Lady Blanche Farm A Romance of the Commonplace By Frances Parkinson Keyes WNU Servies Copyright by Frances Parkinson Keyes CHAPTER XI—Continued — i “1 can see her all right from here.” “Well, speak to her then!” “I'd have a fat chance of saying anything there now, wouldn't 1?” “Well, don't have one of your ‘grouches’ about t—" Philip hastened to interrupt the ex change of fraternal compliments that seemed imminent. The following morning, Immediately after lunch, Paul left Blanche's apartment and be- took himself into town. Eventually he alighted from the street car, to find himself {in front of a florist's win- dow. He hesitated a moment, then entered the shop. “lI want some flowers,” he little vaguely, “something pretty. -—for a lady.” “Certainly, sir. Orchids, two dol iars aplece? American Beauties, fif. teen a dozen? Or gilt baskets, filled with white lilacs—just in—are very attractive, Twenty dollars for the smaller size, thirty for the larger ones.” Comparative wealth meant actual poverty in New York, Paul had discovered. In Boston, it meant, apparently, straitened circum. stances at best, He fingered the slim wallet ip his pocket nervously. “Not any-——nothing like those, I'm afraid. You haven't anything like— like what grows in a country garden, have you?” “A few sweet-peas, pansies?” “Yes, and mignonette, me-nots.” “lI could make you up an old-fash- foned nosegay—" “Yes, that's what 1 want.” When Paul took out his wallet to pay for the bouquet, he took out a little box, too, and writing on it In pencil in his curiously unformed and immature hand, “For Mary, with Paul's love,” he slipped it in among the flowers which the salesman hand. ed him. Then, thus armed, he turned toward Beacon street. His destination proved to be an enormous corner house of brown stone, on the water side, Its appearance In- stantly suggested age, wealth and exclusiveness, Paul, uncomfortable enough already, became decidedly more so as he rang the front-door bell The appearance of the man-servant who answered the ring did not reas sure him, “Miss Manning is not at home, sir” “Or Mrs. Adams? Or Miss Adams? “None of the ladies are in, sir.” *Could 1 wait? [ want very much to see Miss Manning.” The butler seemed to hesitate. “I'm her cousin, Paul Manning, from Vermont, I've—I've come a long way" How silly that he should be pleading with this wooden-faced automaton! He half regretted the words before they were out of his mouth. jut, as usual, he stood his ground. And he was rewarded, *“l think Miss Manning would wish you to walt, sir. Will you come to the library? I'll tell her you're here, directly she gets in, sir—or Miss Adams, If she comes first, sir.” The library proved to be an enor mous bay-windowed room at the rear ©f the house, overlooking the Charles river, lined with books to the ceiling and furnished in Cordova leather. Paul had never seen, hardly even im- agined, such a room before. This was the kind of house—for Mr. Hamlin's, he felt sure, would be very like his sister's—that Mary could live in for. ever if she chose! Mary, whose chance for “advantages” had been no better than his! Mary, whom he had called a prude and a shrew and a Jailor! The clock on the mantel <himed and struck half past four. The butler reappeared and piled fresh wood on the fire “1 doubt if Miss Manning will be in now, before tea-time, sir. Is there anything I could get you, sir? Some cigarettes, or a whisky and soda?” “No, thank you.” The fire crackled a little with the new wood, blazed into brilliant colors and settled to a steady flame. The clock chimed and struck, and struck and chimed again, It was after five when he finally heard Mary's voice, “Someone waiting to see me? Who is It, Judkins?" “The gentleman sald he was your cousin, miss. 1 took him into the library.” There was a short silence. “Thank you, Judkins™ “Shall I serve tea for you there, now miss?" “Please.” So they were to be alone-—~what he had hoped for so much! He heard her coming, lightly and quickly, up the stairs. Then she entered the room. She was dressed In the dull blue <olor that she had always loved, a soft, flowing gown, a large drooping hat. These were not the kind, Paul instinctively knew, that were hurriedly stitched together after the children were In bed at night, or painfully «created by Miss Sims, the village dress maker, from a “paper pattern.” But the change In her was far greater than in apparel alone. He could see that now, even more clearly than at the theater the evening before. She was said, a For in Hamstead you mean or and forget. rested, she was happy, all of her gravity seemed to have left her. ['aul had never seen a woman so beautiful, so vital, so full of promise, “Paul! When did you come? ever so glad to see you!” “Just yesterday. I'm staying with Blanche” “How nlce! Isn't her apartment pretty? And isn't Philip—well, just almost too good to be true?” “Yes. 1 guess he is true, though. Blanche Is lucky.” Mary sat down, pulled off her white gloves and took off her hat. “Is everything all right at Lady Blanche farm? Of course, or you wouldn't be here! Are you going to stay long?” “Only a few days.” “We must try ahd make them pleas. ant for you. Hannah is giving a din- per for me tomorrow-—I'm sure she'll want you to come, And there are sev- eral good plays in town" “It's awfully kind of you. But I'd honestly rather not be asked to din- ner, I—1 came just for—for rather A specigl reason.” “Yes?” said Mary, still lightly, “I'm going to entlst.” Mary, pouring tea, did not answer. “I've—I've had a devil of a row with mother” Mary handed him the cup. “You would, of course,” she sald quietly. “Do you think 1 did wrong?” “No—1 don't think so, Tell more about it.” “She's all right, physically, though she insists she's a nervous invalid And she’s all right financially, too, if she'll only be careful. We were In debt, rather, after Blanche's wedding, but I've pald that all up. [I've used some capital of my own, Now she can keep Hod and Myra to work for her and have plenty of money left over for food and clothing and taxes and everything that | ean think of—['ve been over it all pretty carefully, [I've told her she could have my share of our income, too, as long as | was gone. That's falr, isn't it, Mary? “1 should think it was—perfectly fair. What branch of the service do you want to enter?” “The marines. [If they can't get into a scrap on sea, perhaps they will on land.” “Yes—1 suppose Cousin Violet, when she saw she couldn't stop your going. advised the quartermaster’s depart- ment or something like that?” “How did you guess? 1 felt there were lots of other men who could go into that, men with families, | mean, or who weren't all right physically, There's nothing the matter with my heart; 1 found that out from David Noble before he left. It was David who first put the [dea of going to war into my head, [I've had of time to think it over since and I'm sure I'm doing the best thing. But I'm sorry to have quarreled with moth. er. Cousin Jane took her side, too, and your father. No one seems to know there Is a war, In Hamstead, hardly. 1 tried to make them see how I felt. 1 couldn't. I'd made up my mind to go, anyhow, but | hated going like that.” “Yes,” sald Mary. "It must have been hard. And I'm—I'm sorry, Paul” “Sorry I'm golog? “Oh, no. I'm glad you're going. I'm only sorry they couldn't see that you were right to go and that it made sour going harder. 1 suppose it is hard enough, anyway." Paul put down his cup and came and sat down beside her on the sofa. “Mary,” he sald, his voice trembling a little, “I haven't any right to ask, of course, but would you tell me?—Are you going to marry Mr. Hamlin?" “No. I'm going home, very soon now. ['ll try to make them see your side, in Hamstead. 1 don't know whether I ean, but I'll try. And that there is a war, And that they must wake up and help to win It, if they don't want to perish in it" “Would—would you marry me?” For a minute the gir] did not an- swer. She sat looking into the fire and In spite of its bright reflectson, Paul thought that some of the lovely color had suddenly left her face. “1-1 thought,” he went on, taking courage at not being Instantly re pulsed, “that If you would—we could have just a week or so together before I enlist. We could go to some quiet little place by the sea—neither of us has ever done that. And while 1 am gone, 1 could! could remember it— and look forward te coming back te you, that way, again” Suddenly he knelt down, and half. buried his face In the soft folds of her dress. “Mary—I've been so lonely without you all winter. [I've wanted to talk to you—about New York, and the farm and the war-—aboul every. thing 1 was Interested in and think- ing over myself. I've wanted to try to make some things easier and pleas. anter for you. 1 never knew before that home, to me, meant-—just you. Mary—1 want you so—" “1 know,” she said slowly. “I've known that, of course, since Christmas. That's why I went away. Because you don’t love me.” She drew away from him a little. “You think love Is Just that—'wanting,’ " she sald. “Want. ing something you can't get. And throwing it away as worthless as soon as you've got it. If I married you, you would be happy that week. But the first little French peasant you met" “Mary ” “Well, wouldn't you? Or at any rate, have 1 any reason to suppose—to know--that you wouldn't? You don't know what it means to love.” “1 thought 1 did. But perhaps 1 don't—will you tell me?” Mary hesitated. “1 don't know that 138m Dut 1 1atq words Yar) NIL" she at It isn’t something talk about. It's something you Ru I'm me plenty that you are. And | ean only tell what It means—for a girl, 1 can’t, of course, for a man. Perhaps they don't feel as much as we do, though they always say they feel more—" She turned her head away for a minute, and then faced him. “1 can't pretend 1 wouldn't like to live like this always,” she sald, *1 love the country but 1 haven't any {llusions about I(t, I know that Lady Blanche farm-—or any farm-—means lots of hard work, lots of loneliness, lots of deprivation, I'd like to have a big, beautiful house in the city, and the constant associa tion with delightful people—~and all the rest of it. And when a man whom you like very much, offers them all to you, and you realize that you could not only have everything you want yourself, but give your father rest and comfort In his old age, and your brothers a good education, and ~and-—you hesitate. You can't help it. It Is an awful temptation. Of course Gale Hamlin is too tactful, and too—too square, to try to bribe me, But it amounts to a bribe just the same. So I've tried to love him, so that I—1 could have all this. 1 thought 1 could, perhaps, But | can't.” Mary glanced down at Paul, her lips quivering a little. Ile was still on his knees hefore her, his eyes looking up into hers, more steadily, this time, than she could look at him, “Because,” she went on, voice was very low, “you and feel if he's so poor he hasn't a shirt to his back, or so bad that you've to drag him out of the gutter, If you can only belong to him. That you'd rather bake his bread, and sweep his room, and wash his clothes, than sit on a throne gold, beside anyone else. Thm you want to share his poverty and his troubles and make them easier If you can. That you want to turn to him in your own sorrow and in your own joy, That you want to marry him-—to to sleep every night in his arms, and the first thing when you wake every morning, to feel his lips on yours, kissing you before you begin your day's work together That you hope, In time, he'll be your children’s father.” Paul rose from his knees and walked blindly over towards the bay window, When he finally came back, his fresh young face looked white and old. “You didn’t care for Hamlin that,” he said, as If he were scourging himself with every word he spoke, “so you wouldn't marry Nm You didn’t want a man just Ke was rich and famous and And you didn't want just easy, pleasant things, like Blanche. You wanted the hard part, too. That's— that's the way you cared for me” “Yes,” sald Mary, unsteadily. “And you don't any more.” It was not a question. Nevertheless, Mary answered it with one “Do you think it likely 7” she asked Paul bowed his head “No,” sald, “1 don't think it's likely. Of course | know it's impossible, [It was insane of me to think for one minute that you could marry me now, after what | did to you, when you cared like that, | ask your forgiveness from the bottom of my heart, but | know | don't deserve it and | don’t expect to get it. got of } go Gale like because good the he Good by.” Later In the spring, just before she went back to Hamstead, Mary re ceived a limp, square letter, on co tan-colored paper with a red tris in the corner. “Dear Mary,” It said *]1 won't bother you by writing yon again, but 1 can’t start across without doing it this once, “1 do love you. 1 know you don't believe me and if you decide to marry Mr. Hamlin after all, I'll try to be glad because 1 know he deserves you -@8 much as any man can deserve you—and 1 don't, but I'll make you believe me, anyway when | get home, It would be silly of me to say I'll be more worthy of you then, for of course I'll never be worthy of you. But I'l make you believe me, anyway. And if 1 don't ever get hard to believe me without any more telling than just this For | do, with all my heart and soul. Per haps 1 didn’t before, but | do now, “God bless you. “Yours always, irae ingle “Paul” CHAPTER XII It was snowing hard, but Elliott, bundling herself up Mrs well, | V JITH a growing appreciation of what the of dressing really means, who “know” will consider none other than the hat, the gown, the accessories which * something for you" more than serving merely as wearing apparel, art good women do When it comes to a fabric which per. forms miracles in the of doing something fiatterInz for you, such as softening harsh lines, nec charms, while It minimizes until it takes years from one's appear ance, it Is generally conceded that vel ye! compeer., Which readily explains why designers of this day and Age are seeing to it that velvet be kept in the style year round, wny enting defects has no picture the whole Paris adores velvet as a summer item. In creating the newer costun the best coutluriers seldom lose an op portunity te complement sheer and summery frocks with the most ravish- ing and colorful little Jackets OF Capes One may ever hope 10 see if not a cunning wrap, then bows, gir dies and furbelows of velvet play an effective contrast to the dainty organ lies, chiffons and such which fashions milady’'s wardrobe for the coming months, Tne lovely models in the Hlustration convey some little idea of the perfect. iy charming things leading French de signers are doing with The three wraps are Patou creations. The dotted frock Is a Maggie Houff model, Note the new short front of its skirt La velvel velvet, dress is a white The decollete velvet, the same also does not show Fhe material for this erepon with trim Is of blue used for the belt which in the picture The cape the left in this group, is made of pearl blue broadcloth. The girdle, bag and shoes, likewise the saormous bow, all bine dots, dress, pictured above to an bine place unmis- » velvet vogue | in matching genti » haute monde HE haule mong velvet evening jacket, ft, is in ruby red. It tops a mousseline frock which con the floral prints in gorgeous The Intricate seaming of this charming velvet wrap, as well as igh ruff sbout the throat, are points of high style distine tion, The other Jacket, which i» worn over a light Liue evening dress abounds In ingenious details which set it apart from the ordinary. A wrap of this type Is 8 much-to-becoveted pos session, in whatsoever color one may choose, or In black, it can be worn smartly in the afternoon as well as for formals. A very pretty effect is being achieved in afternoon frocks dainty crepe done In pastels such as pale green or light blue or some such, the idea being to trim with a velvet in darker shade. © 1322 yo gh wn below to the le vers message of CHIOTIngR the velvet since of Western Newspaper Union SMARTLY TAILORED By CHERIE NICHOLAS the afternoon” with her friend. Mrs, Gray, a fardistant thing--another “crazy quarrel among them throat-cuttin’ for. eigfers”—It had stirred feeble interest and still feebler sympathy in most of the hearts in the Connecticut valley and as it dawned gradually upon Ham- stead’s reluctant mind that the United States “was likely to be drawn into the horrid thing” it comforted itself with many good reasons why its own sons should not go-—farmers were, of course, needed in the fields as much as soldiers in the trenches—men with families had thelr own responsibilities _to think of first—an amazing number of cases of fiat feet and weak eyes and impaired general health were dis. covered. But gradoaily, almost im. perceptibly, public sentiment changed For the first time in the history of the village, Methodists and Congregation alists and persons who professed no faith at all, the “old families” who be longed to the D. A. R. and those from “out back” who belonged to nothing more exclusive than the Foreign Mis sionary soclety, began to work to gether with a common Interest, all petty differences forgotten. . (TO BR CONTINURD) The casual tailored sult, shown to the right, with its swagger topcoat, chietied shoes and cavalier bag, Is characteristic of the latest mode for abont-town and travel wear, The hat is of straw with an organdie bow and baud, and the bhiouse is of striped shirting silk. Remove the topcoat of this handsomely tailored three-piece and skirt suit. The suit, above to the left, of men's cloth is in correct tal lored form from shoe to hat, Note the series of bracelets and the tailored bag. The little sailor has one of the very new high-back crowns. Gun Metal Leather Used in This Season's Shoes Gun metal leather Is one of this sea. son's contributions to new and differ. ent footwear-and shoes of it solve the problem of one pair for gray, blue and black outfits, Because of the nature of gun metal, shoes styled In It are generally with. out much decoration. In some models it is combined with suede. SPRING LINGERIE IS MOST ALLURING It is to sigh with catches a glimpse of trifles which Paris has de signed In the way of spring and lingerie. No signs of hard times here, inces, plenty of handwork seem to be the rule for the latest un- derthings Gowns are more elaborate than ever, borrowing their design from formal evening fashions. One adorable night: rapture, as one the latest lactable summer cobwebby from yoke to hem In clusters, empha. released below the knees, There's a deep yoke delicate pink as the gown. Double puff siceves of the lace are held with nar. row bands of the chiffon, and a nar row sash belt ties at the back. The separate jacket scheme turns the nightdress into a tea gown, and is proving very popular, Sleeve Lengths Vary in New Jackets for Spring Schiaparelll's cartridge shoulders or sleeve top, pleats in ‘every length, elbow, three-quarter, seven-eighths and full length. And new bagged from elbow to wrist, or from elbow to any chosen sleeve length; wide cuffs to finish elbow or three quarter length sleeves: siashed sleeves, with the dress showing through the slashes, and the usual plain, raglan, and set-in sleeve types, Skirts Generally Longer Than Worn Last Season Skirts generally are accepted to be longer than last season-—considerably longer. Some houses show only a few sport things above the ankle, all the other daytime skirts touéhing the an. kle bone, and evening ones sweeping tke floor, Waistlines are normal to low except in the mind and models of Mme. Elsa Schiaparelll, who continues to place them high, wide and handsome, In an ¥ eccentric way, The Movies Copyright by Hal C. Herman By GLORIA SWANSON WAS never “screen-struck” I did not think of the movies as a road ing for “my chance” An Impulse, or perhaps it may bet. My old ioterest in acting had béden where my father, an army of- ficer, was stationed, I do not remember the benefit was a brilliant Certainly, my part in it could On another occasion, in Porto Rico, I had been told elders. 1 only knew that I en things, Later, I returned to Chicago to finish my in the city of my birth, aunt suggested a visit to the old Essanay studios. Up to this bad taken no particular fio ¥ schooling my Gloria Swanson. but I wel- » opportunity to visit the stu- my natural curiosity. 1 was then fifteen years old te of the studio I It was all so new to me, And then came “hunch.” Almost without realizing what 1 was saying, I expressed a de- to appear before the cameras. A director or some one who stood near- my first appearance was y extra, but as a “bit” player that I was given further “bits on, I became more and made the most of every to learn all there was to months I was made meant that I was guaranteed four days’ pay each week, at $3.25 a day, whether I worked or not. Consequently, I was given more interesting parts to play. I was cast for a “bit” in Charlie Chaplin's first Essanay picture, “His New Job,” but after about a dozen rehearsals of a gingle scene Charlie me. He was quite right. I was terrible. Later, 1 appeared in George Ade's “Elvira Farina and Meal Ticket.™ My “breaking into” the movies had been quite simple, but I quickly dis- covered that the business of remain. ing in the ranks, while hundreds clam- tion pictures, in order to satisfy the ga was fascinated, Once past so different. the sire me went three . - “fired of hard work. And I have worked very hard ever since that time. On leaving Essanay, I decided to journey to California. After two weeks in Los Angeles 1 went to Mack Sen- signed for a picture following a brief rehearsal. Then I made one picture at Universal; Mack Sennett offered me a contract and 1 “held out” for $75 with an Increase of $5 or $10 every three months or so. He agreed to pay the amount and the contract was sighed. 1 appeared in a number of Sennett comedies, being ing my work there, for a year and a half, I never was cast in a “bathing beauty” pRture. The general belief that I once was a Sennett bathing girl is erroneous. I left the Sennett lot for company, which enabled me to make appeared under Cecil B. DeMille's di. In 19268 I became an owner-member of United Artists, and a Independent producer. “Sadie Thompson” in the si. lent screen version of “Rain” was one of the most popular of the plays made under this arrangement. More recent iy I have appeared in several pletures made In England Marion's Freckles One of the few people in the world who looks beautiful with freckles 1s Marion Davies “Zander” featured her freckles and It is remembered as an outstanding characterization, “Peg o My Heart” will be minus curls. Marion will have the same tight pigtails and freckles that were so popular in “Zan -» Funny thing that Marion's freckles do not show in real life but the cam. era seems to bring them out when she doesn't use makeup.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers