The evening world. Newspaper, March 3, 1920, Page 21

5 She gave her heart to him the day they met. Yet a cloud of mystery hung over his life. | ét a hidden past? Was it a dual personality ? Thrills and excitement, suspense and surprise blend in each fascinating instalment. May Christie has woven with rare skill this charming story of entangled hearts. Was Miss Prowea sp shana. with so ety alo: @enciling of the eyebrows. A little on the Jashes, too. curve. “There!” She drew a breath of watisfaction. “I don’t look quite such @ hag!” A sharp knock sounded on the door. “Breakfast is ready, madame!" “Oh, Il take it up here, Bring it 4 nm a tray.” “Very well, madame.” .. And Lucille rocked drowsily beside me open window. > How fair and beautiful jay the Sur- rey countryside, the fields aglitter with their share of morning dew! In the nearby woods a cuckoo was «ailing—softly, archly—and from a weedy marsh closé to the inn a lark was rising, carolling her heart out im @ flood of golden melody. These mingled sights and sounds aroused in Lécille a mood of gentle melancholy — not unbappy — chietly philosophical, “How different I'd have ‘been if Ya only had the chances some have iad!” Her thoughts wandered to the @ainty, sheltered Shirley Marsh. “Nice, straight little Kid—pity I hurt ther so—~but she'll get over it!” Her eye, inquisitive, roved across (ye fields to a fine old country man- set like a gem tm exquisitely ted grounds. “To whom does that belong?” she i of the mafd when that dam- ‘ brought in the belated breukfast ‘N¢@“%} Mr, David Burke, ma’um—he's Weey much liked, bereabouts.” ‘) “MMlanried or single? languidty in- (quired Lucille, pouring herself out a * gap of coffee, ? “Ob, @ single gentleman, ‘he ts—a \ Bachelor,” the little maid explained “and very rich,” she added, staring 5, gat Lacilte’s obvious make-up. “Thanks. You needn't stay.” La- eMle decapitated her morning egg with mice exactitude. . And while she «ate her breakfast lber gaze wandered incessantly to the Yaxurious stone mansion where the rich and highly eligible David Burke was living “The chatelaine of such a pls wouk! have to be am angel, for be in heaven! If it were only ahe mused. gAnother knock cume at her door The httle ee “A wentloman to see you, A mote of intense, repressed ¢ stag in the little maid’s voice, ‘sits ard.” Ms She handed Luciile a scrap of paste- ffooard, on which the magic words were * pprintea: ) "Mr, David Bucke.” waiting in the coffee-room,” Jd wolomnly. riosity “Here's (Copyright, 190, by May Christie) WHO'S WHO IN THE STORY. STH DALTON, a handsome young artist who falls in love with SHIRLEY MARSH, a pretty and attractive girl. Next, picking up the stick of jip salve, sh a | “IM cable out kind—end sympathetio——as was his wont, “Ill 40 my utmost to put things right for you. You've had a: hard time, Mrs, Dalton—Mlle, Derange, I should say”—he stammered a Iittle over the words—“but you're among good friends now—and don’t forget itre In Mts heart of hearts he fett tm- mensely grateful to Lucille for turn- ing up at the psychological moment and putting @ timely stop to Dalton's courtship of Miss Shi-ley Marsh. He would show his gratitude in some practical way, too, he decided. to my agents in South Africa and verify her story,” Burke reflected. “That’H confirm the whole affair—and Master Jim Dalton wil see his little game te uy—for good! “This husband of youre—this worth- him?” he asked. “Care for nervous little laugh “Oh, know. I—I used to think I did. But new——" She broke off, looking rather mean- understood. “Now that Shirley is also * DAVID BURKE, a country gentleman, nearing forty. LUCILLE, a rather world weary actress, about whose marriage there NOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS. young Tngiish girl, 1s loved by David Burkn, a wealthy country rentie- ® London artist, is tmjured in ® motor accident near! her beck to Lealth asks for her hand. They are to be married, the welding ring a woman named Lucille Derange appears on She saye that they were married tm South Africa and @airley will not ybelleve the story until Luntlie shows hor marriage certificate ecee, we, CHAPTER IL A FLAT DENIAL, ‘MFORE her mirror in her room at thd’ little Surrey Inn, wearing a gorgeous eilk kimono, somewhat solled “and. frayed around ‘the eAges—stood Mile. Laxille Derange, éyeing het ently ‘mhoraing complexion (which was sallow) with distinct disfuvér. t “As yellow as a duck’s foot!" she remarked, sotto voce,’ with {ett the frankness of solitary communing. At that precise moment a cruel ray of morning sunlight shone aslant _ eer features, as though corruborating her stutement. She rubbed a little cream into her face, then dexterously applied the | 4 powder-puff with the sure touch of an artist. a Next came a hint of rouge—the merest “soupcon” on the cheeks—and ‘Tim detilée the” ory, Dut Aner & stormy Boobe “IH be down in five minutes, tell iim, please.” Her heart was beating with excitement, The coffee-room was all in shadow when she entered it, And David Burke's impression of Lucille—that first impression which, of all others, is so mightily important—awas of a beau- tiful young woman, with an interest- ing, rather tragic face, a glorious fig- ure and a magnetic personality, Lucille, for the first time in many years, felt she was in the presence of a very kindly gentleman, He had come to her to help her—so he said. He spoke of Shirley Marsh. He wanted to hear the story of Jim Dalton’s faithlessmess f=om Lucille's own lips, Would Lucille tell him all aout 1t? Lucille both would—and could. She showed him the photographs of certificate, She described Jim accu- rately. And David Burke was immensely BUT JIM DALTON WAS STA “| DON'T KNOW HOW SHE COMES TO KNOW MY NAME,” HEll Powder and one pare of the hi GALD, “BECAUSE | NEVER BAW THE W@MAN iN MY LIFE BEFORE!” | powder, wixed ana agwiied to = xecuted an artistic carmine herself and Jim, Also the marriage \ | | NOTE INS HIS HAND. THE NOT! any more? Is that it?” Lucille nodded. She was quite it earnest. David Burke leant patted her hand approvingly. you for ft. der the circumstances, position, love." of that “we.” The sympathy something very precious, “Only,” she sighed, ‘ "3 sort world alone, when I hate the stage. RING BLANKLY AT LUCILLE. less Dalton fellow—do you care for him?" Lacifle gave a T don't ingly at David Burke. Again he mis- you fully realize the blackguard that he is, you can’t care forward and) “That's a gensible girl—I admire I haven't any patience with a lot of semtimental bosh—the kind some wamen would display un- and in your We ‘both realize that the fellow ien’t worth a decent woman's Lucille’s heart leapt at the intimacy of this man was of lonely, you know, knocking round the And—there are times It's a rotten Ufe for a girl when she hasn't friends, or money, or influence.” “But, my dear young Indy, we must change all that.” He was genu- inely grateful to Lucille for the good turn ghe had done him—and he meant to show it: “I know lots of the thea- trical managers and agents up in London—I could always put in a word for you—give you introductions—you trust count mo as a friend!” “Indeed, I will!” Lucille put out her hand and caught Burke's in a firm, decided clasp. “I can’t thimk why you are so kind to me," he acai frankly. It was Burke's turn now to fhush. He felt that the sympathy and the interest he had shown were scarcely genuine—a mushroom g-owth towards one who had made his matrimonial Projects towards another girl more probable He rose to bis feet. “There's a note I want to write— if you'll excuse me for a moment,” ‘He ‘crossed to a desk In a corner of the room, seated himself before it, and took up a pen. But a minute or two elapsed before he could collect his thoughts. Lucille ad been more disturbing than he realized. \At last he made a start. MESSAGE FROM LUCILLE,” THOUGHT SHIRLEY, MISE RABLY. 9 ail LEVELLED QP ERA GLASSES SHE SAW A QUEER, ANNOYED LOOK ON HIS FACE AS HE READ THE CONTENTS OF “Dear Uttle Shirley.” His pen scratched acrogg the hotel note paper. n| "I have seon and talked with the young woman who calls hervelf Lu- cille Derange, and her story seems | most plausible to me. Although the marriage certificate and {the photo- jeraphs are ample proof, I am cabling to-day to my agents out in South Africa to verify the whole affair. 1 must also add that James Dalton’s behavior last night wag most ex- traordinary—inchuding the fact that he has made no move to see this woman—nor indeed expressed any desire for a meeting. “I would ask you, therefore, to be- lieve the worst—at the same time believing that the worst is for the best"— Over his tangled sentiment David Burke frowned momentarily, then continued: “You can always count on me, my dear, to remain the same," A sudden honk, honk of a motor horn outside the window made Burke look up. There, in the driver's seat, wes none other than Jim Dalton, im- Copyrieht, 1920, by The Prom Publish Care of the Hair HHBRE are many shampoo mix | go a long way in keeping the |hair dark and jt is by far preferable to wee these, together with a imple stuln, than to resort to expensive beauty parlor treatmente and danger. jous chemical dyes. A mixture of six ounces of claret and one teaspoonful of sulphate of fron, thoroughly dissolved and ‘blend ed, makes an admirable darkening ‘wash for the hair and it is entirely harmless, Another safe dye, which is used extensively by the Egyptians afd Persians, ts made from indigo and henna powders. Use the henna powder and paste as #0 often out- lined in this column and follow this by applying a te of indigo and eave Ths On until the hair is as dark {aa desired. ‘The length of tume the | paste is left on controls the color and the longer it ia allowed to remam on the hair the darker the shade ‘be- comes. An easier way to ume these same two hair stains ts to make & paste at three parts of the indigo WEDNESDAY, MARCH 38, 1920 | TALKS ON HEALTH AND BEAUTY By Pauline Furlong MARY Ct MAGAZINE IEROIRS ply itt S0< SE C4 24 ©) th ed nmoulately dressed, apparently quite imyperturbeie. He drew up in a dex- terous curve before the front door of tho inn Burke rose to bis feet. gone. He harried down the paseage lead- ing to the entrance, ‘There was a mudden cry of: “Jim!” Lacitie had bounded out info the road and was staring speltbound at the driver. “Jim!” ghe repeated, shrilly. Dalton!” Burke hurried to her side, “Here's the lady who is your—your wife,” he said, in a clear, firm tone, hie eye on the occupant of the car. ee you got anything to say to er’ But Jim Dalton wag staring blankly at Lucitie Derange: “I don’t know how she comes to know my name,” he said, “because I never saw the woman in my life be- fore!” Luctile had “Jim A MATTER OF MONEY. IFE had hit Shirley Marsh a heavy blow. To have been, figuratively, perched upon Parnassus for 60 tong, then, without rhyme or reason— hurled down into the abyss—it was too cruel! For Jim Dalton had gone—without one single word of explanation—shak- ing the dust of the White Cottage off Joe assumed an air of deepest grav- ity. “F’r Inetance, Memory. Clean fades away times, whe! that there Mr. Dalton a-chattin’ with me, seemed as though ‘e'd forgotten all ‘is past Nfo and goin's. Didn't it never strike you, miss?” Shirley replied evasively. It would never do to le old Joe guess the anxiety that was gnawing at her heart. But as she strolled away thoughts were very troubled. If old Joe's surmise correct, then it would offer a solution to ‘the pres- ent mystery—namely, that Dalton had indeed married ‘Luotile out in Africa, and—since his aecident—had forgotien alt about the matter. “That would certainly clear bis character,” thought poor Shirley miserably; “but, oh! it would simply break my heart.” For she had been hoping against hope that Lucille and the snapshots and the marriage certificate were all one huge mistake, Two dreary days went by. And still there was no word from Jim! Luctile, too, had departed from the village inn, carrying her various im- pedimenta with her, She had sent Shirley @ note, in a none-too: d hand, giving the add’ of her little flat in Soho, and asking the But Shirley shrank from any fur- ther meetings with Lucille. They were much too painful. his fest as though he never wished to gee the place again! Ie hadn't even said goodby to Shir- ley, He was much too angry Drove off like the devil ‘isself, 'e did, miss," old Joe, the gardener, had informed her, eyeing Miss Shirley cu- riously. From the moment he had found that Spartan damsel with tho attractive and unconscious stranger's head upon her lap, he had had his own suspicions as to the measure in which Miss Shirley’s heart was in- volved. “And a fine young fellow, though 'e did go off in such a fury!” meandered on old Joo, surreptitiously fingering the generous tip the departed one had 4 upon him. ‘Oh, he'll be back again!” parried Shirley lightly, though a queer mis ng twisted at her heart. 2 will—if he's got any sense, miss."" Old Joe's wrinkled visage was sud- dently illuminated by a new idea. “Say, miss, d'ye think “1s ‘ead’s all right?’ Don't ‘e act just a trifle queer at times?” He tapped his fore- head with an ominous significance. “They do say, after a ‘h'accident, as the brain’s left a bit odd... . Shirley went pate. She shivered, though the day was warm. “Queer? In what way?’ Her tones were sharp. ng Co, (The New York prening World) | Strands of the hair. Be sure to ways Wash out all tracas of soaps, dyes and stains, if you wish the best yolks of eggs are also said to ake the hair dark and when are mixed with claret or r excellent cleans for graying hair they wine they as well Tonics, and salves, which contain sulphur and are recommend ed for dandruff and dry scalp, are also valuable aids in keoping graying hair dark, and an ointment made fron lanolin and powdered sulphur, nixed to a smooth paste, and applied and glossy. Dry and dull looking hair oan be brightened up by applying a Nttle Hiquid vaseline or ordinary mineral on a soft brush to the hair each night before retiring. Only a few drops of the oil are necessury, Any more will make Kt too greasy and envourage dust to collect on the ‘hair, Dry or oily dandruff may ‘be sue. cessfully treated with the following mixture, using about a twhlespoonful in @ medicine dropper and applying to the scalp each night, following with a five minute massage: One ounce each of off and cantharides; five ounces of bay rum; mix and keep tightly corked. > the soalp and carefully massaged | in, wi remove and gradually pre: vent dandruff and keep the hair dark ere) On the morning of the third day JIM DALTON ROSE, AND SHIRLEY NOTICED AN ATTENDANT ADVANCE TOWARD HIM, WHISPER SOMETHING AND SLIP A “HELL GO BEHIND THE SCENES aD SEE HER NOW.” David Burke arrived upon the scene. He calculated that, in the interval Shirley would have had ample time for moping, and would certainly besin to miss him, Burke was atrategical, He had timed this visit well Wihat you need is cheering up, my he remarked rather thought- fully. He had seen the weary droop of Shirley's pretty mouth, and the dark circles round her eyes. “You must take your mind right off that worthless fellow Dulton—clean forget you ever met him.” Shirley smiled a wan, pathetic litte dear, smile, “As though she ever could forget! She, was bitterly regretting now her action in the past, when she had sided with Burke rather than with Jim. If she had only given Jim a proper hearin, ‘Too late now! She didn’t even know where he had gone! “Shirley, let's go up to town to-mght and see a show!" Burke's voice broke |in on her unhappy meditations, “My OF THE ALCOVE. AND KISSED Hi sometimes it’s the| where first. Several | tind a place to dance. “There's different ways, miss." Old, sister, Mrs. Arnold, and some friends to Shirley as though Lucili¢é’e We'll dine some- | ter on—we can Come-—what do of hers can meet us. Then you eay to it?” A faint flicker of interest shone in Miss Shirley's eye. She was young, and very much alive—and in the last fow days she had been so miserable. Another solftary evening in the White Cottage, with dreary imaginings for sole companion, would surely drive her crazy. Yes, she would go! She intimated so to Burke. He beamet at her, “You can apend the night with my sister, after the festivities are over. Or, i@ you'd rather, fl pun you home again in my oar?" Shirley shook her head. She want- with her woukl-be tover. “Ta stay with Mrs. Arnold, if she'll have me. “Then I'l phone through and fix things up.” eaid Burke, well pleased. AFTER THE THBATRE. ‘T @ luxuriously decorated table in an ultma-expensive London Tevtaurant sat Miss Shirley Marsh, bewikieringty pretty in an evening frock of palest yellow. She eyed the other guests in inter- ested fashion, Mrs. Arnoid—the chaperone and sister of her host— was an attractive woman in the late forties, brisk and sensible, Tt was well seen from her attitude toward Shirley, too, that #he would further David's matrimonial plans. Her tusband—a quiet, inoffensive little man of considerable gneane— kept somewhat in the background He wore @ perpetually worried look, as though business cares pressed down on him. His wife took hittle notice of him and he epoke but seldom. Yet their marriage was frequently cited as a happy one. ‘The masculing element among th other guests impressed her not at ail. Huw could they, after knowing Jim? Somewhat naisily—as is the pres- ent-day fashion—the purty exited from the restaurant and set off theatreward in taxis, As they darted through the secth- ing maelstrom of the London traffic Misy Shirley's epirits rose, The night was young yet—«o was #he—what use to mope? She permitted David Burke to whieper geveral gallant #entiments into her ear, ‘She even smiled a be- witchingly intoxicating little smile up at him, which made him want to kias her—as Shirley fully realized. A heady feeling came to her—of woman's power—a pretty woman, that's to say. Weil, to-night she was going to enjoy that power. A de~ plorable point of view, perhape—but very buman! “Il wish we could go through | like this, Shirley—just you and Purke's tactful sister had engineered affairs so that the two of them should have the taxi to themselves, “I wish we could go on—and on-—— Here the taxi swung abruptly round a corner and his head hit the roof. Miss Shirley laughed her tinkling laugh. All men in love were bound to be a little foolish, particularly when they reached Burke's age! He relapsed Into a wounded silence, the blow to his head=-and dignity—an effectual stopper on love's eloquence. It was only when the party found itself collected In a couple of boxes in the vartety house he had selected for the evening’s entertainment that Burke began to revive a little. The curtain rose on a special “par- lor act.” A gorgeously arrayed young ‘woman in an equally gorgeous draw~ ing room awaited the arrival of an alcoholic husbani, that timne-worn classic which always gets a laugh. But the moment that the injured lady came upon the stage, flaunting her grievance in low, beautifully modulated tones, Shirley's attention was completely held. For the injured lady was none other than Lucille! Yes, it wae she, a younger, in- finitely prettier Lucille, who trailed about the stage superbly gowned. But despite her beauty and her lothes and her attractive voice—she Was no actress—even Shirley, with all her inexpertence, could notice that. Her acting was mechanical clear, “SHIRLEY!” HE WAS BESIDE HER IN THE SCENTED DARKNESS “SHIRLEY, IS IT REALAY Y' BEFORE SHE COULD PREVENT HIM BART EA PASSIONA and stilted. Half-way through the ot it seemed i ed no Mtimate motoring tete-a-tete i | breath formance went from bad to Her gaze kept wandering certain portion of the stall right-hand corner of the rows. Shirley's eyes travelled this spot as though she would tex se read the secret of Luctlle’s pare se Then she stared’ in amazement quick flush sprang to her as she noticed a handsome mam evening clothes seated in Row leaning back with a weary, chalant alr, as though the whole ‘erie S formance bored him inexp yo 5 It was Dalton! woke “He—he's come to see—Laciligi® Shirey’s heart was beating at @ te 4 “This proves mething In her story, H She leaned a little forward to ee better view. : “Seen someone that you Burke's voice sounded casually in ear, “Here, let me lend you these” He thrust a pair of opera-giagpes into her hand. She took the instrument—mechams | jeally | Then, pulling herself together, @he gave a light, short laugh. It would never do to let, Burke know the Treason of her interest. + “No one in the least important!™, he smiled up at him coq though a world of misery was = ing ob her—then turned her towards the stage. When at last the curtain felf 4 Dalton rose, as though he could the stupid show no longer. And it’ was that Shirley noticed an am tendant advance toward him, ra something, and slip a note “A message from Lucille,"* jt | Shirley miserably. “He'll go the scenes and see her now.” She could restrain her curiosity me longer, but—this time Cz elled opera him. She could now see the queer, noyed expression on his read the contents of the note, Then she suw him crush the in one hand, shake his bead at ‘he and depart, bs (3 Srl wsolicitously. move on to eat’ rate be livelier than this!” He turned to hee | sister and apoke « word, ‘ r. The latter ‘ate And’ prett, party itwelt it one ef’ thes hi i epots which have recently become much the mode in Tontee, ) On the edge of a wide, highly ished floor whereon a qnultitude ef! couples dipped and plroustted, Burke found « table to his Mking aad: deposited hie party there. around him—for Burke wae Eerie and ultra-generous «' uities. : “Pierre, very | special for us. Meantime we're going to dance.” Burke rose feat : Mer folie rote h il ley out the entne tha ravings Into the o i In one corner of the band—immensely nervous and exalted” ~—Wwas creating an extraordinary ‘ the implements of said band pa} ing every (ype of mausic-maker team, a tin-pan to @ baby’s rattle. ? ‘A cheery little spot, eh, U tre David Burke with “And evi one havi good too- “both, young ret Mothers and daughters same decollete frocks, amasingty breviated at both ends and fer the most part backless, * Burke and she were: ically in the fox-trot, She determined to enjoy herself, bu The music came to an end om ear-splitting crash, and paused tor breath. But not one second elapsed be-’ fore another weary ban teamed ar in another corner of the . up the melody and merrily “cageied on. ‘I see there's to’be no host#ities,” panted David Burke. the energy of you creatures!” He beamed on Shirley. 4 She was looking very sweet lovely. He appreciated that fact. an adjunct she would be as a wife! | Yes, he must win her. He mamt leave no stone unturned to bring that) happy state of things to pags, i ‘The place grew noisier as time went by, He began to feel a shade mm tigued. Of course, he wasn't going to ¥ show it He must be as enthusiagtie as a boy of twenty. That was one’ of the penalties of falling in love a girl of Shirley's tender years, mua keep pace with her—in evesy- thing, At an opportune moment Mies Shirley slipped off by herself to have # of air. These warm nights were just @ little trying, . ing, too, was David Burke's adulation. She wanted to be atone—to Noiselessty she stole up a staircase, turned to the right, and suddenly arrested by the sound of @ voice behind some ‘The attractive tones of it semt the suddenty to Shirley's om, Fe ceding, left her pale and \tremblii Was it-could it be—Jim Dall co? She stood there, rooted to the spat A movement behind the palms woke v life in her. She couldn't face a ing with him—for she cared teo She must escape—hide somew! Bhe took a quick step s erent, sheltering bank of ferme, He wouldn't see her there, “Shirley!” He was beside her te @as scented durknews of the alcove. ley, Nttle sweetheart, ts that’ your” OU WAP CAUGHT HER TO Before she could prevent tim can bee caught her to his heart and passionately. ‘ ; (Do Not “yr Morrow's