They made their way down the little [ T have a table Inside,” he told them
passage and out Into the sudden blaze ns they approached. ‘‘It—is better for
-Hf sm'fim.’T.OIilse, led John conversation. The rest of the place is
to a small car which was waiting In -like a bear garden. I am not sure If
the real.4...^ ' "
'J “The dnylton,” she told the man, as.
j-tie. arranged the fugs. “An«l now,” sho*j restaurant."
't
they will dance hfrp today, but If
they do, they will come also iato!£h»
added, turning to John, “why have you
come to-London7 How long are you
going to stay? What are you going to
do?. And—most Important of all—In'
what Mrt't have you come?”
John breathed a little sigh of Con-'
tentment. "1 came to see you,” he con
fessed bluntly.,
“Dear!' me !” she exclaimed, looking
‘I,
at him with a little smile. “IIow down-’ ordered absinthe.
“Wise man!” Louise declared,
too, hate the .babel outside.”
“We are faced,” said the prince, as
he took up the menu, “with our daily
problem. What can I order for you?”
“A cup of clTocplnte,” Louise replied.
“And Miss Sophy?”
“Tea, please.’’ . ' - * !
John, too, preferred• tpnthe prince
1 *
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JOHN STRANGEWEY REELS THE LURE t)F LOVELY WOM
AN AND IS'UNABLE TO BREAK THE SPELL •
LOUISE HAS WOVEN • - '
r .1 â– > â– 
^ Synopsis"—oh’u^ip through the English Cumberland country the
breakdown of her automobile forces Louise Maurel, a famous London
a ctress, .to'"'Spend' the night at the farm home of John.and Stephen
Strahgewey. At dinner Louise discovers that the brothers are woman-
bating recluses.- NeYt morning she discovers that John, the younger
brother, has recently cormMoto u large fortune. In company with him
she explores the furm and is disturbed by evidence of. his rigid moral
principles. He learns she Is a friehd. of the prince of Sayre, a rich
and disreputable neighbor. Three months later, unable to shake off
the girl’s memory, John goes to London. . ' • *
sniutntlons, right and
tradespeople, with farmers, brought
Into towp' by the market, with no-,
quaintanres of all sorts '-.and condi
tions. More than'ene young Woman shadowy corner of the. wings. Over-
right you urtT -
spirit of i,t to me. In you I see the era- “The truth—’” he began,
bmliment of my Therese.”
Louise made no movement. Her
eyes were fixed, upon
« >
a certain
from the, shop windowswj; the pave
ments ventured to smile ht^bini, and
the few. greetings, he rec* , Yvr*(Lfr.<*ml the
wives and daughters of his ndghTrors
were ns gracious as they could possibly
‘-be made. John almost smiled once in
. the act of raising his hat, as he real
ized how completely the whole charm
of the world, for him, seemed to lie in
one woman’s eyes. t
At the Crojsswnys, where he should
have turned to the Inn, he paused while
"A polyglot meal, Isn’t It. Mr.
St range wey?” said Louise, as the order
“Has t<> be handled'very carefully,” ' va S executedH’not In the least what
she said, interrupting him,* “The trujh Ibnr’ wonderful q)d butler of yours
is either beautiful or crude, and tire understand by tea. Sophy, put
peophTwlm meddle wiTh“such a won- your hat on straight if you want to
derful thing need a great deal of tact.
You have come to see me, you say.
wrought as she hatH’stkffljt-flTA$fth the
eniotlonal #>'xcjtebient of] her long
s I ,l ' i *‘* h - «i<**'Vu S now n now mulcurl- th< ,„ , will !„■ Just ns frank,
.nn, uxprwsion upon lu r Sl„. wnsjj ,,„ ve be(m , , llwt . y0 ‘ u wouidj
looking at a falh, hesitating figure that come ?»* -
Mon,] just off the stage. She forgot the- can't ImaKini , hmv p(m(] . H ls
existe.nco.of the famous dramatist who to ll<iar you 8ay (1 nt .. ho (1(1( ^red.
hung upon her words. IJer feet tin • «*^ijnrl
longer trod the.dusty boards of the
theater. She was almost painfully
conscious of the perfume of apple blos
som. v ; ... - . irr _
• “You !” she exclaimed, stretching out
'S’ 1
l Till
' CHAPTER V—(Continued.)
" —3^ _i ~"
“You aren’t let-ting your thoughts
dwell upon that woman? s
. “1 ha vie—thought about her some
times,’’ John answered, almost defiant
ly. “What’s the harm? I’m still here,
am 1 not ?"
Stephen crossed the room
drawer of the old mahogany
a motorcar passed. It contained a
woman, who was talking to her host, her hands. “Why do you not come and
She wa?Tnot in the least like Lou- speak to me? l am' here P’
j ise, and yet Instinctively he knew that John came out upon the stage. The
thoughts, and for a moment lost cbn / [ sflf ’ Av,,s sa,ne world. The per-^w*tich dramatist, with his hands be-
trol of himself. | fectlon of her-white-sergecostume, her hlpd'tlts back, made swift mental^hotys â–  , .
<>f an Interesting situation. He'saw
. “Were you thinking about that’wom
an?” lie asked sternly.
“What woman?”
“The woman whom we sheltered
here, the woman whose shameless pic
ture Ison the cover of that book.”
10m. From the. John swung round on his heel,
piny sideboard i “Stop that, Stephen 1” he said men-
he produced an Illustrated paper,; I Ip UCingly.
turned back the frontispiece' fiercely
and held it up.
“I)o you see thnt, John?”
"I’ve seen it already."
Stephen threw the paper upon the
table.
“She’s going to net in another of
those confounded French plays," he'
suid; “translations ■ with all the - wit
tnken out und all the vulgarity left
iu.” •
’^vny should I?” the older man're
torted. '‘JTnke up that paper, if you
want to reiul a sketch of the life of
Louise MnukeL See the play she made
her name In—‘LiKGIoconda’!"
"What about it?"
Stephen held the paper out to his
brother. John read, a few lines and
dashed it Into a corner, of the room.
“There’s this much about It, John,”
Stephen Continued. "The woman jrtayed
‘We knew nothing of her art,” John thnt part night after night—played Jt
to the life, mind youJ- She made her ;
reputation in it. TliatJs.. the’woman
we unknowingly let sleep beneath- this
roof 1 - The barn ls the place ffir her!
and her sort!”
John’s clenched fists were held firm
ly to his sides. His eyes were blazing.
"That’s enough. Stephen!” he cried.
"No; it’s not enough !” was the fierce
reply.” “The truth’s been burning In my
declared colcMy. “YVe shouldn't under
stand it, eVen if we saw her act. There
fore it isn’t right for us to judge her.
Tiie world has found her a great ac
tress. She is pot responsible* for the
plays slip acts in."
Stephen turned away and lit Ids
pipe anew. He smoked for a minute or
two furUnisIy. His thick eyebrows
came closer and closer together. -He
1 lie coming of a man who stood like a
she went on, “I .have been.
Imping it for .more reasons than one.
You have come* to realize, I hope, that
it is yoUr duty' to try to see a little
more, of life than you possibly can,
loading a patriarchal ,existence among
vour flocks and herds.”
* . T
They wore silent for several 'mo
ments.
“I thought you would come,” Louise
d at last; “and I am glad, but even
.in these'first few minutes I want to
, sav snmottrirrg to von. If vou wTsh t o
glarjt among them, sunburnt; buoyafil- ; llv un(K . rstari(1 tlu , poopl ,,^ >u IIloet
! with health. Ids eyes bright with the | lH .V jU1 d the life they lead, don't be
wonder of litB unexpech-d surround- ! ^ V - U]r broth( , r _ t „„ qllU *k to Judge,
ings; a man in whose presence every- n ‘ ot vour pn . iu , lloos t ob tightlv.
„ne else seemed to represent an effete Y Nvl „ fanny prol),iems,
((Hid pallid type-of humanity. — *;- ^
- 1 --- Those first few srmteTrces. SpoTreii TrT
make a ’ good fnfjiression ofi Mr.
Stmngewey. I am lioping that you two
will be great friends.”
Sophy turned toward John with a
little grimace.
, +*• * - r '
“Louis<vis so tactless!" she said. "I
am sure any Idea you might have had
of liking me will havt» k gone already.
Has it. Mr. • Strangewey?“
“On the contrary." he replied, a little
stiffly, but without hesitation, “I was
thinking that Miss Maurel could
scarcely have set me a more pleasant
task.” : • : •
The girl looked reproachfully across
at her friend. • .
i<j ( , “You told me he came from the
wilds, and was quite uns'ophlsticated !”
sin* exclaimed.
“The- truth,” John assured* them,
looking with dismay at his little china
cup, “comes very easily to us. We are
brought up on it in Cumberland.”
“Don’t chatter too much, child," Lou-
. ■ , , , . —- rtH*Hng^4R»4
^the midst of a curiotisflittle crowd of a|)(>ut
over in Ids mind.
“John,” he asked.
‘Is It this cursed
seemed to he turning some thought ..heart long enough. It’s better- out.
You want to find her a guest at Rayn-
hnm castle, do you?—Ravnham castle.
money Hint is | making you restless?” where never a decent woman crosses
the threshold! If she goes there, she
goe*— Well?"
An anger that was almost pnrnlyz-
room. He left tlw* house by the bnck
“I never think of it except when
someone comes begging. I promised a
thousand pound* to the infirmary to
ady.* .> v ,u
“Then' what’s wrong with you?”
'' John stretched himself out, a splen
did ligute of healthy manlK^nl. j'HTs (loor, passed quickly through the or-
ohccks were sun-tknned, lii,s eyes clear * ehnTd, w here the tangled moonlight lay
and bright. . upon thp ground In strange, fnntnstlc
“The matter? There’s nothing on | shadows; across the narrow strip of
earth the matter with me," he de- field, a field now of golden stubble; up
The hill which looked down mpon the
farm buildings arid the Churchyard
The Whistle Sounded. The Adventure
..of His Life Had Begun at Last. *
1 -•» * **•>' ■ "** \, m • .
hat so smartly worn, the half-insolent
smite; th^dlttle gesture with WhicTf she
strftnger*!, seemed to .Tfjiin, when he
thought of iiis long waiting, almost plt-
eously . Inadequate, /f.ouise. recogniz
ing the (lifflcultysTThe situation, swift
ly recovered her/cofriposyre. She was
hoth tactful and gracious.
‘‘Mr. Faraday,” she said appealingly.
"Mr. Strangewey comes from the coun
try—he is, .In fact, the most complete
j countryman I have ever met in my
life. He conies from Cumberland, and
1 he once—well, very nearly saved my
life. He knows nothing about the
aters, and he hasn’t the least idea of
the Importance of a rehearsal. You
won’t mind if we put him somqwhere
odt of the way till we have finished,
will you?”
“After such an introduction,’’.Fara
day said in a tune of resignation, “Mr.
Strangewey would he w elcome-at nnv.
time.
“There’s a dear man!’’ Louise ex-
claimed.. "Let me introduce him quick
ly. Mr. John Strangewey—Mr. Miles
ise sald henigniy. 1 ”1 want to near
,ch __wUt-.Seejn - some more tif Mr. Strangewey’s im-'
to you. D« IP a make up your ffl^sstnns. This is—well, if ndt quite
a ifashionable crowd, yet very nearly
so, YYliht do you think of it—thq wom
en, for instance?"
"Well, to me.” John confessed, can
didly, “they all look like dolls or. man
ikins. Their dresses and their hats
overshadow their faces. They seem
all the time to ho wanting to show, not
themselves; hut w'TTat"thVy” Tuive 'on.'”
They all laughed. Even the prince’s
'lips were parted by the flicker of a
smile. Sophy leaned across the table
■with a sigh. - ’
“Louise," she pleaded, "y >u will leyd
"It Isn’t your health I mean. There
arc other things, as you well know.
You do your day’s work and vou take bowlder, filled with a hateful sense of
* *-*. '
your pleasure, und you go through both I unwrenked passion, yet with u sheer
thankfulness In his heart thnt he had
raised her hand—something about her at 0
, . \ I araday, M. Gfalllot, illss-Sophy Ge-.
unlocked the floodgates. * ,, , ... * *
rar<l, my particular little friend. The
— r T t had yyt T ] prince Of Seyre yor, Already know, al-
ing, a sense of the utter Impotence of ' ' ” * u t S ®^°*. . J- l< tb<*bgh you may not recognize him trv-
words, drove John in silence from the '' n lenlthy appetite for his midday jn pHmlance himself on that absurd
meal, and a certain interest concerning s(onl ,
a deal In barley uprfn which he was T . x . . , .. 4|
, i . . . * . . • John bowed In various directions,
about to engage. And now another 1. „ , ». , , .. . .
â–  ,, , , . , - ... tT a .*, , and I* araday, taking him good-natured-
world had him in Its grip. He flicked . . , r . , , . ‘
, . j . , ly by the arm, led him to a garden seut
the mare with his whip, turned away . ’ . . ’ . .v
, .. . , „ 1 , * ... at the hack of the stage, .
from the Inn. and gqlloped up to the
station, keeping ptlfe with the train.
whose whistle he had heard. Standing
..... . . outside was a local horse dealer of his
llo rat grimly. dr,wn upon « -f<*t-, (iri , |llt , [la ,
anything in a hurry^”
"I w y 1 remember that." he promised.
“You.must 'remember, 'though, that I
don’t expect ever to become a convert.
I believeT am a countryman, bred
and born. jStill, there are some tilings
that I want to understamL-If I can,
and, more .than anything else—I want
to see you V*
She faced his direct speech this time
with more deliberation.
“TellrbRexactly why.”
"If I couldTffll you that,” he replied
simply. “I shoulit'die able to answer j
for myself the riddle''wffleh has, kept him to me sometimes, won’t you? You
me awake at night' for weeks and won’t keep him altogether to yourself?
months, which hns puzzled" m> jiiore There are such a lot of places to. take
than anything else in life has eve^ him to!”
done.” |>..“I was
“You real|y have thought of me, NUiarked, with an air of self-ftatisfac-
then?” i J tion. ‘of-wiu succeed in '’making a
favorable nhfqvssion upon him. . I
promise you yotirMfflare."
!”T«*11 us some moreTY^ your Impres-
sions. *Mi*. St rangewey," Shphv begged.
“You. want to laugh at me^\John
protested good-humoredly.
1 • r ■ * *
never greedy,” Louise re-
“There!” he said. “You are one of
the most privileged persbYiS in London.
You shall hear the finish of our re
hearsal. There isn’t a pressXpian In-
“Didn’t you always know that I
Should?” rr' v. _
“1’erhnps,” she admit toil . “Anyhow,
l alwajs* felt tlmt we should meet
again, that you would come to London.
The problem is," she added, smiling,
“what to do with you now you are
here.”
•‘‘I haven’t come to he a nuisance,”
he assured her. “I just want a little
help from you. I want to understand
Iveoause it is your world. I want-to
feel myself nearer to you. I want—”
She gripped his arms suddenly. She blurred with custom perceive so lit-tle.
knew well i*tinu^!i that she had dellb- ^ ou are fiuRe right "hen \ou say that
eiuitely provoked "his words, hut tlnwe ,heso wonu ‘ ri ar ‘‘ ,,ke manikins; t-hat
was a look in her face almost of fear. ^ u> * 1 * HM hes and faces are lost; hut
one does not notice it until It Is polnt-
“<>n the contrary," the prime
sured him, ns lie fitted a cigarette into
a long amber tube, “they want to
laugh with you. You ought to realize
your, value as a companion Hi these
days. You are the only pej>.u> yvlio
can see the trytli. Eyes* and tastes
M ,, ! London I’d have near the place
“Take the mare hack for me to Peak _ , . * 1 .
as if your feet were on a. treudnilli.V
"Your fancy, Stephen!”
“God gran4 It! I’ve had an unwel
come visitor In yqur absence."
John turned swiftly around.
“A visitor?" he repeuted. “Who was
It?”
Stephen glowered at him for a mo
ment.
Hall, will you, Jenkins,"dr send one of
vTwenty-four hour? away from
prince of Seyre, as he calls himself,
though he has the right to style him
self Master of Raynham. It’s only hiS
foreign blood which makes him choose
-what I regard as,the lesser title. Yes,
escaped the minsmn of evil thoughts
which Stephen’s words seejned to have
created. The fancy seized him to face
these half-veiled suggestions of his
brother, so far as they concerned
himself and his life during the last
few months.
Stephen was right. This woman who
your lads?” he begged. “I want to ; sitont htl,s ’ John l0(,ked out wlth P uz
Yds
“Don’t let'us he too serious all at
once,” she begged 'quickly. ‘ “If you
Imre one fault, my dear big friend
from the country," she went on, with
\
"It was Jhe prince,” he saTd; “the had dropped from the clouds for those
few brief hours hn<) played strange
havoc with John’s thoughts and his
w hole outlook upon illfe. The coming j
cutch this train.”
The man assented with pleasure—It
paid to do a kludngss for a Strange
wey. John passed through the ticket
office to the platform, where the train
was waiting, threw open the door qf
a carriage, and flung himself Into a
corner seat. The whistle sounded. The
adventure of his life had begun at last, i
CHAPTER "VI.
zled eyes~fbom Ids dusty seat among
ropes and pulleys and leaning frag
ments of scenery. ‘What he saw and
heard seemed to him, for the most
part, a.meaningless tangle of gestures
and phrases. The men and women In
fashionable clothes, moving about be
fore thq£ gloomy space of empty audi
torium. looked more like marionettes
than creatures of flesh and bl(\od,
drawn this way .pud that atthe bidding
! of the stout, masterful Frenchman.
Of harvest, the care-of his people, his ' French draraat t^- dark wh0 "ns continually muttering exeln-
>ports, his cricket, the early days upon . , , , , \ ’ matlons and banging the manuscript
tin* grousp .moors/ had qll suddenly P a e- am an corpu en , s 00 upon upon b j s ban( j it seemed like a dream
lost their interest for him. Life had ^ me ^ e ® a .^ e ’ picture, with unreal men and women
liecQtne n ^ ^ dishing his manuscript in his hand. He m ’
mocking
always in his cars-.
He sar with his head resting upon
his hands, ‘looking steadfastly across
the valley helmv. Almost at his feet
fay the little church -with its grave-
h,llf * ImnKod the phlm.of Ms left'hand with about ttlmlesttly, sajlhg strange
,g. hitlfrChnlletiglng words„,e rolled-..p tannuserlpt and looked at
them all furiously.
‘The only success I care for,
he
Then there came a moment which
brought a tingle Into his blood, which
tvouse. tiie whole little colony nrotmd
.. .. .plunged hi? senses Into hot confusion,
thundered, “is an artistic success!” „ • t ' , , s U waS a - ni a v
“With Miss Maurel playing your, 4 f w nis> u . tl * ^ > a pla *,
v 1 * , which they were rehearsing^ of course !
se
obviously
unreal embrace, but It was only a play.
, ,, -â–  j .. leading part, M. -.Graillot, the actor- T . , â–  ., ,1. . . r ,
yard, the long,line of stacks and barns, , , , ... . . , - It was mdambahle tiling to see Loui?
.111 . .. ... manager declared, “not to speak of n . . . . .. . j . , ,
the laborers cottages.M-the huRlfTs , ,, , , , . . taken Into that cold and obvlousl
, ; .- , company carefullv selecte<i to the best , u ^ . j
of my judgti
. • , , lir ^ juusinont, I think you may ven- T . .
which his life seemed centered. Tiie * J J , , It was part of her
nuiwier moonlight lay upon thegronml ,UI ’ * t0 init< John resumed h1s seat and* folded
TTTTHuid lip—- Tim anfflmflsr fTowod hurriedly to ^ „ rm ; with the ombrnge had fallen
an Rmiglnary c-urtaln,, and the. rehear-
Louise.
alhTos!' like snow
shea ye,s of wheat standing up in the
-in
w 1
hi
Ik . , ,
Across the viaduct there came a -"’111 he as patient as
( ifflhHyi.f sfreiimiug light, a serpentlike . The stage manager s*mited out some
trail* gtiL(nily heard whistle*—file Scot- Infections from his
pst distant of the wrnfields. Reyoqd ^ 0,1 rocsd \ to mo a fact, he said wa ^4 a w, r> They were all crowded
as the dark gorge toward which he gallantly, which almost reconciles me together^ tnTklng, in the center of the
nd looked so many nights at this ,,lis (iia ica travesty of sonic of sta ^ e The prirtce^ who had stepped
"ur. - tuy;lines. -Proceed, thenr-prqyeed! I across the footliRh ^ ade his way to
1 1
,ard London.
tlslr
tow
out of sight.
footlights,
where John was sitting.
"So you have deserted Cumberland
for a time?” lie courteously inquired.
“I came up last night,” John replied!
“London, nt this season of the year,”
the prince observed, “is scarcely at Its
-best.” ! *V- ' : 'i
iox. A gentleman-
on its way southward 1,1 foultless ^morning ,clothes; who
His-eyes followed it seemed,to liirve been thoroughly enjoy.-
Ih' f!lY nid lilniseif thiJili- '‘ig flu), interlude, Suddenly Adopted the
lug,of the passengers wh+t.wnuld wnke_ walk of a footman. Other
the'.next morning in London. He felt actors, who had been whispering to-
Jiimself suddenly acutely conscious of gether in the wings, came back to their
ids isolation. Was there not somefhTngM»' ,a< ' es - advance)] alone, a lit tit;
almost monastic in the neeluslon4-hieh hw^uldly, to the front of the stage. At'
had becojile a passion with Stephen,- r ,, H‘ sou “ d h, ‘ r ^IlIJ'^umbeHand .during the whole of that
inTd wliich had its grip, too, upon him*- .--lot, nodding his head vigorously, was* tffne.’* V-
aTled to. ask you to .shoot and stay a waste of llfe.’a burying of talents? toothed.
,IIer_ speech whs a long one. It
“You Arenjt^Letting Your Thoughts!
Dvyefl Upon That Woman?"
at the castle, if you would, from the
/ sixteenth to tiie twentieth of next'
month.”
“What answer did you jErlve him?’*
”1 told him .that you w'W'ybur* owtf
master. You must -send word tomor-
row-” ' ;;; ... .J*.
v~rrmrmrmmmm*mmp
He Aose Pshis feet. The half-formed
purpose of weeks held him now, defi
nite, und secure.' He knew thnt tills pil
grimage of Ids to the hilltop, fit* rapt
Tontempiatlon of thi^little pnnOrnma
which had become so dear to him; was
In a sense valedietory.
I 1 *-
John smiled.
“I afh afraid,” he said, “thnt I am
not critical. It is eight .years since I
wus here last. I have not been out of
The prince, after a raomenils Incred-
“I Want to Feel Myself Nearer to You.
I Want—"
- * ...» - '
a swiftly assumed gayety, “It is that
you are too v serious'£or your -years.
Sophy andT between us niust try to
cure you of that! You see, we have
arrived.”
He handed her out,' followed her
across 4-lie phvement, and found him
self plunged into what* seemed to him
to he an absolute vortex of human be
ings, ail dressed in very much the
sumq fashion, all laughing and talking
together very much in-the same note,
all criticizing every fresh group of ar
rivals with very much the same eyp
and manner, r The palm cViurt was
ed out.”
“We. w ill revert," Louise decided, "to
a more primitive life. You and I will
inaugurate u missionary enterprise,
Mr. Tftrangewey. We will Judge the
world afresh. „ We will reclothe'and re
habilitate it.” # • •
The prince flicked the ash, from the
end of his cigarette.
“Morally aswell as,sartorially?" he
asked. * ,,
There was a moment’s rather queer
silence. \The. music rose above the
hubbub of voices’ and died away again.
Louise rose to her feet. The prince,
^vith a, skillful maneuver, made his
way to ,her side as they left the res-
taurunt. * • -
v “Tomorrow afternoon, I think you
said?” he repeated quietly. „“You will
be itKtown then?"
"Yes)xL think so.’V/
"You lutye cliunged your mind, then,
about^—"
"M* GrnlllotNvlll not listen to my
TenVing London," Interruiited rap-
Idly. “He declares that it Is too near
the production . of the |*lay. Mv own
part nmy he perfect, lull He needs me —~~
: for the yake of 1 lie' others/ He puts
It like a Frenchman, of course.”
They had reached the outer door,
which was hqlng held' open for them •
by a bovving eominissiounnire.- Join
and*’Sophy w*ere waiting upon the pave-
nieut. * The prince drew a little back. ’,
“I understand,” he murmured.
John finds himself in the midst
of new city adventures, and he
succeeds in captivating more
than one handsome' woman of
the stage world.
After all, two more months passed -
ulous stare, laughed softly to him- prowded with little parties seated at
nppeareq that she had been arraigned sel ^ the various round tables, .partaking
before a com pan \ of her. relatives, as^ “y.ou are a very wonderful person; * languidly* of the most Indolent meal of
senfflled to comment upon ,h>r mis- Mr. Strangewey,” he declared. “I have ! the day. Even the broad passageway
heard‘of your good fortyne. If I can
of .any service to Vou'during your
leimnilii hn l addiu
(Wds. . She woimd up with a pas?
ate appeal to her husband, Mr. Miles
Farmlay, who had ma(le,uia ulu xpected
wm
concmded# was \<yeathed In smiles. .
“Ah!” he crieijr~'"You haye lifted us
'xany of bi*f other guests, f yiiqipose?”
Tie mentioned no minigs at all.”. before,the end came, and it^came then''
John was, silent fiffl .a momeut. A without a moment’s vtoqring. It .was ^all up! ’Now I feel.once mojorthi in-
bewildering* thought had taken hold of ] n little past midday whenTohn drove spiratlon
ldm. Supposing she were to he tljere? slowly through the streets of
Stephen, watching 1dm. read his Ketton In his high dogcart, excha
^-Mademoiselle, I kiss your
rket hand,” he went on. “It is you who still
redeem my play. You bring back the
- y-...
V-
“plense command roe.” “
“You are x&ty kind,” John replied
gratefully. . t
!l^ouIse broke away from the little
group and came across toward them.
" “Free at laitl” she exclaimed. “Nqw
let us go out and have some tea.” *
> (TO BE CONTINUED.)
The Squirrel Dog.
:.riThere Is no occbuntiug for that un
canny Taculty that eauhles a homely,
long-legged, sad-eyed pup to go un
erringly to a lofty oak tree In whose
jfigher branches a bitof animated
hrown fur Is secreted. Another dog
of the same or more prepossessing ap
pearance and of a better breed might
trot unconcernedly past that sttme oak
haari-ihe- »rw wffhont^w^iatwfr^^ow*a^iBn«wl' sniff.
the orchestra* fo^he bahel of voices.^* r U ( dot so with the real "squirrel dog,
was full of men and women, standing
about and talking or looking for tables.
J ona^lllT hAflE JllO tllllfiln. ,lf
..â– ..-ir.irjt
The prince of Seyre beckoned to them
from the steps. He seemed to have
been awaiting their arrival there—a
cold, immaculate, and, considering-his
lack ot^jUlgJil, a curiously distin-
guished-lobking figure.
He’d pick out the/right tree In the
densest grove a hunter ever penetrat
ed. And if that squirrel started leap
ing from tree to tree, that *dog would-*
follow it over a square mile of, flm-,
her. , ’
ly