Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1914-Jan 1915)

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32 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE AND A ROOM FOR THE BRIDAL COUPLE whose Alpha and Omega of existence was to loll in silk-lined equipages and wear priceless gems — but she was not one of them. She belonged to the inmates of the boarding-house : girls with eyes too tired ever to shine again ; with faces unlovely under the peony red; sad,bruised souls, aged before the rightful rush of time. And the realization brought a terror that gripped her in its vise. She woke, at last, to the call of the sweet fieldclover, the bud-glory of the spring, the simple goodness of her mother's despised creed. "I'm sick of your whining," Donald told her one morning, when the horror of what she had done had wrenched the wailing truth from her soul — "sick of it. Now you can go to blazes, for all I care. We never were married, anyhow — get wise to that. Dont make a scene — scenes wont go in this joint; they're too old a tale. »pa ^a j ' ' "Donald!" The girl held him back as he started down the stairs. "Donald — you — you couldn't!" "Ta — ta!" and the door slammed after him, suit-cases and all. The daz zling lady was leering at her from a doorway. Dorothy turned to her, hands outstretched. "Tell me," she begged, "just one thing. Weren't we married — truly f ' ' "Married! Gawd! Girls, girls, come hear the latest ! Our Dotty is playin' the 'ongenoo'!" The long, long, fruitless tramps; the rebuffs ; the dwindling away of the tiny sum Donald had charitably left her ; the advice of the one kindly soul she encountered who urged her to return to her mother. It awoke the dormant craving, that timely counsel ; the craving for the blessed rest of the countryside ; the craving for her own white bed ; for her mother's arms. And she went home. It was not her mother who met her at the little gate ; not the mother she had left, who had always had the love-light in her eyes for the little, foolish girl she sometimes chided. This woman was a stern, hard-faced person who pointed an accusing finger at the wretched prodigal daughter and bade her "Go!" And she knew, poor, stormweary outcast, that if there was no