New Britain Herald Newspaper, August 26, 1926, Page 12

FICTION CHAPTER 1 i) MRQ PRENTISS - enjoyed but didn't know it. That is, she knew she had insomnia, of course, but she didn’t know she enjoyed it. On the contrary, she thought it made her miserable. But it didn’t. It was really her best asset, socially, and she could get herself into the limelight almost any time by descanting and dilating upon her long hours of wakefulness when others were sleeping. Sympathy flowed freely at hearing of her weary vigils, her interminable but futile efforts to get to sleep, her toss- ings and turnings on her bed of unrest. Partly because of a physical tendency that way, and part- ly by reason of nurturing, pampering and aggravating the disease, Mrs. Prentiss was chronically and happily insom- niac. Which e\plaim why, one night, she prowled about her bedroom, in her not very fetching mid- Victorian nightdress, and gazed out one window after another. For her bedroom had windows facing three ways, which enabled the wakeful Mrs. Prentiss to note conditions in the houses of her neighbors on either side as well as across the street. And, from a window that looked west, she could see, late as it was, sundry goings on that thrilled her curious soul. And, when the goings on had ceased and no hint of them ‘was left save two tiny specks of light, Mrs. Prentiss thought the show was over, only to have it reopened two or three times more. Breathlessly she watched, and, though her soliloquized exelamations were of homely diction, such as “For the Land’s sake!” or “My goodness!” they nonetheless ex- - pressed the whole gamut of human surprise and wonder- ment. “Gaybrook Harbor was one of the most beautiful bits of natural charm on Long Island, and one of the most desir- able locations for a summer colony. The Harbor was, as harbors have a way of being, crescent shaped, and down to the middle of its curving rim ran a lit- tle stream of pleasant water. Though really a tiny river, the stream was called Gay- brook and was as pretty as its name. Now this arbitrary provision of nature divided the Har- bor into halves socially as well as typographically. Not far from the shore, a bridge, a miniature Rialto, connected the land on the two sides of Gaybrook, but except for that there was a great gulf fixed On one side, the north side, the collection of estates and .dwellings was called Harbor Gardens, and the other side was Iarber Park. United municipally, geographically and patriotically, the two were yet divided socially, or at least in some phases of the social life. Harbor Park was there first, and it held the railroad sta- tion, the post office, the church, the clubhouse, the amuse- ment halls and the “places” of many of the rich and great, whose greatness was the direct result of their riches. They were men of wealth, with wives of extravagance, with spoiled children and pampered servants. They were, Tor the most part, men of hearty good fellowship, of outdoor habits and convival tastes. Now, somewhat as a reaction, there the other side of the bridge, the modern ins as an artist colony. As one of their brilliant-minded youths put it, “In Harbor Gardens you find men who do things. In Harbor Park, you find men who do people.” Yet they came together in many ways. They all belonged to the one and only country club, they all went to the one and only church and they all shopped at the stores in Har- bor Park. In fact, there were no outward and ordinary signs of friction or dissension, but the Park people felt they were more worthwhile than the Gardens people, while the Gardeners, as they came to be called, knew they were su- perior to the Parkers. So the Harbor people lived and flourished, with the silent bond of the Harbor holding them together, and the subtle bar of the bridge dividing them. Mrs. Prent she of the insomnia, was a resident of the Gardens. The widow of an artist, she had lived on in their attractive bungalow, covered with honeysuckle and Vir- ginia creeper, and furnished with wicker things and rush rugs. Next door to her, toward the west, was the far more pre- tentious bungalow of the Perry Heaths. It was indeed, a two-story house, but when Heath was told that bungalows didn’t have more than one story, he merely replied, “This bungalow has.” He was an artist, was Perry Heath, and though his pic- tures were not of great value, they were graceful little .um'uvll\‘\. and found an ultimate if not a ready sale in the New York shops. That is, they “no pictures at all,” his occupe n going. Yet, in a way, it didn’t matter much, for Myra, his wife, had always had money, and recently, by reason of an un- cle’s death, had inherited a lot more. Heath's work was rather de 1]1«11 , anyw He painted when he felt like it, and the rest of the time he spent on the water or in it, or, else he ran down to New York for a few da An impulse responsible existence was h tistic temperar t balked fixed ho vas far from being alone in that attitude. Myra Heath, an acknowledged beauty, of the ash blond, Saint Cecilia type, superior and contained by na- ture. Many called her others opined her incrdinately calm red 1ing Vesuvius of temper, if not temperament. No one ever insomnia, she had sprung up on itution known had done so, but with the reeent fad for the water color Othello began to find but his and he ar- at dates or (”,‘”. rior cove a flar sign of a ing note between hus- band and wife, yet no one ever saw a sign of affection. If they did not wash their dirty linen in public, neither did their air their clean linen there, and this mere absence of anything to talk about caused the to talk volubly about them. The neighbor, Mrs. Prentiss, was deeply spent- much of her insomnia at her west window, hoping for a cloud as big as a man’s hand to appear, that she might draw some conclusions as to the family status So far, she had been unsuccessful. The Heaths liv most mmmlh and ordinarily. Now and then they had ties. Now and then they went to parties. He to the club, she went to bridge and they both went to church. A more e: couple could not be imagined. Yet Mrs. Prentiss, pmhapi in the \a;:mnm of her insomnia, b h caught curions and went games, had a persistent intuition that there was a fly in the IHeath ointment, and she was determined to swat it. The bungalow of the artist was a long-fronted shingled and painted white. With the supe taste of the Harbor Gardens crowd, he scorned such ngs as living rooms, sun parlors, breakfast alcoves and sleeping porches. The whole of the middle of the house was one great room, called the lounge, which had doors back and front, and from which the staircase ascended. Then, one end was the studio, spacious and well lighted, and the other end the dining room. That was all, save for the long rear ex- tension back of the dining room, which housed the kitchens and servants’ quarters. Owing to the large size of the rooms there was ample space upstairs for m chambers, guest rooms and baths. A wide brick terrace ran along the whole front of the house, and the back doors opened onto t The studio was on the end of the house nex tiss, and its great re: indows lookin howed the garden, a blazing mass of color all through the season. Though the lounge was attractive, ‘mrl planned with an eye to comfort and convenience, the stuc m was also a com- fortable cozy room, and oftener than not, family and guests gathered there to smoke and talk, for Perry Heath was never too busy to stop work. It was on a soft, lovely evening in late June that the two Heaths sat there with two house guests, who, as they figure largely in this story, may as well be <|“-(rihu} here. Bunny Moore, whose real name was Berenice, was the girl guest, and she was beautiful with the loveliness of vouth. Though nearly twenty-two, she looked no more than eighteen, and her golden, bobbed head, her big blue eyves and her unnec: v touched up complexion were of that Dresden china v that, in its perfection, is per- haps the fairest thing God ever made. Eight years younger than her hostess, they were home town friends, and Bunny was happily spending a month at the Gardens In her Paris frock, which was merely a wisp of orchid- colored chiffon, Bunny looked like a French doll. But she was far from being of a doll-like 1 “I say,” she remarked, as her well reddened lips opened tn allow the woris to come out and a cigaret to enter, wy of the hilarious populace coming to dinner? No,” said M her pale lips lazily smiling, as glanced at Bunny. “We're all alone, for on After ner, we'll have a spot of bridge and tuek in e § “Fine!” Bunny said, “I think T'll. wash my want to trail down to New York just for that. help me dry it.” “Yes, after she night out. “T'll help you dry it,” volunteered Larry Inman, the other guest. He was a distant relative of My a second or third cousin, once or twice removed, but he traded on the relationship to come now and then for a visit. He was a wholesome looking, well set up chap, with dark, crisp hair and red brown eyes. Tall, broad-shouldered and athletic, in his white flannels, he looked a typical summer guest, and Perry Heath often said, he wasn't a bit crazy over Larry, but he tolerated him around because he fitted into the atmosphere. Inman’s face in repose was somber, and a little cyni but when he smiled all was forgiven and he won the heart of anyone who saw him. Bunny liked him a lot, and though sparring, they were the best of " not,” she returned, “the ceremony has to take in my bathroom, and Myra is such an old fuss where the proprieties are concerned.” A maid entered, pushed a perambulator which was real- ly a small cella She brought it to rest in front of Heath, \\lm at once set himself to the business of mixing cocktails. Myra, from her lounge chair, studied the maid critically, But she could find nothing to eensure. Cap, apron and sonal attitude were all perfection, » was quic learn and Myra was a thorough and competent teache Though thei supposed to be about the house the careless and informal air always associated with a studio or a bungalow, Myra Heath’s housekeeping instinets re- belled, and she most punctilious in the matters of domestic etiquette So Katie took the glasses from Heath, on her perfectly appeinted tray, with its caviare ¢ es and tiny napkins, and served them properly. But after that she wa “dividends” were portion “Rotten to have a snoop; “cocktails should be absorbed own family."” ‘Katie isn't eno with the air of one “Not snoopy cat-footed che house, she din- Don't Katie can comes in,” Myra acquisced. they were eternally place for was was ldwed. to leave. the -ro6m. . and ut by Heath himself maid around,” he only ‘in the bosom of one's growled, his wife rejoined, not curtly, but nortant fact but tating an i offered Inman, nerve exactly,” s0 softly and gets on my I wouldn't have a noisy him, with a calm glance of hauteur. “Well, she spoils the whole day for me,” servant about,” Myra informed Heath declared. { o e T # | ‘ i He took the vanity case —Izl—ém Bunny and made as if ‘to apply rot ge to Myra's face you'd let us have the cocktail hour au hiyed - service. Larry could pass the , Bunny could.” and the one word was far quently final than any tirade could have beer She did not smile, but neither did she frown. It was way of closing an incident. Her pale oval face was of a classic beauty, which would have been rendered a thousand times more attractive by even a fleeting smile. But smiles were not Myra's strong point. Her calm was superb, her dignity was unassailable, her poise was never shaken, but of merriment she had none, nor ever showed response to its manifestation in others Of course, she was inordinately quiet, well behaved ash blond ha that nevc w dark and storn unshed tes of her pale pink plexion, untouched by the make-up box, and of her vidual style of dressing. Her wardrobe included only gowns of white or pale gray, or elusive shades of fawn or beige. And all were made on soft, clinging lines, that made her look like an exquisite Burne-Jones picture, in unusually modish garh. All these effects should have appealed to her artist hus- band, but they didn’t. He was all for color, and he begged Myra to wear pale green or yellow, or even black, but a calm “No” was his answer. And so, though few paople knew it, he became a little fed up with Myra. To be suie, she had the money, so he couldn’t seriously offend her, but by slow degrees, they drifted a little more apart, spiritually, and though outward- ly just as usual, they knew thems®ves where t stood. Heath’s absences in New York, when he went down to see about selling his pictures, became a little longer each time. He paid more attention than he used to feminine guests in the house. He contrasted in his ewn mind the deadly dullness of his wife and the gay banterir of Bunpy or other girls and women who visited siyra. For she loved to entertain. Her superiority complex craved opportunity to display her home in all its marvel- ous perfection of detail. Consequently no week-end found them without guests, and many remained as longer time visitors. Lawrence Inman, also an artist, dabbled about in Pe studio, producing futile attempts at seascapes, or garden pieces, at which Heath laughed good-naturedly and told him to try blacksmithing. A distant relative of Myra’s, Inman was her only Kin, and, except for Heath, the natural heir to her large fortune. Moreover, he was in love with her, or as near as one could come to such a thing as romance with Myra Heath. He had often told her so, only to receive a grave look and a calm “No” in response. But Larry Inman was not easily daunted, and he continued to dance attendance on his beautiful kinswoman, to the secret amusement of her true and lawful husband. For Perry Heath was astute to a degree, and very little went'on in his house of which he was unaware, He even sensed, throuth sheer intuition, that Larry con- templated proposing to Myra some plan of divorce or elopement, and he idly wondered how his wife would take it. This conviction, however ence in his attitude towar household was unruffled. But Heath, not illogically, told himself that sauce for the goose was sauce for the ;:;mfle): and if Myra chose to phil- ander with Inman, her husband was excusable if he flirted y bit with the bewitching Bunny. ctails finished and dinner announced, the lounge to the dining room. Here again, the absolute perfection of the appointments and the excellence of the food justified Myra in her pride in her housekeeping. Dinner was rather a merry feast, for the cocktails had been potent, and, though Myra smiled but seldom, the other three were in fine fig and feather, and a pleasant time was had by all. Coffee was served on the front terrace, that looked out to sea, and later, as the darkness settled down, they went in- e for bridge. “Let’s play in the studio,” Bunny said, COsYy. 2 “Yes, T know your “it's to babble all the time you're playing.” Bunny made a face at where Katie was deftly stands They played a few then, Bunny, being dummy, wont, Heath said, shar, “Do shut up, ¢hild! T can't tongue chattering like that!” ‘Oh, all right!” and the girl flounced out of her chair, went, through the French window and out on the texrace. “T do wish, naturel Myra, out more elo- her vain of her looks; of her ; of her large gray eyes with rage, or soft with lips and dead white com- indi- r, made not the slightest differ- the pair, and the peace of the they went “it’s so much more idea of cosiness,” Heath retorted, time you're dummy and most of the him and went on to the studio, placing table, chairs and smoking moderate stakes, and chattering as was her rubbers, for and think straight with your “Now, she’s mad,” but said, gayly: s “Not so you'd notice it. That's a bid for me to, follow her.” “Run alonhg, then,” said Myra, Larry till you get back.” It was not entirely unprecedented, for their bridge games occasionally broke up in just this fashion. Heath strolled along the terrace to the far end, where he found Bunny in a rambler arbor, exactly where he had ex- peeted to find her. Very fair she looked, as she stood leaning against its trel- « lised window, her fair hair a soft gold in the moonlight, her flower-like face a little' wistful as she gazed up at him. Perry Heath was not a handsome man, but he was gentle y and kindly, and little Bunny, universed in the ways of men of the world, had fallen for his gay, good-natured charm. His appearance was a bit inconspicuous in its lack of dis- tinction or striking features. His rather pale face was sur- mounted by a shock of dark brown hair, which he had a habit of impatiently pushing back from his forehead, over which it invariably dropped again. His eyes were a gray blue, and he wore large tortoise-shell rimmed glasses, which, he said, having put on for his painting, he was later compelled to wear constantly. They were not specially becoming, but Bunny contended ¢ they lent distinction to his face and gave him a Bohemian look. For the rest, Heath was average sized, average weight, and always dressed in the perfection of good taste as well ¥ as in the latest mode of tailorings. His manner was always pleasant, receptive, responsive and generally charming. This, though habitual with him, ¢ was looked upon by Bunny as specially for her, and she was rapidly becoming his abject slave and adorer. Heath saw this, of course, and tried to stave it off by conl- ness and even negligence toward the girl. But Bunny disregarded this and blithely went on falling in love with neatness and dispatch. “Come along, Bunny girl, they’re waiting for us,” Heath ¢, said, trying not to look ton ducctl_\ at her. “Stay just a minute,” she whispered, stepping a bit near- er to him. “Just one little minute—to look at the moon.” “Why, there isn’'t any moon, child,” he exclaimed, “There will be in a minute. It's just going to rise—up out of the sea. Oh, do wait for it. Do—dear—" s Of course, Perry had to meet the occasion. He waited. « Waited, with Bunny in his arms, her slim little form held so close he could feel her quick, startled breathing, could hear her ecstatic little gasps as she nestled her chin in his cupped hand that sought to raise her face to his. But as the golden disk began to show above the sea hori- zon, Myra’s voice sounded from the dO()lV\d\ 3 “Come on in, you two—the evening’s over.” They obeyed her summons, and, returning to the studm found Inman mixing himself a nwhtcap and Myra looking with deep interest at an old brown bottle she was holdmg She referred to a big book on glass and verified its ex- act status. “Yes,” she said, raptly, “it’s all right! Dyottsville Glass Works—Philadelphia—oh, it’s a gem! A wonderful find!” “Hang your wonderful find!” cried her hushand irri- tably. “It amazes me, Myra, when you are so unenthu- siastic over most UHI’)Q‘S how you can go into ecstasies over a bit of uegly old g just because it is old. I have a feel- * ing for beauty, i orm, but for a rotten old whiskey bottle—no!” Myra looked at him a few seconds, without speaking, ¢ and then returned her attention to the brown bottle. “I love that particular stare my wife gives me occasion- ally,” Heath said, addressing no one in particular. “You shall have it again, if you care for it so much,” Myra returned, and gave him another look, this time show- ing a more definite trace of contempt. “Come, come,” said Larry, “birds in their little nests | agree. Let up on the bickering, if only to spare your guests embarrassment. And, too, old <cout your pictures are no more uniformly flood than Myra’s glass junk. This isn't saying that some of them are not masterpieces, but on the other hand—" “Shut up,” growled Heath, “yours are uniformly bad, you know. Well, consistency’s a jewel.” “Larry knows more about color than you do,” said Myra, judicially, speaking almost as if she was judging an exhi- bition of art. “Pooh, was not miffed at all, these altercations were of frequent occurrence. “I wish to goodness, Myra, you had a little observed Inman, Perry Heath i tolerantly, T'll .entertain » color is my middle name,” Heath retorted. He sense of color. It might lead you to see how a touch of it would improve your pure, angel, face. Your lips are per- fectly shaped, but too pale. Your delicate but high echeek bones would weleome a touch of rouge, and your ash blond eyebrows are simplv screaming for a peneil!” “That’s so, My,” agreed Bunny, who would have agreed with Perry had he said just the reverse. “Here's my vanity box, have a try at it.” No,” said Myra, with her most negative inflection. “My face is perfect as it is.” Her assured t&he robbed the words of any semblance of petty vanity. It was as if the Venus of Milo had said quiet- ly that she had a good figure. Inman laughed. “That’s true, sweetie,” he said, “but just as an experiment, I'd like to see how you'd look with some pigment on your map.” He took the vanity case from Bunny and made as if to apply some rouge to Myra’s face, but she waved him away with a soft, slow movement of her long white hand and closed the incident with her characteristic “No.” Bunny, sitting on the arm of Heath’s chair, clasped her knee while she swung a well-dressed and impertinent leg. Her own face was a trifle over-decorated, but the garish tints could not hide the soft loveliness of her natural com- plexion, and, though her nose was white as a clown’s, it was adorably impudent and bewitching. She had tossed around her neck a filmy scarf of Ameri- can Beauty red and its deep tone hrought out the fairy-li charm of her pink throat and golden hmr “Wish I had a cigaret- holder to match this searf,” she said, “Can’t you get me one, Perry? Doesn’'t amher ever come in deep red? I believe this is my color—don’t you?” She leaned over Heath, her saucy face near his own, and by her own movement brought herself within the circle of his arm. R “You let my husband' alone, Miss Vampire,” with more spirit/than she often showed. (To Be Continued) said Myra, 4 . §