The evening world. Newspaper, February 18, 1922, Page 18

- oo at her own front gate, "I have some- thing to say to you.” “But I'm in such a hurry, John," she said. She was poised for flight. “I don't mean now," John said. “IT mean this evening.’’ “But I believe I have an engagement this evening. Mr. Anderson”—— She raised her eyebrows expressively. In @ flash she had assumed that air of hers. In one breathless instant she ceased to be the friendly, jolly girl John had known and became the per- son who seemed to say, “Come and take me—if you can.” “So good of you to take me homo,” she finished, and before John could re- cover himself she had waved her hand and ‘started up the walk. For an instant John watched her re- ceding back. Involuntarily he clenched his fists. And then he ran after her. Mabel heard him coming. Mabel gave one quick look over her shoulder and fled. She ran fast; but once started, John Palmer He caught her at the top step. He held her tightly in his arms. **You will, will you?’ he ly, and kissed her mouth. “TI—I,’' Mabel gasped. She tried to free herself. John held her closer, ran faster. said rough- ~ Mabel looked at him defiantly. “You brute!'’ she said passionately. “You're going to marry me,” he said through his teeth. Mabel looked up at him. And then her head sank on his shoulder and, with a little sigh, she relaxed in his arms. “You're going to marry me,"’ he re- peated. “*Yes,'’ she whispered, so low that he scarcely heard her. John released her. John raised his hat. With more ease than he had known himself to possess, he bowed to Mabel. ;. “Until this evening,’’ he said calmly, and walked off. He had walked right past his car, standing at the curb, the engine running, without seeing it or thinking of it. His self-possession wasn't as magnificent as he imagined. But he had won Mabel Durbrow. They were married in less than a month and went to the Canadian Rockies for their honeymoon, and stayed twice as long as they had planned. When they came back to Scarborough looked at them searchingly decided that Mabel was quite as much in love with John as he was with her. “Of course,"’ said Harvey Woods, “it is well known that a reformed flirt makes the most devoted wife.’’ Other members of the younger crowd were impressed with this piece of wis- dom, so much impressed that they repeated it as their own. The remark~became popular, was overdone, lost its savor, was forgotten. About that time the more observing began to raise their eyebrows and ex- change glances over the conduct of Mabel Palmer. “Of course,’’ said Harvey Woods, “once a flirt, always a flirt—look at Mabel Palmer.’’ Overybody looked; everybody saw; everybody shook his head wisely and repeated what Harvey Woods had said: ‘Of course, once a flirt’'— UT if everybody understood what B had happened, John Palmer everybody and did not. John Palmer did not understand it at all. He didn't know just how he had won Mabel, But he had won her. He know that. She had been his—completely. And now she wasn't. She hadn't done anything that he could reasonably complain about— nothing to which he could definitely object. John Palmer sat in front of the library fire, considering. It was a spring night and the fire was smolder- ing fitfully against the back-log, a low fire, but ome that ate steadily into the heart of the wood. John Palmer's thoughts were like that. * * * He imagined himself discussing the matter with Mabel. He never had dis- cussed it with Mabel. He never would discuss it with Mabel. But supposing he did? She could hardly deny that she had been flirting with Arthur Mill- ingham, But she could certainly as- sert that it was nothing. And it prob- ably was nothing. What could he say then? He could say she was attract- fez eétention—that she was exciting geasip. But was she’ John Palmer went round this circle of thinking about seven times in an hour. And then he realized that it wasn't Mabel's flirting that he ob- jected to so much. It was her attitude toward him. She had come to treat him as if he were a piece of furni- ture—a mantel, say, to lean on occa- sionally. But he couldn't very well tell Mabel that. Besides, if she were treating him the way she had treated | him when they were first married sho wouldn’t be flirting with Arthur Mill. ingham. So it was her flirting that he objected to—in a manner of speaking, John Palmer had gone round this circle about four times when he heard the doorbell ring somewhere in the depths of the house. He sat up sud- denly, saw that it was after 10 o'clock and answered the bell himself. It was Mabel'’s father. John was considerably surprised to receive a call from Mr. Durbrow at this hour, but he did not betray his surprise. He led the way back to the library and got out some cigars of the kind Mr. Durbrow liked and stirred up the fire. There is nothing like a wood fire to cover an embarrassing moment—un- less it is the ritual of lighting a really excellent cigar, * * * “Where's Mabel?’ asked Mr. Dut- brow. The question was a natural one for os x SO te OE it we OOS ame. ee Mr. Durbrow knew that John Palmer was a singularly truthful man, He saw clearly_that Jolin hadn't the least idea where Mabel was at that moment: He couldn't say where she was, and he wouldn't lie about it, and so he said just that—‘‘Not absolutely." ° “John,’’ said Mr. Durbrow firmly. He intended to carry this thing through now that he had started it. ‘'John,” Mr. Durbrow repeated more firmly, “I must beg your pardon. You know— well, to be brutally frank’’"— Mr. Durbrow hesitated. ‘'To be frank,’’ he resumed, ‘‘to be quite brutally frank—why, John, we're old friends, aren't we?’ John Palmer nodded and, seizing the tongs, he turned the back-log half round. He did not speak. He just turned the back-log a bit. Mr. Durbrow saw that John was embarrassed. John Palmer was a singularly honorable man, But he was not a man to whom frankness came easily—as it came to Mr. Dur- brow. And slowly, minutely examin- ing his cigar, Mr. Durbrow saw that he would’ have to encourage John, to show John how to be frank. Mr, Durbrow saw that John had an im- mense need to be frank. A double need. He needed to be frank with himself, instead of continuing to hide the hurt he had already hid too long. He needed to be frank with Mabel. It cea ne yA, 7 Mae SS spots Sen Ce PaO Pe we _ “YOU WILL, WILL YOU?” HE SAID ROUGHLY, AND’ KISSED HER MOUTH. a father to ask of a son-in-law. Or it should have been. But John Palmer turned the back-log over for the sec- ond time, and Mr. Durbrow examined the wrapper of his cigar, which he had already scrutinized elaborately. “I'm sorry she isn’t at home,’’ John said. ‘I know she’d be glad to see you.”’ “H-m-m-m,"’ said Mr. Durbrow. “I believe she’s dining at the Coun- try Club,"’ John continued, Mr. Durbrow frowned. Mr. brow bit deeply into his cigar. “Don’t you know where John?" John winced, winced visibly. Mi. Durbrow would have withdrawn that question if he could. He hadn't in- tended to ask a question so bald, But he had asked it. If he apologized for asking it, he would only make it worse. That is often the trouble when one has sati the wrong thing. “Not absolutely,"” Joha said. Dur- she is, was up to Mr. way. “I’m fond of Mabel,”’ Mr. Durbrow said. ‘And I—I'm fond of you, John. I want to help you--only I don’t know just what to say.”’ “I know," said John Palmer, “fT hope, John,’ said Mr. Durbrow, “that you don't mind my discussing everything awfully frankly—this way."" “No,” said John. He shifted the back-log a quarter turn. ‘Not at all." “IT was sure you wouldn'’t,’’ said Mr. Durbrow. John Palmer rose and paced and forth across the room. Mr. Durbrow rose and paced back and forth the other way. “John,’’ said Mr. Durbrow “Yes,’’ said John. “'Things—you know—things can't -o on this way, can they?" John shook his head. Mr. Durbrow sat down brow Icnitted his Durbrow to lead the back Mr. Dur- brows in thouett THE EVENING WORLD'S FICTION SECTION, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1999, ~~ "——"—™ Somehow, in spite of his frankness, they seemed to be talking around the point rather than to it. But how the devil could they do anything else? “You know, John," said Mr. Dur- brow desperately, “I feel that Mabel is—well—almost indiscreet.'’ John Palmer sat down in his chair close to the fire and reached for the tongs. “I should hardly go as far as that,”’ he said. "I should,"’ Mr, Durbrow insisted. HERE was a long silence, while John poked the fire and Mr, Durbrow puffed his cigar. “The fact is, John,’ Mr, Durbrow continued. ‘The fact is, I believe I'd speak to her about it—if I were you.” **What would you say?" “I'd be quite frank,’’ said Mr. Dur- brow. ‘“‘I'’d speak to her just as frank- ly as we've been speaking to-night." “H-m-m-m!”"’ said John. “I would,’’ said Mr. Durbrow. be very gentle, of light, you know."’ “Hoy light?" John asked. “Why,” said Mr. Durbrow testily, “I'd say: ‘Look here, my dear, aren't you flirting a bit?’ Just like that— lightly but frank.’’ John shook his head, “I would,’’ Mr. Durbrow sald. ‘lL certainly would.’’ “You see, Mr. Durbrow,"’ John said slowly, ‘I’m no Turk. A woman has as much right to her own way after marriage as before. Perhaps more. If Mabel likes to flirt a bit—why t>at's Mabel’s affair. I can't forbid her to flirt. And what good would it do me if I did?"’ “H-m-m!"’ said Mr. Durbrow. Involuntarily, John Palmer clencned his fists. “I happen to be stronger than Mo- bel,’ he said. ‘But I can’t use my physical strength!"’ “Of course not,’’ Mr. Durbrow said hastily. ‘‘That would be fatal. She would hate you. Besides no man can do that. It isn’t done. But you could suggest a preference to her.’’ John smiled at Mr. Durbrow. “You mean—suggest a for her society?" “Well, John, husband."’ “Yes. That's just why I can't say: ‘Mabel, I'd like to@have dinner with you myself occasionally.’ You see that was the implication when I mar- ried her. And if she doesn't choose to dine with me it's just her way of saying that she'd rather dine else- where.”’ Mr. Durbrow frowned more deeply than ever, “John,"' he asked, ‘‘why couldn't you have a talk with Mabel—just such a frank talk as we’re been having— without any reserves on either side?” John Palmer rose and paced hack and forth across the room, Mr. Dur- brow saw that he was seriously con- sidering this plan. But he saw also how difficult it was for a sensitive boy like John to face the prospect of absolute frankness, such frankness as he, Mr. Durbrow, had grown used to through long practice of it. He rose and put his hand on John Palmer's shoulder. ng course—sort of preference after all—you'’re her “My boy,’’ he said. ‘‘You don't know women, You don't understand women, [ do. Women are difficult to manage. But they can't beat frank- ness, They like to be elusive and evasive. That's their game. But they can't play it if,you’re frank. Try being frank with Mabel.’’ “I will try it,’ said John Palmer. “I'll talk to Mabel to-night.” Mr. Durbrow held out his hand. Good!" he said. They shook hands. “IT know Mabel,’’ Mr. Durbrow said. “After all, she’s my daughter.” “Of course,'’’ said John Palmer. “You can be gentle with her—you must be gentle. But ut the same time you can be frank.”’ “Of course,"’ said John Palmer. “Just a little frankness,'’ said Durbrow. They shook hands again at the door, Me. OILN PALMER sat for a long hour after Mr. Durbrow had gone, sat in front of his fire until long after there thinking midnight. He sat how tovely Mabel