CHAPTER VIII—Continued
—10—
Quentin looked at her absently,
moved his gaze to Victoria.
“Any chance of your going down
to Del Monte with me this after
noon?”
“Oh, darling, not on Sunday! Mol
lie oft, and Nurse with all of them
to handle, and the Carters coming
to supper! They're bringing all the
children—I thought that since you
wouldn’t be here it would be a
grand chance for a children’s sup
per.
“H’m!” Quentin said noncommit
tally. Victoria, made vaguely un
easy by his tone, sent him another
questioning glance. Quentin wasn’t
quite like himself on this hot still
Sunday.
“The other doctors are going.
Quent? You’re to have your golf
in the morning?”
“I don’t know,” he said irreso
lutely. “I thought I might tele
phone Johnny. We might have our
golf right here. You’ll get over
there and see her, won’t you, Vic?”
“Get—?” She was completely at
sea, untying Susan's bib, as Susan
bunted into her. “Take your cooky
and run, darling,” she said to the
k child, “and don’t wake Baby—she’s
out on the side porch!”
“Get over and see the Morrisons,”
Quentin completed it.
“Oh? Oh, yes!”
Somehow—somewhere, something
Was wrong. Through the familiar
scene a chill faint wind seemed to
blow; a faint apprehension of trou
ble—of change. Vicky couldn’t an
>alyze it, was only vaguely con
scious that she felt it. but it was
there.
“I’ll walk over to the Morrisons'
ihis afternoon for a few minutes, if
you like, Quentin,” she said, on an
impulse, after luncheon.
Quentin was stuffing his pipe; l.e
did not look up. In their more than
seven years of marriage he had
never made a call that Vicky could
remember. Now, sauntering forth
Into the garden in search of dogs,
children, his favorite chair under
the oaks on the long terrace, he
spoke carelessly over his shoulder.
“Oh, don’t you bother,” he said,
“you’ve got enough to do! I’ll wan
der over there, later, and afterward
I can give you some idea what sort
of an outfit it is.”
“You’d be a darling to do that!”
Victoria said. But oddly she did
not feel happy about it, and it was
from that Sunday that she dated
the change in Quentin. Not under
standing why, she nevertheless was
conscious of the fact that life some
how didn’t go back, after that Sun
day, to what it had been before.
Just two weeks after the day
» when Vicky and Quentin had first
7 met their lovely neighbor, her eyes
were suddenly opened, and after
that Victoria understood.
Quentin had said that he thought
he would go over to the club, might
play another eighteen if it got cool
er, might watch the polo. Vicky
saw him off, had a cloud-clearing
talk with Mollie, who since her ma
« rine was in port was given the rest
* of the afternoon and the evening as
a special concession; helped Nurse
to the extent of opening all the little
beds, laying out night apparel, put
ting away various books and toys
in the nursery.
Finally they were all in bed, with
books, and Victoria’s head and hair
jerked into a hundred agonizing di
rections by warm good-night kisses
and embraces. Five minutes past
seven, and supper due within the
hour—oh, dear, not much room for
rest in there! Her chiffon was at
the cleaner’s. Perhaps that white
one that she had worn this morn
ing .. .
There was a wide upper hallway
in the house, filled now with a pleas
ant half-light, like the light under
water. Victoria, closing the nurs
ery door behind her, lingered for
a moment at its big open window,
looking out at the cooling and soft
ening day, breathing the freshened
air, resting her eyes on the green
ness of the great trees.
So standing, she could look down
at the drying yard, and the berry
vines, and the flat stretch of ne
glected lawn where a cow grazed,
and the gate in the evergreen hedge
that divided the Hardisty property
from the small but exquisitely
groomed estate of the Morrisons
next door. There was a small strip
f of lane there, and in the lane Vic
saw a white' figure, with the level
light of the setting sun shining
bright on pale gold hair and illumi
nating the white parasol as if it were
a lantern lighted against the
dusky shadows of the lane.
Mrs. Morrison, of course. She
was talking to someone, apparently;
she had the air of a person talking.
But her companion was quite invisi
^ ble against the hedge; it was tall
enough to hide anyone who was
close to it on the other side. Vic
toria stood watching her and reflect
ing upon the inescapable power of
the beauty that had been so sud
denly introduced into their compact
little group.
Mrs. Morrison continued talking
in the lane; the revolving frills of
the parasol tumbling, tumbling.
Dusk was falling fast now; Anna,
coming upstairs, touched the switch
that lighted the hall behind Vic
toria. How many would there be
for supper, please? Victoria turned
about; considered. The Keatses had
said they'd stop in on their way
home with Kate, and Dr. Miller
would be here. Six, please. Anna.
No, seven; there'd be Gwen, Vic
remembered. Anna went downstairs
again, but when Victoria turned
back to the window the lights in
the hall had spoiled the lovely
dusk, and the white frock was gone
from the lane. She went into her
room after a peep at Madeleine.
Quentin was tearing off his clothes.
“Oh, did you just come up? I
hoped you’d gotten a nap.”
“I went for a stroll.”
“A stroll?”
“Yep, 1 walked a little way. It
was lovely out. Feels hot in here."
“It does feel hot. You didn’t get
as far as the hospital, did you,
Quent? That woman’s coming on
all right, isn’t she?"
The roar of the shower drowned
any reply Quentin might have shout
ed through the half-closed bathroom
door; when he came out again Vic
was getting into an old black lace.
“It’s frightful to burn your shoul
ders in just the pattern of your bath
ing suit,” she said. “I wonder how
that woman keeps so white?”
Quentin did not answer.
“She was down there in the lane
just now, parasol and all,” Victoria
pursued, now doubled over to insert
her heels one at a time into rather
tight slippers.
“Zat so?” Quentin asked, shaving.
“Yes. I happened to be looking
out of the upper hall window, she
was talking to someone—gardener,
maybe—but no, it’s Sunday night.
Maybe it was a lover,” Vic said,
trying a heel, scowling, taking up
the slipper to flex it vigorously.
“She’s having a terribly dull time,
poor soul, with a sick husband and
no friends here.”
Quentin was pulling his face about
with hard fingers, testing his shave.
He was non-committal.
When he and she were going to
bed after the bridge game, quite
suddenly Quentin said;
“How about asking them to din
ner?”
“Who?”
“The Morrisons.”
“Oh? Oh, d’you suppose he’d
come? He seems so cross. I can’t
imagine him social and agreeable.”
“Sure he’d come. She said to
day he would.”
A second’s electrical pause. Then
Vicky said without volition exactly
what she did not want to say, in
kbwbibbe^_ -i
She Was Talking to Someone,
Apparently.
exactly the tone she did not want
to use—silly suspicious words in a
wife’s light suspicious tone:
“Oh? I didn't know you'd seen her
today?”
“I met her, coming back from
my walk,” Quentin answered, won
dering at the same instant why he
hadn’t said that he had seen her for
a moment at the club.
“In the lane?”
“Yep.”
Vicky was silent a moment. When
she spoke, it was to say amiably
that she would go over to see Se
rena in a day or two to arrange
the dinner. But under her surface
serenity she felt a little sick from
the sudden jarring awakening, sud
den vague fears. So-o-o—that was
it, was it? It was Quentin to whom
Serena had been talking in the lane.
Quentin kissed her good-night—a
careless kiss on the top of her
head—went to his own sleeping
porch. Almost immediately she
heard him snoring. But Vicky lay
awake for nervous, restless, unrea
soning hours.
CHAPTER IX
Vicky m^de a point of calling
upon her neighbors a day or two
later, to invite them to dinner.
Feeling oddly formal in her silk
gown, with calling cardr in her
purse and white gloves carried as
a final touch, Vicky sat in the patio
of the Morrison house with the in
jured man and his lovely wife, and
talked somewhat stiltedly and con
strainedly. She and Dr. Hardisty
lived very quietly, she explained:
“as indeed a doctor has to do when
he is building up his practice, and
has six small children!" Vicky end
ed, with a little laugh.
"Oh, yes, you poor thing!” Se
rena said so heartily that Spencer
Morrison laughed his sinister laugh,
and Vicky hated her.
“I didn’t know whether coming to
dine with us would give Mr. Mor
rison any pleasure or not,” Vicky
said later, when she was walking
home, and Serena had volunteered
to accompany her.
“I beg pardon?”
*‘I was wondering if Mr. Morri
son would think it more bother than
it was worth?”
“Oh, he can walk that far." Se
rena said vaguely.
Victoria did not pursue the sub
ject. They were in the little lane
that separated the two properties
now, and suddenly she stooped and
picked up a small bright object. And
a- she did so she felt her heart be
gin to beat faster, and the blood
in her face.
“Quentin’s cigarette lighter!” she
said. "He’s been looking for it ev
erywhere."
“Imagine,” Serena commented,
undisturbed.
“He probably dropped it,” Vicky
said, suddenly trembling, "when
you and he were talking here in
the lane last Sunday.”
Half an hour later Quentin came
upstairs to find Vicky changing her
gown for dinner.
“I met Mrs. Morrison—Lord, she
is a lovely creature!” Quentin ob
served, plunging at once into his
ablutions. “She’d started to walk
to the village, it was too much for
her, and she asked me to telephone
for a taxi to pick her up. But in
stead I ran her downtown—it seems
he wanted the mail, I guess he gets
his own way pretty well!—and then
took her home. It only took me
ten minutes. She tells me—” he
looked out of a towel, his hair in
wild wet confusion to say in satis
faction— “she tells me you called
there today, Vic. I’m glad. She’s
a lovely woman, and she’ll be great
company for you.”
Victoria, at her dressing table,
continued to brush her hair. Once
she looked steadily at Quentin, in
the mirror, but he did not see her.
“I told you they could come
Thursday night?” she asked.
“Yep. Who else are you going
to have?”
“Gita and Gwen and ourselves
and Mother.”
“Quentin turned, his face color
ing with amazement.
“Why, my dear, you can’t do
that!” he said quickly.
“Do what?”
“Why, have those people, the first
time, and not make an occasion of
it!”
Vicky was genuinely astonished.
“How d’you mean, Quentin?”
“Well, I mean that they're Im
portant people; his father is Sir
Percival Morrison. I do think that
if ever—if ever we’re going to
spread ourselves, this is the time!”
“But he’s an invalid, Quent!”
“He s and he isn’t. He's lost an
eye, of course, but he’s an English
man, and you’ll find them regular
sticklers for formality. Oh, no, we’ll
have to make it a formal affair,
and Dr. Austreicher.”
I’d ask the Rays and the Sinclairs
“I see!” Vic murmured as he
paused. Her heart was lead
"Why do you say ‘I see’?” Quen
tin demanded suspiciously.
“Well, we haven’t given that sort
of an affair since before the twins
were born. We've had nothing but
Sunday lunches, and bridge dinners
fcr just four!”
"Why, but there’s nothing so for
midable about it, Vic!”
He spoke with a sort of amused
impatience. It was not amusing to
Vic. She understood his mood too
well; his unwonted fussing over ev
ery detail of the approaching din
ner; his strange excited spirits when
the night finally came. Quentin, who
usually loathed such affairs, was
nervous as a young wife over the
candles and flowers, and welcomed
the guests with a joviality and as
surance that seemed to Vicky al
most as bad as his usual manner of
grim and polite endurance.
The Morrisons came last; the
man, who wore a black patch over
one eye, limping a little, evidently
glad to drop into the nearest chair;
Serena shining in flawless beauty.
Vicky herself felt tired; things had
not gone any too well throughout the
long rainy day, she had small heart
in the afTair.
The earlier stages of the dinner
were not a success. Just why not,
Vic was unable to perceive.
Serena sat next to Quentin. Vicky
was miserably impressed, from her
end of 'ithe table, that the guest of
honor did not have much to say.
Anyone as beautiful as that did not
have to have much to say; she made
all the other women look plain and
badly dressed and sound chatter
boxes.
The atmosphere seemed definitely
clearer when they had gone. They
went early; the bowed, carefully
walking lean man with the neat
black patch over one eye. and the
superbly moving woman with her
fair head held high. Everyone could
discuss them then, and the con
tract fanatics could settle down to
their game. Vicky and Violet and
one or two of the other women
turned the lights low in the draw
ing room, gathered about the Are,
and analyzed the Morrisons at their
leisure. Quentin had said that he
would walk through the garden with
the Morrisons, but the night had
proved to be still blowy and rainy,
and they had had to have the car
for the twice two hundred yards.
On the whole, wearily glad that it
was over, limping upstairs in her
stiff new slippers, Vicky pronounced
the affair a drag, a bore, a failure.
It w'ent on and on; he never saw
it; she could see nothing else. Vicky
grew nervous and irritable, won
dering about it; wondering when
“Doesn’t Mrs. Morrison Play?”
Vicky Asked.
ever he was out of her sight where
Quentin was, wondering how often
he saw Serena, and under what cir
cumstances.
“I saw Serena today,” Quentin
said one night, when their acquaint
ance with the Morrisons was of
only a few weeks’ standing.
“Oh, that was nice. Did she come
to the office?”
“No, I took her to lunch.”
“Oh?” A pause. Then the inevi
table interrogation, as unwelcome
to Victoria as to Quentin, but
draggeu from her nevertheless by a
power stronger than herself. “Hap
pen to meet her?”
“No-o. I spoke of it Sunday. She
said that she was going to be in
town.”
“I see.” And do wha- she would,
the pause would seem to have sig
nificance, and do what she would,
she could not seem to fill it with
some casual pleasantry.
Presently Victoria and Quentin
had to*dine with their neighbors.
Quentin, who rarely went to din
ners, had accepted this invitation
as a matter of course, without con
sulting Victoria. She knew in ad
vance that', the event would hold
no pleasure for her, she felt like a
rough-headed child in a home-made
gown when the night came and she
and Quentin walked across the side
lawn and past the berry patch and
the pasture field, and went through
the old gate into the lane, and so on
to the Morrisons for dinner. The af
fair was indeed informal. Only
their four selves were at the table.
Serena was no such housekeeper as
Victoria Hardisty, but she made no
apologies for a poor dinner and in
different service. The winter night
was clear and cold; after dinner
there was a fire intermittently re
plenished by Quentin, and Victoria
and Spencer Morrison played back
gammon, and then cribbage.
At first they played in the sitting
room, but presently Spencer sug
gested his rather untidy study,
where there was an electric heater.
He and Victoria went in there, and
she exerted herself charitably to
make the games interesting. Nine
o’clock, ten o’clock struck; Victoria
was overcome with sleepiness, and
she felt that she could decently sug
gest going home. Her heart was
not on the game; she felt nervous
and distracted. Presently she rose;
they really must go now; after all,
she had a houseful of small children
to consider, and Quentin must make
an early start in the morning.
Her host seemed petulant and an
gry that she should break up the
evening, but contented himself with
asking her to come over any day,
any hour, to get her revenge.
“Come tomorrow at about two, if
you can,” he urged.
“Doesn’t Mrs. Morrison play?”
Vicky asked, with an inward smile
at the idea that she could find time
tomorrow, or any day, for an idle
afternoon game with a neighbor.
(TO HE CONTINUED)
Color of Brass
Brass is an alloy, or mixture of
copper and zinc, and its color varies
according to the proportions of there
metals. The more zinc it contains
the paler it is.
Reducing in
Hospital
By
DR. JAMES W. BARTON
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
—-—
A MAN, thirty-two years of
age, height 5 feet 11
inches, weighing 310 pounds,
consulted his physician in an
effort to rid himself of his ex
cess weight. He was careful
ly examined and found to be
in good health although his
blood pressure was above
normal, a common condition
in overweight.
A metabolism test was made
rate at which the body processes
..._I. .1 <* .....
Dr. Barton
»* V> •» *» I • MW
found that they were
about the normal
rate. In many cases
of overweight the
body processes work
too slowly and do
not burn up the ex
cess food or fat.
Such was not the
condition in this
case.
As there was thus
no reason to use thy
roid extract, the pa
tient was given the new weight re
ducing drug dinitrophenol and in a
period of ten weeks he lost 30
pounds. Naturally he was pleased
with this satisfactory loss of weight
but at this time proven cases of
cataract duo to the use of dini
trophenol were being reported in the
medical journals. It was estimated
that 1 in 1,000, perhaps even 1 in 100
users of this drug to reduce weight
were being afflicted with cataract.
The physician promptly stopped
using the drug.
The physician then used thyroid
extract but it had little or no effect
upon the excess weight and caused
the heart, already a fast heart, to
beat much faster.
The physician then discussed the
case with an authority on weight re
ducing, giving him a full history of
the case to date. This authority
made two suggestions. The first
suggestion was that the use of an
terior pituitary extract might be
helpful, which would depend of
course on whether the individual
was not the pituarity type of over
weight. When the pituitary gland,
lying on the floor of the skull, is
not sending enough juice into the
blood, not only are the starch foods
not used or burned completely but
the fat that accumulates is not
spread equally over the whole body
as when the proper amount of thy
roid juice is lacking.
Put Him in Hospital.
The second suggestion was that
tjie physician should place this over
weight in hospital; that is treat him
as a patient. For, after all, he
really was a patient—fast heart,
high blood pressure and excessive
overweight, easily tired and got out
of breath on slight exertion.
As treatment by dinitrophenol
might lead to serious results, even
death, and thyroid extract had no
effect except to increase the rate
of his heart beat and increase his
blood pressure, the only treatment
that remained was to cut down on
his food intake.
“A useful procedure in such
cases, when the patient is able to
afford it and can withdraw himself
from home, business and social life,
is to administer the prescribed diet
under supervision in a hospital for
a week or two.”
I believe the suggestions for treat
ment of the above case will appeal
to our common sense. Excess
weight can be due to only one cause
—the eating of too much food for
the requirements of the body.
• • •
Starch Foods for Diabetics.
Before the discovery of insulin,
the lives of diabetics were prolonged
by feeding them just enough starch
foods—sugar, bread, potatoes—to
maintain life. They were thus very
weak.
When insulin was discovered by
Dr. Fred Banting it was found that
| diabetics could eat more starch
j foods as the insulin enabled the
blood to carry and use the starch
foods for the work of the body in
stead of having it thrown out of the
j body in the urine.
Now insulin is expensive, and
must be administered by the hypo
J dermic needle which, of course, the
' patient learns to do for himself.
Therefore research men have been
trying to increase the amount of
starch food the patient’s body can
use so that less insulin will be nec
[ essary.
Dr. J. M. Rabinowitch, Montreal,
J in the Journal of the Canadian Med
ical Association records his experi
ences in lessening the total amount
I of food eaten but giving a large per
centage of starch foods so as to
enable the blood to hold and use
more of these starch foods.
There were 50 cases and the pa
tients followed the treatment care
fully for five years. The records
show that this diet leads, in the
majority of cases, to marked im
provement in the amount of starch
foods which the body is enabled to
use.
Further, the daily doses of in
sulin finally needed in these cases
were found to be less than with all
other diets that have been used
heretofore in the treatment of ad
vanced cases of diabetes.
AROUND
.he HOUSE
Items of Interest
to the Housewife
Season Lightly — Be careful
when doubling a recipe not to
double the seasoning. Use it spar
ingly at first, then add more if
needed.
• • *
Eliminating Food Odors — A
small quantity of charcoal in a
container on the top shelf will help
eliminate food odors from the re
frigerator.
* * •
Rhubarb and Figs — To one
pound rhubarb, after peeling and
cutting, add half pound good figs,
cut into smallish pieces. Place in
a saucepan with a very little wa
ter and about a dessertspoon gold
en syrup or sugar and gently stew
till tender. Serve with a rice or
sago mold or hot milk pudding.
• • •
Shaping Knitting Needle—Before
using a circular knitting needle,
immerse it in hot water for a few
minutes to make it pliable. Be
fore it cools, and hardens, hold it
in knitting position, and make any
desired adjustments such as
straightening the ends. This dis
penses with a long breaking-in pe
riod.
• • *
Unwrap Food—Food should not
be stored in the refrigerator while
wrapped in paper because the pa
per prevents the cold air from
circulating freely over it.
• » •
Hole in Tablecloth—If a small
hole is burnt or worn in an other
wise good white tablecloth, it can
be “mended” most effectively by
stitching a motif in fine crochet
"Quotations"
The supreme fall of all falls is
this: the first doubt of one’s self.—
Countess de Gatparin.
Only by sacrifices can man ad
vance—sacrifice of leisure, of health,
of life itself, to attain nature’s ever
receding ideal.—Sir Arthur Keith.
There is no such thing as a great
man or a great woman. People be
lieve in them us they used to believe
in dragons and unicorns.—George
Bernard Show.
The worst of it is, disarmament
has been left to the pacifists and
peace has been left to the militarists.
—David l.loyd George.
The ultimate value of our scien
tific achievements rests upon our
ability to use them to broaden and
to enrich our lives.—David Surnoff.
over it and cutting away the
spoiled fabric underneath. Add
one or two more motifs so that the
necessary one does not look odd.
This is certainly more decorative
than an obvious darn!
* » •
Eggs in Potatoes—Bake pota
toes. Cut off tops, scoop out cen
ters and season with butter, salt
and a little pepper, mashing thor
oughly. Half fill shells with pota
to mixture and drop a raw egg,
salt, pepper, a little grated cheese
and one teaspoon butter in each.
Put back in hot oven for four
minutes to set egg.
• * *
Glazing Liquid for Cookies—A
mixture of two tablespoons of sug
ar and one-fourth cup of milk
makes a good glazing liquid for
cookies. Apply on the surface of
the dough with a pastry brush be
fore baking the cookies.
WNU Service.
-
Neglected Ideas
Some ideas which have more
than once offered themselves to
the senses have yet been little
taken notice of.—Locke.
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Empty Victory
Nothing except a battle lost can
be half so melancholy as a battle
won.—Duke of Wellington.
Heart’s Silence
Not all the lip can speak is
worth the silence of the heart.—
Adams.
WU.L-YUM JZ
. j u \\ uSJ u
wtwmmauH* w - I
“Mom said to run up and see how old Mrs. Krutz was, and she
said it was none of Mom’s business how old she is?’*
