Modern Screen (Dec 1931 - Nov 1932 (assorted issues))

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approaching sleep. Her rose-petal mouth pouted a trifle, as would that of a child who has already slept for an hour or so. . ,, "I just happened to wake up and hear them going, Christine said. "I have to get up early and I'll be working late tomorrow. I thought perhaps you'd come and crawl in bed with me for a few minutes. We could talk a little. I haven't seen anything of you for so long. . . ." "I'm so sle-e-epy !" Patsy wailed, rubbing her knuckles in her eyes. "I couldn't sa-ay anything at all, I'm so sleepy. I co-ouldn't ta-alk!" "I'll just hold your head on my shoulder and you can go to sleep," Christine said. She realized how lonely she was. She wanted something of her own, something to hold to, something to love. She wanted, more than she realized, the comfort of holding Patsy's head, even asleep, on her shoulder. "I don't sleep well unless I'm m a bi-ig bed al-1-1 by myself," Patsy said, "where I can stretch out. I'll see you tomorrow sometime." "I'm afraid . . ." Christine started. "Oo-oh," Patsy said, stretching her little white arms toward the ceiling as though she wanted to separate them from her body and send them floating away, "I'm so-o sleepy!" "Well," Christine said, "good-night. I hope you sleep well, darling." "Thanks," Patsy said, "I will." She vanished, and Christine could hear the thump of her little high-heeled slippers as they were kicked off. Christine didn't realize that Patsy hadn't expressed the hope that she, Christine would sleep well, too. She went back in her room and closed the door feeling barren and tired and lonesome. THE following morning, on the set, there were soft dark circles under her eyes. Exhaustion held her m a vise-like grip. Jeffrey Sangster, who was featured in the same production, came over to her. "Tired, Christine?" he said. She nodded. "A little. I was up late." He was a big, hulking fellow with a gentle, kindly, quiet voice and smile. He sat down beside her. "When we finish work, let me take you for a drive. The air will do you good. I know a little place where we can have dinner. ..." „ , That evening they sat at the little place he knew. Purple mountains rose in the distance and everything was quiet. There were only two other people having dinner there. Christine relaxed under his quiet, commonplace conversation Thev dined, talked, and danced once to the strains of an old victrola. She told him about Patsy. How pretty Patsv was and about her appealing little ways. She told him about Patsy's suitors and the clever things Patsy said; about the marvelous, unbelievable way that Patsy wore clothes. . . , He thought it was very interesting. Then he said 48 when she paused for breath, "Don't you ever think of anything but Patsy, Christine?" She laughed. "Not really," she said. "Patsy's always in the back of my mind, no matter what I'm doing. I feel terribly responsible for her. Mother loved her so much . . . being the baby and all. . . ." "You have beautiful eyes," he said. She said: "My eyes are like my father's. _ Patsy has mother's eyes. Almost purple and awfully big." "There's a light catching your hair. It makes a blue wave in it. Don't move." "My hair's like my father's, too," said Christine. "Patsy's is blond, lighter than mother's was, and all curly. She looks like a baby." "I'm crazy about dark hair," Jeffrey said. He leaned forward and took her hand. "Christine, have you thought much about marriage?" . . "I suppose every girl thinks about marriage," Christine said. "Why?" . "I've just been sitting here thinking what a wonderful wife you'd make some man. All that love . . . all the love that's going to Patsy . . . all the care and tenderness. Patsy, of course, will go on without you. That's inevitable. It would be wonderful to see that love of yours piling up inside something. Inside four walls where it couldn't get away." "Patsy's all I've got," Christine said. "I wouldn't think seriously of marriage until she is settled somewhere— and she's much too young yet to think of settling doAvn to anyone thing. She's experimenting." "And while she experiments, you stay in the background," said Jeffrey. "I don't mind," Christine said. "That," Jeffrey said, "is the hell of it." T HE amazing thing was, she _ found, as they drove home through the dark, that she was in love with him. She loved the set of his head, the hard, firm line of his jaw. She loved the pucker of his brow and the quiet way he mastered his snorting, startled roadster; twist-' ed it in and out of traffic, held it steady when it wanted to race downhill, made it exert itself going uphill when it obviously wanted to lag, wasting time. She watched his hands and suddenly felt a wave of peace and safety sweep through her. Occasionally, he turned and smiled his slow, steady smile at her— but he didn't talk. She was grateful for that. No effort, no thought, just the breeze against her face and the consciousness of his presence. She slept part of the way home and he woke her at the door of her bungalow. "You'd better go in and get some sleep, he said. Y ou poor kid, you're worn out." She looked at the house. The lights were all on. there were sounds of music. She said : "Patsy's having another party, I guess. Why don't you come m ? I won t go to bed 'right away anyway." . , , . , ter« u Speculatively he looked at the lighted windows. Can t you kick them out and get some rest ?" he said "Oh, I feel quite rested now," she said. '1 did me worlds of good. Please come in." "Being polite?" he wanted to know. She shook her head. "I want you," she said. Together they went into that whirling mass of kids, music and cocktails. Patsy was (Continued on page 100) The drive