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.