Evening Star Newspaper, June 8, 1930, Page 82

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 8 1930. 55 . — CORINNA ANNOYS A MARQUIS Desperate Action Was Required, So What Was the Heroine of This Story to Do? You Will Followwo Her Adventures With Interest and Probably Agree That She Did the Proper Thing. BY ALICE DUER MILLER. HE minute Corinna arrived im Paris, being a true woman and a true American,, her mind became a fan- underclothes and furs, chiefs and bright slippers. She constantly told herself what a pity it was not to be do- ing the picture galleries and Notre Dame; she always thought she was on the point of going there, for in other cities she was a conscientious sightseer, but somehow, in Paris, just at the time when she had meant to be admiring the great Raphael portrait of Castiglione or the lovely Mantegna, she found hersclf watching an undulating mannequin, while a vital, white- haired vandeuse hung over her murmuring: “Voyez, mademoiselle, comme c'est adorable « « « absolument votre robe.” Her father, who ordinarily felt it his duty to check her extravagances (at least on those oc- casions when she had not a weapon to hold over him in the matter of his own) on this visit egged her on. He was delighted to see that she could take an interest in dress; he saw therein a hope that she was not really broken hearted, that she had forgotten that boy at home—that infatuation which had made a European trip necessary when it was so incon- venient to him to be away from New York. In Wall Street he was considered a sagacious and ruthless man, but there must have been a strain of naivete in his nature, for he never suspected that his daughter’s purchases had any connec- tion with a trousseau. They had been about 10 days in Paris when one afternoon Corinna returned to their apart- ment, rather imagining that she was late for’ an appointment with her father to have tea somewhere or other. But he was not in. RINNA was bored, a state of mind which must be distinguished from her genuine sadness. She was sad because she had been torn away from her first real love on grounds that she thought insufficient. She was sad because in the process she had lost some of her respect and admiration for her father. Not only did his objections to Peter Marley seem to her trivial and snobbish, but he had broken his word. He had promised that Peter, who was his secretary, should not suffer because of his love for her, and as scon as she was safely at sea Mr. Daner had wirelessed his office to get rid of Marley as soon as possible. She could not forgive that. Perhaps she did not try very hard. She opened one of the long windows of the salon and stepped out on the little balcony. Paris in April. Right before her was a famous boulevard, and beyond all that all the lovely spectacle of the city. It really did seem a pity to be young and pretty and idle and in Paris without a sign of a young man. It was true that Paris made you think of clothes and theaters and good food, but also of love. And she knew the shops and the language and @auseums, but not the people. A great many Americans are in this position. Her heart was true to her Peter at home, but yet she could not help reflecting that it would be agreeable if at this moment she were wait- ing for some one, not her father, to take her out to tea; not one of the American boys she knew, who wanted to be taken to buy gloves and cravats because their own French wasn’t good enough. No.. She began to consider what would be the most desirable type of man to make a Paris visit agreeable. A great blond Englishman, who spoke French accurately with & slight Britannic accent? Or perhaps a genius from the Left Bank, with a kowing tie and a broad-brimmed hat? Or, better still, a great French gentleman, with a noble hotel of the sixteenth century, a member of the Jockey Club. She sighed. Her-father had evidently for- gotten her; he was perhaps having tea with Mrs. Sandon, the lovely widow whom he wanted to turn into Corinna’s step-mother. After a little unpleasantness that had developed be- tween father and daughter in Rome, he had telegraphed this very wise lady, who was in England for a short visit, that she must help him out and meet him in Paris. He consulted her about everything. Very likely he was con- sulting her now. Corinna went to her bed room, which was so piled with boxes of various sizes and colors that she was obliged to thread her way among them. She saw here a possible assaugement to her sadness. She glanced at a glittering eve- ning bag; she tried on a hat; then she decided to put on that wonderful black chiffon that made her look like a lovely widow. She had put it on and was studying the unuestionably satisiactcry result in a mirror when there was a knock at the door. Opening it, she found a hotel servant. He said that there was a gentle- man in the salon, but that he could not find monsieur, and he gave her a cord, on which Corinna read the name “Marues de Trianchet.” “Mais monsieur est sorti,” she said, thinking it might be that the miracle of & wish being granted at the right moment had actually hap- pened. X The man shrugged his shoulders and began to scold her with the fraternal interest of the French. What could one do if monsieur would not let him know when he went out? Every one knew that one should notify the office be- fore going out. Corinna said that she would explain to the gentleman. It was very simple. She had nothing to do but to say that her father was out. That was what, as she crossed the corri- dor, she intended to do, but when she entered the salon and saw the visitor her purpose changed. HE was almost the marquis of her dreams— slim, hawk-nosed, not young, but, she felt, middle age had taught him better things than youth. He was dressed in a black coat and striped trousers, made, she was sure, by an Eng- lish tailor, but by an English tailor who had aliowed himself to go farther than an English customer would have let him. He bowed. He in English expressed his wish to see Mr. Daner. “Monsieur Daner!” cried Corinna in great surprise. She was speaking French. “But, monsieur, this is not the apartment of Monsieur Daner. This is my apartment,” and she laid a hand on her black chiffon chest. “Daner, Daner? I think there is a gentleman of that name—an American with a daughter? Very strange to us Latins—the American girl. Yes, they have an apartment on the floor below.” The marquis regretted that he had put madame to any inconvenience. He was about to go when Corinna spoke again. “Before you go, monsieur,” she said very sweetly, “would you do me a favor? I do not know your beautiful city. Will you point out to me which building is which?” The marquis was astonished. How was it possible that any one who spoke French lke & Parisian could fail to know Paris? Corinna explained at once. She was an Argentine, had never left Argentina until the other day; she had had a French governess in her youth. The marquis smiled. “I think, then, you must have her still, madame.” Corinna’s answering smile was that of a per- son under the weight of great sorrow. “I do not feel young any more, monsieur.” They stepped out upon the balcony, and there the marquis pointed out the objects of interest—the spires of Notre Dame, the Tour St. Jacques, the dome of the Invalides. Ah, Corinna clapped her hands—the tomb of Napo- leon. How she would like to see that. The marquis owned that he had not been brought up in the Napoleon tradition; a great man, yes, but a parvenu, who had done little for France. Corinna could not agree to this. To change the subject, the marquis inquired how she had failed to see everything she wanted to see. Was she too busy with the dressmakers? Corinna spread out her black draperies in a sort of reserved rebuke, and then decided to be frank. “Dressmakers? Ah, I wish it were only that! No, monsieur. I am in Paris to see my mother- in-law, who has lived here for many years. You perhaps know the code of Spanish ladies of the last generation? No? It is severe. They believe a young widow should be seen nowhere but in church.” “Ah,” a faint intonation of sympathy. “Madame est veuve?” “Helas, monsieur.” They both allowed a moment of decent mourning over this, and then stepped back into the little salon. Corinna was enjoying herself immensely. She explained to her visitor that he must not suppose that she would wish to show the least disrespect to her husband’'s memory; quite the contrary—he had been so kind; he had intended to be so kind to her. The eyes of the marquis said that she must find some better reason for praising him than that. Who would not be kind? She would not, she went on, dream of dining out or going to a dancing party, although she admitted that in Argentina, where there were many good dancers, she had been considered not the worst. “But,” she asked, looking up at the marquis with innocent eyes, “‘does it not seem a little too much that I may not go to the shops, or even to the theaters? Am I not right, mon- sieur, in saying that the theater is an educa- tion as much as an amusement?” The marquis could hardly find words to ex- press how entirely he was of her opinion. There is in sheltered Spanish women & cer- tain trusting, child-like quality, and this young Argentine widow was easily led, doubtless through her loneliness and inexperience, into telling her story with a completeness that is unusual when the listener is a total stranger. SHE had, it seemed, been married at 17— from the school room, monsieur—to & man many years older than herself; a good man, but not like a Frenchian, she said, looking up at her elegant and well dressed visitor. French- “Chere madame,” he kissed her hand and Mr. Daner blinked. A mere formality, he knew; not one, however, that he approved of. men (she gathered this, she said, from their literature) became more elfirming, more fin- ished in manner and technigue as they grew older. It had not been so with her husband, who at 50 had become fat; kind, monsieur, but extremely fat. The marquis murmured sym- pathetically. He was rich. His business—she hesitated an instant—had been diamonds. Then, with a faint remembrance that diamonds came from the other remote continent, she added: and electric power. He had made a fortune in electric power and diamonds. That, in a way, made it harder for her. As she drove along the Rue de la Paix she said to herself she could buy what pleased her. She clapped her hands with a child-like joy at the thought and then sank into gloom. Her mother-in-law said no. She must wait until the period of her mourning was over. That would not be for many months. Perhaps she would be back on the haciénda before that time came. Was that a little cruel? Or was she wicked to think so? The marquis thought it very cruel. He even suggested that such things might be accom- plished without the old lady’s knowledge. Co- rinna was so much shocked at this that he was words, still less by deeds, but in the subtleties of his look and manner. quis seemed less dashed had expected. He said that, very hard. If she wished to was some fortunate man who—— “No, there is no one,” said Corinna. one wants to be free.” she said. “I have been led by my loneliness into too great freedom. I must ask you to go, mon- sieur.” De Trianchet protested, and suddenly the door opened and Mr. Daner and Mrs. Sandon came in. The mystery of the marquis’ visit was explained. Mr. Daner had presented a letter of introduction. The marquis was paying & visit to ask Mr. Daner and his daughter to luncheon. “Ah, I see you've met my daughter,” said Mr. Daner. Fortunately the French are quick-witted. The marquis saw it all in an instant. Perhaps he had never been thoroughly convinced of the Argentine widow. He was now assisted by a grimace from Corinna behbind her father’s back, a grimace at once apologetic and, as De Trian- chet would have said, “‘gamine.” Anyhow, he did not betray her. Mrs. Sandon greeted him. They were, it ap- peared, old friends. In fact, it was she who had given Mr. Daner the letter, when she herself had not expected to leave America. “My dear Leon.” “Chere, madame,” he kissed her hand and Mr. Daner blinked. A mere formality, he knew; not one, however, that he approved of. And now a delightful month began for the Americans, at least for the two women. Mr. Daner cannot be said to have enjoyed himself as much. De Trianchet made no secret of the fact that as a very young man he had been a pretendent to Mrs. Sandon’s affections; they had been boy and girl at the time. Since then they had rarely met. Mr. Daner was not jeol- ous, but the Frenchman made him feel awk- ward, and he longed to get back to his own environment. He particularly longed to get ¥ Mrs. Sandon back there, but. it had been at his reéquest that she had come to Paris, and he could not immediately maneuver her out of it. They dined with the marquis and had tea with his mother, an elderly lady with a long nose and a voice of liquid silver, who lived in a noble palace near St. Sulpice. She was inter- ested in everything they told her of America; she dazzled Mr. Daner with her unassuming grandeur, but left Corinna with a sense that she did not like any of them. One of her daughters, a viscountess, lived miles out of Paris in an old chateau, and they had tea with her, too. They went to the races with the marquis and to parties at the embassies, and to one very grand fancy ball. But what Corinna en- joyed most of all was just wandering about Paris with De Trianchet. HE _m easily forgiven her deception, al- thoiigh when they were alone he liked to tease her abhout her diamonds and electric power, and always called her “La veuve Danee,” but they were not often alone. Usually they went about as a party of four; and, to tell the truth, the marquis seemed to enjoy Mrs. Sandon’s society as much as Corinna’s. Corinna did not quite like this idea, although sho could not deny that in age and background the two had much in common. Twice since she had left her native shore, heart-broken, she had staged a possible engage= ment, once to an Englishman of title, once to & countryman of her own. On neither occa- sion had she had the least sentiment for the gentleman in question. One had turned out to . be a card sharper and one & married man. She had done it with her eyes open to show her father how much worse she might do than marry Peter Marley, even from his point of view. Mr. Daner had been too much shaken by these experiences to decide lightly that the Marquis de Trianchet would be a suitable son- in-law. He was not at all sure. He consulted Mrs. Sandon. “Do you think Corinna fancies this fellow?” he asked. “I think,” said Mrs. Sandon, “that Corinna is deeply in love with Peter Marley, but I think flickleness and change possible to any human heart, and I imagine that an attractive, well bred Frenchman is more apt to be the occasion of fickleness——" “But he must be Corinna.” “And therefore reads her like a‘book.” Mr. Daner frowned. Jealousy, especially the kind founded on vanity, is usually attributed to women, and yet it remains to be proved that men enjoy hearing another man praised for his charms. “Do you think she would be happy married to De Trianchet?” “I think she would be happier married to an American whom she loved. I believe any woman had better marry her own countryman.” Mr. Daner stopped frowning. “Oh, you do,” he said. But she went on: “I'll tell you what does worry me. The De Trianchets are hard up, at least for such a great old family. A fortune like yours—— I have an idea that they believe the thing is settled. I wish you would warn Corinna that if her intentions are not serious she ought to be careful.” Mr. Daner said he would speak to his child, but he never did. The subject of her marriage had become painful. He said to himself that if she were falling in love with this Frenchman it would only do harm to call her attention to it. He was not a snob, at least so he told him- self, but he had a business man's appreciation for well recognized values. A title was a well recognized value. To say “My daughter, the 20 years older tham