The Photo-Play Journal (Jul 1919-Feb 1921)

PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL July, 1919 she gave to the master of the Black House. The other she gave to his dog. Returning to the piazza with them, she petted the one and patted the other. Trevor was still absent-minded, and the airdale still growled. Virginie glanced down at the animal once, and Anne, who was still a half-amused and wholly interested spectator at the window, was surprised at the sudden glare of hate in her black eyes. The dog sullenly went off to the kennels, turning and giving the little witch-like woman a parting growl. Trevor, roused at last, rebuked him, then with a quick glance at Virginie as though just aware of her presence, tipped his cap stiffly and ran up the piazzasteps, leaving her standing in wrinkled bewilderment. Anne was woman enough to enjoy the comedy. She even laughed. But beneath her amusement was the satisfied conviction that Trevor had so far been abundantly able to resist whatever spells Madame LePage, after these many implacable years, might cast. Anne hurried into the hall just as Virginie was opening the door. "Welcome home," she said with an engaging smile. Virginie was obviously astonished. "Thank you — thank you very much." "Shall I see you at dinner tonight, Madame LePage ?" "My poor brother can't leave his room, as you know "I understand that. But your ankle isn't sprained, too, is it?" Virginie was trying to control herself, but her own particular variety of snappy anger was gathering in her eyes. "I daresay this is your way of being nice to a guest ?" Anne smiled. "It is simply my way of insisting that you appear at dinner tonight." "But I'm used to dining in my own room. I've done so all my life." "But you're my guest, Madame LePage, and you must not demur at my wish to entertain you as every hospitable hostess should." The black eyes flashed angrily. "I don't care for any dinner at all tonight !" Anne laughed. "It's almost two hours till dinner — plenty of time to cultivate an appetite. I shall expect you, Madame LePage." "And what if I decline your invitation ?" "In that case I shall be forced to ask you to leave my house." The petite LePage was dumbstruck. Her lips trembled, but no sound same. She gazed up at Anne gloweringly, making no effort to hide her outraged feelings, then, with an inarticulate, malevolent muttering she turned abruptly and ran upstairs. Anne flushed with success, rang for Simkin. "Resume your guard at Lester's door," she said. She did not have time to say more, for at that moment Johanna approached from the rear end of the hall. Simkin caught Anne's glance and ascended the stairs. The maid followed stolidly. At the landing she turned and went in the direction of Madame LePage's room. Anne thought, then with a comprehending glitter in her eyes she softly ascended the stairs, sent Simkin down to wait in the lower hall, spied Johanna disappearing in Virginie's room, then hid herself behind a projecting wall near Trevor's door. In a few moments the maid emerged from Madame LePage's room and came down the hall. She carried a note, half crushed, in her hand. When she drew near, Anne sprang from her hidingplace and snatched the note. Then she quickly turned the dazed Johanna in the direction of the stairs. "You're dismissed," she said. "Get your wages from the butler and leave at once." Johanna turned and looked at her, then at Lester's door. Then she went quietly down the stairs. Anne read Virginie's note. It was an incredibly absurd one, an appeal to Trevor, as her host, to overrule Anne's dinner dictum as hostess. "I am really ill," the letter ran, "and my physicians insist on my remaining in my room even at meal-time, as table-talk makes me very nervous." Anne, laughing softly, hurried downstairs and showed the note to Simkin, who had just sent Johanna to her room to pack her trunk preparatory to leaving. The staid butler laughed with his mistress over Madame LePage's whimper, then started upstairs to resume his position near Lester's door. Before he reached the landing there was the swish of silken petticoats whirling down the upper hall, and like a figure in a moving picture tempo crescendo, Madame LePage waltzed by and disappeared in Lester's room. Anne, who stood at the foot of the stairs, saw this apogee of acrobatics — and laughed again. . "We have her worried at last," she whispered up to Simkin. "Don't flout the Furies," was his puzzling answer as he made ready to continue repairing the balustrade tapestry. Thus challenged, she was about to answer him with an antifatalistic banter, but the extreme gravity of his face reduced her to silence. She gazed at him quizzically, studiously, half-askance — as she had done so many times ; then suddenly — electrically — her eyes swept downward and rested on that ebony door that had never been opened since the night she had accompanied him to the lake — the door of Trevor's father's study. "You promised to give me the key to that room," she said slowly. "Please give it to me now." "It's . . . lost." "That is the first falsehood you have ever told me, Simkin." He turned and gazed down at her reproachfully. A tremor went through his powerful frame. "You are cruel." "There's something in that room you want to hide from me. Be kind enough to find the key by tomorrow morning." He did not answer. His face was bent low over the tapesty, but she could see that the blood had mounted even to his brow. She hesitated, then went to the servants' quarters and had the satisfaction of seeing Johanna Lane leave. The maid had never seemed so sluggish and so pale. Anne bade her good-bye. Johanna nodded, then silently left the house and vanished in the dusk. Anne, vastly relieved, went upstairs to her room to dress for dinner, passing Simkin, who was still bending over the tapestry, but who, as he walked down the hall, turned and watched her anxiously till she disappeared behind her closing door. Then with a nervous shiver — an emotional phenomenon for a man of his selfmastery — he leaned against the balustrade, sighing heavily. Anne made a careful toilet; and when, at the dinner hour, she entered the large and sombrely artistic dining room her delicate loveliness, under the stimulus of the impending climax at the Black House, had taken on a deepening glow. Certainly not for Virginie L«Page had the hidden springs of her being, fountain-like, sent up so much rich red beauty to her cheeks, so much radiance to her eyes — nor for Trevor, alas, who in his humbled pride and wounded love was doubtless still sulking in his own room. She herself did not quite know why she had dressed with such consummate effect. She simply knew that tonight — not a night of nights, but only one in the calendar's nondescript train — she wished to look her best. The table, a glittering thing with its silver and cut glass, was set for four, as it had been ever since the arrival of Lester and Madame LePage. In the deep fireplace as unusually loquacious pine log was cracking, sputtering and inviting to tete-a-tetes and tender chatter. Anne, in the dolour of spent happiness, sank upon the oaken seat in front of the blaze, and straightway the fire, in whimsical response to her mood, took to making marvelous pictures. Out from the shadows of the bay-windows where she had stood looking into a night blacker than her own hair, came Virginie LePage suddenly. Anne rose. She smiled and motioned her guest to a chair at the table. Virginie stood motionless, gazing at the tall woman in the shimmering silver gown. Then she broke into the softest and most musical of little laughs and pressed Anne's hand. "Mrs. Trevor," said said, "we're both silly in this little melodrama of 'Woman against Woman.' I crave your forgiveness for not dining with you before — and you, surely, will not attribute my carelessness to any invidious motive?" This little speech sounded rehearsed. Lester was behind it. But that made it all the more amusing to Anne, who answered with something as dissimulative and meaningless. Then these two women, each scheming desperately against the other, sat down at the table to hide behind formality and convention their true selves. The dinner went well. Anne, whom the gods had dowered with a sense of humor, enjoyed the situation thoroughly. But, more than the situation, she enjoyed Virginie, whose gaiety, like Airy Fairy Lilian's, was without eclipse. Such amazing gamuts of vivacity, such tangents of delightful irrelevancies. such divertissements of impish caprice, such grotesque anecdotes, such outre paradox were incredible— even in Anne's comprehensive humanistic experience. In a lull, the one lull allowed by the little witch, Anne tried to express her gratitude for so unique an entertainment. "Madame LePage, you really cannot blame me for asking you to dine with me. You are superb." Virginie gave a start and gazed shrewdly, suspiciously into Anne's frank eyes. Too wise herself not to know sincerity when she saw it, yet too proud to admit it, she called up from her dead soul that mirthless and metallic laugh that had never failed her. "Thank you," she said, rising. "May I go to my brother now?" "Yes" — and Anne sighed. "I am very unhappy, as you know — but your wit has made me forget it — for a time. I am truly grateful." The hard brilliance of the black eyes softened — but again that dry and barren soul yielded its disquieting laugh. "You flatter me, Mrs. Trevor." She went to the door, then turned. "My brother thinks we keep too much to ourselves — so he suggests that we meet in the music room tomorrow night and that I play for you and Mr. Trevor. I used to play rather well . . . long ago . . . ." A shadow crossed her face, but she smiled defiantly. "Shall we meet tomorrow night in the music room?" "Yes. . . ." "Good-night." "Good-night." She was gone — with her witchery, her mystery, her semi-oriental charm. Who was she? What was her heal relationship to Lester? — But, most of all, what was the meaning of the little musicale arranged for tomorrow nieht ?