The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 24, 1902, Page 11

17 it was all Drexie's faull. it and tries to shift the e had made love to e done—as he knew I wanted him to—not even ident of the whole misera- e happened. But ’s perfectly he was soleiy to blame, r Tom can ever convince p days Drex had th »ved me best in my ts.” That phrase, as range glamour al v the prelude to an ardent nature c of a deep toned mas- he certainly the most him, except, perhaps, a trick of appealing most soulfully, from e of brow, or his —what I n and what I ought to be— that I could g him as I hear him say the tary men, for whom Tom declares ave much more than the usual femi- ess, t sometimes Drex gets stubborn and rre t won’t, that's all—a sure sign that Drexie’s affairs in town have been ge 1 wrong I wasn't psychic enough to ®nderstand that then we had been marri i than & year, and so—well, I had bE work- ing for over two weeks to get Hurling ham Court free of guests so that Drex and I could dine tete-a-tete again, and, of course, when he sat quiet and preoc- cupled through the whole evening with- out once remembering thit he “loved me best in my pensive moments,” I couldn’t ng gloomy just a little. Drex at I nagged, but I'm sure bad as that our or two I had béen trying subtle art of my sex upon him. tted dreamily; I lounged languid- most fetching pose; I sang the gs as I never sang them be- thrilled to the memory of all red hours of our first lov Il he offered me only per- fon. And then, as I saw twilight deepen into a ight, my p ive mood changed v different feeling. such an old, old story, then?” sm would have wilted any one t Drex. W E help fee vows The sarc bu asked, absent life,” I ans on to my nerv , no, dear,” he said, softly. what's the matter?” ‘Nothing.” re must be something. You never me this way before. What ered, trying anything that would interest you, dear.” “Don’t you trust me of course I do.” “Then why are you so indifferent?” “I'm not, am I?” > this point I lost all semblance of , and we quarreled in good earn- st I did. Drex scarcely said through it all. \His very self- control drove me to the point of hys- terics, and my tempest followed the usual feminine bent. 1 wouldn't stand any such treatment. I would leave him. If he didn’t care there were others who would. Of course, there wotld be a scandal over the separation— there always is. The family would inter- fere—they were always interfering—his #:4 namesake uncle especially. Well, let #em interfere. Drexel Sr. would do bet- a word PR 40 gesae? ter to watch his own young wife. Oh, I wasn't so helpless as I seemed—I could earn my own living if I had to—I had a good voice—I yould go on the stage. That last threat usually had the desired effect, and 1 generally sobbed it out on Drexie’s shoulder, while he stroked my hair and kissed me soothingly. But this time it utterly failed to move im, and in a last wild outburst I flaunt- ed off to my rooms, packed in haste and rushed for the late train to town. If Drex had stopped me on the last step I should have wept on his shoulder; but he didn't. He let me go without a word of appeal. Protests would have been in vain, and Drex is no fool where woman's illogical logic is concerned. He knew I would go to mether, and it made me more resentful than ever te know that he knew that I knew that he knew that I would go straight to mother. Well, I would teach him a lesson this time. I would go on the stage—so, there. Besides, 1 had been just pining for a couple of days’ shopping in town—I was so dreadfully ignorant about the latess things in the stores. Oh, you may be sure his neglect would cost him a very pretty penny. Now let him do the worry- ing. But curiosity is a more dangerous ele ment in a woman’s nature than all the brute traits combined in a man. It is never wise to permit her such an exhila= rating sense of irresponsibility as 1 felt during that ride to town. As I grew calmer I began to wonder wha. would happen if I had to carry my tbreat into cution and before we reached the erry I had made up my mind 0 two things: I wouldn't go home to mbther—and I would take this opportuniiy to find out if all the flattering things my friends had said about my voice were really ... So I was driven to an obscure hotel— tried to sleep, but couldn’t, and at an unconscionably early hour—for me—dis- patched two notes—one to Tom, telling him that I was in need of his advice, and the other to the manager of the “Vaude- villes,” asking when I might see him per- sonally about an engagement. Tom was out of town, or somewhere, and didn’t recelve my message until late that night—or at least he declares now that he didn’t—and, of course, he came blundering in just when he shouldn’'t have done. " =tny tude that amazed me and in such a curt, Tue manager responded with a prompti- business-like way that half the romance THE ESUNDAY CALIL. IF DREX HAD STOPPED ME o~ THE LAST STER 1 WouLiD HAV WEPT O~ HIs SHouLDE®R of all went glimmering. D \D LW A D O H? L.O\)//;D ME 1Ty " bring your music. Respectfully, etc.” the “Call at 4 o'clock this afternoon and note read. ) Such discourtesy to a lady! I read it over and over with gathering indignation, but before 4 o'clock curiosity gained the ascendency again, and though it was a very nervous woman, who dressed with scrupulous care. I wore my favorite dress and wondered if the manager would like it. If he did he gave no sign of the fact, for he scarcely noticed me at all as he led the way through the dark, musty- smelling theater to the cavernous-looking stage, barren of scenery now, and light- ed ‘only with a single electric bulb that gleamed on me like a huge malignant eye. 1 know I looked positively ghastly under it, but he didn’t give me much time for reflection. “Go on with your turn,” he said apa- thetically, and then he retreated some- where into the blackness of the empty auditorfum, with a rattle of seats and re- sounding footsteps that gave the whole place thé uncanniness of a tomb, leaving me alone at an old badly scratched piano that jangled like an old tin pan. I sang into the gloom for full ten minutes before he spoke again. “You'll make good, I guess,” he said, with the same lack of animation, and be- fore 1 fully realized it the rehearsal was over and I was“engaged. “You'll open next week,” he continued, with a finality that I never thought of questioning. “Send your orchestrations to the leader by Saturday at the latest. The stage manager will tell you what time to go on That was all, but I drove back to the hotel again like one in a dream. Of ccurse, I had absolutely no intention whatever of appearing on the stage. That dismal theater haunts my every night- mare even yet, but I couldn't resist a feeling of triumph that day. I had ac- tually got an engagement, and at a queenly salary, too. What would Drexie Jr. and his uncle, Drexel Sr. and his aunt, Mrs. Drexel Sr., who was younger, and, some said, prettier than his own wife, say to that? I didn't ask the question out of ignorance, for I knew all too weil ‘what would be said at Hurlingham Court if they ever knew. And I resolved that they should never know—except Drexie and, of course, he must be punished. But the glamour wore off when I dined alone at the hotel. I had depended on Tom, and he had failed me. Before the lights began to gleam I was positively homesick, but I screwed up my deter- mination to stick it out. By 9 o'clock, 11 PEMENT & LLUSTRATFD PHOTOS BY BUSHNELL. however, I decided to go home to mother. Perhaps Drex had sent some word of sur- render. Perhaps he had wome in person. That last thought stuck to me, and I drove to mother’s with more eagerness than I should ever care to admit to Drex, only to find to my consternation that the whole place was in darkness and com- pletely locked up, as if mother and Caro- line had gone to the springs or some- where equally distant for the entire sea- son. My self-reliance began to ooze. Bewildered, I drove back to the hotel again, hoping against hope that Tom would be there. There was no place else I could go, and he was my sole depend- ence now. If there had been another train I'm sure I should have flown back to Drex—surrender or no surrender. Perhaps I was too excited to notice the man who eyed me so sharply when I en- tered the elevator, but I had scarcely reached my room before a sudden knock on the door nearly startled me into faint- ing. He entered without walting for me to speak. “Mrs. Drexel Hurlingham, I belleve,” he said, apologetically. I was struck dumb with astonishment. After registering under an assumed name how had this man found me out? Who was he and what did he want? Some- thing In my looks must have impressed him too, for after the first words he stammered awkwardly, though his eyes searched the room eagerly as if he ex- pected to find some one hidden away. “I'm from the Morning Record,” he ex- plained, “and the city editor sent me to ask you—that Is—you see—your hus- band—" “My husband?” I broke In agitatedly. “It's about this dispatch,” he ended ab- ruptly, thrusting a telegram at me with the gullty air of one who has a disagree- able duty to perform. I took it wonderingly, and read: Middletown, June 8. City Editor, Morning Record: Mrs. Drexel Hurlingham, the young wife of the master of Hurlingham Court, has eloped. Quarreled with her husband and left on a late train. Get name of man in case when they arrive in the city. Family oldest and richest in State. News just leaked out from authoritative source. Will be a big scandal. Immediate divorce bound to follow. She is a beauty. Get pictures at your end. "Bully story. Shall I wire? Rush answer. J. K K. When I had finished I could have swooned had not Tom burst in upon us and saved me. “Why, what’s the matter?” he erled, porter, he stopped short and looked con- fused. I tried to explain, but the words stuck in my throat. The reporter had re- covered his self-assurance and was watch- ing Tom curiously. t's about Mrs. Hurlingham’s—" he began. “It's a mistake!” I interrupted, indig- nantly. “Of course: it's all a mistak Tom agreed, copying my tone, without having the slightest idea what the trouble was all about. ‘““Well, I should like to have your side of the story,” the reporter persisted. “But it’s all a mistake, I tell you,” was all I could answer. I was so agitated. ‘Here, let me talk to him,” Tom inter- posed peremptorily. “You're too excit- ed"” And he thrust the reporter out into the hall and followed after him. In & minute he was back again. “Well, I've fixed him all right. Now tell me, what is this he says about your elopement?"” “But what did you say to him?" I ask- ed, still fearful. “Oh, it was easy emough. Just gave him my name; explained that you were with me and told him to deny the story on my authority.” “Gave him your name and explained that I was with you? Well, you have fixed things.” “What do you mean?”’ he asked, half startled, half perplexed. “Read this,” I said, handing him the telegram. “Well?" he asked after perusing it. “It's not true, is it?"” “Of course not, but the editor thinks it — Continued on Page Thirteen.