Motion Picture Classic (Jan-Aug 1919)

MOTION PICTURE CLASSI Martin stared at her, startled. “Of course I know Faiivette did not — could not But his voice lacked conviction, and Ellen knew that she had guessed rightly. Martin had never questioned or wondered about his French wife’s past until now. The seed was planted. She watered it skillfully. “Of course, the French have such different moral standards !’’ she would say, blandly, or to Fauvette, “Such a pretty woman as you, my dear, must have had many admirers. Odd you should have — waited for Martin!” It was with a sense of absolute terror that Fauvette caught her husband’s eyes fixed on her one day with an expression of dark speculation. She set herself to fight his suspicion with the only weapons she knew, the ardent and innocent coquetries of her race, an eager response to his infrequent caresses, never guessing that they only served to feed the smouldering fires of his distrust. Then, unexpectedly, a time came when her overtaxed patience snapped. Breathless with nervous hurrying, she had slipped into her place at the breakfast-table, dreading the silent glance at the clock and tightening of Ellen’s thin lips that always reproached any tardiness. That they had been discussing her she knew instinctively even before Martin addressed her, tapping the opened letter in his hand impressively. “Fauvette, my friend, Tony Ray, the novelist, is coming to spend the summer with us,” he began, patronizingly, as one would speak to a very small child. “He is conservative and conventional, a member of one of the best families of Boston. We think it best to caution you in regard to your behavior while he is here.” Fauvette’s eyes flashed under discreetly lowered lashes. “I understand, yes !” she smiled, dangerously sweet, into their stony faces. “You are afraid I flirt, yes? This Saint Tony must not be tempted. Very well. I will wear a black gown to dinner ! I will fold my hands, I'oila!” The family and their guest were gathered in the chill decorum of the parlor that evening when the click of small heeF open admiration of the stranger’s frank blue gaze, the cold! incredulous anger of her husband’s f.ace, and the mischievou impulse of self-assertion vani.shed, leaving her hot-cheekei with shame and misery. As soon as jKjssible after the dread fill dinner had dragged to a close she slijqied away to her owi room, where, a moment later, Martin followed her, his hand some, rather heavy features snarled with rage. “I have been a Iilind fool !” he told her, thru white lips “But when you came down tonight in that shameless gowi I knew that T had married a wanton! God: ” With ; convulsive movement he tore at the velvet rose, stabbing hi; finger with its pin and leaving a red smear on her white breast was heard on the stairs, and a moment later the low doorway framed a vision so incongruous, so bewildering that the dark, distinguished man talking to Ellen sprang to his feet with the tribute of an involuntary exclamation. Simple as the black tulle gown was, it spoke in every subtly revealing line of the boulevards of Paris, the city that worships beauty in women and gallantry in men. Above the amazingly low-cut hodice Fauvette’s white shoulders and neck rose in all their naked wonder, her hair was piled in sophisticated waves above her daringly rouged, defiantly gay little face, and upon the swelling curves of her breast glowed a great crim.son velvet rose. In one swift glance she saw the horror of the women, the ihe cried out with a pain more than It was Tony who ex hysical, as tho his words had stabbed 3 the quick of her soul. Martin’s letter Tony Ray, noting Martin’s black ij 3ok and torn finger, the girl’s hurt cry still ringing in the ear|i if his memory, nodded wisely to him.self. “Ariel and Gala an.” he mused. “Martin is a good fellow, but narrow air tubborn, of the earth, earthy, while she ” His long, sen itive fingers blundered in their task of lighting his cigai ^bove the cynicism of his lips the man’s tired eyes were wist ul. “I knew her when I first saw her. She is my dream tha lever came true !” {Continued on page 73) (Fifty-eight)