suddenh “it’s from James—an accident. Som chemicals exploded, it says. I wonder just how serious. Poor boy, he’s g clumsy. There’s my housewarming t morrow night. How awkward! Perhay I could go the day after. Cyril, ca you get Long Distance, do you sy pose?’” The telegram slipped to th floor as she rose. Alberta, stooping top it up, turned ghastly pale. ‘Jim! Jim She thrust the te legram in her dress “Jim! Jim!” She looked at thes people now as if they were the inhabitant of another planet. Jim ill, and Sus hesitating! Why, the telegram said- Love, what did they know of it, an them! She got up quickly ‘I knew that I was going,” she cr ““when I came down-stairs, but I didn know where Now I do know,” al touched her dress. “I'm going to Jim.” Her little dar head was raised toward the sky. “N and a thousand years from now,” whispered under her breath, but they not hear her. The Marquise, crossit herself, pronounced the epilogue. “> does not need us,” she said. “Alber has herself and God.” “Ol COURSE she was a gold dig after all. I make it four spade said Mrs. Jordan Smith, seated at! bridge table of a Long Island count! home a few months later The announcement of Alberta’s ™ riage to James Dunscombe had appeal in the papers that morning. For | last fortnight fantastic stories abo Alberta had been circulating like ¥ fire; she was a bigamist; she had be four times married, once to a Russian $ she had had three illegitimate children ‘Louble!” cried Tom Andrews § agely. He had been forced by hostess to take a hand against his will “You see, she found out that Carli step-son was rich in his own righ commented Mrs. Shelton, ‘‘and s0 $ left poor Dick flat. She’s hom ambitious, sacially of cours Look the way she ran after the Prince. Tom Andrews put down his cards 4 leaned toward the speaker “Did you happen to kn simply, ‘that James Di nscombe blind?” The E he &

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early.” gp, | affectionas, others, th ym’t want I had Wishe eople, Ladi he hesitate n't here, the few, I meap Ir. Carlio, e exact truth ve minded j cissed other Muse mys! have bee, ly thing Vou live among : beauty an good to m on, knowing shrines wer away wit I've Zot th ave me year n from life ” asked Dick ” answer

stalked Fat sllie Harv eys

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yer tray mi . , “1e ? 5 F FASHION : man brought si "a0 Lucien Lelong, ARBITER O ( madame, | FOR TWO CONTINENTS, PRESENTS PERFUMES ortant.” Hi y) AS CONCEIVED BY A COUTURIER ¢ WwW envelop the situatior by the mer — () / / ( / / (( / <i \ | ly CY hac lo Create ng suddenh ident. Som 5. I yonder =: MY THREE PERFUMES ard! Pethap Cyril, Cai do you su pped to the

I have always insisted upon the importance of more difficult. Nor has any success in my ca-

Sint he ensemble in the costume. Not one false note reer brought me more joy in the achievement. ‘Jim! Jim z ss 2 “ or divas should be allowed to intrude inthe harmony For to this problem I have brought all the oe of robe, hat, manteau, bag—not one! talent at my command; they are truly mine, 1, and Suse But what is the most important accessory of _ these three odors, that I call “A,”“B,” and “C.” gram sald— a - . i ° . of it, any all? As a couturier, I can give but one answer I am gratified at the flattering success these ;, —the perfume! How easy to mar the totality perfumes have had in Paris. I am told that in g,”” she cn I J ) if but I dida of effect of a lovely ensemble by wearing an America they have proved quite as captivating. know,” an 4 ‘. “4 . odor that is not harmonious! And on the other I regard this not so much as a personal tri- : ©) er little dar sky. “Ne ‘ ° ° ° . m now,” key enhances a chic costume—an effect at an ideal which is wholly correct in taste and , but they uise, crossit! ilogue Therefore I had to create my own perfumes, id. “ Albert 5 a @ 4 A ) the perfumes of a couturier. No task could be Cotnn/ \ nae a gold digg four spades seated at | ] yunt } ’ ; Pa . r . d a Ils cf * Mav Hows be Raibsisail m1 the ores Listed SDelow Iberta’s mé hand, how marvellously an odor in the proper umph. Rather, to me it means acceptance of once subtle and voluptuous! art. The perfumes of a couturier! “ug

had appeat NEW YORK—B. ALTMAN & COMPANY © JOHN WANAMAKER ~ SAKS—FIFTH AVENUE - KURZMAN - JAY THORPE ae | LORD & TAYLOR + FRANKLIN SIMON - STERN BROS.+ BONWIT TELLER & COMPANY © AND AT THE PLAZA ¢ THE DILTMORE stories abot THE AMBASSADOR - THE COMMODORE - ABRAHAM & STRAUS, BROOKLYN - L. BAMBERGER & COMPANY, NEWARK ing like ¥ CHICAGO——-MARSHALL FIELD & COMPANY - MANDEL BROTHERS « CHAS. A. STEVENS & EROTHEERS she had be THE DRAKE « THE BLACKSTONE - THE SHERMAN + THE CONGRESS - THE STEVENS - AND THE LA SALLE 1 Russian $ EVANSTON, ILL.—JOHN VICTOR LEE - ROSENBERG'S ‘te children PHILADELPHIA —JOHN WANAMAKER « STRAWBRIDGE & CLOTHIER « B. F. DEWEES + BOSTON—E. T. SLATTERY COMPANY \ndrews BALTIMORE—O'NEILL & COMPANY, INC. = HUTZLER BROS. - HOCHSCHILD, KOHN & COMPANY reed by CLEVELAND—HALLE BROTHERS COMPANY - SAN FRANCISCO—I. MAGNIN & COMPANY © H. L. LADD - ST. FRANCIS HOTEL ast his will OAKLAND—THE H. C. CAPWELL COMPANY - LOS ANGELES—J. W. ROBINSON COMPANY - B. H. DYAS COMPANY that Carli THE NEW YORK STORE - VILLE DE PARIS - J. J. HAGGARTY - HOLLYWOOD—MILADY'S SALON - BEVERLY HILLS— own righ HOMER DRUG COMPANY - BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL PHARMACY - SEATTLE—I. MAGNIN & COMPANY ‘‘and so § SAN DIEGO—THE MARSTON COMPANY - INDIANAPOLIS—L. S. AYRES & COMPANY + OMAHA—J. L. BRANDEIS & SONS he’s horn PORTLAND, ORE. —MEIER & FRANK COMPANY - ATLANTA—CHAMBERLIN-JOHNSON-DUBOSE CO, = DALLAS—-NEIMAN-MARCUS CO. rse. Look rince.”” his cards @

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parfumns diorsan 17 RUE DE LA PAIX- PARIS 697 FIFTH AVENUE -NEW YORK 120-150 RUE ST PAUL- QUEBEC 5 ‘ag SCE POWDE WITCHINGLY FRAG 1DELE” puny RFE ~~ - . Y Marsh. ‘But all these people looked that way. So beautiful—not a silly or ugly or irritable or indignant one among them. All young and all glad... .” “Oh, come now, Mother,” said Laird. “You're stringing us. . . “Oh, but I dreamed it,” Mrs. Marsh protested. “And we—I too—were all speaking in a language that I didn’t know. Talking so happily—and the clouds were like a great rose—you know,” she broke off flushing, “‘it just won’t go into words. Much more happened .. . but there aren’t words... . Only I woke up homesick for something like that. So I wanted to talk abofit it. Forgive me.” There was a silence, not uncomfort roe) able nor puzzled, but somehow curiously definite, like the momentary hush after music; a silence which Mrs. Marsh her- self broke. “Put ona record,” she said, “‘and dance between wafiles. Waffles are very slow. And I’m sure you haven’t had enough dancing.” “T have,” said Laura. “I’m dead tired. And besides, Mrs. Marsh, you make me think how intensely I want a bath. I’m going home and have one.” Laird followed, to drive her home, and Boro said: “‘I expect now the party’s over, I’ll have a tub and a canter before I get to the office. Will any one canter?” “No, thanks,” Marda said, “I’ve really had enough party.” “Enough of me?” “No, Boro! Never that. At least,” she corrected, “not for a long, long time.” HE went with him down the hall; and when she came back, Mrs. Marsh had switched off the lights, and the first long brightness of the sun was smiting the wall. “Sit down, Marda,” she said, “I want to talk with you.” “Mummy! I’m dead tired.” She sat down in her crumpled gown, her hair tousled, her eyes heavy. She felt innumerable miles from her mother. She was defiant, ready to express her inde- pendence, her right—at twenty-three— to stay out as long as she liked. Then she heard her mother saying: “Yesterday our scrap of a town tele- phoned to London. Last week the dis- covery of Vitamin D got into the papers— they say they can give to food life ele- ments—think of it, Marda. And in California they are talking about con- trolling the frost by electricity.” Marda stared. “Ts that what you wanted to see me about, Mummy?” “Darling, it’s not the half,” said Mrs. Marsh blithely. ‘I could go on for hours. It’s life, Marda . . . and I feel as if life is passing you by. And you’re—you’re not noticing it.” Marda sat up very straight, as if she enjoyed the occasion. “Mother, dear,” she said, from some immense height of her understanding, “‘the really important thing in life is self- expression. That’s what I’m noticing.” “That’s good,” Mrs. Marsh said with an air of interest. ‘“That’s another thing I was afraid you weren’t getting— self-expression. Tell me about that, Marda.” “Dancing,” said Marda warmly. “Be- ing with people who are alive and—and original.” “Motoring at four in the morning instead of four in the afternoon, eating waffles at five instead of eight—that’s really inventive, Marda, isn’t it?” “Well, being in love with Boro,” said Marda, ‘‘that’s not inventive, perhaps— but it’s self-expression, I can state!” Mrs. Marsh met her eyes evenly. “So you're really in love with Mac Beauregard,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that. 1 think he’ll make a fine husband.” “Husband! Oh, come now, Mummy. That’s going pretty fast.” “What then?” Looking like a lovely sleepy child, Marda explained: “We're all rather down on marrying—you know that, Mummy. We see what it does to love.” *‘ And love that doesn’t belong to mar- riage does last—you’ve seen that too, have you?” UPPER CHAMBERS (Continued from page 77 HARPER’S BAgg 77) Marda frowned. chance,” she stated. Mrs. Marsh rang for the maid , rose. “It’s a fairly old discussiy she said, and moved toward the don. “Old!” Marda cried indignantly wy, as we mean it. They’ve never talked this way before.” 7 “They must have had something oft same discussion when they shifted from no-marriage to marriage,” said Mr Marsh. “In those days many a yi expressing youth and maid must hy, shocked their polygamous parents td announcing, at breakfast, that th, intended to cleave unto one only, Ty polygamous parents must have “decided that they were mad.” ‘ “Oh, but marriage must have instituted by a set of old fogies. . . ” “On the contrary,”’ Mrs. Marsh said “marriage was once the last word in self expressionism. As new as telephoniy to London now. You and Boro are thin ing of going back to the old way, are yoy? She moved along the white-paint passage. Marda, behind her, felt yoy and on the defensive, and cried: “Wh would you say if we were thinking of thy Mother?” ] “It has a bey MES. MARSH threw open the fra door, and the morning sunligl surged over her quiet face. “Tf,” she said, “‘you would rather seq a letter to London by post than to ted phone ... but I thought you wa modern, Marda!” She grew sudder! grave. “I don’t say it’s the best wa marriage,” she said. “I don’t say thi telephoning to London is the last worl But marriage and _ telephones wei all found out about together—and n maybe we'll go on to something dg And let’s not go back to sailing vess and such. Get to bed, darling. By i way, how are you going to express you self to-night?” Marda suddenly laughed. “Mumm you're a beast,” she said. “I’m goig with Boro to the Clouds for dinner Instantly the light banter left } mother’s face. *“Marda!” she said. “Those people! ‘But they’re terribly amusing,” Mar protested. “‘They’re the most amusi people in town.” “Tt isn’t only that they’re ill-bred Mrs. Marsh insisted. “But the utterly unimaginative. [ood and cloth —that’s all they know. Marda, life going by them like a shot and ti don’t even see it pass.” She looked at Marda. “T’d loathe commanding you,” s said, “and I think it’s immoral to suade you. Marda, can’t you look doq inside yourself and not want to go tot Clouds?” Marda explained somewhat 4 “T can do more than that. I can4 that it doesn’t matter whether I go ort It doesn’t really, Mother. Nott that the Clouds do can touch me.” _ Mrs. Marsh looked up the long st of sun to the smiling sky. “One telephone from here to London, said, “but the Clouds can only shout the next room . . . that’s what I'm Why do you bother with them? loot HE turned, looking quite beautill the warm light, which seemed tos! from her face as well as upon It. closed the door, and in the sudden? of the passage she seemed pallid # pressed her hand to her side, sted herself at a table, and smiled. “Marda,” she said, “the doctor wa me to tell you—I didn’t want to lately. . She ended quite cast “There’s something stupid about heart—it may go wrong—suddenly. “NMfother!” Marda cried terribly. “Tt’s nothing—unusual,” her ® said quietly. ‘But if it should—b4 so, don’t let anything that I've be upon you to follow as my - I don’t want you to tat you see? ideas because they are J died, that might be a temptation. “Mother!” Marda could say shaken and white. (Continued on pag 152) mine—ane,

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we has a betty the maid q dL discussion’ rd the door gnantly, “\y never talks mething of ty y shifted fp »” said Mx many a gf uid must ha IS parents }y st, that the me only, Th have decide ust have gies... : ‘Ss. Marsh said St word in se as telephoni Boro are think way, are you white-paint her, felt you cried: “Wh hinking of that open the froy rning sunligl uld rather sen st than to tel ght you we grew sudden} _ the best wat don’t say thg , the last wor ephones we’ ‘ther—and n something «x » sailing vessd larling. By t LO express youl ed. “Mumm d. “I’m goi ds for dinner yanter left hf ‘Those people! musing,” Mar > most amus ey’re_ill-bred “But _ they ‘ood and cloth Marda, life shot and th ling you,” : mmoral to } you look doq int to go tot ewhat aloo] rat. I can§ ther I go or her. Nothi ch me.” ; the long shi -y, “One ‘London, 1 only shout ; what I me them?” te beautifu cemed tos! upon it. » sudden ¢ 1 pallid as side, sted led. doctor wal} want to“ quite casu bid about uddenly. | terribly. ” her m r1ould—h# hat I’ve my ide yu ‘to take jne—ané, + ation. nid say 152) for SEPTEMBER 1927 ee re ede SEND FOR 10-DAY FREE TUBE A CAROLINA CABIN is the place for hide-and-seek, says Arabelle Lee. Thanks to mother, her smile, kept gleaming bright by Pepsodent, quickly wins the hearts of all GILDA GRAY basks with “Woof” in the Southern California sunshine. And sunshine makes her teeth, polished by Pepsodent, sparkle like precious jewels SUCH GLISTENING SMILES That come when teeth are cleansed of dingy film, new way A modern dental discovery that provides gleaming smiles by scientifically combating tooth and gum disorders with a SPECIAL FILM-REMOVING dentifrice HAT many of the commoner tooth and gum troubles, and most cases of so-called “off- color” teeth, are due to a film that forms on teeth which ordinary brushing does not ‘success- fully combat, is today’s dental opinion. Run your tongue across your teeth and you will feel this film—a slippery sort of coating. Film absorbs discolorations and thus makes teeth look dull and dingy. It breeds germs and acteria and invites tartar, decay and pyorrhea. It isa menace to tooth and gum health that must be combated. My dental authorities now seriously urge that film be removed at least twice every day in the morning and at bedtime. : To do so, obtain Pepsodent a special, film-removing dentifrice most dentists favor. It curdles the film, then removes it and polishes the teeth to high lustre in gentle safety to enamel. It combats the acids of decay. It acts, too, to firm and harden the gums; thus meeting, in many ways, the require- ments of modern findings. Old-time dentifrices did not adequately fight film. That is why this modern protective way, as a twice a day habit, and at least twice a year calls on your dentist, are being advised. Accept this test Send the coupon for a 1o-day tube. this way for 1o days. Brush teeth Note how thoroughly film is removed. The teeth gradually lighten as film coats go. Then for 10 nights massage Pepsodent into the gums to firm and harden them. . FREE—10-DAY TUBE Mail coupon to The Pepsodent Co., Dept. 1263 8. Wabash Ave. Chicago, IIl., U. S. A. PRIN cots ee wae. rer hd ih id cag ere ESS een 5 SEE ee Ee se Gr te Other Offices: The Pepsodent Co., 191 George St. . 7 ‘ P Toronto 2, Can. 42 Southwark Bridge Road . London, 5. E. 1, Eng. Australia, Ltd., 137 Clarence St. Sydney, N. 8. W. Only one tube to a family 2537 PEPSODENT The Quality Dentifrice—Removes Film from Teeth

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5b QURIJ Ol Paris, France Reg. U. 8. Pat. Off. . BOURJOIS, Inc. CThe lory of Paris In the subtle perfume, the gossamer fineness, and the adherent smoothness of Manon Lescaut Powder, the fastidious women of America recog- nize the artistry and skill of one of the most famous and distinguished perfumers of Paris. Bourjois’ eight hand-made French Rouges — including Mandarine* and Ashes of Roses* — suit every com- plexion, and harmonize with Bourjois Face Powders. _ Paris and New York LESCAUT Face «Powder~ Blanche, Naturelle, Rachel, Ocréee, Mauve, Peaches* Powder, Peaches-and-Cream* Powder H ARPER’ UPPER CHAMBERS (Continued from page 150) Mrs. Marsh moved toward the stairs. Abruptly she seemed to Marda remote and alien, but she suddenly tossed over her shoulder: “You all shy at morals, but you do trust science. All that I ask you, then— and I should be willing for you to re- member this even if I died—is to fit yourself into a world of wonders—and not be content to play at hop-scotch in the dooryard. The Clouds are excellent players at ia scotch!” “Mother,” Marda continued to cry, “but you’re not really ill. “Not now. I’m going for a ‘drive. And you get some sleep. Let’s not talk any more now, Marda, if you please,” she said, with sudden weariness. She went up the stairs, shining, pre- occupied. Left standing in the passage, Marda felt abandoned and_ without defenses. She fcllowed, bathed, went to bed, lay staring at the sun in the chinks of the curtains, and hearing the whole world rising, humming, going forward. She tried to think about Boro and the Argentine—but she could see only her mother. ‘Already she seems somewhere else,” Marda thought and wept. HE Clouds’ dinner was gay and delicious and swiftly served, with much good food and even more laughter. Marda went to the dinner. “T'll not be sentimental,” she thought. ‘Nothing is changed, really. And the Clouds can’t hurt me.” However, when she left, instead of poking her head in at her mother’s door, she went to kiss her; and her mother merely smiled up from her book, read her an amusing para- graph, and said: ‘How nicé, you look.” That was _ all. ‘That’s nét fair of Mummy,” Marda thought irritably on the stairs, laughed at herself, and_ slipped into the car beside Boro. Laura and Laird flew by them. The well-being of the hour caught Boro up. ‘We're going to have a jolly night of * he observed. ; To her own amazement, Marda said: “Boro, I wish we knew some new people. People who know a lot.” “T’m off high-brows,”” Boro mentioned. “Oh, high-brows! But I mean people who know about—who care about. “What do you know about and care about?” “You,” said Marda. ‘That's enough,’ Boro complimented her. “But it isn’t as if you didn’t know things, Boro,’ Marda insisted. ‘‘ You are really very clever. You just don’t bother to talk the clever stuff.” “Vou don’t have to be clever to love me,” said Boro. Marda asked abruptly: ‘What were you telling Laird about the new kinds of substance that ‘ an’t be burned or ground or melted. a Dr. Coolidge had just liberated the cathode rays, and the new substances which they had created lit Boro to some- thing like enthusiasm. and he talked about changing oils to solid substances which nothing would destroy, and how this might revolutionize building and _high- way making and ships. “Gee, what a world!” he concluded. In the midst of the Cloud dinner, when they were criticizing a new revue and Sally Cloud had impersonated the star and they had all retailed the quite obvious revue jokes, Marda suddenly asked Boro to tell them about all this that he had told in the car. “Tt’s a hell of a world,” was Homer Cloud’s comment, “but what it’s all about, search me.” “Even if we find out a million times as | much, we can’t have any more fun,” said | Sally Cloud. “And this little glass,” said her hus- band unsteadily, ‘is just exac'ly as luscious now!” He drained it off, some one tuned in on Chicago, and they danced, a bit drunk- enly, to that music from a thousand miles away. “Won't we be any different—won’t people be any different ever?” Marda | whispered to Boro. BAZAR “You and I will still love each other, please God,” said Boro, as they danced In the swing and beat of the mus sic she heard some familiar words—her mother’s words of that morning, as ¢ he had told them her dream. “...and there were people—ho; shall I say? You know when you |oy, some one at first, + just at first, they look heavenly to looked that way. So beautifel—ae all these people silly or ugly—all young and all glad— and the clouds like a great rose. Only woke up homesick. : : Homer Cloud cut in on the dance. } hot tipsy breath was in her face. “Love me a little too,” he said: ‘ “Wha's the differ’nce?”’ ““Flomer!” she cried. “By ro—I—]'p not well. Boro—take me home. . . Laura and Laird came away too. ICE party,” said Laird liberal! “But old stuff.” : Boro slipped inside the vestibule fo his good- night. ““Marda,” he said, “TI haven't dared t tell you to-night, for fear you'd be a floppy as I am. Brantley is going to tel me Friday morning whether I get th \rgentine job.” “Oh, Boro . Three days!” “Well, if I do, we'd start for Argenti within a fortnight.” “Bero, darling!” “That means you’d have to decid whether you want to marry me or h cut fer reform.” “Boro, what do you want?” “T want you,” crganize the frills.” said Bore. “You can Marda looked in at her mother’s room, The moon was shining on the floor and ' over the still figure on the bed. Marda did not waken her. But she herself could not sleep. She lay thinking of the magi of those words: and glad—and the clouds like a rose. Only I woke up homesick. “*So beautiful—all young 1 1 There was scmewhere — something bea utiful. Everybody wanted it. Wher was ii? Not in marriage, not in wisdom not in dinner parties. ... She la ‘A drowsy with her mother’s dream chamber, a garden—open and starn And the light!” When the light of day was in her reen she rose and bathed and dressed. ‘I thought: “T’ll have breakfast mother. Why don’t I do this often? She tapped at her mother’s deor an pushed it open. The sunlight shone ent! floor and over the still figure on the | 3efore she reached her, Marda kn HREE days, and the world had ! come another planet. Even familiar objects in the house were t furnishings of some strange star. Nothing was as it had been. d crudely: “Mrs. Marsh Is No More. Through the three days Marda ha The headlines had it crdered the house for her father and Laird, had gone through the form hours, had followed as best she could t terrible routine. She had never belor rt t known the physical power of the heart ache, as a wounded bone will ache On the evening of the third day. the house lay wrapped in its first lear quiet, when the first inev iti ibility of t that had come held the air of their hom Marda heard Boro’s fon P in the Something which neither had even know was in her welcome to him. She to him, not crying, nct any longer 5 by her grieving, ha hake of being with him Pi They sat there in the hall, on a Den but in son:e dumb su pension of every thing. save the mere by the door. Laird and Laura were wi her father. _ “Tye got the Argentine job, darling Boro said. “Oh, how good, Boro.” “Ts it? I thought I shouldn't t# ee “Not take it!” : ‘*But can you go? e ° . “ome “Tf Laird and Laura were to @ 1?” Bor here and live with father. “When are they to be mat asked. (Continued on page

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SEPTEMBER 1927

ich other. y danced he music ords—he 1g, as sh

ple—hoy You love = look > people tifel oe all glad— Only |

dance, his 1; “Wha's rh liberal] tibule for t dared t 1d be as ing to tell [ get th \rgentina to decide e or hold “You can Pr’s room, floor and : Marda ‘self could the magi 2 Why not be Charming as well as Beautiful?

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CY ersona I ly ATS, frocks, wraps and _ furs for street or even- ing that accentuate the personality of their youthful wearer are assembled in a charming array in the Joseph Salons. Made to measure or ready for wear at moderate prices 2 west 57 STREET AT FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK HARPER’S UPPER CHAMBERS In the dusk of the passage, his face was clear and grave. As she looked up at his face, she thought that it held something intense and austere, something beautiful and remote. She had a swift stab of feeling that Boro was like her mother. ““*N\farried,’”’ she said. ‘‘That’s what you expect, isn’t it—for all our talk.” He said: “Isn’t it what you expect, really—and Laird and Laura too, for all our talk?” Suddenly she rose and ran out the door and down the long veranda over- looking the dark garden. When he reached her, she stood sobbing, and he thought that it was the sorrow of her loss that gripped her, and he held her quietly. Then he heard her saying: “T wanted to be free—I wanted to have something different from all this that everybody has—and hates. I wanted life to be better—it could be better. I thought that was what we all wanted. .. .” “And what do you want now?” he asked. She said forlornly: “I don’t know. But I hate houses and tables and chairs. And if I marry you, that’s what we'll have.” “But even if we don’t marry, we shall have to have tables and chairs—and a house,” he said, laughing a little. He could just catch her words: “If mother were alive, I could have thought for myself. But now I can feel only what she felt—even though she warned me of that, warned me that I mustn’t follow her ideas just because they were hers—that she wouldn’t want that. But I can’t help it, Boro—and now you don’t help me, either. And I did so want to be free. . . .” E SAID nothing, but stood with his arms about her, looking into the darkness. She stirred and looked up at him and said almost resentfully: “I don’t believe you’ve ever been a bit interested in the evolution of marriage!” He answered: “No. I can’t honestly say that I ever have been.” ““And mother wasn’t—not in the way that Iam. She thought we’d all worked out marriage together, and that we ought to give it a b-better trial. But / think...” \ glint came in Boro’s eye. “If we go to the Argentine,” he said, ‘I’m not going to risk my job for any of the modern stuff. If we go out to the Ar- gentine, we'll be married!” Marda said tragically: ‘“You would force me to stand still when I could be forward-looking and—and §act- Mie wce He held her close, but he spoke with the slow deliberation of a man detached and poised. “I’m to give Brantley my answer in the morning. I asked him to give me until then, so that I could speak of this to you—I’m sorry it came just now. Marda, will you marry me and go down there with me? It'll be the old stuff— marriage and tables and chairs. Or shall I stay here with you and Laura and Laird and the Clouds—by the way, they’re to be divorced, Homer told me to-day—and go in for reforming mar riage?” She said: “I’m glad you have the job. As for my ideas—that doesn’t matter.” “But I hate your feeling that way about it!” “No, it doesn’t matter, really. You and mother—”’ He said roughly: ‘‘It does matter. If you’re going to be my wife, you’ve got to want to be my wife as much as I want you. No resignation stuff goes, Marda.”’ He thought: “I’m a beast, when her heart is aching.” But yet he waited for her words. Her words were: “‘Boro, I lived with my mother for twenty-two years—and I never saw her—do you understand? Never saw her. Not any more than I saw her dream. I never discovered her, PO oa He held her close and let her talk, seeing that even his love, in that hour, belonged outside. . Her mother’s dream was in her thoughts as she lay down that night. The (Continued from page 152) aching nostalgia that she felt was not only for her mother, but was for that place of her dream, where ey erything was better. . ABRUPTLY her door was pushed open, and Laird stood there, “* Awake, Marda?”’ he asked. He came in and sat down by her bed and laid on the night-table a paper, “Sometime,” he said, “read that, ] found it. I don’t know what it does to me. Every time I read it, it’s the same I feel as if—as if mother—as if none of ys knew her—” j She tried to tell him that people always feel that way when those whom they love have gone. : He spoke out savagely: “No, no! This is different. I tell you, Marda there’s something about the mother idea that I never got—I didn’t get it. It’s something tremendous—the mother— the mother. . .” He stopped helplessly. She whispered: “I know. The mother Ged... :” He muttered: “I don’t know. I only get it sometimes. She wanted us to be so much—almost as if she was God— had God in her—I don’t know. . . .” ““*She wanted us to be so much” Marda said over. She heard Laird say: “TI hope Laura can get it—be it—for our children. It would make our married life pretty different. . . .” ; Marda sat up in bed. She could just see the moon of Laird’s face glimmering in the darkness. She said tensely: “Married!” “Of course, married. What a lot of rot we talked. ...” He groaned. “Look what mother saw in life, and what we saw! And how patient she was with us... .” He dropped his head in his hands. “TI don’t know,” he said again. “She knew things that won’t go into words. I almost knew them too, whenI read this. ... I found it in a news paper. ...” He touched the paper that he had laid down, kissed her, and went away. She lay in the darkness, thinking of their broken words: “‘The mother—she wanted us to be so much—almost as if she had God in her.”’ What if the whole mother idea was something profound and overshadowing. God in mothers, not in what they said but in what they were; in what they somehow knew about the inside of living, and couldn’t put into words... and pretended that they dreamed. . . . HE switched on the light and unfolded the paper that Laird had laid down. She read: “T have heard my mother, as long as I re member, Tell of upper chambers where beauty never dies, Chambers lying starward; and from there returning Visions of dim terraces lingered in her eyes. “Whatever you may need is in the upper chambers You will find your way there, she used to repeat. . I could never see them, the steps by which she mounted But I knew the stairway was near my mother’s feet. “Once in a fever I felt my mother lift me, Up, up, and up; the way seemed long an¢ steep, Slowly, steadily, she bore me without resting Into a shadowy place of cool sweet sleep “Once we were hungry and we had nothing: ‘Only be patient, keep heart,’ she said. To some high altar she climbed, and atter She broke for us white wheat bread. “Death did not startle her; she went 5? quietly Up past his following, still she is there, , Housed with vanished beauty, and beauty yet in star-dust, In the upper chambers. I grope stair.” on the Marda lay still. All the loveliness that she had ever been able to find in life ” © Past of a poem by Clara Platt Meadows croft, in ‘‘A Wind Blowing Over.” (Concluded on page 156

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vas not or that ung Was Pushed e Same ne of us > always m they Yo, no! Marda, mother get it. other— Iplessly. mother I only is to be God— much,” e Laura ren. It pretty uld just nmering - paper er, and king of 1er—she st as if e whole und and , not in vy were; out the ut into it they infolded d down. as I re- ty never ym. there her eyes. 1e upper used to yy which near my ind after went S? rere, | beauty on the ss that in life ado feadowe for SEPTEMBER 1927 Odorono is a genuine cor- rective for the condition that causes underarm perspiration problems. By diverting under- arm perspiration to the rest of the body as a whole, where it canevaporate, it eliminates not only alldanger of odor, but all the moisture that so frequent- ly ruins cherished clothing urely a matter of refinement We don’t pretend we can make you the belle of the ball overnight. Nor can we make youa captain of industry in one treatment. No. This matter of guarding yourself against underarm perspiration is just a matter of per- sonal refinement. You either hate the unpleasant manifesta- tions of perspiration or you don’t. If you do, then you want to get rid of every trace of them--the moisture, the odor, the stained clothing. Now, quite a lot of nice people, we find, look upon these things as a sort of Job’s trouble which must be endured. “It is natural to per- spire,” they say. So itis. But in a state of nature, we wouldn’t be wearing clothes that interfere with the evap- oration of perspiration under the arm. So Nature, in this matter, needs a little help. Several million people provide it by applica- tions, twice a week, of Odorono. Among them are most of the leading chem- ists, skin specialists and doctors of the country, who have examined the Odorono formula and approved it. So, as we say, it’s purely a matter of per- sonal refinement. You either hate the unpleasant manifesta- tions of perspiration, or you don’t. If you do, you can get rid of every trace of them surely, safely and easily. Ask at any toi- let counter or drug store for Odorono. 35c, 60c and $1.00. If you have been depending on halfway methods of caring for the underarm, change to Odorono today. It is simple and easy to use. Just two ap- plications a week, following directions on the bottle, and you will have an assurance of underarm daintiness that nothing else can give yot

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=i —— aeearas Se atee seers <<. é CALJER COATS are a combination of a marvelous fabric + perfect tailoring: and fashions latest modes 7 7 7_At. your favorite store, ALCONE MILLS DESIGNERS & MAKERS San Francisco

HARPER’S B \ZAR A FOLIO OF NEW FABRIGCg (Concluded from page 71) This comes with dcis in three sizes, and subtly suggests, to my mind, the clothes of 1840. Another velvet with the same suggestion is in a very deep dark wine color, almost a plum, and has lighter lines arranged in diagonal stripes across it. There are more stripes here than elsewhere, and I particularly liked one velvet, in which stripes of dark red, two browns, a blue, and a line of black were raised on a vcile foundation. This same thing is shown in a whole gamut of blues. ‘‘Velours Ascot” is a striking novelty in which the small 1840-like de- signs are woven, not printed. Among the lamés, I chose for illustration a splen- did thing in green and gold, the very green of the Romantic period. It is a bordered material, with great roses on each side of a center in green satin with watered silk lines of gold meandering over it. It looks like a material that would “‘stand alone,” as our grandmothers used to say, and its lightness and suppleness surprise you when you touch it. There is another bordered lamé of the same general type, in which appear bands on both sides in gold, pink, and blue which look like breast feathers of some bird of paradise, with a large flower pattern between them. The quilted or ‘matelassé” effects are revived here. There is a blue one with a wavy design both woven and printed, and another in lamé with gold mingled in the soft blurred cesign. There are a few printed moires, the patterns small and restrained. There is also an imitation of moire in a lamé of solid geld. Many velvets in all varieties, and perfectly lovely raised velvet shawls on voile and Georgette bases. A most interesting novelty is called “Crépe Satan,” a black Georgette ground with raised gold on its surface, imitating baby lamb, which is very new. THE DUCHARNE COLLECTION AT DUCHARNE’S I chose for illus- tration a new raised velvet in a small leaf design, in which the novelty cen- sists in the combination of printing with the velvet pattern. \ small blocked design in beige is printed over the whole with charming effect. The base is a silk voile and the whole is very supple and drapable. Many of the small floweret designs of this summer are repeated in this raised velvet form and in printed velvets. Ducharne sold no less than twenty-five kilometers of his favorite floweret design this summer, so he is right to repeat such a success. These small velvet designs also appeared to me to be very “Romantic” in inspiration, as did the large dot design, also illustrated, in which a polka dot of plush is spaced over a thin satin suriace. The checked velvet is very new, but you would have to feel it in order to real- ize its novelty. The checks are woven, not printed, which gives the surface a slight unevenness that is very attractive. This is called “Velours Droguet” and is one of the princ ipal novelties of the col- lection. Ducharne has another fabric of which he is very proud, an application of velvet to real chiffon, in the form of spaced motifs, such as a large flower, a leaf, or a butterfly, or in the form of a border. It has taken three years of ex- perimentation to perfect 1 1 ‘ ‘aving this material, for the applicaticn of ~ to a chiffon base is of alm« Superable difficulty. The plain velvets of this c lovely. There is one of c1 “Tircis” which looks thic| but is as supple in the ha; and another called “\¢ which is a panne but has th: invaluable quality of not creasing wit! ir. Among the plain materials, there is also a new moire mixed with metal, which j the piece, metal and all. The laraés are magnificent, but ] Was evcn more interested in the “Damas,” in a new series of four designs, which are all woven in the ancient manner, that is in the thread. ‘ lection are pile called nd heayy as chiffon: Adonis” 11s dyed in THE MEYER CoLLectioy ‘T0 of the outstanding nov cities of the Meyer collection are illustrated by Monsieur de Monvel on page seventy- one in advance models from the win- ter collection of Lucien Lelong. The first is ‘‘Madiana,” a very supple nev woolen fabric for dresses something like last year’s ‘‘Tamisca” but much finer. which looks like a sort of wool crépe, and is an ideal traveling fabric, as it neither crushes nor holds the dust. This comes in an immense range of scft shades. among which the “fur colors” are cspe- cially featured. The coat from Lelong is composed in the second novelty. This is a fabric of velvety surface, something like a duve- tine, but with the advantage of not mark- ing so easily. It is called *‘Pclleda,” and is woven of that odd silk which we call “waste silk” in English and “soie shape” in French. It comes in plain cclors, as in the drawing, and also woven with a warp of black thread. This weaving with a black warp is a favorite of Meyer's One variant of ‘Pelleda” shows a plaid, and another a chiné effect in black and color. A third new fabric, not illustrated, is called “‘Molya.”” This is a favorite with Molyneux, and is a sort of mixture of wool and silk, woven with tiny “bou- clettes” or loops all over the surface, very silky in appearance. ‘Cantalia” is another novelty reserved by Mlle Chantal. This is a heavy material, but semi-transparent, with a diagonal desi in high relief. ‘* Astrakia de Soie,”’ as its name indicates, is a woolen imitation cf very fine close astrakhan. New jerseys include a series called ““Dhelia” in the complete gamut of beiges and another called ‘Jersey Alpaca” in which the leading tonality is gray. Old favorites in new guises are th “Velours Leda,” the well-known velour de laine of this house, one of which is this year striped in many colors; while “Leda Pactole” is woven with a thread which has been dipped, before weaving, in 4 bath of gold. Worth is using a chevron design in this material in black and gol “Leda Cotelé” is a ribbed variety which seems destined toasuccess.: The “Velouts de Smyrne,”’ or wool velvets, the first great hit of this house, appear in ne variants similar to those of the “Ledas Worth is planning to use one of them in4 warm tone of gray.

UPPER CHAMBERS (Concluded from page 154 seemed, in one ingathered moment, to lie open before her. Life was like that— a secret garden, a secret terrace, vast and starry. Her mother had known, had tried to tell her. And she herself had only run round and round, trying to express what? Cleverness—but even the Clouds said that didn’t matter. Reform —what of that? Only that lovely inner sense of life mattered, such as her mother had brought from a dream. She drifted into sleep, and woke with the sun, and felt clean and refreshed. Into her heart, with its physical aching, had come something for which she had no name, but it was gloriously definite and clear. Boro telephoned early, saying: 3 haven't cailed Brantley yet. Marda \re you sure you wouldn’t rather s@ the world, or smash things, or whateve! it was we wanted?” She answered confusedly: ‘** All that isn’t worth bothering about. Of course we'll go to the Argentine. want everything to be the way you wal! everything to be! Oh, and Boro—I havt so much to tell you.” : But when she tried to think what it™® that she had to tell Boro, all that she ke? saying over was: “Housed with vanished beauty, and beaut yet in star-dust In the upper chambers—I grope n the stat

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ZAR CS aving of ol Velvet uperable ction are ile called d heavy chiffon: Adonis” Waluable Among O a New s dyed in ut I was Damas,” vhich are , that is, C TION ies of the rated by seventy- the win- ig. The pple new hing like ich finer, répe, and it neither lis Comes shades, are ¢ spe 1posed in fabric of a duve- 1ot mark- -da,” and h we call ie shape” lors, as in th a warp g with a Meyer's s a plaid, lack and trated, is rite with ixture of ny “bou- » surface, Cantalia” ie,” as its itation ci ies call of beiges Ipaca” it ray. ; are th mn velour ic h is th Is ile “Leda ad which ing, in 4 a chevron and gol the first ir in ne ** Ledas them ina ing: °} Marda ither sa whatevel ing about: entine you wal ~o—] have shat it WS it she kept ind beaut) n the stait * Supplied also throug cabinets mm rest West Disinfecting Co. for SEPTEMBER 1927 Active Women of Today are Free From the Handicap of Yesterday’s Hygienic Worries Positive Protection, Under ALL Conditions, Plus Free- dom Forever From the Embarrassment of Disposal, is Provided, This NEW Way, Which is Changing the Hygienic Habits of Women by the Millions. —_—- By ELLEN J. BUCKLAND, Registered Nurse NE no longer fears sheer frocks, but wears them. The modern woman meets every day at her best —unhandicapped by even the most trying hygienic situation. ‘ The uncertainty of the old-time “sanitary pad” has been supplanted with modern protection—protection that is absolute. Women by countless thousands are constantly flock- ing to its use. Doctors urge it. Nurses employ it. The name is Kotex—different in every way from any other product of like nature known. What Kotex is Easy Disposal and 2 other important factors Filled with Cellucotton wadding, the world’s super- absorbent, Kotex absorbs 16 times its own weight in moisture. It is 5 times as absorbent as the ordinary cotton pad. It discards easily as tissue. No laundry—no embar- rassment of disposal. It also thoroughly deodorizes, and thus ends all fear of offending. Only Kotex itself is “like” Kotex See that you get the genuine Kotex. It is the only sanitary napkin embodying the super-absorbent Cellu- cotton wadding, It is the only napkin made by this company. Only Kotex itself is “like’’ Kotex. You can obtain Kotex at better drug and depart- ment stores everywhere, without hesitancy, simply by saying “Kotex.” Comes in sanitary sealed packages of 12 in two sizes, the Regular and Kotex-Super. Kotex Company, 180 No. Michigan Ave., Chicago, II1. Unknown a few years ago, 8 in every 10 women in the better walks of life have dis- carded the insecure “sani- tary pads” of yesterday and adopted Kotex, gh vending rooms by Kotex-Super: 90c per dozen Kotex Regular: 65c per dozen y Disposed of as 1 easily as tissue. No laundry. ~ (2) @ True protection—5 times as absorbent as ordinary cotton. a | Obtain without embar- rassment, at any store,* simply by saying “ Kotex.” “Ask for them by name” KOTEX PROTECTS—DEODORIZES No laundry—discards as easily as a piece of tissue

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THE PRINCE OF TO HW. R. H. WALES THE PERFUME OF A LADY SEPTEMBER brings a merry party down from London again to be guests of Lady Maud of Leith.* The old castle boasts splendid moors and fine shooting, yet it is the beauty and charm of its host- ess that make these week-ends at Leith long to be remembered. Lady Maud’s success, she will tell you, is due mainly to the loveli- ness with which she surrounds herself . . . gowns from couturiers of Paris . . . one exquisite perfume, “Bond Street” by Yardley. Lady Maud has always found in Bond Street perfume a fresh delicacy suited to a lady of fastidious taste, and a fragrance that mingles with assurance in the smartest gatherings in any land. England’s best—famous Bond Street by Yardley—may be had in compact, $1; face powder, $1.50; talcum, $1; bath salts, $1.50, and extract, $6. Yardley, 8 New Bond Street, London; 15-19 Madison Square, N., New York; Toronto; Paris. “BOND STREET™ Ot th NS Qa) a * Out of deference to our clientele we have refrained from using actual names | THE NOBLE LORD (Continued from page 65) prejudice against the English, or else had | acquired one of his own from the tyranny of his English governess, Miss Blake, against whom he was waging an American revolutionary war of independence guerrilla warfare after the manner of his ancestors. She insisted upon his saying ‘‘bean” and Gregory much preferred saying “bin” and all the other vulgar Americanisms he could find, because they hurt her and because they were employed by the heroes he most admired, namely, the cow-punchers on the family ranch in Wyoming, where he and Carol and some of their friends and cousins were privileged to spend a month of every summer. ‘When you have bean graduated from college and go up to Oxford,”’ Miss Blake warned him, ‘‘they will laugh at you if you say ‘bin.’” Gregory’s reply was, “But I’m not gunta go to Oxford. I’m an Amurr’cun. I hate the snooty English.”’ But he thought better of the British Empire when he found that Charlie liked animals and even knew something about them. Gregory showed him his menagerie of pets out in the country, where they always went for the week-end. O BE sure, it shocked Charlie, though it did not surprise him, that these two American children had almost as many rights and privileges in their own home as are given in an Englishman’s home to his dogs. What surprised him was to find them so quiet and well-behaved. They were allowed to listen to the grown-ups and even to ask them questions, but not to interrupt or be a nuisance. In that respect, I think I may boast, they were even superior to the dogs in some English houses—and American houses too. They had the small allowances and simple tastes of the children of the very rich. They loved the country and despised the city and everything therein, especially the schools, that made them stay in town for the larger part of every year. Charlie had always heard that the off- spring of the Americans were rude, shrill, over-indulged, terrible. Some of them are. But, as I had observed that it always troubled our young visitor when the American facts did not fit his British conceptions, I deemed it my hospitable duty to offer a sort of apology. ‘*These two healthy kids,’’ I told him, ‘“‘had mismated parents, who tried their best but could not establish a wholesorae domestic atmosphere for the most im- portant work in the world. The signal success and the sunny dispositions of these delightful youngsters are due en- tirely to one of our proudest American institutions, our universal and_ sacred custom of divorce.” Charlie blinked, undecided whether I wanted him to laugh or believe me. I was willing that he should do both. “Oh,” said Charlie, ‘‘you’re only spoof- ing.’ He decided to laugh. *‘Not at all. You see, we are not so thoroughly convinced, as you people are, that the true object of marriage can be attained merely by staying married.” ‘Really,’ said Charlie, ‘how interest- ing. So that’s why you’re always getting divorced over here.” ‘*Besides,”’ I added, ‘‘they hated each other. At any rate, instead of having frivolous young parents to neglect them, these kids now have an unworldly grand- parent who is old and wise enough to do a good job.” And it was her job on these innocent children, orphaned and redeemed by divorce, that indirectly brought Charlie into my aunt’s disfavor. He had been at her house for three or four months and he was still praising everything in America so conscientiously that I sometimes felt like telling him, ‘*There, there, let it go at that.’’ The English lack the French finesse in flat- tery. Charlie, wanting to show his appreciation of his hostess, undertook to compliment her upon the children. Be- ing an Englishman, he added ingratiat- ingly, ““Do you know, I would never suspect you of being an American,”’ and then wondered why I laughed. ‘‘A-oh, but I mean it, truly I do.” After he had left the room, my aunt smiled and gazed at me a moment. HARPER’S BAzap >,” she said, “‘T suppose they cy’ help it.” —_ “Don’t be hard on him. he was paying you the hig! ment possible.” He though; 1est compli “To say that I am not like an Amer; can?” - “To imply that you are lik . a ? . - are like th English.” the “I? Like the English? [Hy what way, I’d like to know?” My poe ceased smiling. “Oh, all our good qualities we get from them, courage, sportsmanship, civilizg manners. They often tell us so. Al] oy, bad qualities are our own.”’ But my facetiousness did not amuse my aunt. ‘Surely, my manner is not like theirs. Have I a British stare? Am | constantly preoccupied with class dic tinctions? Am I cold and unkind 4 everybody I dare be cruel to?” ‘No, neither are they—not all of then But you don’t say, ‘Wal, now I reckon and in their novels we always do, yo) know.” - “Do you mean to say my speech j like theirs? I don’t sing and I don’ slur. I don’t say figger, I say figure I don’t say secret’ry, I say secretary.” “Of course, of course,”’ I interrupted, laughing, “‘but think how kindly the boy meant it.” : “Oh, I know. That’s the beauty of it,” she said smiling again. ‘We ought to be used to it by this time.” But shortly after this little comedy of manners, Aunt Caroline remarked one day, “‘Charlie, I do hope you won't mind, but this is the time of the year we always run down to the place in Florida.” The rich are so ruthless. But Charlie, blandly unconscious of any change in his status, made answer, “A-oh, I don’t mind. I’ve alway wanted to see Florydah. How jolly! When do we stot?” So Charlie ordered his sturdy English luggage packed and drove down to the station with my aunt to the private car she had borrowed for the occasion from Uncle John, and saw Florydah. But hx wondered why, in that balmy atmosphere, my aunt seemed so cold. It was not 9 very jolly after all. But still he did not guess. She had showed him unmistakable signs of favor, she had insisted upon his making her house his home. He had _ protested She had won her point. Was Charlie to blame? Not at all. Was my aunt? Not altogether. It was merely a case of the difference between English and America customs. Over there you are invited t a person’s house (if at all) for a definite period of time, and when that clapses, you leave. You expect to a they expect you to. You are seld urged, even as a matter of form, to pr long the visit. In many ways, this seers to be the better and kinder custom. Per haps that is why so many of our America! hostesses are adopting it. But the preset point is not which is the better way, | that the two ways are different and le: to misunderstandings. ARLY in Charlie’s sojourn at 2 aunt’s house, she directed me to ha his pictures sold for him because he not know how to go about it himself Neither did I, but I told her it was as simple as floating one of Uncle John: bond issues. ‘Has he shown you > canvases?” I asked her. ““No, I won’t let him. what to say. comfortable. But this young man trying to earn his living, quite as 1! were an American, and that is most ©o® mendable in an Englishman of his cla* So we must encourage him. He seems* helpless.” Charlie had already given me uns0 ited details about himself and his fam! with a candor which always shocks # American, but is quite characterist¢ I never kn the British, in spite of their reputati for “‘reserve.”’ } He had been left a penniless orph# quite literally, a dependent upon ™ uncle. The Earl had two young sons his own to support, Lord Hubert # (Continued on page 16: It always makes me —

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-Y Can't though comp. 1 Ameri. ike the what LY aunt get from Civilized All our muse my Not like ? Am] lass dis. kind to | of them reckon do, you speech is | I don't Ly figure etary.” terrupted, indly the beauty of We ought omedy of irked one rou won't le year we | Florida.” nscious of le answer, e always low jolly! ly English wn to the private car asion from h. But he tmosphere was not 9 She had is of favor, naking her protested _ Charlie to aunt? Not are seldom B | rm, to pr s, this seems ustom. Per ar America! t the preset er way, bt nt and le le seen * me uns his fam shocks P teristic reputal Ls orphal upon } ng sons ubert a EMBER 1927 Case #244 Old New England family. Prominent sv ial and financial connections. Brilliant student. Groton four years. Harvard 1919-22. Won letter in two mayor sports. Substitute for No. 6 on crew. Socially inclined, but made no club. Humiliation fostered moody state of mind. A fier gradua- tion, one year of big game hunting and exploration, Africa and Thibet. On return to U.S. offered position with well-known bank. Capable but made no friends. Resignation accepted after one year. Tried one thing after another. Perceptible discouragement for apparent failure. Selling bonds (1925) Now (1927) Vice-President of growing Eastern bank. Happily married and residing in New York City because . + + «+ + Nothing exceeds halitosis (unpleasant breath) as a social offense. Nothing equals Listerine as a remedy |

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4 *6 atchy finger. In Canada Made by A. S. Hinps Co., a dit Distribute I seated him in a comfortable chair b) my desk, pushed the cigaret box towar him and begged him not to mind m signing letters while we talked. : “Tf they won’t buy work like Hatton: what chance have I? He’s a big mal I haven’t the cheek to show him my st!) little daubs. My stuff’s no good.” “Don’t say that. Let the say it.” “Oh, they will.” He did not know why. Some of those chaps de- (He did.) “Its critics MY secretary came in with some pape" ‘ to be examined. Charlie arose. “!™ interrupting you,” he said. ; “Wait a minute,” I introduced him! Miss Judson. He was becoming habit uated to the American custom of Wl versal introductions, but I could see ™ he was puzzled this time. “Miss Judson is going to take care® your correspondence while you are here. Make this office your headqué ters. Drop in‘whenever you feel ho= sick.” (Continued on page 161)

eS ae ee —"“—et OFS = > == 45 4S orm

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' foreign. ricans, yes and it to be Ing these rested in asy. Why on him? ebrities,” ut, I say, I'ma of me at hat. d Willie St to live you are r friends, nowledge It’s per- derceived ‘ade that pe,” the e able to wublicity, iewed by by. Do Orson?” f good,” ppy. y by the left the ; work, vard the at in all us people e I know I’m an why. chaps de- rlie. He > that all - to look hen why *ration?” e Custom ye decent Ve waited ssed over lence for yur eves. | my life. ucteristi¢ hat made ment and rrived at where m\ ry busy! into th can clubs work § homesi talk. > chair bi x towar mind Mm) Hatton’: big mar 1 my sill) yd.” e critics ne paper ose. “12 ed himt ng habit n of Ut 1 see the! ce care are ove neadqua- 2] hor* ) } Charlie looked still more puzzled. ; “She will look after your personal mail, too, answer invitations for you.” — Miss Judson smiled her acquiescence. “That’s awfully kind,” said Charlie, “byt hardly necessary. No one knows here.” “— know my Aunt Caroline,” I remarked. This was before he had dined at her house. : «J warn you, Charlie, they will work vou pretty hard here. You will need Miss Judson, and me too, to tell you which invitations to decline. You can’t accept them all.” ; A month afterwards, I ran across him late one evening at somebody’s house, completely surrounded by girls. He saw me at a distance and waved his hand. I took it as a signal of distress, although, for my part, I should not have cared to be rescued. he I approached and he joined me. “T sav, Dave, do you suppose we could find a drink?” He seemed to be gasping for breath. I led him into another room and our hope was amply realized. ‘‘Do you know,” he said, fanning himself with the lid of a cigar-box, for he had not become acclimated to our American hot-houses, “all you said is coming true. I never experienced anything like this before. I don’t understand it. At home I am rather ignored, if you know what I mean. But here—I say, Dave, it’s rather turning my head. Really it is, you know.” I laughed, and liked him. I have re- corded apparently trivial details to show that he was essentially sound and fine and because these early seeds of experi- ence sprouted later and exfoliated in an unfortunate way, during his second visit to America, after he came into the title. HARLIE’S exhibition was at one of the galleries on the Avenue, and proved to be a great social success. My aunt lent her imposing name for the worthy purpose, although she did not find time to drop in. To this day, I be- lieve she has never seen any of his can- vases. She had promised to buy one and give it to me, but forgot. Charlie sent her two, but she neglected to have them unpacked. Mrs. Heming did more than any of us at the club to help make Charlie’s show a brilliant affair. She was a slender, rather good-looking young widow of eminent solvency. It was new money, but she had already climbed a bit socially and had now taken to culture-climbing. Her house was a great hang-out for visit- ing foreigners of the literary-artistic ilk. She had not been at it long enough to become fed up on feeding them. It was said by her friends—meaning her enemies —that all a freak foreigner had to do upon landing in America was to walk up and ring her bell and he would get a good dinner. They alleged that the lamp-post on the corner bore a sign similar to those in the hobo code, indicating that at the third door east you would not only get a hot hand-out, but a car would be placed at your disposal and that there was a country-house for week-ends at an inex- pensive distance from town. MBS. HEMING was a versatile person and spoke two English languages. One British and the other American. Sometimes she used both at once, as for example, France—Frawnce. With Eng- lishmen she usually went them one better and pronounced hand, “‘hond,”’ and had, “hod. ” She had been having a fine time showing off Charles Whiffen, “the English andscape painter.’’ That is the way she referred to him with her friends, and they said, “Oh, yes.” j She and ‘her group were the kind of Americans who feel awfully sorry for the land of their birth, and its lack of true art feeling. They particularly loved to deride their materialistic country when entertaining foreign visitors with the money earned by their materialistic mates. It proved that they had a soul, and impressed distinguished guests of honor like Charles Whiffen, the charming young genius from England. Charlie was indeed impressed, but not for SEPTEMBER 1927 THE NOBLE LORD (Continued from page 160) in the way intended. ‘Who is that ex- traordinary person?” he asked me after his first meeting with the lady. I told him that she was a rich and dangerous widow. ‘‘A man-eater, look out for her.”’ “She ought to be deported, saying such things about her own country, especially to a foreigner.”’ ELL, she came to see Charlie’s dis- tinguished work every day of the exhibition, and brought many others in her train. We made Charlie come too. He wanted to shrink away and hide, but as Colton said, ‘‘ You’re the best part of the show, my boy. These people don’t know anything about art, but they know a nice-looking young artist, when they see one.” Raymond, the critic, wrote some vague and amiable paragraphs about the can- vases out of sheer kindness, and Hatton, like the good fellow he was, tried to help the cause by lending his presence on one or two afternoons, Charlie feeling highly honored and much embarrassed by having him there. On one of these occasions he was sitting at Hatton’s feet, or rather was standing beside him, listening respect- fully to the big man’s friendly tips, when Mrs. Heming joined them. “Tf only our American colorists could do things like that!’”’ she said to Charlie. “And Hatton was standing right there beside me,’’ Charlie reported to me later. “T don’t mind her making a fool of herself, but she has no right to make a fool of me.” “Has she bought any of your pictures?” I asked. ‘Not yet,’’ said Charlie. ‘‘She’s wait- ing to see what people tell her about them. She doesn’t know anything.” Unfortunately some one told her that he was nobody after all. She did not buy. Neither did her friends. Plenty of smart people looked at Charlie’s pic- tures, but nobody bought any of them. Not one. Other eager foreigners had spoiled the market. The land of op- portunity was not what it had been cracked up to be by his uncle, the Earl. HARLIE took his disappointment very well. ‘I’m bound to say,” he remarked at the club, “‘the Americans aren’t such fools as we think you are at home.”’ More honesty than tact, per- haps, in that characteristic comment. But apparently he respected the Ameri- cans for not buying his pictures and we respected him. I think I will report the cynical Col- ton’s comment in full, because he gave Charlie an idea for recouping his fortunes. “Of course, anything with a foreign trade-mark on it must be better than a domestic product, for the simple reason that it is imported. But we rely on England more for old masters than for modern works of art. The market for new styles is pretty well cornered by Frenchmen, wops, middle Europeans, and Russians with dark whiskers. You are English and a blond and have only part of asmall mustache. You are good- looking, but you don’t look like a good artist. From England, we import tweeds, leather goods, novels, titles for the little daughters of our rich, and all that line of goods. Oh, yes, I forgot—poets, too. Now if you were only a poet, you might make a killing. Clara Heming would arrange to have you read from your works to selected groups of adoring females. They could then see for themselves that your goods were better than the domestic brand, because you would render it with your nice Oxford accent, whereas our boys rend theirs with their buzz-saw American voices. But nobody can hear the English accent in your paintings. Why don’t you write some poetry?” Charlie blinked. “I am not a poet,” he said. “Neither are they, many of them, but they write it all the same Your younger sons of British literature can usually land jobs lecturing at good fat fees. One of your boys cleaned up fifty thousand materialistic dollars last winter, not to speak of the advertising it brought his books. He told his audfences how com- mercial our American writers are.”’ Charlie stopped blinking and began to laugh very loud, to show that he knew spoofing when he heard it. But later, at my office, where he spent a good deal of his time now, when our American girls didn’t need him, he announced to me, “T say, Dave, do you think you could sell me as a lecturer?” “Do you think you would make a good lecturer?” “No. But apparently that doesn’t matter, in America. And I’ve got to do something. So I'll capitalize what you call my Oxford accent. Say what you will, Dave, the Americans fall for = Charlie was adding to his stock of curious Americanisms every day. He often got them wrong, even as I have made mistakes in quoting his own local- isms from memory. Which I trust will make my British readers appreciate how amused and amazed we feel when Amer- icans talk in English novels. “What would you lecture about?” I asked. “Art. Even if I can’t paint, I can speak the language, you know, and I understand that they are keen for culture in the provinces. I could get away with it.” ARRANGED a meeting with the manager of one of the lecture bureaus, but he had never heard of Charles Whiffen, the English landscape artist, and Charlie suffered from an attack of shyness and did not make a very good impression upon the impresario. Dis- tinguished foreigners, including titled ones, were lecturing all over our material- istic country and demanding ruinous rates for saving America’s soul—which was quite right, too, for what would it profit us to gain the whole world and lose our soul? So things were beginning to look rather bad for Charlie. Fortunately he had no expenses, except for taxis, tips, and an occasional lunch when no American was around to grab the check. But his future was not very promising in the land of promise. It looked as if he would have to get a regular job and he had never been trained to do any real work. Charlie and I were on the way home from the coming-out dance my cousin Barbara gave for one of her flapper daugh- ters—‘‘ Barbara’s brats,”’ they are called in the circle of the family. He remarked, “Perhaps my uncle was right. He said I’d better marry one of your rich Amer- ican girls.” “Well, why don’t you?” “T don’t like them.” **Some of your boys have been known to live down such prejudices—when the girls were rich enough.” “Tt isn’t cricket. I don’t want money badly enough for that.” “Your sentiments do you credit. I might almost think you were an Amer- ican. Keep it up.” Charlie laughed. ‘‘You’re always ragging me,” he said. But I was not, and subsequent events proved it. I told my aunt that he was getting stonier and stonier. She was sorry, but what more could that busy lady do? She said that she was delighted to have him stay with her as long as he saw fit, but by this time she was becoming a little tired of having him around, and, I think, a little disappointed in him that he saw fit to stay so long. She seemed to think that I ought to get him a job. But I had already given him more of my time and attention than I could well afford from my own job, and felt that I had done my full duty as an American toward our English visitor. Perhaps I too was becoming the least bit tired of having him on my hands, and in my office. In short, all his fickle American friends, preoccupied with their own inter- ests, busy with their own affairs, were becoming, if not indifferent, at least rather careless about the welfare of this young scion of the British nobility. He had three good meals a day and two rooms in one of the most comfortable houses in the world, and for the rest I suppose we felt, being Americans, that he ought to go and do for himself. Weil, he did. He got a tutoring job with a recently rich family. who were going abroad for a year with their off- spring. What they rea!ly wanted Charlie for was to act as a sort of courier to their kids, to teach them how to behave and how not to spend their money. Charlie wrote a long and appreciative letter to my aunt from the steamer. After that, except for an occasional pic- ture postcard, we heard no more about poor little Charlie Whiffen for four years, when, to the surprise of everybody, in- cluding Charlie, he came into the title. And then, oh, what a difference when he came back to America! [ORD CHAWBOROUGH had taken the night boat down to New York from Newport, where he had been visiting friends ever since his recent arrival in America, and, hearing that my aunt was in town for a few days’ shopping, planned to give her a little surprise at tea-time. He had not seen his former hostess in four years, and he had a particular reason for wishing to renew the pleasant: friend- ship at this time. Indeed, when he set sail from England, which was as soon after his elevation to the peerage as he could arrange to absent himself, he had planned to give her a visit directly upon landing. But on the steamer he made the acquaintance of some Americans whose auxiliary schooner was to meet them in New York harbor. So the new Earl went with them to Newport instead. My aunt was at Bar Harbor at the time, a frightfully long and expensive journey. She has no place at Newport. None of the family has. This disappointed Chaw- borough. He had supposed that every- body had a place at Newport. Thanks, however, to the fact that the night boat arrives in New York early in the morning, I saw Charlie before my aunt did. For, having some idle time on his hands, he dropped in at my oflice soon after I arrived there from my breakfast. My first impression was favorable. The boy had matured in these four years, seemed assured, more a man of the world, bland, amused, debonair. He greeted me with urbane friendliness and modestly smiled off my felicitations with the easy manner of one who had learned to parry compliments and congratulations. He changed the subject and told me that I looked very fit. He inquired for my aunt, and hoped that the family were all well. He had improved in appearance since I saw him last and he wore a beauti- fully-fitting lounge suit of tweed, cut by his Bond Street tailor. We call them ‘‘business suits’’ over here. We work in them. So do the British, but they prefer “lounge,” in memory, I suppose, of a dis- appearing leisure class. I soon perceived, however, that young Lord Chawborough, the new Earl of Marrow, had not come to me, nor indeed to America, as a gentleman of leisure, but as a man of business. His estates had been in bad enough shape before they became his, but now, he told me with an interestingly casual smile, owing to the devastating inheritance taxes and all the other increased taxes, due to the war, something had to be done about it and done at once. He had sold about every- thing that was not entailed, he added with apparent indifference, and had come out to the States to raise a little ready cash. HAD not yet finished reading my morning’s mail. Of course, I was in- terested, but I wondered why he saw fit to tell all this to me. ““By the bye, I have brought over some more pictures,” he remarked, glancing out of the window as he sat there beside my desk, looking immaculate, his gloved hands resting on his walking-stick, a flower in his buttonhole, ‘‘but these canvases—”’ and he turned and gave me a reminiscent smile—‘‘I dare say, these will sell. One of them is a Gainsborough.” I had heard that he was breaking up his inherited collection. I knew the Gains- borough by reputation, having seen photographic reproductions of it. I made an appropriate sound in my throat, and (Continued on page 162)

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i HARPER’S Bizap THE NOBLE LORD (Continued from page 161) quite unintentionally looked at my pile of letters. ‘**T have consented to deliver some lec- tures on art out in your provinces. Of course, I don’t know a thing about it, but they won’t know the difference and it will at least advertise the fact that my pictures are for sale, you know. There is a lot of new money out West, they tell me.” He then added that he would have con- siderable business to attend to in con- nection with these two projects, and that he would really be extremely grateful to me if I again extended the courtesy of my office to him as his headquarters. He said he liked the way Miss What’s-her- name wrote letters. She put a comma between the number and the name of the street, a rare accomplishment in American secretaries. So this was why he had come to see me so bright and early, instead of letting me know that he was in town and waiting for me to look him up. I told him that I would be delighted to share my office and my secretary with him, but I was a little surprised that he had not waited, as on the former occasion, for me to make this suggestion myself. I probably would have done so. As we became better reacquainted, it leaked out that he had had some rather hard going in those four lean years, living from hand to mouth on the Continent and in South Africa. He had learned how to look out for himself but I liked little Charlie Whiffen better. But I must not be unfair to this new Earl. He remembered that I had been very glad to help him on his previous visit when I had nothing to gain by it. And perhaps this time he did not feel that he was getting something for nothing. For he knew that it would become known about town that Lord Chawborough was honoring me by making my humble suite of offices his own. I could be seen with him occasionally at lunch and on the \venue. And think what that would mean to me. But he did not seek this favor in the manner of conferring one. “I say, you know, I hope I won’t be a frightful nuisance to you,” he remarked with an engaging smile. HIS change in his attitude, which I utterly failed to detect at first, inter- ested me. There are no people on earth who can convey by their manner so ex- actly where they think you belong, as can the English—even the stupid ones— because few others bother about it quite so much, I suppose. It dawned upon me at last that he was now treating me with the polite and punctilious consider- ation of a superior toward an inferior. He was determined not to be condescend- ing. He was gracious. He was kind. He recognized that I was a member of an important family (for, after all, there are different kinds of families, even in America), but, at the same time, a poor and rather unimportant member. I think I rated about as an old family solicitor. Now, in the presence of my Uncle John, the financial head of the family, Charlie, as I had occasion to observe later, was not so sure of himself and did not try to be gracious. He was rather over-awed. But then, you see, Uncle John is a powerful factor in that group of international financiers who con- trol the credit of the world, and is there- fore to be reckoned with. Not only by democracies, but by monarchies, whether limited or not. For wealth is a god whose favor we must all propitiate. We must remember that the attitude of the entire British Empire toward Charlie Whiffen had changed in a single night—the night of the deplorable motor accident which hurled his two kinsmen into Paradise and Charlie into the pcer- age. Naturally, his own attitude toward himself had changed. And now the atti- tude of so many Americans. Some who had ignored him on his previous visit were now only too eager to make a cring- ing fuss over him. Charlie could not help noting the dif- ference, and it afforded him a smile of indulgent contempt. He was treated with the usual consideration even at Newport, where titled foreigners are an

old familiar story and are taken more as a matter of course. For, being the great. est nation in the world, we can boast of a greater number of nobles over here than they have in any of their foreign monarchies—a greater variety, at any rate. At an English watering place, how many peers appear upon the beach? Very few, and chiefly the domestic product at that. Whereas, in America we can point with pride to countless Counts, many Marquises, Barons, Baron- ets, Knights, Earls, Dukes and Princes from all the European factories, including the Scandinavian. It is one of the many advantages of a simple democracy like ours. Why, even to us of the plain peo- ple, titled foreigners are becoming as common a sight as Ford cars. . <.% him who hath shall be given. Seek ye first the kingdom of wealth and all ¢ise shall be added unto you. Well, Miss Judson purchased a special file for Charlie’s letters which she marked “Lord Chawborough” and I’m sure it pleased her very much to act as his secre. tary instead of merely mine. She could boast to the other girls about it on the train as she commuted back and forth from Flushing. So that was all fixed, and I was now willing to turn to the consideration of my own neglected letters. : “Tm not interrupting you, I hope,” said my caller. **Oh, not at all,’’ I replied. T NOW transpired that Charlie was not only willing to let me share an office with him, but to extend the further honor of doing some business for him. He said he knew nothing about business and asked if it would bore me awfully to look over a contract which the manager of the lecture bureau had asked him to sign. I did so, and found several sections which failed to meet with my professional approval. I told him why, and he asked me what I would advise him to do about it. In short, I drew up a new contract for him and incorporated two points which are worth mentioning here because, as it turned out, they proved to be of considerable worth to the lecturer. One was a clause providing that, in the event of Lord Chawborough’s making a suc- cess with his experimental performances out in the ‘‘provinces,”’ his lecture fees were to be doubled when he appeared in our larger cities. The other point was suggested by Charlie himself. In fact he insisted uponit. Instead of having his hotel bills paid by the management, he stipulated for a fixed sum per diem. I asked him why he preferred that ar- rangement but he only smiled. I discovered the reason later. During his lecture tour he seldom incurred any hotel bills at all. He allowed the dear \merican ladies, the Daughters of the Revolution, to entertain him at their expensive homes. They quarreled {or the privilege of doing so. Well, why not? It pleased them to have him and it saved him a consider- able sum. Besides, he had _ excellent precedent for this. Not only other titled celebrities, but even members of royal houses have thus honored the houses 0 some of our humble but wealthy American commoners. Well, as it turned out, our conference consumed the entire morning and I had to let my mail wait over until afternoon I may as well add here that, at the con- clusion of the morning’s business, mY new client, knowing that I was fond shooting, asked me if I had ever tried driven birds on an English shooting pre serve. I told him that I had never had the privilege, and he said that I must come over sometime and shoot with him at one of his places. He was renting his shootings at present. It occurred to me that I was not, a any rate, his own family solicitor, an¢ I could not help wondering if he really expected me to give him my legal ser vices without pay, merely because he had paid a visit to a member of my /amr ily. I never found out. He forgot ask for a bill and I never rendered one (Continued on page 164

7

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(ZAR 1 More ag the great- 1 boast of over here It foreign » at any lace, how beach? domestic America, Countless 1S, Baron- d Princes including the many racy like lain peo- oming as Ps Seek ye 1 all else @ special e marked n sure it FF his secre- She could it on the ind forth Was now ion of my I hope,” ff arlie was share an e further for him, business wfully to manager 1 him to sections fessional he asked do about contract > points because, to be of er. One he event ¥ a SUC- rmances ‘ure fees eared in yint was In fact iving his nent, he m. that ar- During Ted any he dear , of the at their led for hem to onsider- xcellent er titled of royal puses of merican \ vference d I had ernoon he con- ass, my fond of or tried ing pre- ver had I must ith him ting al not, al or, and > really zal sef- use he ry fam- rgot to ed one for SEPTEMBER 1927 ‘. got the idea from Florenz Ziegfeld” Behind the scenes at the Ziegfeld Theatre Gladys Glad is remarking to Flo Kennedy between acts of the Follies. You, too, will find that Lucky Strikes are mild and mellow—the finest cigarettes you ever smoked, made of the finest Turkish and do- mestic tobaccos, properly aged and blended with great skill, and there is an extra process—“It’s toasted” —no harshness, not a bit of bite. “It’s toasted” No Throat Irritation - No Cough. 163 Florenz Ziegfeld, famous theatrical producer, writes: “As the producer of ‘The Ziegfeld Follies’ I know full well how im- portant it is for my stars to have clear voices at all times. Several years ago, when I first began to smoke Lucky Strikes, I noticed that my voice re- mained unirritated after a most strenuous time directing rehearsals. I passed this information on to mystars and now we are all agreed: Lucky Strike is a delightful smoke and most assuredly protects the voice, eliminating any coughing, which often interrupts a perfect performance.”

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Albrecht Furs ———_—_— Founos® a Saint Paul 1655 Minnesota NATIONALLY KNOWN AND APPRECIATED HARPER’S 3izAp THE NOBLE LORD (Contizxued from page 162) So it ill becomes me to laugh at our easily- worked Americans. I am one of them. T WAS past one o’clock now, and Charlie arese to go, but he did not leave. So I suggested that he come out to lunch with me, and he said that he would like nothing better. I asked him where he would prefer to go. I thought he would suggest my tak- ing him to one of the smart restaurants east of the Avenue, so that, while I was treating him, he could repay his debt to America by giving the débutantcs a treat watching him eat. Not at all. He wanted to gotoaclub. I asked him which one. I had, during the course of the morning, while Miss Judson was typ- ing the new contract, telephoned to all my modest list of clubs, arranging to extend their privileges to Lord Chaw- borough. And his Newport friends had put him up as a visitor at other clubs to which I do not belong. “What's the name of that quaint little lunch club, up-stairs, in a business block on the side street?” He meant the one infested by the literary-artistic crowd. So I took him there, wondering why he had selected this one. Again I was impressed with the change in Charlie, who had been so shy and shrinking when we first entered that dining-room together. Once in London I was taken to a sporting club to witness a prize-fight. When the Marquis of Something-or-other came in and was shown to a ringside seat, I was much interested in his genial manner of demo- cratically lending the occasion and the crowd his noble patronage. But if that was Charlie’s idea, I’m afraid that the other fellows, seated about the long table, failed to realize that he was lending them his patronage. Some of them had lent him money on his former visit, and, being for the most part successful in what they call ‘“‘creative work,” they remembered Charlie as a failure. They had known him when. Even some of the younger members, to whom a title at the table was a novelty, glanced at him more with curiosity than with deference. In England, as_ has been said, everybody loves a Lord. But over here we at least love to look at one, just as we do at the bearded lady and the living skeleton. No wonder our people are so vulgar and inconsiderate in their curiosity. They lack the proper respect for nobility shown by older civilizations which have souls. Charlie, meanwhile, was_ graciously putting us all at our ease. He was not only thoroughly democratic, it seems, but a prince of good fellows, and in this “Bohemian” crowd he would not for one moment allow his present position in the world to make the slightest differ- ence with his jolly old friends of other days. T WAS very considerate of him, I’m sure, and perhaps the others would have thought so too, if they had under- stood his antics. But I failed to see why he was putting himself to so much un- necessary trouble. “Still painting away?” he asked Thomas Hatton, the celebrated land- scapist. “Yep. You?” Charlie shook his head. “I'd like nothing better if I only had time for it.” “You ought to keep it up,” said Hat- ton. “Your stuff wasn’t so bad. Worse things have been sold since you were here last.” “Oh, I only painted as an amateur, but, as it happens, I’ve sold them, all of them. Rather amusing, isn’t it?” “Is that so? In England?” “No, over here. Some of my friends arranged a little show for me at Newport, and I got rid of the whole lot. Good prices, too, for such silly little daubs.”’ “Well, you ve had four years to work on them. I'll bet you have improved them a great deal.” “Not at all. Never touched them. That’s the joke of it.” This was not strictly true. He had touched the lower right hand corner of each of the canvases. That is, he had changed the signature from Whiffen to Chawborough. “Tsn’t art wonderful?” 1 Colton He was the cynical magazine man who on Charlie’s former visit, had suggested how to put Charles Whiffen over. He winked at me and I saw that he had a new story to tell on the snobbishness of the Newport crowd. It was not snob- bishness, as I learned later, but kindness The purchasers of Charlie’s canvases knew that they were no good, because they were so informed by high authority But they knew that he was dead broke. He told them so. They could not very well offer him money, so they bought his pictures. But Charlie, I discovered agreed with Colton, and when he went back to England, he amused London dinner tables with still another story of the snobbishness of our democracy. ~ Charlie had not recognized Colton at first. He turned to him now. “By the way, did you receive a photograph [ ordered sent to you?” “Oh, yes, of your Gainsborough,” said Colton, ‘Thanks ever so much, but the magazine can’t use it. I’m sorry.” “Ch, really.” y “Tt’s old stuff. Been reproduced a hundred times. But I could use a photo- graph of you.” A titled art dealer would be new stuff. “Righto,” said Charlie, ‘I'll speak to my publicity man.” He was no longer averse to being put over. This would help advertise the old masters and the new lecturer. “And, by the way, if you care to have some of the press-men from the newspapers sent around to Dave’s office, I'll give out that interview now. It’s only been postponed four years.” Charlie laughed. There was nothing aloof about this nobleman. He was a regular fellow, as the Americans said. HE interview was arranged later by the lecture bureau publicity depart- ment. They landed a good story. It was put on the Associated Press wire and sent out over the territory which was to be covered later by Charlie’s lecture tour. ‘Peer turns art dealer—tired of social gaiety,” etc. ““Where’s What’s-his-name _ to-day? The chap who said such nice things about my rotten little pictures.” “You mean Orson Raymond, the critic?’ asked Hatton, who seemed much interested in Charlie. ‘‘This is his busy day. They go to press with the Sunday edition to-night.” “Oh, really,” said Charlie, “‘I wanted to see him. He writes charmingly. I read several of his books since I was here last. They tell me he lectures on art himself.” I was beginning to understand why my guest preferred seeing his old friends at the club, to being seen by the girls at a restaurant. He seemed to me a pretty good business man for one who knew noth- ing about business. He returned to the ofiice with me, and Miss Judson managed to get Raymond on the telephone. He could not meet us, however, until late in the afternoon. I had wondered how Charlie was going to get up a lecture on art. Owning old masters, and even selling them, does net, in itself, qualify one to tell about them. I found out now. “See here,” he said to Raymond, with his engaging smile, ‘I don’t know much about writing or speaking either, and you do both beautifully. I was wonder ing if it would be an awful nuisance to you to help me out of a hole?” The art critic was tired after a hard day’s work, but he smiled and was 4 obliging and kind as on the former occa sion when Lord Chawborough was poof little Charlie Whiffen. No wonder they think we are all snobs. To be sure, the critic drew the line at writing a whole new lecture, but he gave Charlie an old one of his own, from which to make excerpts, and allowed him to clip from a couple of his magazine articles. Latet, he even revised the manuscript and cut it down to proper speaking length. Als9 being an experienced lecturer himsell, he consented to rehearse Charlie altet (Continued on page 166

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ZAR iffen to Colton, an who, iggested ot very ught his “overed, 1e went London story of y. ton at ‘By the graph [ h,” said but the luced a L photo- T would peak to » longer s would and the way, if ess-men und to terview d four lericans ater by depart- ry. It Ss wire ‘ich was lecture tired of to-day? rs about id, the d much iis busy Sunday inted to I read re last. imself.” id why friends girls at | pretty w noth- | to the .anaged ne. He | late in is going ing old oes not, t them. id, with y much er, and wonder- ance to a hard was as pr occa- as poor ler they ure, the 1 whole an old > make ip from Later, and cut . Also, himself, ie after Vivienne hon star of “The Desert Song,” using the “Health Builder’ Renew the Sheieiar Beauty and Glorious Health of Youth cAn Easy New Way AnisH tedious dieting and exhausting exer- B cises. 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The Douglass Lighter Press the trigger — there’s your light Use Douglass Lighter Fluid or j aviation gasoiene Ask to see the new windshield attach- ment for Douglass Lighters; it’s a wonder SPONSORED BY HARGRAFT WRIGLEY BUILDING, CHICAGO HARPER’S BAZapR THE NOBLE LORD (Continued from page 164) he had become letter perfect in the part. And I acted as the dog. We had re- hearsals in my rooms. Well, this was not a bad day’s work for a member of the so-called leisure class. Who says their Lords are loafers? They are much misunderstood. It HAD been such a busy day that Charlie had to postpone calling upon my Aunt Caroline until the next after- noon. Meanwhile, I had dined with her. I happened to mention that he was in town, but I gave her only a few impres- sions of the new Earl. My aunt, full of her own affairs, was not much inter- ested in Charlie. He had not told me that he had planned to give his former hostess this surprise, but I happened to see him from a club win- dow, passing by up the Avenue. It was an excessively warm September afternoon, but Charlie elected to walk. His tweeds were too heavy for our beastly American climate, but he seemed to manifest a benign and kindly interest in the many changes that had taken place since his last visit to America. Numerous new buildings. More wealth than ever. Countless wealth. “Yes,” imagined that he was saying to himself, ‘‘ America is the land of promise, and this time I will make better use of my opportunities.” As he approached the house, the old familiar entrance of his former New York abode did not look familiar to him. The doors and the down-stairs windows wore their summer coverings of dusty, drab painted boarding. But he found the bell, and, in the course of time, it was answered by one of the caretakers, a middle-aged woman. She seemed dis- inclined to admit him until the visitor gave his impressive name and assured her that it would be quite all right. The Earl of Marrow was shown into a half- darkened drawing-room, its furniture also wearing summer coverings. My aunt had been shopping all day with her granddaughter Carol, who was en route for boarding school. Carol was now seventeen. After the cool breezes of the Maine coast, the stale streets of Manhattan had proved a contrast my aging aunt could not endure. She had left her maid with Carol at the dress- maker’s, and was now resting up-stairs, half dressed, beside an electric fan, a martyr to the cause of Education. “But surely you didn’t say that I was at home?” she demanded of poor Mrs. Harris. Aunt Caroline was disinclined to stir from her chaise longue. She was not inhospitable, but she was hot. “Ves, Mrs. Clifton. Lord Chaw- borough said he was to be in town only a few days, he was sure you would not want to miss him. I thought you ex- pected him, ma’am, from the way he talked.” My aunt groaned inwardly. “Very well. Show the gentleman up to the library and tell him that I shall be down in a few minutes. _We’ll have some tea, please, Mrs. Harris.’ My aunt did not want to dress. She particularly objected to putting on her shoes again. (She is a heavy woman, you know.) But suddenly a thought came to her which made her speed up the ordeal and even made her forget her tired feet. She believed that this impoverished young peer had come over to the happy hunting- ground to bag an American bride. He had doubtless heard of Carol’s suddenly acquired good looks. He had discovered that she was in town. Hence his shame- less haste. AROL was due at the house at any moment. My aunt preferred to pre- vent their meeting. The child was so pitifully young and inexperienced. In a few days she would be safely hidden away at boarding school and, according to the rules and regulations of that ex- cellent institution, she would remain there without even a week-end at home except for holidays. So my aunt’s present preoccupation was to reach the library before Carol reached the house. It may seem disloyal of me to present my anxious aunt in a ludicrous light, but if we are ever to clear up these interna- tional misunderstandings, we must be loyal to the truth. Charlie, y aiting in the dim and stifling silence of the library had not the slightest intention of making little Carol a countess. My aunt had wronged him. He did not know that the child had grown up into a beautify young woman. He did not even know that she had grown up. That is the trouble with our arrogantly rich Americans., They seem to think that every one wants to marry their children. So they become unduly suspi- cious. This sometimes spoils the lives of their poor little rich girls. No, Chawborough did not want the daughter of the house, merely a couple of rooms in it. He was planning to be in New York for some time and would accept an invitation from my aunt to stay with her, as on his first visit to America. That was all. And he thought that this would be very nice for both of them. She had been pleased to have him in the days of his obscurity. She had said so. Therefore, she would be more pleased to be his hostess now that he was a desirable personage. That seemed to Charlie a logical conclusion, a psycholog- ical certainty. HEN at last my old aunt came down- stairs, the young Earl sprang to his feet and met her at the door. He was no longer shy and silent as when she first welcomed him in this same room. I will not say that he welcomed her this time, but he received her with gay warmth and told her volubly how glad he was to see her. “T heard that you were in town, and I couldn’t resist running in to see you. I say, you look awfully fit, Mrs. Clifton.” My Aunt Caroline, glancing about the room and relieved to find that Carol had not beaten her to it, thanked him, re- turned the compliment, congratulated him on his greatness, and gave him a cup of tea. But Charlie felt an unexpected constraint in her manner. A contrast with the scene of his first tea-taking with her. (Perhaps her feet hurt her. My aunt never informed me as to that.) Charlie was not unfamiliar with signs of awe in his own presence by this time, but surely it was not necessary to put this experienced old lady at her ease. Prob- ably her feelings were hurt because he had not come to her directly upon land- ing. The Americans are so sensitive. ‘“When did you land, Charlie?” asked his hostess, suppressing a yawn. Perhaps he had offended her by not letting her know he was in America. He thought that she must have seen it in the newspapers. He told her that he had been in the States scarcely a month. know you won’t think that I’ve neglected you intentionally.” “T’m sure you wouldn’t.”” She refilled his cup and added, “‘ Hope you can stand cream in your tea. I recall that you always preferred milk.” “T planned to pay you a long visit at Bar Harbor. Truly I did.” My aunt looked up with a cool smile. She could not bring herself to ask, “Without an invitation?” So she said with a warm smile, ‘‘ Nice of you.” “Ah, but I have never forgotten your great kindness to me in the old days. I have always wanted an opportunity to show my appreciation.” He was going to do so presently. He was a poor man, but he could at least return her hos- pitality by returning to it. Well, why not? He knew American women who would give their earrings to have him make thema visit. That horrible Heming woman, for example. Pursuing him s0 shamelessly. My aunt was_ unresponsive. urged him to have another bread-and- butter sandwich. Yes, the old lady ev dently felt slighted. ‘‘But you see, MY dear Mrs. Clifton, I have scarcely had a moment that I could call my own.” ““T’ve no doubt you’re in great demand now.” That was it, piqued. She had doubt- less heard of his success at Newport. “Oh, but I mean to say, I’m only over here on a business trip, you know.’ (Continued on page 168 She

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nust be ‘iting j owe making unt had that the eautiful n know n rogantly 0 think ry their 'Y suspi- he lives ‘ant the L couple ig to be d would aunt to visit to thought both of ave him She had be more t he was emed to ycholog- fe 1e down- g to his He was she first I will is time, mth and is to see wn, and see you. “lifton.” out the arol had him, re- atulated m a cup expected contrast ing with or. My at.) th signs ris time, put this Prob- ‘ause he on land- ve. ” asked by not ica. He en it in t he had nth. “I eglected e refilled an stand hat you visit at ol smile. to ask, she said en your day Ss. I unity to is going yor man, ier hos- en who ive him Heming him so e. She ad-and- idy evi- see, MY ely had demand ( loubt- y over fo r SEPTEMBER 1927 Permanent Waves of Distinction A AHALFTERG 590 FIFTH AVENUE New York Bryant 7615 A knowledge of the newest and smartest / f coiffures approved by Paris and New York is combined with the high- est degree of skill in Perma- nent Waving at the J. Schaeffer Salon. Per- sonal supervision of J.Schaeffer ITVCINE ‘GTS —— = gf tenneie’ is a masterpiece of beauty and preci- sion. A watch you wear with pride and satisfac- tion. Obtainable at the better jewelry shops. If your jeweler cannot supply you, write for booklet. =f Fitisites Watch mpany 15 Maiden Lane New York City TITTIES | Now that you are back in town, we shall want to know where to send your copies of Harper’s Bazar. It takes some time to complete the routine work of a change, so won’t you please notify us soon in order that all forthcoming issues will reach you regu- larly and promptly. HARPER’S BAZAR York City 119 West 40th Street New 167 | BIEN Jour FOUNDATIONS Bien Jolie fashions many lovely foundations to en- l. hance the beauty of the fall cofumes. This shapely ney Grecian-Girdle reveals scarcely a hint of its side opening feature, On sale at all good Stores. Write for iMuStrations of the newet Bien Jolie Models BENJAMIN @& JOHNES 358 Fifth Avenue, Dept. B, New York | Loveliness in Every Line

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ST ZN AT ae oN SE Wc rilliantine de traamnce With the atomizer top by Begys . . . Marcelle Bldg., 1731-1749 N. Western Ave., Chicago A sample of Marcelle Creme de France... a French vitalizing andcleans- ing cream. ..a Marcelle Poudre de France... sent free on request, © Bergs. 1927 a DOA eee sot LL OS ee Ne EF om ON NI FN NO) DS NNO THE NOBLE LORD HARPER’S (Continued from page 166) “Well, Newport ought to be a good place for it. How is business, Charlie?” My aunt permitted herself a smile which Charlie did not understand. “Oh, so Dave has told you that I am selling my collection.” “Yes, he mentioned that, too. Have you disposed of the Gainsborough yet?” ‘“No, but I’ve secured my outrageous prices for a couple of the other old dar- lings.” ‘“‘Tt seems a pity the collection has to be broken up.” ““Yes, most of them have been in the family a long time, but even the walls they’ve been hanging on won’t hang to- gether much longer unless I raise some ready cash. Beggars can’t be choosers, you know. I’m stonier than ever, Mrs. Clifton.”” He laughed his high-pitched laugh, which had not changed at all, though his speech had taken on something of the haw-haw mannerism becoming to his new station in life, and he was learning to bray like his uncle. He was not in the least austere, however. He was genial, easy, gay, quite democratic—the modern type of peer. HE WAS too tactful to explain that it was all, America’s fault that he was obliged to/sell his old masters. He was being taxed to death because our country, rolling in more wealth than ever, had not yet seen fit to cancel ‘the debt. Therefore, it seemed no more than fair to Charlie, since Jébn Bull’ had won, the war for Uncle Shylock, that these “Amer- ican cousins should at least pay through their noses for his inherited pictures, and thus make the world safe for aristocracy. There had been other changes in these four years. Our family considered the British even more unbearable, now that they envied and hated us, than in Mat- thew Arnold’s time, when they merely ignored or despised us.» What Balfour said to Europe about the debt was still rankling. What old Mr. Kipling wrote about our claiming an equal share in-the loot seemed beyond poetic license, an ill-tempered lie. But my aunt, despite her good inten- tions to dislike this cheeky young man, could not help feeling sorry for him. She was always interested in the poor, you know. “Dave tells me that you are thinking of delivering some lectures on art.” “Yes, rather amusing, isn’t it? The same lecture bureau that declined to take me on four years ago. Of course, I’m as much of a duffer as ever, but that doesn’t seem to matter in America. My manager says that he can put mc over now, as you call it.” To herself my aunt said, ‘“‘I do not,” and ceased to feel interested in the poor. To him she said, “Oh, but you’re an owner of famous old masters now, a dis- tinguished patron of the arts. No longer a mere artist.’”” The world considers it far more honorific to own beauty than to make it, and I am not sure that my unworldly aunt did not share that view, despite her bantering tone. “A-oh, no,” said Charlie, laughing again, ““I am merely a dealer now. I have cut out the extortionate commis- sions of the middlemen: and am selling the stuff myself.” My aunt laughed and liked him for that. “Oh, it’s quite smart nowadays to go into trade, you know. A lot of us are doing it.” My aunt did not care so much for that. It was regrettable that he was stony, as he called it, but it was not necessary to be so smilingly insistent upon leisure-class condescension. HE sat near the window. He ob- served that she frequently looked down into the street. She seemed dis- trait. She was not jumping at the chance to have him as her guest. *‘And how are the dear children?” he asked. Charlie knew how to please grandmothers. “I remember them so well. Carol and—and the manly little kiddie.” (He remembered the name of one of them, anyway.) My aunt’s glance wandered from the window to Charlie. “Carol and ( are quite well, thank you.” (To be sure, Gregory.) “Js Carol here? I should so love to sce her, 4}. ways a great favorite of mine, you know Quite the most charming young gir] j, America.” a “Do let me fill your cup,” said my aunt. “When do you expect to start out on your lecture tour?” “Some time this autumn. November I believe. I have one or two house parties promised, but I shall be returning to town in a fortnight or so.”” Charlie look at his hostess expectantly. She replied as follows: “It will interest you to see something of the United States It is quite different from New York. np many ways, better.” “Ah, but before I go I should so like to see something of you. When are you leaving Bar Harbor for the season?” * “In a week or so. It is too cold there in October.” My aunt became aware of a step on the stair. Carol had come in “T say, that will be jolly. Then I shall come and pay you a visit here.” Carol’s whistle passed through the hall. She was too hot and uncomfortabk to stop at the library. She went up- stairs and took a bath. My aunt was rather taken aback, but she did not show it. ‘That would be so nice, Charlie, but unfortunately I shall be away almost continuously until December. Now that both the children are off at boarding school, it’s no longer necessary to stay in town.” “Oh, really.” An unexpected blow. He paused, then plunged. For, after all, she had once told him to make her house his home. “It’s so dreary at an hotel.” He was using my aunt’s memorable phrase of four years ago, except that she had called it “a” hotel. “TI say, I won- der if you’d mind having me here while I’m in town? I’ve always liked this house. Would it inconvenience yor frightfully?” “That would be very nice, indeed, but I’m afraid that you yourself would be dreadfully inconvenienced. As you see, the house is dismantled. There are no servants here except the caretakers, and the decorators are stil] at work.” “Oh, that’s quite all right. I could get my meals at the club. The tw rooms I used to have are all I really need I am quite democratic in my tastes. It would suit me perfectly. Truly it would.’ My aunt was amazed. What was she to say? She said it. ‘I should be de- lighted, of course.” And Charlie, being himself a truthful person believed her. Naturally. Other wise he would not have proposed it. i regory ed up O THAT was all fixed. Carol went on to boarding school and Charlie moved into Aunt Caroline’s town house with his new luggage with the crest on it. Being quite democratic he would have been perfectly willing to let the caretakers do for him. But, of course, my aunt & rected her housekeeper to send a servant or two to attend to Lord Chawborough’s needs. He had no valet of his ow “T can’t afford such luxuries,” he & plained to me, “I’m stony.”’ ; All right so far. Carol would remait at school until the holidays, and by that time Charlie would be helping the cause of culture out West. At least, we though! so. e-" I did not see Aunt Caroline again unt! after she had gone to her vast county: place out in the Jersey hills, whither she summoned me on business, I now beitg the head of the legal department of tht Interdependence Foundation. She W# preoccupied with great projects al? seemed to have forgotten the distil guished guest in her town house unl I reminded her of the incident. ‘Oh, yes,’’ she said, smiling. And thet I drew out her side of the story, whic I have already set forth. ‘“‘ You say he ® still there? That’s interesting. He 4 seem to like my house.” z By this time she was more amused tht annoyed with Charlie. “After all,” said, “‘we must remember that he bas been a dependent all his life. Qu® Continued on page 170)

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for SEPTEMBER 1927

— mall le x || | PARIS NEW YORK | } ca || M.M.ARMSTRONG | } INCORPORATED ou know, ig girl ip : sid my | || Four East Fifty-seventh Street Start out ovember, g to town Se parties | ooked up NEW YORK | . appreciation of art w ll interest = objects, intensive study ot od States | ° ° ° . ‘ork. In interior dc coration c¢ nturi¢ $ old, | ° . 7 id so Ii consistent observation ot highly d so like ‘ute 1 are you modern tendencies, applied to on? P ‘old there create interiors of all-compelling ne aware | come in. en I shall distinction and beauty. The In- terior | Jecoration | department of ugh the Armstrong has attained the su- mfortable perlative knowledge of genre.

went up- yack, but The House maintains an inter- rey phe: | esting collection of French and ly until I:nglish antiques. \| : children . no longer ed blow. after all, her house n hotel.” emorable that she y, I won- ere while i] iked this nce yor “Just Around the Corner From the Avenue *

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THE NOBLE LORD (Continued from page 168) unconsciously he has formed a habit of letting people do things for him. I am sure he would not impose upon hospitality merely because we Americans are reputed to be kind to strangers.” I was glad that she looked at it that way, but I told her that I did not think that she quite understood the change in Charlie. “‘On his former visit we were, I trust, kind to him—perhaps too kind. But this time, he is being kind to us. I wonder if you appreciate it.” My fat old aunt looked perplexed for a moment. She was not accustomed to having people kind to her. Then she got the idea, but instead of resenting it, it gave her one of her low, chuckling laughs. ‘‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. I hope the young man is not too uncom- fortable there in town. The weather re- mains abominably hot.” “He told me he did not like our Saint Martin’s summer.” I replied. ‘‘ Why don’t you invite him out here for the week-end? * KNEW that the young Earl’s week- ends were filled a month in advance, but I wanted to see what my hospitable old aunt would say. She did not say anything, but during these recent years she had become a little deaf. She reverted to the business I was out there for. Certain other members of the family, however, when they heard that Lord Chawborough was established in Caro- line’s town house, did not take it philosophically. We are a very clannish family, and what concerns one of us con- cerns all. Some of them seemed to regard Charlie’s innocent occupancy of a couple of rooms in one of my aunt’s several homes as socially compromising to our whole il- lustrious tribe. They saw danger ahead. “Tt was all right to board him when he was a poor unknown boy, Caroline,” said old Aunt Sophia, who motored over with Uncle John to dine with us that evening, ‘but now some of our friends may think that you have become a tuft-hunter like the outsiders who make such a to-do over every titled foreigner that comes to town. You'll get yourself talked about.”’ My aunt was not perturbed. Perhaps she regarded this fear as a form of snob- bishness with reverse English on it, so to speak. ‘“‘No one who knows me will think that of me. As for the others, let them talk. I’m used to it. I couldn’t refuse to take him in when he begged me so to. I daresay you would have done the same thing yourself. He is still poor, you know.”’ Although they talked too much about it, they were all generous to the poor. It runs in the family. Even I was. For the test of generosity is not how much you give but how much you have left. Aunt Caroline had of rooms left in which to lay her weary head. But I had so little of Miss Judson’s time left that scores I had to hire another secretary for myself. “Well, look out for him, Caroline,” put in gruff old Uncle John, with his quick, jerky manner of speech. ‘Some of them are the best fellows in the world. But they’re not the ones who come over here and work us for all we’re worth. You've got him on your hands now. He'll stick. I know that breed of Eng- lishman. You'll wish you had never encouraged him. He’s after Carol’s money. That’s why he’s hanging around. Every one knows that.” This was not true (as yet) and I now explained why I knew that it was false. Charlie had honored me by taking me into his confidence. He had told me that he was afraid that he would have to take the advice of his uncle, the late Earl, and marry money after all. But, as I suggested to the family, he would hardly make this confession to me if he had such nefarious designs upon our own innocent little Carol. They were rather skeptical and were glad that the child was safely immured at boarding school. I am bound to say, however, that when Charlie consulted me about this business HARPER’S BAzap plan, he did not seem to regard j nefarious. He looked upon it as a Be. ; duty to his own family, and more th that, to his beloved country. By th time he was well over being gracious jy his attitude toward me. Perha ie evaporated in our American atmos “ . Possibly I had aided the natural Roe a little. At any rate, he had decided « treat me almost as if I were his social equal. To be sure, on this occasion ~ had had several drinks at a night chi, such poor drinks that after I had on home with him we had several good cin to take the taste out. _ He told me a great deal about himself that evening. He let me see that coming in for a title and an ivy-mantled abbey and ancient estates Was not as enviable as we Americans assumed. Not whey they are heavily encumbered and yo, have a lot of entailed property which you are not allowed to dispose of. “Tr; like having a white elephant on yoy, hands,” he said, ‘‘only worse. You cap shoot an elephant, but you can’t i your tenantry. So whether T like it oy not, I’ve got to marry one of your Tich American girls.” y “Pity the poor peerage,” I gai “They have to marry Americans.” “T say, Dave, this is no time for rag. ging. My dear fellow, I doubt if you are aware that out of seven hundred and eighty peerages, more than three hun. dred have no heirs, only heirs presump- tive? ““My God, Charlie,”’ terrible. Have another drink.” He did so. And then, almost with tears in his eyes he added, putting his hand on my shoulder, “Dave, do you realize that ninety peerages may become totally extinct on the death of the present I cried, “this is title holders?” He shook his head “My country is in a bad way.” I patted him on the back. ‘Buck up my boy, you must be brave. England expects every man to do his duty.” Soon we had another drink. “Tf I could follow my own preference in the matter—well, I don’t mind telling you, there’s a girl at home. But she is almost as poor as I am. That’s why I came over here, if you care to knowit You are my oldest and best friend in America. You will have to help me I’m depending upon you.” “Well,” I said, ‘“‘there’s your old friend Mrs. Heming. She has sworn of culturene and has returned to the straight and narrow path of social climbing.” “Oh, horrors!” he replied with a shud- der. ‘“‘She’s very bad form.” “Richer than ever, Charlie, and she's only been married once more since you were here last. She must have five or six millions by this time.” That gave him pause. But, true to his ideals, he shook his head. “Theres, if you don’t mind my saying so, old thing, a prejudice against Americans at home.’ ‘Clara shares it, so that’s all right.” “My people don’t know that.” “She'll tell them. She tells one.” every HARLIE could not see Clara Heming as a countess, but decided to hold the matter under advisement, pending the time he could consider other candidates There were several others on his waiting list. He had begun one while in Newport. Mrs. Heming could see herself very clearly as a countess and managed 10 see Charlie a number of times before he started out on his lecture tour. And I was happy to report excellent progres (on Mrs. Heming’s part) to my aunt who seemed amused and much relieved. “And who is Mrs. Heming?” she asked in her low, crisp tones. Her voice had become almost a bass during recent yeas, but it was still soft and beautiful to me the most distinguished thing about her. IT told her of Mrs. Heming. “T never heard of her,” said Aunt Caro- line, ‘but I wish her success. If there is any way in which I can help, do let me know.” (To be continued in the October issue)

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egard jt asa sacn more tha + By this Sracious ‘ Perhaps mosphere iral PrOces decided te . casion We night clyt, had Zone | good Ones ut himselj hat Coming tled abbe: tS enviable Not when L and yoy ‘tty whic! of, “Tp, t On your You can can’t kill like it or your rich I said, ns.” 1e for rag. If you are idred and hree hun. § presump- L, “this i nost with utting his 9 do you Ly become he present his head “Buck up England ” oreference nd telling Sut she is at’s why » know it friend in help me your oid sworn off e straight ing.” h a shud- and she's

since you e five or . true to There is, Id thing, t home.” right.” Is ever Heming hold the ding the ndidates. ; waiting Newport. elf very aged to efore he ir. And progress ry aunt, relieved he asked pice had nt years, ] to me out her

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‘eS a 7 The BLUCHERETTE

Style Brochure On Request PYatittet:mmey 4 celae mr tate are chic one-strap from a comprehensive show- ing of exquisite foot- wear by Andrew Geller giving full expression to the spirit of the early Autumn season. “4 Sat OP ciara yee —— — - EWARSHAK

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The three outstanding models of the season: the new three-button double-breasted overcoat of a purplish blue worsted, the double breasted three-button sacque jacket of the new striped cinnamon brown worsted, and the single-breasted three-button suit of sharkskin, a new material which will be much used this season. AUTUMN FASHIONS FOR THE WELL-DRESSED MAN By HE new clothes being shown for this fall are cut on more conservative lines than they were last season. The sacque coats are to be a trifle longer, and made in most cases without a vent. Shoulders are to be more normal; that is to say, the broad square shoulder-line featured by many tailors last season has given way to a more natural line. Sleeves are made with the puffed or corded ef fect at the shoulder, which not only is flattering to most men, but causes the coat to hang much better. While the new coats are not Two cravat really semi-fitting, novelties of Eng- they ‘are cut so as manriecgealign es Saga slightly to’ trace the lish foulard silk figure. with a Jacquard Many variations of pattern of foot- - popular double- 4 g/] players breasted sacque are being shown, some and of numbers. with patch pockets, although the better class tailors prefer the regular pockets, with or without a flap. These coats are wide buttoned, and are tailored along comfortable lines, easy normal shoulders, full chest, and rather narrow in the hips. Of the single-breasted sacque coats, the three-button model will be the most worn. One does not see four buttons except on extreme models. As to trousers, there is a little change in cut. They are made in most models without plaits at the waist. English clothes are still shown with the plaiting at the waist-line, and last season a number of the smart tailors on this side showed a few of these models. They did not have much success, however, except on evening clothes. The new trousers are cut full to the knee and taper to the shoe, giving a peg effect, and are made with cuffs, except, of course, on dress trousers for formal or informal afternoon wear, when the straight bottom is used. The one outstanding new feature is the peg effect. How well it will go remains to be seen. The raglan overcoat will be very much worn this winter. Not the full cape-like model we wore last season, but models cut on straighter lines, reaching about three inches below the knee. These new raglans are shown in both single and double-breasted styles, and I saw a few

<— sch at one of the smart tailors, with a half belt at the back. These are particularly smart for motoring or sports wear. When greater formality is desired, the three-button double-breasted coat, cut on semi-straight lines, is correct. This model is cut much the same as those of last season, but it is shorter, and the lapels are set higher. The single-breasted Chesterfield, made with the fly front, will also be much worn. Some of these are shown with a velvet collar. All the overcoats, like the suit-coats this year, have easy, square shoulders, being cut to give freedom and a sense of roominess. In most models there is a rolling lapel—an excellent feature for the much desired added height, since the new silhouette is to appear tall and thin, and as young as possible. Hats this winter will be higher of crown and narrower of brim. The new hats are blocked to set higher on the head and should be worn with a decided tilt backward. A number of black Homburg hats are being shown, and from all indications and authentic reports will be very popular and the correct hat to wear with dinner clothes. For informal wear the narrow brim, high crown snap- brim hat will be much worn. These may be turned down in front or all around, as one wishes. <A great number of stiff hats are in the shops. O! these, the very full high crown with the narrow rolling brim, English bowler type, is the smartest. If suits and hats are to be conservative this winter, ties and hose are evidently going to Hose of French the other extreme. Bite. aime of Even the most con- : “ ventional shops are which shows the showing socks and ties new Frenchhori- of gay colors and even zontal stripes What might be called wild designs In : America, we are timor- broidered clock. ys about attempting these almost barbaric designs and coloring. However, for in- formal wear with a dark, or sports sult, these new accessories are exceedingly smart. 7 Low collars, with the cravat tied in a small tight knot, continue to be the fashion.

with hand -em-

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ZAR uits and at from [vipler HE a half cularly -d, the t, cut This ose of - lapels made much with a , like square m and nodels -ellent added is to ing as er of e new > head d tilt nburg m all will iat to ormal snap- » may yn in nd, as great hats Of full h the brim, pe . is ts are e this hose ng to ome. con- are 1 ties even alled In imor- pting baric r in- suit, ngly cd in the for SEPTEMBER 1927 SPORTS~TRAVEL TOWN WEARS (r YOUR INTUITION will tell you no other sports coat has the smartness of an Ekcomoor. Yourreasoning will convince you that in no other coat will you find such a perfec- tion of tailoring and balance, such richly colored wool tabrics, proofed against dust, wrinkles and moisture. Yet considering their unex- celled style and qualities, Ekcomoor Coats are exceed- ingly moderate in price. On sale at leading shops everywhere EDWARD KRIEGER & CO. Incorporated 237 W. 35th St., New York ES | ARARAAAAARAARARAAARA RAG LRARARAI Distinction and Charm for the “Boudoir Whether outfitting your boudoir or selecting a gift for any occasion, the Carlin Shops offer a veritable treasure chest of appropriate sugges- tions—at most reasonable prices. Here, from an assortment of boudoir furnishings ee >| Pe a - a) AA ARARA AAAARARARAAAAAAAAA AARAAA AAAS PIPAAAARA AR AARA AA RARAAARA AA RAAR AA RARA AA AAAAAARAAA AARARA RAG VW VV WW 0 0 N can always find the nee ARA RA AAAARARARA AA AAARARAAAAA AAA AA AA RA RA RARARAARARARARARARI : CHICAGO $ 662 No. Michigan Avenue F at Erie Street EEE vw VV WV VW \ ned in perfect taste, you ul for your home, or the gift you will be proud to send. A profusion of delightful accessories for travel- 3 ing by Rail, Motor, Steamer or Yacht. and bed coverings a CATALOG ON REQUEST Carlin Cmforts tne VW 0 8 0 8 0 8 8 0 8 ‘ww NEW YORK 528 Madison Avenue at 54th Street VW UW UW OV WO ‘ jw vv vv VW VW yw wy WVU UVEVEvS A New Dress for a Few Cents When seasons change and _ store windows are vivid with beautiful clothes, it is not always the dress or suit which makes vour heart throb with longing—it is the color. at home which You have clothes | would look just as good when tinted or dyed the latest shades. Just use ‘Diamond Dyes and follow the direc- tions on the envelope and you can have a thrilling array of up-to-the- minute clothes. It is so easy and Dia- mond Dyes cost only r5¢c. Diamond Dyes Dip to TINT — Boil to DYE Big Dye and Tint Book FREE! A valuable “Color Craft,” free and postpaid, if you write. Full of pic tures and suggestions for dyeing and tinting dozens of things at home. To be sure of a copy clip this coupon now: book, DIAMOND DYES ‘ Burl: ington Vermont Please send Color Craft the big illustrated a book on home dyeing and tinting - free Se Oe Oe oe a CANADIAN Appress: WINDSOR, ONTARIO. RLBORG ) hee CIGARETTES | O

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READ THESE BOOKS Reviewed by BAIRD LEONARD Lost Ecstasy. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. HARPER’S a Ps Wes ff A /

(Doran.) TRADER Horn. By Alfred Aloysius Horn and Ethelreda Lewis. (Simon and Schuster) ARY ROBERTS RINEHART, who has hitherto taken no part in the conversation, now steps forward with something entirely new in the Great Open Spaces school of fiction. “Lost Ecstasy”’ is the story of an Eastern heiress who fell in love with a cowboy, and the author doesn’t mean maybe, even with her eye on motion-picture rights. She delves deep down into the psychology of the matter, invoking the influence of heredity and the law of contrast to account for the strange and stable penchant which Kay Dowling had for Tom McNair. She goes out of her way to make Tom seem outlandish as a lover and husband for a fastidious girl of Kay’s background and upbringing by stressing his eccentricities of speech, his reputation as a philanderer, the hard- ships of his environment—everything, in fact, that she could think of. On page 178 she even gives him a gold tooth, of which he was both vain and boastful. After that I could think of nothing else in connection with him. The glittering molar gleamed through the most noble patches of dialogue and the most daring feats of heroism. But Kay didn’t seem to notice it. If she did, it made no dif- ference. He was her man. Of course the path of all this true love did not run any smoother than the proverb has it. The street brawl losses of the Montagues and the Capulets may have exceeded those of this affair, but there certainly could not have been more black looks, nasty threats, or wheel spokes to bother Romeo and Juliet than Kay and Tom were up against. Kay lost about thirty pounds, for one thing, which is the modern vernacular for ‘pining away,” and finally decided that she might as well marry Herbert Forrest, with whom she would at least lead a safe and sane conventional life. The wedding presents were in and the bridal gown delivered before she changed her mind. As for Tom, he got himself indicted for shooting an Indian and became half en- gaged to Clare Hamel—and what a specimen of feminine tenacity that bag- gage was!—before he joined the rodeo to get away from things. Then Kay, out for a fitting on some of her trousseau, saw him in the parade, and that night, in spite of all that the society editors had written about her, she was out at the show grounds with her gold toilet articles and her grandmother’s pearls. And so they were married. But this story does not end with their marriage. In fact, it really takes off at that point, for the ensuing domestic ad- justment is far more interesting than any of Papa Dowling’s never-darken-my-door- again possibilities. The triumph of love over such antipodal points of view is the best publicity which that tender emotion has received for some time in the pages of fiction. Tom, for example, would not BOOKS FOR YOUR GUEST-ROOM TABLE (GUGGENHEIM. Schuster.) A Goop WoMAN. FIND THE CLOCK. THe Next AGE OF MAN.

By Haydie Eames and Madeleine Marshall. By Louis Bromfield. By Harry Stephen Keeler. By Albert Edward Wiggam. MOopERN AMERICAN Poetry. Selected by Conrad Aiken. (Modern Library.) allow his wife to smoke a cigaret, but he thought nothing of sitting down tg dinner in his shirt sleeves. He would not let her use any Dowling money which she happened to have on her, but he watched her wardrobe disintegrate and her hands grow coarse without visible discomfiture. It was the gradual spoiling of Kay’s hands which made me realize, more than anything else, the enormity of her sacrifice. I must not conclude without a good word for Aunt Bessie, who is more ij Mrs. Rinehart’s usual vein than any other character in the book. Aunt Bessie was the kind who had lived ang” learned, and the only member of the Dowling family whom it would be any fun to have to dinner. : NE morning Mrs. Ethelreda Lewis was sitting on her stoop in Johannes burg when an old man came up the path with some kitchenware for sale. Some thing in his philosophical acceptances,” without argument, of her refusal to caught her attention, and she relent said that perhaps she could do with new gridiron. On that slight commer transaction hangs ‘‘Trader Horn,” ofe¢ the most fascinating books of our times For the old man, who had come to tie Ivory Coast some fifty-odd years befor, had a story to tell. Mrs. Lewis literally wormed it out of him, as the academik cians say, and once he had started @ the instalments which she made him bring her from time to time, he took writing as a duck takes to water, amd wrote with such a naive eye on American public that I sincerely hopeit will live up to the dear old thing’s & pectations. After each instalment, would talk it over with his impresalid, and these conversations, which Mm Lewis has recorded in a spirit of collabom tion which is heaven-born, are the spit of the book. John Galsworthy, in & foreword, quite raves about the business. : Trader Horn first went into Afme with a gun and Manchester cotton not, like Livingstone, with a Bi Livingstone, “‘whom ladies in ; Park prayed for and sent the whet withal.” His adventures were i highly different from those which previous missionaries and explorers, his reflections in the late afternoon his life have a tang which is cer’ worth four dollars of anybody’s mi There are, fortunately, to be more @ them. As he says in conclusion: “! hope that comes from a literary hora is of a breed harder to kill than mom . And all from that gridiron 1% twisting up one Sunday morning m room. I knew you never wanted it.” I sincerely advocate that in the ie all authors will look twice at old men want to sell them anything. (Simon and (Stokes.) (Dutton.) (Bobbs-M errill.)

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Auster.) ret, but lown to uld not which but he ate and ut any gradual ‘Ise, the a good more if 1an any ment, he npresanid, ich Mp collabort the spite ry, in the he whdle to Africa otton and 1 Bible in Hyde » where re indeed nic h befell orers, and ernoon @ cert i *s money. » more a ion: ~ horizaa in most. ron I we ing in ed it.” the futuit d men ey

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Number a ew * 73 AZAR 61st Year oo (Gre | OCTOBER 1927 CONTENTS COVER Robes Nouvelles By Erté Fashions WHAT IS NEW IN PARIS ; 76 to 101 Reports on the Fall Collections in Paris by BARON DE MEYER and MARJORIE HOWARD Photographs by BARON DE MEYER Drawings by DyNevor Ruys, Mary MacKinnon, REyNALDO LUza and BERNARD BouTET DE MONVEL THE MODE IN NEW YORK : 102 to 107 LuctLe BuCHANAN Writes about Black Clothes and their Accessories Drawings by GRACE Hart and MALAGA GRENET SMART SHOES FOR SMART OCCASIONS Drawings by DyNevor Ruys LAST-MINUTE SKETCHES FROM PARIS Fiction GOUVERNEUR MORRIS ; Many Mansions, A Gipsy Nocturne of Old California Drawing by JOHN R. FLANAGAN HUDSON STRODE ann LARRY HORNTHAL The Dance Below, -1 One-Act Play Illustration by SAMUEL Davis Otts LOUIS BROMFIELD ; 116, 117 The Cat That Lived at the Ritz, A Story of the Paris Boulevards Illustrated by Sc DE Parts RICHARD LE GALLIENNE 120, 121 The Mender of Broken Hearts, A Graceful Story by a Well-known Poet Illustrated by WALLACE MORGAN LYNCH WILLIAMS xe 22, The Noble Lord, The Second Part of the Satiric English Fortune-H unter Illustrated by W. JESSE 123 Story about an EMERTON HEITLAND Society and Special Articles RICHES, An Editorial by CHARLES HANSON TOWNE MRS. WOLCOTT BLAIR : Drawn especially for Harper's Bazar by MAry MACKINNON COLONEL H. H. ROGERS’ HOUSE AT SOUTHAMPTON Described by Mary Cass CANTIELD Photographs by SHERRIL SCHELI MISS GENEVIEVE CARPENTER Portrait by BARON DE MEYER I12to DEBTS AND DEBUTANTES Some Frank Statements by a Social Secretary Decoration by KATHARINE STURGES POEMS by CHARLOTTE BECKER ann KATHLEEN MILLAY. 121, FRANK SWINNERTON Londoners Remain Londoners, Gossip of the Month in London Woodcut by Fiske Boyp A NEW DIVERSION FOR SOCIETY LILLIAN Barrett writes of Newport's Casino Theater Avis OUS les modéles reproduits dans notre magazine sont la propriété de leurs créateurs. Les reproductions, imitations ou contrefagons méme partielles peuvent toujours entrainer contre leurs auteurs des poursuites de la part des créateurs et de l’ Association des Arts Plastiques et Appliqués en France et & I’ Etranger. Published monthly by the INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY, INC. Ray Lone, C. H. HaTHaway, President. Vice-President. . by International Magazine Company, Inc. (Harper's Bazar). right. s otherwise directed we begin all subscriptions with the current issue 1e old address as well as the new and allow five weeks for the first copy to reach you handled with care, but this magazine assumes no responsibility for their safety either wholly or . 1 , Copy ARTHUR S. Moore, All rights reserved under terms of the Fourth American International Convention 50 cents a copy; subscription price, United States and possessions, $4.00 a When sending in your renewal, please give us four weeks’ notice. Manuscripts must be typewritten and accompanied by return postage. Harper's Bazar is fully protected by copyright and nothing that appears in it may be reprinted in part without permission. , at 119 West 4oth Street, New York City. Austin W. CLARK Treasurer. Secretary. of Artistic and All subscriptions are payable in advance. When changing an address give They will be rear; Canada, $5.00; Foreign, $6.00.