Demoralic ald
“= Bellefonte, Pa., May 24, 1929.
en
THINGS WORK OUT.
Because it rains when we wish it wouldn't,
Because men do what they often
shouldn't,
Because crops fail, and plans go wrong,
And some of us grumble all day long.
But somehow in spite of the care and
doubt,
It seems at last that things will work out.
Because we lose where we hope to gain,
Because we suffer a little pain,
Because we must work when we'd like to
play—
Some of us whimper along life’s way.
But somehow, as day always follows night
Most of our troubles work out all
right.
Because we cannot forever smile
Because we must trudge in the dust
for a while
Because we think that the way is long—
Some of us whimper that life's all
wrong.
But somehow we live and our sky grows
bright,
And everything seems to work out all
right.
So bend to your trouble and meet your
care,
For the clouds must break, and the
sky grow fair,
Let the rain come down, as it must and
will,
But keep on working and hoping still.
For in spite of the grumblers who stand
about,
Somehow, it seems, all
out.
things work
—EDGAR A. GUEST.
MEN ARE DANGEROUS.
Ludwig Kranwertz—and there is a
name for you that is not like every-
one’s name!—felt that he required a
change! Yes, a complete change. He
always had been a man of mystery;
there were innumerable stories about
his origin and speculations as to how
he had amassed his vast fortune, but
no one really knew.
Even his wife, Emma Ford, had no
definite knowledge. She had met him
in a hotel at Saratoga Beach where
she had gone with her mother for re-
cuperation and rest after her crotch-
ety father’s death. She had intend-
ed to be a school teacher when she
graduated—but that did not mean
that she knew anything which would
interest Ludwig Kranwertz, who pos-
sessed the cultivation of the ages at
his finger-tips—and if her youthful
form had not been so pleasant to-look
upon, it is doubtful if the wedding
ever would have taken place! How-
ever, the financier settled a million
upon her widowed mother; the mar-
riage took place in the office of a jus-
tice of the peace—and the couple
went to Europe.
That was five years ago —and Em-
ma with pearls as big as gooseberries,
yards of them—and a dethroned
queen's sapphires, besides everything
else it was possible to shower upon
her—was still half asleep. She still
said, “Thank you, Ludwig—it's real
sweet of you”—and this got on Mr.
Kranwertz' nerves. He had been too
busy doubling and trebling his mil-
lions to seek the cause of Emma's
dumbness. She never resented his
caresses, or returned them.
“As well love an india-rubber doll!”
he often felt. But that was that!
And there seemed nc help for it.
The world had given up its gold to
Ludwig Kranwertz—and though gold
means power his spirit was not free.
Of what good to possess millions if
he had to live like every other civiliz-
ed creature? He had dreamed so often
of finding a woman with mind and
body and soul who might understand
him and help him to spend his for-
tune in some fine way. A woman
who would read books with him and
think thoughts with him, stimulate
him, and differ with him and—Ilove
him!
He had waited until he was thirty-
nine—in vain—and then, in despera-
tion, he had taken Emma! So there
it was—and now he felt he required
change—complete change.
That magnetic will of his which
had drawn colossal wealth to him
seemed to draw the means to pursue
- whatever he desired. And it sent in-
to his office in London one day, one
poor half-crazed engineer who had in-
vented a remarkable parachute. It
was so small that it could be conceal-
ed n a tiny bundle not much bigger
than ten or twelve business letters.
Ludwig Kranwertz bought it.
“I'll give you a million dollars for
this—if you never make another—
and foiget that you made this one or
sold it. If you remember, by chance,
and talk of the fact, you'll only have
a few hours to do it in. Isita bar-
gain mn
The engineer, a sardonic person,
found the deal to his taste, and in a
few minutes it was a fact. The bun-
dle, in a big envelope, lay in Ludwig
Kranwertz's pocket, and the engineer
was leaving the room when Mr. Kran-
wertz said:
“You seem a pretty clever fellow.
I'll give you another million if with-
in a year you invent an improved
submarine—so small that it can hide
on the deck of a little cargo boat. It
must be safe—and hold two men—
and go at forty knots. Can you do
it?”
The engineer said he thought he
could if the important parts were
made of platinum. No one had yet
seen fit to provide for the experiment
in this expensive material.
“Go ahead!”
“I will, sir,” and the engineer left,
smiling.
During the year that followed, Lud-
wig Kranwertz transferred countless
millions into various regions of the
earth where he wished them to be.
He no longer tried to educate Emma.
‘When he made up his mind, he nev-
er wavered. That had been the secret
of his success from the days when he
had been a bank clerk im Vienna.
When the engineer, Jum Penning-
ton, came into his office again, exact-
ly a year from the time when he had |
emerged from it, smiling, everything
was ready for a great adventure!
The two men looked at each other.
“Hello, ‘Jim Bludso’!”
The engineer smiled. “You did
right, boss, to ‘put your trust in my
cussedness.’ The boat is ready—up
a cove near Southampton.”
“We will go to see it today.”
They went—and as they traveled 12
the millionaire’s motor-car, they grew
to like each other. Neither was lo-
quacious, each seemed to understand
a number of points without words.
“Should you care to start life ov-
er again?” the Croesus asked.
“No, I'd like to get on with this
one. I'm learning—on your million—
about nice things to eat and drink, and
what silk feels like, and now I want
to know women—ladies. I dreamed
of them in college.”
“So did 1.”
“I guess you're about forty, boss.”
“Just forty-five.”
“You've met some, then?”
«T thought I had, but I always
found I had not. They seemed every-
thing by day—but were too generous
about the nights when they heard of
my millions.”
“Couldn’t you keep that dark—
with all your resources?”
“Not for long.”
The engineer became reflective. “I
begin to see light.”
Ludwig Kranwertz glanced at the
man sharply. Light was all very well,
but as yet it did not suit him for any-
one in his employ to see too much of
it. The engineer perceived the glance
and understood.
“If you should want someone to op-
erate the sub—I can do that too.”
“As mothers can dress children?”
“Prcisely.’
By the time thev had inspected the
queer-looking craft, Mr. Kranwertz
had decided to let Jim Pennington
far enough into his secret to be of
use to him. There was one other per-
son whom he trusted—his valet.
Johnson.
The household in the estate he haa
taken this summer thought Johnson
was away on his annual holiday—
and Emma, pleased with a new pink
pearl bracelet which had arrived for
her twenty-fifth birthday, never wor-
ried about anything concerning her
husband’s movements. She knew
vaguely that he was going to try out
a marvelous airplane he had just
bought, which would hold ten pass-
engers—and that a party of men
were going with him across to Havre
and then on to Deauville. Emma hat-
ed flying, although she never had
complained about this, their constant
mode of transport.
At about five o'clock in the after-
noon, when the perfect English ser-
vants had brought the tea to their
mistress on the perfect English lawn
of Skipbrook Castle—the financier al-
ways insisted upon following the cus-
toms of the country he happened te
be sojourning in—the butler handed
her a telegram.
Emma read it languidly and then
she gave one scream and—fainted!
The Mystery Czar of finance had dis-
appeared from the eyes of man in
mid-channel—walked into the back
compartment of the airplane and ap-
parently vanished into space.
The whole thing was more than ex-
traordinary. No one had observed a
body falling—and the telescope re-
vealed that no ship was within eight
miles of their whereabouts to save
him. Was it an accident?
The pity was that Johnson should
have been on his holiday, and a sec-
ond man who was not so well ac-
quainted with his master’s ways
should have been in his place. The
millionaire had not seemed depressed,
but he had written a number of let-
ters just after they started, it was
remembered. These lay upon the
table to be posted when the plane
landed.
When they were opened by the po-
lice later, they were found to be in-
structions to the lawyers about var-
ious stocks and also about a large
sum which had been settled upon Mrs.
Kranwertz—and there was a letter to
Emma herself. It did not actually
announce suicide—but it could be tak-
en that way.
Dear Emma (it ran): My journey
may go much farther than Deauville;
enjoy the few dollars I have settled
upon you. Return to America and be
happy with the pleasures of your age
and class. That is a European word
of which you do not understand the
various meanings as yet—and accept
my grateful thanks for five years of
perfect acquiescence. Sincerely yours,
Ludwig Kranwertz
Emma was never quite sure what
made “her faint. She was usually a
phlegmatic creature. She never had
speculated ‘about anything—and cer-
tainly not as to whether she had or
had not loved her husband. She was
married to him, so of course she lov-
ed him. This had been her creed.
Ludwig's “few dollars” proved to
be eight millions—free of cncum-
brances. He left her his yacht and
the palatial Spanish villa he had just
bought in Santa Barbara, and all his
motor-cars—but not the airplanes!
He had always been so considerate
of her personal tastes!
Of course it was suicide from de-
pression—because his colossal fortune
was found to have diminished to a
mere ordinary fifty millions! And
this pittance was to accumulate for
the benefit of scientific discoveries in
Austria, England and America. .
Such ample bequests to employees
and servants, too! No one seemed
to be forgotten—Johnson being made
comparatively rich for life, which en-
abled him to retire like a gentlemav
and travel abroad on his own.
So, by the winter of 1926, the nine-
day wonder at the disappearance
from Life's stage of one of the most
spectacular gamblers of the century
had ceased to be news. Ludwig Kran-
wertz was almost forgotten. But not
quite—#t least by Emma. In fact,
she seemed to be under an obsession
of his memory.
In 8 comfortable room in a gloomy
old palace , changed Vienna.
a man sat n'a ve dressing-gown.
His head was tied round with a ‘silk
handerchief. He held two photo-
| best light. Then he laughed.
graphs in his hands—which were en-
cased in gloves—and he looked first
at one and then at the other with
intense interest. They were of -the fa-
mous financier Ludwig Kranwertz,
In one photograph he saw a man
of just above medium height and
rather heavy build—with short, thick
slightly retrousse nose and penetrat:
ing, beetle-browed eyes which had a
Mongolian rise at the corners; 8
close-cut mustache adorned a large.
determined mouth. It was a full
length photograph and showed that
the shoulders were particularly
square and the neck short.
The other was a half-length, pro
file, and in it the strangely wrinkled.
powerful hands could be seen clearly.
The man looked every bit his age---
forty-five. The hair was dark and
thick, but growing far back from the
temples and exposing a high, broad
forehead. It was cut extremely short,
accentuating ears which stuck out
unbecomingly.
The man in the chair got up and
looked at himself in a pierglass set
between the great windows in the
“Come
now!” he called—and an elderly Eng-
lish valet appeared from the next
room.
“These wizards of Austrian doctors
have done marvels, haven't they,
Johnson?” he said, after he had
greeted the servant warmly. “It is
said you can always recognize people
by their eyes—but I affirm—not al
ways!”
“You're right, sir,” the valet agreed
Both men examined the reflection ip
the mirror. They saw a trim, athlet-
ic-looking figure with a neck certain-
ly an inch longer than the one in the
photograph and set on not aggres
sively square shoulders. They saw
an oval face, clean-shaven—with a
finely cut, hawklike nose. The . eyes
were dark and they slanted down-
wards at the corners and this, with
the straight brows well raised above
them, gave them a slightly wistful
expression. The pure olive complex-
jon was smooth and unwrinkled. The
mouth was medium-sized, stern-look:
ing, with young, unwrinkled lips.
Johnson coughed. He could hardly
speak. “I can’t believe my eyes, sir.
If it was not for some tones I know
in your voice speaking to me, Td
swear you were deceiving me.”
The man laughed delightedly. “And |
even those tones will be lower and
different in another month, and then
the last trace will have disappeared.”
“If T may make so bold, sir—how
was it done?”
“Sit down, Johnson, and I'll tell you
all about it. I would not let you join
me before because I wanted your im-
presison when the job should be al-
most complete.’
. The valet sat gingerly at the edge
of a chair, but his mask-like face ex- |
pressed intense interest.
“You've heard from me, of course,
how Pennington and I got away;
the chute and the sub both were
knock-outs. We finally landed in
Spain—and there 1 said goodby to
him and came on here to Herr Rosen-
berg who was a college mate of my
father’s. I put myself into his hands .
unreservedly. He might try any of’
his experiments on me that he pleas-
ed, so long as he promised that 1
should emerge a new man. He isa
great surgeon. He had a colleague
or two, specialists in their different
branches, but he did not let any of
them see me until he had so disfigur-
ed me that they could not recognize
me.”
Johnson's eyes grew wide.
your height, sir; your build!”
“Rosenberg always has had a theo-
ry that the rack wasn't such a
“But
perfected one which stretches the
spine and the neck—I was on it daily |
for three months. Then he perform-
ed a slight operation on the shoulder-
bones, and stretched the muscles in
that part, which let my shoulders
drop. That was a pretty serious op-
eration. Diet and exercise did the
rest of the fining process. Then he
made the greatest change: he cut the
skin of my eyelids and drew it down
instead of up; he cut and sewed up
my mouth, changing the entire expres-
sion, and then he remade my nose—
which was broken at college. And
last and best—Ilook!” ne
With this the man pushed up the
loose ‘handkerchief on his forehead |
and disclosed thick, dark hair grow
ing in a point on a Greek brow.
““In a month even that fine reddish
line at the edge of the gro will be
faded, and if it looks too white we
shall have it tattooed the color of
the rest of the skin. I've had that
done to the line on the nose.”
“It’s a miracle, sir—a miracle.”
“You can always recognize a man
by his gait, Johnson, that is why I
determined on the shoulder alteration,
but it was a near thing!”
“I don't see how the hair was man-
aged, sir!”
“That was quite simple; my scalp
was very loose and my forehead
wrinkled into a scowl. He raised the
skin and drew the hair dowz in a dif-
ferent outline.”
“Then your complexion, sir—like 8
girl's.”
“I had the beauty treatment when
the cuts were healed, had the whole
top layers burnt off with acid.”
“And yet you can see where your
beard grows—it’s miraculous, sir
little short of it!”
“Yes, they are real artists here. I
am having a treatment for the vocal
chords and am speaking lower every
da: I.
*ernere are still your ears to be ac-
counted for,” Johnson ventured.
The man laughed amusedly. “Yes.
they stuck out like an ape’'s—and
never thinking about them, I had 8
hair-cut that accentuated their ugli-
ness. The skin was cut behind them
and they were drawn back.”
“And you are wearing gloves, sir?”
“I have to for another week; the
operation on my hands was ticklish.
I can tell you; first the skin cut and
tightened at the side, and then the
peeling: but I had almost to pound
Rosen ig head to get him to do it.
The fear of cracking and non-healing
is ‘so ‘great. You'll See, however, ID
‘a week. They'll look as young as
my face—all those wrinkles and
moles gone!”
“Mr. Pennington did not know you
intended this alteration, sir?”
“No, I just disappeared; he had no
jdea where I was making for, even—
or that I had any such idea ir my
head.”
“Beg, pardon, sir—but how will
you account for me? Isn't it risky,
sir?”
“Yes, it may be; but you are nec-
essary to me, Johnson, the one per
son I can trust. You will soon write
to acquaintances in my late house-
hold that you would be likely to write
to and tell them you are lonely with-
out work and so have taken a situa
tion with a young Hungarian gentle-
man—but you don’t know if you'll
like it yet and you hope to see them
if you come back to England. Be sure
you say a ‘young’ gentleman!”
Johnson came as near to grinning
as he ever had done in his life. “Why,
to be sure, sir—you don’t look more
than twenty-five.”
“That's gorgeous, Johnson, old
boy. Call for a pint of champagne
and let's drink to Hurkly Ora—that’s
my new name, made up of lucky
numbers! May he enjoy his new life!’
Emma Kranwertz had been a wid-
ow for almost a year and she was a
changed being. Ludwig's letter had
achieved this, she felt, for that enig-
matic sentence about “class” had
rankled with her and stimulated her
to study what he could possibly have
meant. She was as good as anyone
in America, of fine old Mayflower
stock, therefore there could not have
been any aspersions intended in that
respect.
“I know,” she said to herself after
a month or two; “he meant my clas#
of intellect—the people who like me
are half asleep. Why am I half
asleep? I need not be. I won't be!
Did he kill himself because he could
not stand me?”
This troubled her exceedingly, and
she began to remember some of The
wonderful things he had said to her,
the whimsical meaning of which had
(gone over her head. She was only
twentyp-six—there was time to alter
herself; she never could bring Ludwig
back—and she did not know that she
‘anted to--but she could make some-
thing of herself.
She would not go back to America
—yet. She would hire a highly edu-
cated companion, travel in Europe,
| with new eyes. She would read and
{study all its wonderful art galleries
| she would think. Paris should make
her individual clothes which should
accentuate her style; no longer would
| she wear what she was told, or do
| what she was told, or eat what she
was told, or—but of course not!
There was no one to tell her to do
anything any more.
| It was six months later before a
sense of humor began faintly to dawn
‘in Emma. When she realized that
the aspects of things were beginning
to make her laugh and not the things
themselves, she almost felt uncom-
fortable!
“Of course Ludwig could not stand
me. I was perfectly awful!”
At ‘the end of another six months
‘she did return to her native land and
went to Santa Barbara. The strength
of her character had emerged—she
would: not invite her mother” even.
She dispensed-with the cultured com-
panion and departed - to: the ‘coast
alone. And there she stayed, with
only a summer visit to Europe, un-
til her second year of widowhood was !
almost ended.
| A year after the financier’s death
la very handsome young gentleman
| dawned upon the world of Paris and
‘was of Jewish extraction, although
! his strange name gave no clue to his
| nationality—but the nose was unmis-
takable, and so was the droop of his
large, magnetic, rather melancholy
eyes. He appeared to ‘be really
wealthy too. Women fell at his feet
and into his arms, and how his wierd
eyes laughed behind the melancholy
"interesting droop of his eyelids!
It was almost eighteen months
‘ since his rebirth when he fell in with
| Lady Ayencourt, an attractive widow
‘who had been Angelica Carew of
‘ Philadelphia ten years before—and
now, at thirty, found: herself -alone: in
! the ‘world, incurable war wounds at
“last having carried off her much-lov-
ed Bobby, ‘that penniless, attractive
tenth baron of the name.
»Angelica was one of those exquisite
creatures which America alone seems
to produce—fragile as a lily to look
at, with perfect health and a wit as
keen as a rapier. She knew how io
dress and how to make her tiny house
enchanting to her friends. She could
have had lovers for every day in the
week had she wanted them—but she
had adored Bobby, and now was lone:
ly and looked pathetic.
Hurkly Ora was presented to her
at the dinner of a successful Amer-
ican at the Chateau de Madrid in
‘Paris, and in the glancing lights and
shadows of that obvious but delicious
spot, he said some very intriguing
things to her—so that when she got
into bed that night she remembered
them and knew that she had received
the first thrill since Bobby died.
“I wonder who he is. I wonder if
I shall see him again.”
She did.” He took care of that!
And he was thinking, “Perhaps this
is what I have been looking for all
these years. I shall have to try her
by offering her a present. Time will
tell.” -
Time told—for Angelica refused
the present which was not tendered
for quite a wéek of acquaintanceship,
and in a manner which would have
made almost every other wo-
man of her world accept it ! A mere
onyx and diamond breech for her hat,
but a new shape, and enchanting
workmanship. Angelica wanted it
badly, but—
“No, thank you, Mr. Ora. I like
thoughts more than things from peo-
ple; thifigs bécome old-fashioned or
wear out; thoughts remain.”
Hurkly Ora’s strange eyes soften-
ed and a flush came into his olive
skin. He looked horribly attractive,
Angelica realized.
éYou are not offended with me?”
she hazarded.
| Lo: . Of
Td ing ont, after all, and he has | ndon. Of course it was obvious he
| “No, you have done just what J
wanted you to do.”
“Eni 3?
| “Angelica!”
| «Insolent! Let us play tennis!”
They played—and fenced with one
another for a fortnight—she imagin-
ing that she was keeping him exactly
where she wanted him to be, with
that grace and charm and intelligence
which only an American woman witb
long training in European subtlety
knows how to use with success
against impetuous foreigners.
i Hurkly Ora appreciated her art in
this game; he was more and more
certain he wanted to win, and it amus-
'ed him to allow her to think that she
was setting the pace. He was finding
life perfectly enchanting. It was
much better, after all, to be thin and
svelt and good-looking, with distin:
guished flat ears and a smooth olive
skin! Women ran their fingers
through his thick, dark hair now.
They never had desired to do so in the
days of his convict-like hair cut.
He laughed often, sardonically, buf
was aware that he was getting some
satisfaction out of it all the same. He
had the odd, new feeling that women
loved him for himself now!
He was only believed to be ‘rich,’
not a millionaire now—and there
were a number of rich young mep
(floating about in the chic society he
‘frequented, so for that part he had
nothing to lean upon. No, he really
could begin to imagine that he him:
self, “Hurkly Ora,” had emerged from
unattractive fleshly trappings, like a
diamond out of sawdust, and then he
laughed sardonically again. So emo
tions in women and social success
were a good deal dependent upon the
' satisfaction obtained by the eye!
| In Santa Barbara a team of polo
players from the East arrived and
won laurels for themselves, and
among them was one Jim Pennington
—said to have risen from nothing aft
all, but to have had astonishing luck
about two years before. Now he was
head of a number of engineering com-
panies. He was introduced to the
rich beautiful widow, Emma Kran
wertz, and they got on at once. Em-
ma seemed to Jim the ne plus ultra
of those “ladies” he had dreamed of
at college—and Jim seemed to Emma
to be what she always used to think
she would like in a man.
She wanted to wait, though, to
‘make up her mind, until a friend,
Lady Ayencourt, whom she had met
in Carlsbad the year before, should
i pay her a promised visit. They had
arranged that she should come that
September.
| They were standing on the terrace
of her Paradise Villa, looking at the
beautiful view—both feeling senti-
| mental, when a telegram was deliv-
j ered.
{saying she would arrive the follow-
"ing afternoon, and was bringing her
niece and a charming Hungarian man
| called Hurkly Ora—whom she was
sure Emma would like.
“That is very suitable,” Emma
thought. “We shall then be four—
chaperoned by the niece. I had bet-
ter tell Jim to provide one of his
friends for her.”
! “Now, Johnson, I know I can count
upon you not to show the least sign
when you see Mrs. Kranwertz again:
tu» very audacity of our proceeding
. makes it the more cafe. If sne has
. her former maid or any »f ‘the ser-
i vants, you will repeat the old story-—
you were lonely and so took service—
with a young Hungarian gentleman
| who likes traveling.”
{| Johnson answered with perfect se-
renity, “Very good, sir.”
The night in Paris when Lady
Ayencourt had suggested that Mr
| Ora should come to California with
‘her to stay with her friend, Mrs.
| Kranwertz, he had accepted at once;
ment, he had laughed and laughed
This would be a too exquisitely en-
joyable experience !
They motored from Los Angeles
and it was rather late in the after-
noon, when Emma received them in
the opal-tinted sunset on the terrace
overlooking the sea. Jim had not yet
come from the polo field.
Emma’s first impression was that
she seldom had seen anyone hand-
somer than Angelica’s friend. She
that point and his perfectly flat: ears
‘they -were. so well-bred ' looking !
And it was so rare even in a man of
see such ‘a~pure olive skin. :
‘Then, suddenly, her mind went back
to poor Ludwig Kranwertz—and how
coarse and snub his features weve !
The squareness of his shoulders used
|to irritate her so—because she al-
ways felt his power, and had to obey
him!—and now that she never obev-
ed anyone, it was quite delicious to
see dark, romantic Hungarian eyes
looking into hers with a fire totally
absent from that sweet fellow, Jim's !
At dinner Mr. Ora sat at her right
hand — Emma did everything
thoroughly now that she was awake.
Her house was perfection; she had
unconsciously followed all Ludwig
Kranwertz’' teachings as to how es-
tablishments should be conducted.
Hurkly Ora observed, with some
cynical gratification, that his wishes
in his former life had been carried
out! Emma was vastly improved
too—much thinner, and her big blue
eyes seemed to have some meaning in
them now. He must draw her out!
“You are far too young and beauti-
ful to live alone, Mrs. Kranwertz, said
his deep voice with just the faintest
foreign accent. His methods were al-
ways bold. “You should have some-
one to take care of you.”
Emma could not meet his eyes; she
felt a distinct flutter. “But I don’t
want to marry again. I am enjoying
—freedom.”
“Were you a caged bird once?”
«I suppose I was, but it was be:
cause of my own stupidity.”
“Your spirit has become free then?"
“I'have tried to make it free by ac-
quiring knowledge. Oh! I am learn-
ing so much, and I do not want to
hand the key of the door into anyone
else’s keeping—not until I’ find some-
one who would make a -great illumi-
nation for me on the other side of
it !”
Hurkly Ora almost gasped. Was
and afterwards, alone in his apart-
loved ‘the way ‘his'hair grew down in"
this Emma—Emma announcing
these subtle aspirations? He became
thrilled with interest; he drew her
out further; he talked to her about
the things he had alweys loved of art
and literature—and about which she
had always listened in respectful}
bored silence— and his amazement
deepened. Was it credible that a per-
iod of two years could have wrought
such a change in a woman?
“I must have been an awful brute
to have kept her so dumb.” And this
thought made him tender.
Across the table Angelica was find-
ing Jim Pennington most refreshing..
After all, these young men, not of’
her world, were interesting to meet.
She liked Jim’s lithe, sinewy body—
as thin as a rail. It reminded her of’
Bobby. She was so absolutely sure
of Hurkly Ora that she was not con-
cerned about his interest in their
hostess— which proved that she did
not know men quite as well as she:
thought she did.
“That's the sort of guy women falk
for,” Jim said, looking at Mr. Ora..
“They couldn’t hold him back if they
tried—if he really wanted them. ¥
don’t know why, but something about
him makes me think of a man I used’
to know. He's not a bit like him, he’
was years older and shorter—guess-
it’s that his spirit is pretty punchy—
the same as that guy’s.”
“Really? I have never seen any--
one like Mr. Ora. He is a most re--
markable person of an exquisite cul
tivation.”
Jim’s pupils narrowed.” Is that nec-
essary to you? I meant to be if FB
had stayed longer at college; I sup
pose a man can learn even now.”
‘A man can learn anything he
wishes to.”
“I love dancing,” Emma was say:
ing just then. “My husband never
danced, so while he was alive I never
had the chance.” :
‘I like dancing too—especially the
tango. Will you dance it with me
one evening ?” Hurkly Ora’s eyes said
more than his words.
“After dinner,” Emma answered
gladly. "I have asked several friends
to come round, and some musicians,
but I wondered if you played bridge
all the time.”
“I loathe bridge.”
Emma smiled delightedly. “Oh!
How nice to hear that. The hours 1
have yawned away in the past, trying
to learn it.”
Hurkly Ora remembered in his
former ilfe how he had tried to teach
it to her in despair at the incredible
boredom of their tete-a-tetes ! He felt
glad now that she did not play bridge,
It was from Lady Ayencourt, :
and that he did not— and laughed at
himself for being glad. The sardonic
whimsicalness of the situation was
causing him delight. Then he looked
down at her very white neck and saw
to suggest itself, a little black mole
just where an exquisite curve begar
peeping from beneath the string of
: marvelous pearls, and suddenly a mac
"thrill ran through him,
and he re-
membered how it had delighted hin
the first time he had seen it and how
he had bought the pearls that thei
whiteness should match her skin anc
contrast’ with the minute round o!
: velvet with which Nature had adorn:
ed it.
The friends arrived almost as the)
left the dining room, and the musi
cians were already playing a plain
i tive valse from the balcony. Emma
» with quiet grace and assurance,
only twenty-eight, or thereabouts, to |
| pleasure !
be
gan arranging for the happiness o
the bridge addicts. Hurkly Ort
watched her. And she had been s¢
awkward and stiff, fulfilling any so
cial duty in the old days !
Lady Ayencourt spoke to him wit]
the faintest tone of anxiety in he
voice. She said something ordinar;
about the beauty of the view fron
the windows in the moonlight—am
he answered her with his useal cour
tesy, but it struck him that she look
ed a little faded beside Emma !
Was it possible that he, the cynic
who had come to life again with :
new body, should fall in love with hi
former wife! As htey danced, h
realized the immense possibilitie
which were now emerging in Emme
No woman could understand th
rhythm of the tango as she wa
showing him that she understood it
unless there was passion in her. Paj
sion in Emma ! Then a twinge {
| jéalously ‘came.- Had some other
awakened her? Was that it? H
looked over at Jim Pennington et
rgetically clasping Lady -Ayencour
Could it be he?
Angelica took in the situation. Sh
realized that her friend was winnin
a trick in the game from her. Bi
what did she really want? A maste
ful Hungarian — perhaps a yet
younger~than herself—or a Jim Pex
nington who ‘would be an adornin
second Bobby ?
As for Jim, there was no doubt i
his mind as to what he wanted, or i
Emma’s either. She was thrilling &
she had never done before. :
“How perfectly you dance,” Hurkl
Ora whispered, letting his lips acc
dentally touch her ear as the la
notes died away. Then he drew ht
out on the terrace.
“Do I?” Emma had a catch in h
breath. “I don’t believe I ever dance
like that before.”
“Do you know what your wor
imply? That it is T who have mac
the change. That gives me infini
There are a number
things I should like to teach you.”
‘Such as?” Emma marveled at hi
own temerity.
“The elevation of the soul—tl
communion of the mind—the joys
love !”
Emma gasped—this kind of thi
on the first evening ! And said in su
a deep, attractive foreign voice, wi
such a look in the passionate eye!
Why, it was taking her off her fee!
She ventured to glance up at him f
a moment—he was so beautiful
dressed.
“I suppose he has a perfect Engli
valet like Johnson,” flashed throu;
and then her level brain went back
the man himself. She had not a'sing
fault to find with him. But he w
Angelica’s property. This was t
bad of Providence —to have given h
a first husband she did not want, &
(Continued on page 7, Col. 1.)