BREEME HOUSE
__j By Katherine Newlin Burt i
Aloe joining them presently
lonnd Aline trying for the peg,
her eyes full of laughter ami her
mouth of gra -a.
“AVliy can’t you leave ns
alone, Alee?” she cried. “Sir
Geoffrey and 1 are always having
an idiotically good time when
up you t ome with your long face
and spoil it all.”
Alee, for a fraction of a
second, looked stung.
“Don’t mind me. I like to
watch idiots. You and Sir Geof
frey have a gift for drawing
each oth t out.”
Brooke gave Trcmont a keen j
glance.
“How about your trip? Good
fun?” inquired Brooke, fitting
in bis eyeglass as lie spoke, and
lfting bis eyebrows.
“Very jolly trp,” said Alee.
“Met .lane and Miss Wilton on
the boat. Wonderful girl— |
vvliat ?”
“Charming,” said Sir Geof
frey, and let fall his eyeglass.
“I like her,” he went on. “We
might liven up Dive Pastures for
her, mightn’t we? What about a
dance in my place, eh, Aline?” |
“M- ss Wilton says that visit
ing here is a holiday from liv
ing,” Tremont quoted drily.
^‘Perhaps we’d better bestir our
•selves. Where did you leave her,
AH”
“With the children.”
“Vi ,nd Humphrey must be
resting her,” drawled Tremont.
“Hadn’t you better go back*”
She stood up and started for
the house without a world. But
Ktr Geoffrey caught her, half
sternly by the hand.
“No, Aline,” said he, “you
arc to come out in my ear for a
•pin. I’ll fix it with Lady
Brceme. It was Miss Wilton’s
own idea to take your place for
a bit, and I’ll bet a fiver she’s
the sort, who’ll enjoy doing it,
what’s more. She’s a topper
Don’t undo her good deeds
You’re coming with me.”
Alec’s face was white as he
watched them moving rapidly
across the lawn.
Aline did not speak till she
found herself on the front seat
of Sir Geoffrey’s motor, Brooke
having arranged things with
Lady Brceme.
“Where are we going?” she
naked him in rather a vague
fashion. “Isn’t there going to
be n shower?”
“There is,” he answered
cheerfully. I’m going to take ]
you to see your sister. Ah! 1
thought that would delght you
up a hit. We’ll have time to get
there before the rain comes, I
think. We’ll chat with Bet tie
till it’s over, and he back in time
for dinner. I’ve carte blanche
from Lady Brceme.”
They were off at a wicked
speed. Aline clutched the side
of the car. Her eyes shone. This
was better than presiding over
the nursery supper. As they
swerved out of the gage a tall
young man, just entering, nar
rowly escaped with his* life by a
dexterous backward leap.
“Oh, I say!” called out Sir
Geoffrey in a tone of apology,
slowing down at once.
“Don't mention it,” answered
the other cheerfully, “it’s the
most homelike thing that’s hap
pened to me yet.”
Aline looked back as they sped
on.
“lie’s going in at Brceme
House,” said she.
“Tourist, 1 fancy,” Sir Geof
frey guessed; “American, lie’ll
get caught by the shower, and
will be invited to dinner, if I
know Lord Brceme.”
Claire Wilton, when a servant
appeared with the children's
supper and intimated that her
reign in the nursery was at an
end, strayed down to her beloved
gallery. Claire leaned against
the gallery railing, looking down
at the portrait. Far off were the
voices of Lord Tremont and his
stepmother, in one of the eastern
rooms. Cla re felt no desire to
join them. To hide here, com
<nuning with the soul of Breerae
House, was her latest delight.
She was conscious of a sharp
sense of disappointment at the
sound of nearing footsteps down
stairs.
She meditated flight, saw
through the opening door that
the intruders were Robins and a
tall stranger, and decided to
stay, while the tourist made tbs
round of the old hall and listened
to Robins'* pattered histories.
Claire had often longed to re
verse her rede as sightseer in
European palaces, and to peep
out at these eut-landish intruders
upon one’s ancient privacy. She
drew back a trifle into the
shadows of the gallery.
“That’s for you to let me look
at the pictures by myself,” a
quiet, determined voice.came up
to her.
Robins took something into
his hand, hesitated an instant,
and then discreetly departed,
shutting the large door after
him.
The stranger drew a deep and
audible breath. It was curiously
expressive of victory arid pride,
also of excitement. Claire leaned
forward to get a clearer view of
him.
II is figure was as spare and
hard anil useful *as a machine.
There was nothing extra or orna
mental about him. Not an ounce
of his make-up, brain or sinew,
that had not been tried to the
limit of its strength. Life—yet
be could scarcely be over thirty
—had fitted his fine face with a
mask of keen power. He held
himself raihcT slaeky, and moved
with the graceful ease of health
mmmmr acveiopraunt.
When the door was shut, and
Robins’ footsteps well with
drawn, the sightseer moved for
ward like a man who knew his
goal, and placed himself directly
before the Van Dyke portrait.
He stood feasting his eyes up
on li»dy Jane’s silvery beauty.
His whole attitude wus one of
eager reverence.
Claire V curiosity rustled audi
bly to her own ears. She was
possessed by a tense feeling of
suspence. He struck one hand
lightly into the other.
“I’ve s ome back for you, lit
tie English lady,” said he aloud,
“it’s been a long wait, but from
now on you're mine. Do you
hear me? You’re mine!”
Claire’s fingers tightened, she
felt a. flame fly up into her
cheeks; almost tangibly, Brito
mart’s helmet settled on her
brows.
She set lance in rest for de
fence of the Ladv Jane.
CHAPTER VIII
TREMONT OF SEATTLE
While Claire Wilton was eaves
dropping on the American tour
ist-visitor in the picture gallery,
Alee Tremont faced confession to
his step-mother, Ladv* Breeme
••oncermiig liis financial fiasco.
Hr stood bv one of the long
windows, bis hands fidgeting be
hind him. When Lady Breeme
spoke his, muscles tightened in
voluntarily. as though in expec
tation of physical pain. He tried
to harden himself into resent
ment, bnt her first sentence cut
sharply through his defences.
“Do you not think your father
is looking wretchedly ill?” she
asked him, raising a fun between
herself nod the fire, and looking
coldlr at him over its edge.
Tremont came over from the
window and stood oy the hearth.
“I didn’t notice ariv change,'*
said he in a rebellious, troubled
tone. “Father has never look 'd
himself since his attack. I think
that Miss Wilton has brightene 1
him. A wonderful girl, don’t
you think?”
The cold, level eyes above the
fan ran over Alec.
“Yes; she s charming. Her
visit has distracted your father
from his anxieties,” she said.
“With his natural buoyancy, be
throws things off. I hope you
were successful in Canada?”
Tremont. was silent. His face
burned.
Lady isreemc replied to her
own question.
“ Yon were not. I shall ask no
questions but I am sorry, chiefly
because of Jane. 8he should
have been presented long ago.
She should have a season in Lon
don, and some pleasures in her
life. Her future has been left too
»meh to chance; yours has been
candidly planned for. What
money could be spared has al
ways been yours.”
Alee had taken up the tongs
and was carefully rearranging
the lumps of eoal. lie spoke in
terse sentences between his move
ments.
“Nobody warned me to be
careful at the start. Father al
ways got me out of a fix with
n« particular difficulty, that 1
could see. When I went to Ox
ford I thought myself a rich
man's son. it’s only lately that
you’ve begun to come down on
me. Might have pulled up years
ago. Once you get started, it’s
none so easy to pull up. I don’t
care especially for debts, you
know.” Here lie made an ex
tremely nice arrangement of one
large coal upon a smaller one—
“Rather cut my bead off than
let dad in for anything. Got any
advice for me, or suggestions?
I’ll take ’em-—lying down.”
“That’s the most promising
remark I’ve ever heard from
you, Alee. I’ll think it over.
Will you come to see me tomor
row morning—in my room?”
She had risen. He turned,
tongs in hand, and looked at her
composedly through his narrow
ed eyes, the corners of his mouth
tucked in to their queer, bitter
little grin.
“No' use, mother. I know
what you’re going to advise. I’ve
been advised already.”
She smiled rather more warm
ly.
“By whom, please?”
“By an old friend and precep
tress of mine—a very sensible
young woman.”
“Aline?”
He nodded, still looking at her
with the queer grin.
“Aline is a clever child. I be
lieve she will some day be sensi
ble for herself. Come Alec, draw
up a chair and we’ll talk it over.
Geoffrey Brooke—”
What are you about,
Robins?” cut in Alec sharply.
His relief at the old man’s com
ing was so great that it jangled
his temper.
Robins followed a visiting
card, which he held at arm’s
length, into the room.
“A gentleman”-, said he care
fully, “in the hall. He came to
see the pictures, your lordship,
and asked me to take his card
to the earl.”
“Confound him! Why didn’t
you walk him out?” Alec took
the card, strode to the circle of
firelight, and scornfully glanced
at the name just as he jerked it
into the flames. It was with a
sharp exclamation of surprise
tlmt he rescued it at peril of
burnt fingers.
“Good Lord! Listen to this,
mother: ‘Mr. Rufus Ross Tre
mont, Seattle, Washington,
U. S. A.’”.
“Yes, your lordship”, said
Robins, rubbing his chin. “I seen
it myself, your lordship. Mr. Ru
fus Tremont. Tremont, my
lady!”
“We aie to be punshed for our
family crimes with a vengeance,”
groaned Alec. “Some beastly
lijtle Yankee drummer who’s
worked it out that lie’s descend
ed from our exiled earl. Oh,
Lord! What shall I do writh him,
mother? Scribble a polite mes
sage of dismissal, eh?”
He had his pencil out, Robins
flushing and protesting with
every wrnkle, but Lady Breemc
stopped him.
It’s just what your father
delights in, Alec. Do go your
self and see him, and, if he’s not
too impossible—No, I don’t trust
you. We’ll have him in here.
Robins, Lord Breeme is resting.
Will you tell Mr. Tremont—
it’s really extraordinary—please,
that, Lady Breeme and Lord Tre
mont will see him. Alec, we
shall have to keep him for din
ner, if he is not too impossible.
Nothing delights your father
more than such unlooked-for
happenings. If he’s a ludicrous
creature, so much the better.
This will amuse your father for
a fort-night. Mr. Rufus Tre
mont, of Seattle, t's quite too
marvellous, really”.
Alec looked at the scorched
card with lifted eyebrows.
Oh, if it pleases lather, of
course—■” he shrugged.
“Here he is”, lie added half
sullenly a moment later; and
Lady Breeme, turning, lowered
her fan.
The tall, grave young man
came forward.
“This is mighty good of you,
Lady Breeme”, said he with
simple directness. “I didn’t
know Lord Breeme was au in
valid, or i should not have sent
in my card”. 4
“But you couldn’t have done
better, Mr. Tremont”, said she
in her coolly gracious fashion;
“my husband will be delighted
with the discovery of an Amen
can kinsman. You must stop to
dinner. And Alec”—Lady
Breeme had made her decision
promptly—-”have Mr. Tremont’s
luggage sent for. You must stop
with us. You will have to ex
plain how you came by our name.
That will be what Mrs. Chaun
coy calls ‘one of the romances
of the new world,' eh, Alee!”
“Explain the Ross especially,
i Mr. Tremont,” put in Alec, in
specting the American tftrougn
his narrowed lids. “You’ve do
right to that, you know”.
“I’ve a very tenacious hold
upon it, though”, laughed the
American. “How I came by il
happens to be rather a romance,
if you like. But—I’m stopping
very comfortably at your inn
down yonder. You’ll have
enough of me this evening.”
Lady Breeme bore down his
protests. For herself, she hated
a stranger, but she was quick to
lay aside her prejudices for the
sake of Breeme. She would
have cut off her long hands for
him with perfect coolness and
satisfaction. Her impulsive
seeming hospitality was merely a
meehaneal imitation of her hus
band’s manner. Alec, recogniz
ing this, was inwardly amused.
“She’d have asked the devil
or a drummer to dinner”, he
thought. “Lucky that our kins
man from Seattle is a gentle
man.” And he rang the bell and
gave orders for Mr. Tremont’s
comfort in a dry, jerky, off
hand fashion that probably did
not escape the notice of Rufus
Tremont himself.
The American’s luggage at
the Breeme Arms was soon trans
ferred, and Mr. Tremont, in the
wide, eastern bedroom, .dressed
thoughtfully and quickly. After
wards he lit a cigarette, and
stood by one of the deep-silled
windows, an arm above his head.
He breathed slowly and deeply,
and his long, sinewy muscles re
laxed.
Outsidor, across the lawns, be
yond the tall, wide-topped trees,
a misty moon was coming up. It
uas still dusk—a strange half
light. Everything stood in an
atmosphere that was neither
light nor shadow. Rufus Tremont,
thought of the silvery eyes of
Lady Breeme.
For him, too, as well as for
Claire Wilton, this hour was a
first holiday from living—or,
perhaps, if the Eastern philoso
phy is the truer, a first moment
of living. He leaned his head
against the lifted |rm, the
fingers of which were twisted
in the curtain, and a look that
was neaily a smile softened his
dear and sombre eyes. Rest
and home! Why did the realiza
tion of those two words brood
so beautifully for him under
this English roof and over theso
quiet English laws? Journey’s
end—and what a journey! He
was not thinking of the more or
less unexciting passage from
New York to Liverpool. lie was
thinking of that short, hard
life-journey of his. The ache of
it was scarcely out of his mus
cles; only just beginning to relax
its cruel grip on his will.
(TO BTi CONTINUED)
A Biographical Sketch of
Edna Ferber
(Material furnished by Doubleday,
Page and Company)
"I want to be allowed to sit in
a rocking chair at the corner of
State and Madison streets and
watch the folks go by and I also
want to live on a houseboat in the
Vale of Cashmere—if Cashmere hap
pened to have a water course—for
there is something infinitely lovely
and cushioned and exotic invoked
by the music of the word.” These,
Miss Ferber once confessed, were
her secret ambitions.
Trained in the newspaper school,
Miss Ferber early developed a sense
of dramatic values. At 17, she be
came a reporter in the Daily Cres
cent of her home town, Appleton,
Wls. Reporting was not looked upon
as a woman's job in those days and
the opportunity came, so (he story
goes, because the editor was im
pressed with her essay presented on
graduation from high school, an ex
cellent bit of reporting covering the
living’ conditions of women workers
in a local mill. At 19, with her
black curls still down her back, Miss
Ferber was wanking on a Milwaukee
paper, a live, yellow, evening journal
of the breathless type, covering the
police courts, schools, society, mar
kets, and interviewing such celebri
ties as came her way, encountering
all sorts of people in every situation
and almost always endeavoring to
wrest from them something they did
not wish to reveal, learning to sift
fact from pretense, to recognize the
elemental emotions and motives and
impulses that control the complex
drama of life.
On sick leave for two weeks, she
stayed home a year and, because
writing had become so much a part
of her daily life, she wrote a story
which she sold to Everybody’s mag
azine for $62.50, Dawn O’Hara fol
lowed, and a series of stories for
the American magazine. At 23 years
of age she was on the way to suc
cess
Emm McChesney captured the
imagination of magazine readers so
completely that she continues to bo
a living personality though she has
not appeared in a story for years.
Miss Ferber often gets letters ad
dressed to Mrs. McChesney, letters
from people who cannot believe that
the courageous petticoat drummer
was purely a flctltional character.
Between this work and ‘‘The Girls”
there is a wide gap and ‘‘So Big”
has proved a best seller of the best
type.
I "Entry Picture jQ
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