New Britain Herald Newspaper, December 8, 1928, Page 10

i i A peculiar name—Ashtoreth. It may even impress you * absurd, Ashtoreth’s mother is a romantic woman. She reads a great many novels, and imagines herself a bit occult. Follow- ing her daughter’s birth, she had strange dreams about an- cient Egypt. She taiked of reincarnation, and declared that she had been a priestess, and worshipped the moon. And lived in a marble palace, and danced before strangs gods. Her husband, at the time, feared for her sanity. But Mrs. Ashe laid it all to mysticism, and insisted upon naming her child Ashtoreth, after the moon goddess of old Egypt. It was to Ashtoreth that pagan women prayed. Maid- cns seeking lovers. And wives desiring children. Mrs. Ashe thought it was a lovely custom, and some- times begged favors herself of the moon. Not that she be- lieved in it at all. It was merely a harmless little fantasy, and pleased her sentimental nature. Naturally Ashtoreth hates her strange name. I’eqple are always asking what it means, and she finds explanations ex- ceedingly embarrassing. When she was small, the children with whom she played called her Ash-ash. It sounded rather like a cellar-way, or something gray and grubby; and the child hated it with all her fastidious little being. It was not only ugly. It was utter- ly incongruous. Because Ashtoreth Ashe is as exquisite a girl as ever lived. She looks a little like Dolores del Rio, only there is some- thing more mysterious about her. Her skin has a sort of ivory pallor. And she has gray- green eyes, and vivid lips. Because her cheeks are colorless, the effect of her full, red mouth is startling as scarlet on old ivory. r’She has high cheek bones, and a pointed little chin. So that her face secems curiously heart-shaped. The effect is ac- centuated by the way in which she does her hair. It is straight black hair. Parted in the middle, and twisted in great coils over her ears. * Victor Hugo said once of a theatrical celebrity: “She is not pretty—she is worse.” Now, Ashtoreth Aghe is not really pretty. She is rare, Different from other girls. There are, for instance, typical debutantes, typical ste- nographers, and typical sportswomen. Exactly as there are typical wi and typical chorus girls. But Ashtoreth is not so easily classified. When Hugo spoke of the dancing girl, he probably had in mind that seductive quality known as sex appeal. A vulgar enpression, but inclusive of attributes difficult of expres sion, L LK Bt Hollis Hart, the famous financier, was extraordinarily impressed the first time he saw her—and Hollis Hart was not a susceptible person. X It was a stormy day in January when Ashtoreth—sum- moned by an electric buzzer on her desk—glided into his private office, to take her dictation from the famous Mr. Hart. 2 Ashtoreth was wearing a black crepe, swathed about her hips and caught on one side by an odd buckle. A most un- usual buckle. A collector would have noticed it at once, and speculated upon its origin. It happened, however, that Ash- toreth had made it herself, with two sticks of sealing wax. One of green, and the other of gold. The effect was a mottled jade. 'On the forefinger of her left hand she wore a scarab, set in dull gold, and reaching exactly to the first joint. It was not really an old scarab, nor valuable. But, as Ashtoreth knew, there are very few people who know antique scarabs when they see them. She had found the stone in a jeweler's tray, priced among various odds and ends, at 50 cents. The setting she copied from a ring in the Egyptian room at the Art Museum. The whole thing cost perhaps $5, and looked fabulously rare and costly. Ashtoreth never had much money to spend on herself. But with a meager expenditure she achieved considerable dis- tinction. Shoes and stockings ' were her greatest extrava- gance. Sheer chiffon hose, and a scarab ring. A swathed crepe frock, and high heeled pumps. Eminently unsuitable, of course, for business wear. But Ashtoreth never aspired to be correct. She was individual. Moreover, she was clever. “Other girls,” she told her mother, “conform to style standards. They wear their skirts so short you'd think they were having a competition. They use the same sort of per- fume, and the same kind of face powder. Their dresses are all of a pattern. And their jewelry looks as if it had come off' one counter, They even do their ha They varnish their finger nails, and shave their necks. They see the same mov- ies, and read the same hooks.” Ashtoreth shrugged distastefully. “And I've no doubt,” she said, thoughts—if any.” “they think the same Mrs. Ashe had met her daughter downtown for lunch- -on. She was wearing, at the time, a purple velvet coat, and gray pumps and stockings. Her diess was flowered chiffon. A riot of apoplectic petunias and flaming oppies. Her hat, which she held in her ample lap, was a mass of healthy cot- ton violets., And her hair, ingled smartly, was dandelicn vellow, [ Marilyn Mille as0N. As Mazie Ashe says herself: her hair is not natural—it is persuaded. She is a plump woman, with soft fragrant skin. and round blue eves. Her coloring is like a bisque doli’s, and scarcely faded. Now she surveved her daughter across her beet and string bean salad. (Mazie would never diet of her own voli- tion. Only when she ate out with Ashtoret} “Miss Hoity-toity!” she retorted amiably. And, toying with a bran muffin, observed comfortably that it was only natural young folks should be a “You're too finicky, honey,” she counse father. You'd ought to be more like me. happier.” But Ashtoreth despised conformity. Her skirts were long, thereby attracting unusua! attention to her legs, slim and lovely. She wore black exclusively. And felt hats, summer and winter. With a bit of a brim. when everybody else thought brims were old-fashioned. She never used perfume, but a haunting sachet instead. And rouge was abominated. like vour You'd be a sight CHAPTER 1 Orchid's real name was Ashtoreth—Ashtoreth Ashe. 3 NEW BRITAIN DAILY AFRALD, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1928, Eleanor Larlys Newest Serial- Ashtoreth loves beautiful things with an instinctive ap- preciation of color and texture. She bought remnants in bar- gain basements. Bits of Chinese embroidéry, to relieve the somber black of her frocks. Old lace. And an occasional length of lustrous satin, heavy as velvet. She had a way of wrapping the stuff about her slender body. Her skirts swathed her hips. And she carried herself as French women do. She knows lines. And the drama of clothes. And how to drape materials, with a hint of voluptuousness in the cling and the swish of them, As Helen of Troy wound her robe— and Cleopatra her purple gown—so Ashtoreth draped and gathered. A fold here, and another there. Revealing the tan- talizing loveliness of her soft, slim body. Her clothes are clever, with a great pretension of mod- esty about them., Which is how Ashtoreth, in her simple crepe, came to fascinate rich and mighty Hollis Hart. Exactly as Lady Hamilton, in her Grecian robe, vamped poor Lord Nelson. Tropical suns had tanned his skin. [t was so brown that it made his eyes seem peculiarly bright. His hair was black, graying at the temples. Ashtoreth, absurdly, wondered if tha Fnglsh girl had ever run her fingers through it. She had seen the gitl's pie- ture in the papers. She was big and raw-boned, with a wind- blown British look about her. And she wore tweeds. Some- how Ashtoreth could not imagine that girl putting her fing- ers in anybody’s hair. Hollis Hart was old enough to be Ashioretii’s father. She was 23 the day she went to work in his office, And Hart, at that time, must have been early 50. Hz was frequently called “the most eligible bachelor” in America. A popular :nagazine had compared him once with the Prince of Wales. The press credited him with being a Don Juan, and never tired of print- ing rumors regarding a prospective marriage, He took an indolent interest in the bonding husiness founded by his grandfather, preferring frivolity to giit-edged securities, Hart noticed in a surprising moment how clear her skin was, “Pale as opals,” he thought There were 40 girls who worked in the outer office of Hart, Lee, inc. And each of them coveted the enviable task of taking dictation from their distinguished president. Ashtoreth had worked for the firm less than twe months. Her speed was negligible, and her accuracy doubt- ful. Yet no one was surprised when she received the appoint- ment. L S Ashtoreih opened the door of Mr. Hart’s office quietly, and closing it behind her, stood at his desk. He was conscious of a very faint scent that secned to creep gently about her. And he noticed, in a surprising nio- ment, how clear her skin was. “Pale as opals,” he thought. And that was astounding, because Hollis Hart t ad dic- tated to any number of girls. And never thought anything at all about them. Nor was he a poetic man. It was strange, too, how the name “Orcaid” flashed across his mind. He thought of it immediately, as fitting the pale girl who waited, note hook in hand. Hollis Hart was the last of an eminent family that traced its Amerizan lineage back to the first Huguenot set- tler ion of fame and fortune,” as the papers say. Ihodes scholar, famous sportsman, and a millionaire many times over. Boston, at the time, was buzzing with the story of his reported eng ment to the daughter of a British peenr. toreth, of course, had heard the rumors. The peer, a bit im- poverished, we ud to be exceedingly cioze te the throne. And the daughter—before Hollis Hart had taken exterded residence in London—was seen frequently in the company of the Prince of Wales. vas a great deal of international gossip. But the a3 one of those say, to pick and choose. And there ishing to be picked. supploments told at great lenath of a glam- arls, to whom Mr. Hart had been attentive, ds recited. with mu:n detail, the agonized love of the French aviatrix who swallowed poi- son on Boston Common. It was whispered they said, that the poor aviatrix was d «tely and unavailingly in love with the well known Mr., Har Ashtoreth had heard of a certain heauty. zlerified by field, who publicly avowed her affection. And then as the Austrian dancer with t!:e million-dollar legs—- oh, Hollis Hart had had his affairs—scores of them. . men pi were plenty of g The Sunday rous widow w Ashtoreth drew a pencil from the tic on her note book, and raised her gray-green eves to her employer's face, His own were blue—deep set. And he had a way of narrow- ing them. His secretary, a benevolent soul devoted to philanthropy, set large sums aside for charitable enterprises. Ard Hart cheerfully endorsed them all. He had created a trust, the income from which was to insure the perpetuation of various philanthropic enterprises. “And now,” sighed Hollis Hart, when tlie thing was done, “I can have a good time with a clear conscicnee.” He had, when he first saw Ashtoretl;, been having a good time for something like 25 years. Ever since the death of his father, an estimable old fogey devoted to righteousness and plain living. With the exception of two venerable aunts, Iollis Fart was quite alone in the world. The aunts were maiden ladies, easily upset. They ate like sparrows, and wore rusty black. Both of them worried inordinately about 2 “had end” for Hollis, whose lavish checks they deposited the first of each month, At the moment Mr. Hart was considering the wisdom of a note to Aunt Meg. A reporter, it seemed, had usked her for a statement regarding the rumored engagenient of her nephew to Lady Something-or-other. Aunt Mez, tremendous- ly concerned, had written, tremulously, for det: Mr. Hart cleared his throat. Dictated his aunt's address, and stared savagely at her note in his hand. A easping little note, like a well-bred lady considerably out of breath. For a quarter of a century Aunt Meg had used white inen paper, bordered in black. Her handwriting was eramped and quiver- ing. And she used a fine pen that inevitably tered when she dotted her i's. The letter, somehow, :oked like Aunt Meg. Or Aunt Sarah for that matter. They were exasperat- ingiy alike, Hollis Hart’s aunts. Decent, decorous spinsters. Once, at a garden party, they had met a dubiously wvely lady with their nephew. A charming, reckless girl whom many men had loved. Hollis Hart presented her to his aunts, and immediasely _she proceeded to envelop them with her gracious charm. They drew together sh i v snoulders {ouching, as they stood facing the radiant creatu fortably ill at ease. And so at los: more self-contained than usuval. Frigid, stilted things in lior- rid black. With the life font dry in their withered bodies. And their souls parched. He wondered—vaguely, disturbed at the thought—if they were jealous of the warm, soft girl who knew so much of love. As he watched them he felt sure of 1t. And, from that day, Hollis Hart believed that all women were arrayed against one another. The unloved women hat- ing the beloved women. And the beloved women despising all the res * oz * Ashtoreth put her fingers to the violets that bloomed in a yellow bowl on his desk. From her body there emanated Wi X i, the lovely odor of a delicious woman. Soft as the breath of a night wind whispering. And Hollis Hart, in a clairvoyant mo- ment, knew that in the pitiless conflict of women, Aunt Meg and Aunt Sarah’woild be arrayed against the girl who stood before him. Because this girl was soft and beautiful. It seemed, then, indelicate to ask her to transcribe such a letter as he had proposed dictating to Aunt Meg. She stood there waiting for him to begin. Very quietly, without self-consciousness, Her fingers now were on her note book. And the green stone on her forefinger gleamed, like a baleful scarab, across the desk at Hollis Hart. “Your ring!” he exclaimed involuntarily. “What a gor- geous thing! May I see it%” Unsmiling, she extended her hand. Her fingers, long and white, made him think of drooping petals. “I am intensely interested,” he explained, “in archaeol- ogy, and particularly in the amulets of the Egyptians.” “Yes?” Ashtoreth was politely noncommittal. “It is not an antique setting?” he hazarded. “No,” she told him, “But rather a good copy, I think, I sl_(e;ched it myself from a talisman of the Graeco-Roman period.” “Then Cleopatra,” worn the original.” Ashtoreth looked on her ring with quiet humor. “Oh yes,” she said. “She wore it on her thumb the night she had herself delivered to Caesar in a bale of rugs.” Hollis Hart chuckled. “I've no doubt,” he said, “that Caesar complimented the queen upon her taste.” . Glancing sharply at his new stenographer, he wondered who she was. A society girl, probably, taking a fling at bus- iness. Interested in antiques, too. “I'm sorry,” he murmured apologetically, “but I have quite forgotten your name.” “Miss Ashe,” she told him, “Ashtoreth Ashe.” “‘Ashtoreth!’” he cried. “Why Ashtoreth was the moon goddess of Egypt.” She flushed self-consciously. “It is a beautiful name,” he added hastily. “Very beauti- ful.... Well, now, Miss Ashe, will you take a letter please..” - He dictated quietly. Half a dozen business communica- ons. “Leave them,” he irstructed, “on Mr. Higgins® desk. I Shl?“ r}ot be in after luncheon. That is all. Thank you, Miss Ashe.” he remarked, smiling, “may have LI T Forty pairs of cutfdlis eyes watched Ashtoreth to her desk. They noticed her heightened color and exchanged glances. She was wondering what sort of an impression she had made. Wondering if Mr. Hart knew her for a poor girl. An imposter, with a make-believe scarab. An ignoramus, pre- tending to a familiarity with things of which she knew noth- ing. Cleopatra and antiques. She pondered distractedly. Could Mr. Hart have guessed how little she really knew of Egypt’s queen? Only that men called her the Serpent of the Nile, and that she vamped Caeser from a pile of carpets? And killed herself with an asp? “ “I'll get a book at the library,” vowed Ashtoreth. And taking her mother’s market list from her bag, she penciled a meme at the bottom: “Find out about Cleopatra and scarabs.” The library was next the chain grocery store. She would stop there on her way home. Maybe Mr. Hart would say something more about Egypt tomorrow. Then she would be able, if circumstances permitted, to throw in another obser- vation or two. Carelessly, of course. That night Ashtoreth read while her mother went to the movies. When Nrs. Asnhe came home, she made herself a pot of tea and cut some cake. She was one of those women who like a little “snack of something” before bed time. While she ate, she chatted of Greta Garbo and John Gilbert, There wus nobody, she remarked romantically, made love like John Gil- bert, ~especially to Greta Garbo. Finally she went to bed, smothering yawns with her pink, plump palms. When she was asleep, Ashtoreth tiptoed quietly back to the living-room. To read, until the flat grew icy cold, and dawn put gray fingers whitely against the window panes. At six a. m. Ashtoreth knew that Cleopatra was immort- al—not because she was a great queen—but because she was seductive, like a professional beauty. “And smart,” decided Ashtoreth, putting out the light, “like the stenographer who vamps the millionaire boss. Caesar was the richest and the most influential man she knew—so she vamped him. Cleo forgot Caesar, and started running round with Antony. Just like gold-diggers today.” Smiling drowsily, Ashtoreth cuddled under her flowered puff. And slept, to dream of Hollis Hart, in a robe of Tyrian purple, with laurel in his hair. E “Ashtoreth Ashe!” said her mother at breakfast. “Look at those circles under your eyes. I thought I heard you up after I went to bed. Reading, 1 bet. Well, you're a perfect sight—that’s all I've got to say.” . But Ashtoreth, studying her eyes in the mirror over the kitchen sink, decided that dark shadows were languorously interesting. And a bit vampy, besides. She had resolved, if Cleopatra came up again that day, to inform Mr. Hart that the celebrated siren, in her eyes, was no better than a gold-digger. And Ashtoreth, for reasons best known to herself, had a distinct aversion to gold-dig- gers. * * * The electric buzzer on her desk hummed softly. And Ashtoreth, slipping a pencii beneath the elastic on her note bool, entered Mr. Hart'’s office. *Ah, good morning, Miss Ashe.” He greeted her shortly. “I've_something here 1'd like to show you. A letter in the morning mail. Most astonishing, upon my word. I'd like vou, please, to read it.” Astonished, Ashtoreth took from his outstretched hand a sheet of purple parchment, scrawled with green ink. Waft- ing the perfume of imported paper. (To Be Continued) From whom was the mysterious letter? And why did the rich and famous Mr. Hart ask his new stenographer to read it? An amazing letter—reproduced in full in the next installe ment.