BREEME HOUSE
[~ 1 By Katherine Newlin Burt i
!
“We're going to put a likeness
to the test,” she called back.
“Mr. Tremont you know, swears
that I am the reincarnation of
Lady Jane. We’re going to
make Robins referee.”
She smiled and went out, all
her subdued and silvery charm
visibly brightened.
“Is this Janet” Alec asked
himself, with his eyebrows lifted.
Robins held the light high,
hovering, his head on one side,
his small eyes snapping with in
terest, behind Rufus Tremont
and Lady Jane as they stood be
fore the Van Dyke picture. June,
having shut out with a finger
frame the disguising costum and
old-time dressing of the hair,
turned with a startled look to her
companion.
“I’ve seen myself look just
exactly so,” she said.
Mr. Tremont triumphed.
'“That’s how you looked under
the tree down yonder. Don’t
laugh at me now, will you, for
Jbclicving in ghosts?”
1 '“What would you have done
If Lady Jane had begun syste
matically to haunt you?”
“I’d have been hugely flatter
ed. And I’d have given her
credit for some astuteness. She
wouldn’t have frightened me off,
though,” he added grimly.
“Off?” repeated Jane. “You
needn’t hold the light any long
er, Robins. You see the likeness,
don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, miss. Certainly, miss.
Haven’t I always seen it? There’s
mortal few things I haven’t seen
as to that picture, if I do say so.
Now, there’s one little thing, sir,
that I doubt you’ll have noticed.
It’s maybe in my own eyes—
which aren’t so good as they used
to be-— but .1 you’ll stand back,
sir, a step or so—”
Mr. Tremont stepped back,
Robins bobing like a small,
withered troll-man at his elbow
—a very dignified, self-respect
ing troll, but with upward-turn
ed shadows dancing along his
person from the light in his
hand, certainly a gnome-like
fimirn
“Now, sir. With your head on
one side, I ask you, do you ob
serve any tiling On this side of
the petticoat, sir?"
“Why, certainly," said the
American, “I’ve known about
that. Van Dyke bad a dog
painted in there, and it’s been
painted out. But something—*
dampness or time—has weakened
the coating. You can just see
the outline.”
Robins was gaping up side
ways at the tall gentleman.
“My word, sir! You have eyes,
haven’t you?"
Tremont smiled his grave, in
scrutable smile. Jans put her
head to this side and tha£, and
gave up the problem.
“Now, sir, what do you think
of the picture?" asked Robins
In a coaxing tone. The Van Dyke
was the pride of his life.
“I’ve seen finer pictures
’‘Tremont. answered deliberate
ly, “hut none I’d like better to
possess.
Robins gasped.
“Oh. .sir, you may well say so.
Why, folks that come hero go
half wild. 1 can remember one
lad especially—a matter of fif
teen years ago it was, too, sir. A
pair of tourists came to the Hall
-—a father and son they were—
and it seemed like we’d never
get the hoy away. His father told
him the story, which I should
have told you, sir, of our
banished earl,and after the rest
of the tourist party had left,
hack comes the lad, his cap off,
and runs over to the picture, sir.
vnnatural like it did seem for a
boy of fourteen or fifteen: hut
he was a fine, unusual little chap,
very handsome, sir self-willed a
bit, maybe, hut spirit enough.,for
anything. He stands there look
ing up at the lady very solemn,
his eyes shining, till I came up.
‘Well, what do you think of
bert’ says I. I was as much
taken with the bpy, you may
know, as he was with the pic
ture. He flung up bis chin at me.
'Old man,' says he, ‘she’s the
eplendidest picture in the world,
and the sweetest lady. ‘Some
day,’ says he, and his face was
set hard, ‘some day I mean to
own her myself,’ says that boy!
‘Some day she’s going to be
mine!’ 'r
Jane laughed, au<* k'oked uo
: certainly at Trernont. There was
something curious in his recep- 1
tion of the story'—a look of in
ner enjoyment, as though he had
found, a particular flavor in the
anecdote. lie left Jane’s side
and strolled up and down the
long room. His slow, beautiful
movements fascinated Jane, also
his incomprehensible air of ex
citement. His eyes, when they
met hers, were full of eagerness.
They were extraordinary eyes,
and held a clear, far-seeing look
that gave a sense of sky and
space. And they held,, too, all the
youth that elsewhere had been
taken from Iris face by hardship.
Under them Jane somehow felt
that she was seen for the first
time. The iner Jane—unknown,
mysterious, timid even under the
observation of her everyday self
stirred and stretched out her
hands. *
Jane moved to one of the moon
flooded windows. She felt
strangely at h-'r ease and curious
ly comfortable, with all the com
fort of her solitude, only less
cold.
Trernont stopped presently be
side her.
“It’s a curious fact,” confess
ed Trernont, “I’ve always had a
grudging, hurt spot in me some
where because of this place. It’s
mine, you know. At least, it
might have been mine. I’ve loved
places; land, sage-brush, moun
tains, forests; but I’ve never
loved any house but this.”
“Isn’t this the first time
you’ve seen it!” she asked, not
having heard the previous con
versation iu which he had spok
en of a former visit.
Again he hesitated before
the admission.
“No. I was here before—when
I was a boy.”
Jt was you. That hoy was
you! You’ve come back to keep
your word, to take our Lady
Jane.”
He stood slack, composed, 1
quietly returning her look.
“You’ve guessed it.”
“But,” she laughed, it’s quite
impossible.
“There are some things of
which that can be truly said—a
very few.”
Jane’s long neck looked long
er than usual. She had an al
most deer-like air of startled
pride.
“Really, Mr. Tremont, you
had better give up the idea. You
don’t know how my father—*
how we all—No. It’s so perfect
ly impossible. I’m sorry you
spoke of it.”
“I’m not,” said h<j, with un
disturbed composure; “I’m glad
you know. I felt rather like a
traitor hitherto. Yon won’t turn
me out for coveting the treasure,
will you—quietT”
“No. IIow absurd! But”—
with a sidelong glance—“but
please let me forget it; and don’t
tell papa. It would be such a—
shock to him, that anyone should
even think of it.”
“I’m not anyone; there’s the
difference. Please listen to me.
Can you spare me fifteen min
utes more! I’d like to tell you
about it all. Please. You ought
to listen ; it is—in an odd way—
your story too. At least—” He
paused, staring down at the rug,
thinking deeply, then looked at
her with something stormy and
withheld in his deep, far-seeing
eyes.
‘But you ought to listen,” he
finished rather lamely.
She was frowning slightly,
and her cheeks were flushed.
‘‘I’d rather not. Not now. I’m
not rude; it’s only—I don’t like
your coming here with the intcn
tion of taking somethVng from
us. I wish you’d give it up at
once. I liked it better when you
were simply our guest.”
Ilis face was obstinate and
sombre.
‘‘Will.you promise, pl*ase; not
to mention this to papa? It
would disappoint him. lie lias
taken a fancy to you. I think it
would insult him.”
Here he colored, but with no
change of expression. And he
ran a glance as keen as a rapier
towards Alee, where he sat at
ease in a big chair, laughing at
Claire’s vivid word-pictures,
•lane saw Rufus Tremont’s look.
The pink in her cheeks deepened
suddenly to scarlet. She con
trolled an accession of angry
panic and walked rapidly back
to the others.
N Tremont followed more
slowly. Ilis jaw was the jaw of
a fighter whose blood h up.
“Isn’t that the limitT” be
asked himself. “They would
have the future Earl of Breeme
sell himself and his title rather
than right themselves by the
sale of a picture.”
His glance wandered again
to where Lord Alec sat.
- CHAPTER X
THE DOLLAR PRINCESS
Lord Trernont usually brought
his father’s mail to him in the
morning and spent an hour or
so reading aloud and chatting to
him—or, rather, being chatted
to by him.
Alec, coming in at the wonted
hour, passed bis stepmother on
her way out, and found the in
valid sitting by the window,
gowned and comfortable in his
wheeled chair, with an extraor
dinarily animated and happy
face.
“Ah ! Alec boy, good-morning
What a good morning it is, eh?
I saw you out with Clawe on the
lawn. She’s a sunrise-lady, if
ever there was one. ‘Pon my
word, I felt ready to get into
your hoots—eh? Well, well, busi
ness first, if you say so.” Alec’s
grave, unresponsive face had
spoken for him. “I understand
you’ve settled things in Canada
and with that troublesome money
lender, Unterbcrg, in London, so
that chapter’s closed.” (Alec
breathed a prayer of heartfelt
thanks to Lady Breeme's solicit
ous anticipation of his own in
tended report.) “We’ll get
through the mail, eh?”
Lord Breeme began carelessly
tearing open the envelopes, while
Alee sorted out the letters, keep
ing the business ones for his own
attention, and reading aloud the
others.
“I hear,” wr>fe BreemeV sis
ter. “that yo i ha/} a charming
American heiress within your
gates. Now, that's exciting.
Give Alec my love and best
wishes.”
Here Lord Breeme put his
hand on his son’s arm. Alec was
standing by him—and pulled
him. about, looking up with
glowing pride and affection into
his face.
“Your mother his been tatt
ling,” said he, “and,” he added
hastily, for Alec’s mouth had
stiffened, “nothing has made me
happier than what she’s hinted.
Happy! I’m exultant. Confound
this chair!”
Alec Avalked aAvav to the Avin
cIoav and back again. He tingled
Avith resentment and alarm. Lady
Breeme had evidently taken a
good deal for granted; or did
she mean, by this move, to put a
net over his head?
“What—” he stammered out,
“Avhat did mother tell you?”
Lord Breeme patted the arms
of his chair. He seemed much
more of a happy boy than his
narrow-eyed, long-jaAved son.
jawed son.
vh, mat a certain young
man in whom I feel a certain in
terest, and about whom—let me
tell you—I’ve felt rather more
than a certain anxiety, has as
much latent intelligence as I
always gave him credit for. It’s
coming to the surface—what?”
“I don’t,” said Alec in a low
tone of constraint, “quite know
what you mean.”
“Claire,” said the earl. “I
can’t tell you how I feel towards
Claire. She’s the very fire we
need on our old hearth. I’m not
a worldling—not enough of one,
I fear—and I wouldn’t—-not to
save the Van Dyke” (this was a
household word), “see you mar
ried to a million if the million
didn’t go with one of the sweet
est girls—one of the finest wo
men—alive.”
“Good Lord, father!” burst
out Alec in a tone of little less
than repressed fury. “What, did
mother tell you—that I was go
ing to marry Miss Wilton?”
Lord Breeme actually shrunk
in his chair; the light faded from
his blue, kind eyes; the corners
of his mouth fell into the sad de
pressions of old age.
“Then you’re not,” said he
flatly; “she was mistaken.”
.Alec twisted an envelope. He
had just glanced at his father's
face.
“Just what did she say?”
“Oh, botheration!” Peevishly
Lord Breeme snatched up a
newspaper. “If there’s nothing
in it I shan’t go over it with
you. I might have known.”
“Why might you have
known?” cut in Alec with a
hurt q\iiekness.
“You’ve disappointed me be
fore.”
This from his gentle and in
dulgent father! The earl’s face
was behind the paper. Suddenly
Alec’s hand was stretched out |
towards the pile of letters lying
still unopened on the desk. His
troubled eyes had caught sight
of one, directed to his father,
which sent his heart into his
mouth. It was from Unterberg—
a dunn, doubtless; what if the
earl had read it, and Alec’s situa
tion had been expos<M! Tremont
slipped the letter out of the heap
and into his pocket, unnoticed
by his father. He stood there,
white and miserable, feeling his
own heartbeats, seeing Aline’s
eyes with their coldness. The
earl made another quick move
ment, crushing the newspaper
down on his knee.
“I’m an optimistic old idiot,”
said he, trying to apologize for
his reproof; “the least spark and
I’m a bonfire. What your
mother said, my dear boy, was,
after all, only just this: ‘I think
that Alec is going to please you
very much.’ And-then she looked
out of the window and pointed
to you and Claire on the lawn.
That’s all. If she’s mistaken—he
held out his hand—“why, it’s
not your fault.”
“She’s not, said Alec putting
awkwardly a cold hand into his
father’s warm one, altogether
mistaken, you know.” Then, as
the kind fingers gripped, “I’m
thinking of it pretty hard,” he
added gruffly.
The earl, wistful, eager, and
afraid to press the matter, re
turned to his mail. Alec read to
him, conscious all the while of
tender and excited eyes upon
him.
“What makes you think,” he
asked suddenly, with one of his
cynical grins, “that she would
have me, anyway t”
The earl was delighted at his
reversion to the topic.
“Ah, Alec, her attentions to
me, for one thing, and the look
in her eyes as they fly over the
house—your home.”
“You think she’d marry me
for my father and my furni
ture!” Alec leaned his head on
his hand. “I dare say:”
“No, sir; for yourself. But,”
Lord Bream twinkled, “She’ll
be glad that you’re the owner of
that Van Dyke, eh! Well, well,
we won’t joke about it. She’s a
dear girl. She will—she would
do us credit, Alec. That’s some
thing one must think of, isn’t
it!”
“Oh, I suppose so.” Alec sat
staring absently at his boots.
“What’s the trouble, my boy!
Can’t make you out. She hasn’t
already refused you!”
Alec shook his head.
(TO BP: CONTINUED)
Further Annals of the Elite
A friend of mine from Tennessee
used to speak in highest Southern
scorn of regular "hill-billy,’* sy
nonymous with but much more de
rogatory than “rube.” The milieu of
Mrs. Wharton’s latest novel, A
MOTHER’S RECOMPENSE—French
maids, breakfast trays bedecked daily
with bunches of English voilets, Fifth
avenue mansions—all these make
the humble reader feel like a genu
ine hill-billy. Not that Mrs. Whar
ton writes in any sycophantic spirit.
One feels that to her Fifth avenue
mansions and limousines, are but as
bungalows and street cars to the rest
of us. Even the sophisticated morals
of her characters place them in a
world apart—though this book does
not depict bland immorality quite so
matter-of-factly as did her earlier
novel GLIMPSES OF THE MOON.
It is a damning admission of provin
cialism, but after all the only meas
uring stick that one has to measure
artistic fidelity is in the terms of
one’s own experience, and the people
that I know, pull pretty straight in
the matrimonial harness. I wonder,
therefore, if a story dealing with so
limited a problem as the matrimon
ial tangles of the “four hundred”
can ever be very significant.
But with all exceptions admitted
—how Mrs. Wharton can write! She
has the old-fashioned habit -of con
structing a genuine plot, and that
plot absorbing. While reading the
story, the mother’s problem is made
as fateful as a Greek tragedy. Chris
Fenno, the man about town, and the
world weary Lilia are made very
living flesh and blood. The fluent
ease of her writing is a joy. She is
a craftsman in complete control of
her tools. With not a concession
to “happy ending” but a sense of'
rightness that purges the pitiful
mother of all cheapness, the close
is the best part of the book.
After all, surely it is Mrs. Whar
ton's privilege to decide WHAT she •
will write about and if she chooses
to confine her attention to a selected
group, our only question should be
whether she does that successfully.
She does It superlatively well, so
please, all readers, consider para
graph one cancelled.
Eating 16 apples a day has kept W.
D. Macown, of Toronto, Canada, off
the sick list for 26 years, he says. Ma
cowh. who Is employed by the Domin
ion as a tester of apptes grown In ex
perimental orchards, says that he ate
an average of 16 apples dally In his
duties as tester, and that they certainly
did keep the doctor away.
An Up-to-Date Proposal.
From tho Florida Ttmes-Unlon.
"Darling, will you make me the hap
piest of 'men In three letters meaning
eternal bliss?"
"lty answer la two letters Meaning
eternal freedom."
A HOME WITHOUT CHILDREN
Lacks the Greatest Joys of Life
Mary Wives are Childless Because of 111 Health. Read
How Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound
Helped Mrs. Benedict
i jfm ■«a
MRS. MARY R. BENEDICT
• 13 PAYSCN STREET, KEWANEE, ILLINOIS
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World** Hot Spring*
The I'nlted States and Iceland are
the only countries where hot springs
exist in any numbers. 1
Parlor Edition
I*a (working cross-word puzzle)—
What is a ini-trap In six letters?
' Ma—Try T-o-m-e-a-t.
" -r' ' -*- l
SAY “BAYER ASPIRIN” and INSIST I
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not getting the genuine Bayer Aspirin proved safe
by millions and prescribed by physicians 24 years for
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Pain Toothache Neuritis Rheumatism
Accept only “Bayer” package
which contains proven directions.
Handy “Bayer” boxes of 12 tablets
Also bottles of 24 and 100—Druggists,
lisrlrln Is the trade mark of Bayer Manufacture of Monoaceticacidester of Salicylfcacld
The Fortune Teller
“You're gonna have trouble with a
dark woman.”
“My cook.” — Louisville Courier
Journal.
v __
Boschee’s Syrup
Allays irritation, soothes and heals
throat and lung Inflammation. The
constant irritation of a cough keeps
the delicate mucus membrane of the
throat and lungs in a congested con
dition, which BOSCHEE’S SYRUP
yently and quickly heals. For this
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iold remedy for colds, coughs, bron
chitis and especially for lung troubles
in millions of homes all over the
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enabling the patient to obtain a good
night’s rest, free from coughing with
easy expectoration in the morning.
You can buy BOSCHEE’S SYRUP
wherever medicines are sold.—Adv.
The more explaining a man does
the less use the world has for him.
Don't “reform” any man so much as
to spoil him as a man.
FOR OVER
200 YEARS
haarlem oil has been a world
wide remedy for kidney, liver and
bladder disorders, rheumatism,
lumbago and uric acid conditions.
correct internal troubles, stimulate vital
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on the original genuine Gold Medal.
Stop, look aud listen signs along
Chinese railroads generally take the
form of pictures showing the danger
of trespassing on the tracks.
A man who profits by wrongdolDg
always has an excuse ready.
The best part of one’s life is th«
performance of Ids daily duties.
.
^ ouDsurute ior Castor Oil, Pare- wr
goric, Teething Drops and Soothing Syrups, especially prepared
for Infants in arins and Children all ages.
To avoid imitations, always look for the signature of
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