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♦ ♦ ♦ With sympathy and insight, this famous writer recalls intimate and revealing memories about the King and Queen of Movieland
By ELINOR GLYN
Elinor Clyn— famous writer of many novels, widely traveled cosmopolite and student of human nature— has met and known intimately famous folk in ail walks of life. She numbers Doug and Mary among her many friends and in this story she gives you a vivid and charming picture of them.
five feet seven or eight. She greeted me so kindly, she guessed I must be very lonely in a strange land.
I loved Mary from the first moment.
My amazement never ceased at hearing real considered wisdom emerging from those baby lips. No one could listen to Mary without being struck by her intelligence, her common sense, shrewdness and quiet dignity. Her eyes were like stars, and her dear little face expressed character and determination.
At dinner she and Douglas sat side by side, and often held hands. They were really in love and not ashamed to show it.
EVERTHING was very simple in their home then, but well done and charming and, as in those days
(Left) A bold, bad pirate and his lass, up to no good. Or, in other words, an exceedingly informal snapshot of Mr. and Mrs. Fairbanks— caught on the PickfordFairbanks lot some years ago. (Above) Mary and Doug and Edward Knoblock, the well known playwright, snapped on the lot when Mary was making "Rosita."
Hollywood was rather velvety, with pseudo-Spanish horrors of furniture and enormous mammoth upholstered armchairs, the fresh cretonne seemed a delicious relief.
Their conversation, too, was quite different in tone from any I had yet heard in Movieland. They were interested in outside things, and Douglas, especially, talked of world events and foreign peoples.
We saw a picture afterwards, which was the invariable custom — and it was delightful to sit upon a comfortable sofa covered with a warm rug. (It is always cold watching pictures !)
The screen drew down over the end window. Douglas and Mary always sat together, and sometimes the dear tired little thing would go to sleep on her husband's shoulder, cuddled in his arms like a child.
I remember being so struck with Mary's adoration of her mother. She went off to telephone to her twice in that first evening. Coming from Europe so lately where there are sometimes not these matriarchal devotions, I
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