Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 243, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 October 1914 — The PLACE of HONEYMOONS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The PLACE of HONEYMOONS

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, CHAPTER Xl—Continued. Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly found emptiness in everything. “Sing!” said Herr Rosen. “I am too tired. Some other time.” He did not press her. Instead, he whispered in his own tongue: “You are the most adorable woman in the world!” And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes blank with astonishment. It was as though she had been asleep and he had rudely awakened hep - - His infatuation blinded him to the truth; he saw in the look a feminine desire to throw thy others off the track as to the sentiment expressed in his whispered words. The hour passed tolerably well. Herr Rosdn then observed the time, rose and' excused himself. He took the stepß leading abruptly down the terrace to the carriage road. He had come by the other way, the rambling stone stairs which began at the porter’s lodge, back of the vilia. “Padre,” whospered Courtlandt, “I am going. Do not follow. I shall explain to you when we meet again.” _ The padre signified that he understood. Harrigan protested vigorously, but smiling and Bhaking his head, Courtlandt went away. Nora ran to the window. She could see Herr Rosen striding along, down “*>the winding road, his head in the air. Presently, from behind a cluster of mulberries, the figure of another man came into view. He was going at a dog-trot, his hat settled at an angle that permitted the rain to beat square-, ly into his face. The next turn in the road shut them both from sight But Nora did not stir. Herr Rosen stopped and turned. “You called?” “Yes.” Courtlandt had caught up with him just as Herr Rosen was about to open the gates. “Just a moment, Herr Rosen,” with a hand upon the bars. “I shall not detain you long.” There was Btudied insolence in the tones and the gestures which accompanied them. “Be brief, if you please.” “My name is Edward Courtlandt as doubtless you have heard." “In a large room it is difficult to remember all the introductions.” . “Precisely. That is why I take the liberty of recalling it to you, so that you will not forget it,” urbanely. A pause. Dark patches of water were spreading across their Little rivulets ran down Courtlandt’s arm, raised as it was againßt the bars. “I do not see how it may concern me,” replied Herr Rosen finally with an insolence more marked than Courtlandt’s. “In Paris we met one night, St the stage entrance of the Opera. I pushed you aßide, not knowing who you were. You had offered your services; the door of Miss Harrigan’s limousine.” “It was you?” scowling. “I apologize for that. Q Tomorrow morning you will leave Bellaggio for Varenna. Somewhere between nine and ten the first train leaves for Milan.’’ “Varenna! Milan!” “Exactly. You speak English as naturally and fluently as if you were born to the tongue. Thus, you will leave for Milan. What becomes of you after that is of no consequence to me. Am I making myself clear?" “Verdampt! - Do I believe my ears?” furiously. “Are you telling me to leave Bellaggio tomorrow morning?" “As directly as I can.” , ' Herr Rosen’B face became as re# as his name. He was a brave young man, but there was danger of an active kind in the blue eyes boring into his own. If it came to a physical contest, he realized that he would get the worst of it £ He put his hand to his throat; his very impotence was choking him. "Your Highness ...” “Highness!" Herr Rosen stepped back. “Yes. Your Highness will readily see the wisdom of my concern for' your hasty departure when I add that I know all about the little bouse in Versailles, that my knowledge is shared by the chief of the Parisian police and the minister of war. If you annoy Miss Harrigan with your equivocal attentions . . .” “Gott! This is too much!” “Wait! I am stronger than you are. Do not make me force yop to hear me to the end. You have gone about this Intrigue like a blackguard, and that I know Your Highness not to be. The matter Is, you are young, you have always had your way, you have not learnt restraint. Your presence here is an insult to Miss Harrigan, and if she was pleasant to you this

afternoon it was for my benefit. If you do not go, I shall expose you.” Courtlandt opened the gate. “And if I refuse?” "Why, in that case, being the American that I am, without any particular reverence Tor royalty or nobility, as it is known, I promise to thrash you soundly tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, In the dining, room, in 'the bureau, the drawing room, wherever 1 may happen to find you.” Courtlandt turned on his heel and hurried back to the villa. He did not look over'his shoulder. If he had, he might have felt pity for the young man who leaned heavily against the gate, his burning face pressed upon his rain soaked sleeve. When Courtlandt knocked at the door and was admitted, he apologized. “I came back for my umbrella.” “Umbrella!” exclaimed the padre. "Why, we had no umbrellas. We came up in a carriage which is probably waiting for us this very minute by the porter’s lodge.” “Well, I am certainly absent-mind-ed!” “Absent-minded!” scoffed Abbott “You never forgot anything in all your life; unless it was to go to bed. You wanted an excuse to come back.” “Any excuse would be a good one in that case. I think we’d better be going. Padre. And by the way, Herr Rosen begged me to present his regrets. He is leaving Bellaggio in the morning.” / Nora turned her face once more to the window. CHAPTER XII. The Ball at the Villa. “It Is all very petty, my child,” said the padre. “Life Is made up of bigger things; the little ones should be ignored.” To which Nora replied: “To a woman the little things are everything; they are the dally routine, the expected, the necessary things. What you call the big things in life are accidents. And, oh! I have pride,” She folded her arms across her heaving bosom; for the padre’s directness this morning had stirred her deeply. “Wilfulness is called pride by some; and stubbornness. But you know, as well as I do, that yours is resentment, anger, indignation. Yes, you have pride, but it has not been brought into this affair. Pride is that within which prevents us fromjmoing mean or sordid acts; and you could not do one or the other if you tried. The sentiment in you which should be developed »» “Is mercy?” “No; justice; the patience to weigh the right or wrong of a thing.” “Padre, I have eyes, eyes; I saw.” He twirled the middle button of his cassock.” The eyes see and the ears hear, but these are only witnesses, laying the matter beforn the court of the last resort, which is the mind. It is there we sift the evidence.” “He had the insufferable Insolence to order Herr Rosen to leave,” going around the barrier of his well-ordered logic. “Ah! Now, how could he send away Herr Rosen if that) gentleman had really preferred to stay?” Nora looked confused. “Shall I tell you? I suspected; so I questioned him last night. Had I been in his place, I should have chastised Herr Rosen instead of bidding him be gone. It was he.” “Positively. The men who guarded you were two actors from one of the theaters. He did not come to Versailles because he was being watched. He was found and sent home the night before your release.” “I’m Borry. it was so like him.” The padre spread his hands. “What a way women have of modifying either good or bad impulses! It would have been fine of you to have stopped when you said you were sorry.” “Padre, one would believe that you had taken up his defense!” “If I had I should have to leave it after today. I return to Rome tomorrow and shall not see you again before you go to America. I have bidden good-by to all save you. My child, my last admonition is, be patient; observe; guard against that impulse born in your blood to move hastily, to form opinions without solid foundations. Be happy while you are young, for old age is happy only in that reflected happiness Mt recollection. Write to me, here. I return in November. Benedicite?” smiling. Nora bowed her heard and he put a hand upon it. Celeste stood behind Abbott and studied his picture through half-closed, critical eyes. “You have painted it over too .many times.” Then she looked down at the shapely head. Ah, the longing to put her hands upon it, to run her fingers Through the tousled hair, to touch it with her lips! But no! “Perhaps you are tired; perhaps you have worked too hard. Why not put aside your brushes for a week?” "I’ve a good mind to chuck it into the lake. I simply can’t paint any more.” He flung down the brushes. “Pm a fool, Celeste, a fool. I’m crying for the moon, that’s what the matter is. Whatls the use of beating about the bush? You know as well as I do that it’s Nora.”> Her heart contracted, and for a little while she could not see him clearly. “But what earthly chance have I?’’ hs wjent on, innocently but ruthlessly. “No one can help loving Nora.” “No,” In a small voice. “It’s all rot, this talk about affinities. There’s always some poor devl! left outside. But who can help loving Nora?” he repeated. “Who indeed!” “And there’s not the least chance in the world for me.” "You never can tell until you put it to the test.” ' “Do you think I have a chance? Is

it possible that Nora may care a littls ’ for me?” He turned his head toward her eagerly. “Who knows?" She wanted him to have it over with, to learn the truth that to Nora Harrigan he would never be more than an amiable comrade. He would then have none to turn to but her. What mattered if her o#n heart ached so she might soothe the hurt In his? She laid hand upon his shoulder, so lightly that he was only dimly conecious of the contact. “It’s a rummy old world. Here I’ve gone alone all these years . 1 .’’ “Twenty-six!” smiling. “Well; ihat’e a long time. Never bothered my head about a woman. Selfish, perhaps. Had a good time, came and went as I pleased. And then I met Nora.” “Yes.” “If only she’d been stand-offish, like these other singers, why, I’d have been all right today. But shais such a brick! She’s such a good fellow! She treats ue all alike; sings when we ask her f to; always ready for a romp. Think of her making us all take the Kneipcure the other night! And we marched around the fountain singing ‘Mary had - a little lamb.' Barefooted in the grass! When a man marries he doesn’t want a wife half so much as a good comrade; somebody to slap him on the back in the morning to hearten him up for the day’s work; and to cuddle him up when he comes home tired, or disappointed, or unsucceesful. No matter what mood he’s in. Is my English getting away from you?” “No; I understand all you say.” Her hand rested a trifle heavier upon his shoulder. “Nora would be that kind of a wife. ‘Honor, anger, valor, fire,’ as Stevenson says. Hang the picture; what am I going to do with it?” “ ‘Honor, anger, valor, fire,’ ” Celeste repeated slowly. “Yes, that is Nora.” A bitter little smile moved her lips as she recalled the happenings of the last two days. But no; he must find out for himself; he must meet the hurt from Nora, not from her. “How long, Abbott, have you known your friend Mr. Courtlandt?” “Boys together,” playing a light tattoo with his mahlstick. "How old is he?’ “About thirty-two or three.” “He is very rich?” “Oceans of money; throws it away, but not fast* enough to get rid of it.” “He is what you say in English ... wild?”

“Well,” with mock gravity, “I shouldn’t like to be the tiger that crossed his path. Wild; that’s the word for it.” “You are laughing. Ah, I know! I should say dissipated.” \ “Courtlandt? Come, now, Celeste; does he look dissipated?” “No-o.” “He drinks when he chooses, he flirts with a pretty woman when he chooses, he smokes the finest tobacco there is when he chooses; and he gives them all up when he chooses. He is like the seasons; he comes and hie goes, and nobody can change his habits.” “He has had no affair?” “Why, Courtlandt hasn’t any heart. It’s a mechanical device to keep his blood In circulation; that’s all. I am the most intimate friend he has, and yet I know no more than you how he lives and where he goes.” Slhe let her hand fall from his shoulder. She was glad that he did not know. “But look!” she cried in warning. Abbott looked. A woman was coming serenely down the path from the wooded promontory, a woman undeniably handsome in a cedar-tinted linen dress, exquisitely with a touch of vivid scarlet on her hat and a most tantalizing flash of scarlet ankle. It was Flora Desimone, fresh from her morning bath and a substantial breakfast. The errand that had brought her from Aix-les-Bains was confessedly a merciful one. But she possessed the dramatist’s Instinct to prolong a situation. Thus, to make her act of mercy seem infinitely larger than It was, she was determined first to cast % the Apple of Discord into this charming corner of Eden. The Apple of Discord, as every man knows, is the only thing a woman chu throw with any accuracy. The artist snatched up his brushes, and ruined the painting, forthwith, for all time. The foreground was, in his opinion, beyond redemption; so, with a savage humor, he rapidly Jimned in a score of impossible trees, turned midday into sunset, with a riot of colors which would have made the Chinese New Yjar in Canton a drab and sober event in comparison. He hated Flora Desimone, as all Nora’s adherents properly did, but with a hatred wholly reflective and adapted to Nora’s moods. (TO BE CONTINUED.)