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

July, igig PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL 17 Anne, wondering, stood motionless, gazing stupidly at the door. And even as she looked it was opened — and Trevor, pale yet composed, entered the room. "May I speak with you?" he asked. Unnerved, she sank limply upon the seat in front of the fireplace. Her lips moved, but no sound came. He repeated his question. She turned, gazed up at him and answered in the affirmative. It was now his turn to be unnerved. With the lifting of her magnificent gray eyes to his the full realization of her uncommon beauty swept over him. Her rather sharply defined cheek and chin, her mass of rare drab hair alive with dull little glints, her faultless brow, these supernal attractions almost overcame him. But he pulled himself together and set his lips for the saying of loveless words. "Anne, I am going to leave the Black House. You have owned half of it all these years. I now give you my half. I have always disliked the place . . and now . . . ." "Don't," she gasped, bending over the waning fire. "I had no right to — to ask you to leave. I know you will forgive me for that. . . ." He went to the door — but turned. "Anne . . . !" She rose and in the wild hope imparted by that intonation of despair started towards him. But he held up a deterrent hand. "Listen," he said unsteadily. "I ... I love you. Goodbye . . ." "Guy ... !" But he turned and went on towards the door. She hurried after him, reached him, clung to him, begged him to wait a moment. "If you love me you'll listen to me. . . . You must be just. You listened to what Lester said about me, and then you asked me those awful questions. I answered them truthfully — and since then I haven't troubled you, although my heart is breaking." "Good-bye. . . ." And he went on towards the door. But she threw herself in front of him. "You shall not go till you hear the few things I have to say. It is but simple justice that you listen to me." "That's true. ... Go on." "Do you remember the night on the wasteland when you asked me to marry you — ?" she asked. "I can never forget it " "You promised you would never ask me to tell you of my past "I'm not asking you to tell me of it now "No. You evidently preferred hearing it from Lester's lips." "Not at all. It came about quite by accident. That day you went to London Lester had a terrible attack of pain. He had rung and rung, and no one answered. I happened to pass his door and heard him groaning. I went in, of course, to do what I could for him. Your name was mentioned and then. . . ." "You listened to what he had to say !" "Certainly. It was so horrible, so undreamed-of. I was dazed. I . . . Well, as it was, I almost struck him, helpless there before me. I could have killed him — but most of all I could have killed myself. I rushed from him, hating him, myself, you. Even now it seems too terrible to be true. . . ." "Oh, Guy, it is too terrible to be true !" "But if it's not true you lied to me !" he cried bitterly. "There is no alternative." "There is one," she whispered, "and that is — love." He grew didactic. "Love can't thrive on falsehoods." "Listen, Guy. "I did dissimulate — but only for love of you. Who in this erring world has never sinned ? Why, even you hinted of dark periods in your past when you asked me to marry you " "But that is different " She smiled wanly. "Of course — you're a man !" "You don't understand. I did promise not to pry into your past, but when, only the other day, you confessed you had tried to impose yourself on my father as his daughter, and that you had the Tremaine fortune in mind when you consented to marry me. . . God ! that is unforgivable." "But . . even if I did have that in mind I learned to love you afterward. — Haven't I been a loving and faithful wife?" "Don't, Anne . . . You torture me " She dared to put a timid arm around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder. "Guy, I — I don't want the Tremaine money. I — • want you." He gazed searchingly into her eyes, then removed her arm from around his neck. "Anne," he said with repelling calmness, "you're incapable of the thing you accuse yourself of. . . ." She shrank from him. "You mean . . . ?" "You are neither an adventuress nor an impostor. You . . ." "But, Guy, I swear. . . ." "You didn't lie when you betrayed yourself into declaring yourself a Tremaine . . . Would to God you had !" Her eyes lit. "Then you could love me even if I were an adventuress?" "I could — perhaps — but I wouldn't. There is, you see, absolutely no alternative. We must part. I shall leave the Black House never to reurn." Shaking as if with a chill, she clutched the back of a chair to support herself. "What of the man who has brought this unspeakable sorrow upon us ?" she asked. "Lester?" He is simply Fate's instrument." " — So you do not hate him any more ? the wretch who plotted to take you to the madhouse — and who is plotting still to rob you not only of your money but your name?" He sighed wearily. "Who notices the barking cur at one's heels when one's heart is dead ? The lesser miseries have been swallowed in the one great unutterable sorrow crushing me." Despite his somewhat extravagant way of putting it she knew he was suffering acutely; but she could not forego the one slight opportunity left her to deal Lester a telling blow. "Grief or no grief," she said impressively, "are you not aware that a deadly snake has coiled itself about you? Why don't you order Paul Lester from the house?" "Are you afraid he may tell me something more?" She gave a low cry. It was the first downright cruel thing he had ever said to her. Like a rose, the first of the garden of love, with petals whipped by an untimely wind, she swayed before him. He caught her in his arms, pressed her to his heart, kissed her, then rushed from the room . . . the Furies giving chase. CHAPTER XX At breakfast the next morning Virginie LePage, in a startling combination of sunrise pink and moonlight green, laughed throughout the meal. Anne was in a graver mood. She was not so responsive to her guest's raillery as on the preceding evening, but she managed to smile occasionally as an encouragement to the little creature. "By the bye," remarked Virginie suddenly, "I miss your yellowfaced maid. Is she ill?" "No — dismissed." She gave a slight start, then laughed again. "I don't blame you for getting rid of her, "she said. "She gave my poor sensitive brother the creeps. Now if you could only ship your owl-faced butler " Anne was caught off her guard. The contemptuous reference to Simkin made her indignant. "Madame LePage !" she exclaimed. "You " She recovered herself. But Virginie's bright eyes were fixed quizzically on her. "I see," she laughed. "He's one of the family. I don't blame you for that either — he's so tremendously handsome." They rose from the table. Anne was smiling now, too. "Madame," she said with no particular emphasis, "how is Mr. Lester this morning?" At the name "Lester" the petite LePage changed color. "My brother's name is — Fairbank." "Is he your brother ?" "Who says he's not — ?" — defiantly. "Madame, why dissimulate? Let us take off our masks. The fight is on — and you're against me. I know your alleged brother's designs. Possibly he knows mine. He is conspiring to reduce my husband to a state of helplessness, to digrace me, and then to lay claim to the Tremaine fortune. I am fighting him. I know the ruse he worked in coming here. I know you are here as his ally. I know that the musicale you are to give tonight will be used by him as a means to further his ends — doubtless he intends to spring some spectacular coup to annihilate me !" She gave a little laugh. "I'm asking no quarter. I'm simply telling you — and him — that now is the time to throw off the mask." Virginie's fine eyes had run a gamut of expressions. But now they showed only a strange, musing curiosity. "How long have you known — Paul Lester?" "All my life." "Hm ..." and she pondered. "I've known him only a little while . . . That's odd." She gazed at Anne fixedly, then shrugged her shoulders. "Well — will you invite Mr. Trevor to that very mysterious musicale tonight? Tell him I'll play Saint-Saen's 'Dance of Death' ..." And the little creature sailed on her billows of lingerie out of the room. Anne's dramatic instinct was roused, her sense of humor tickled. She sent a note to Trevor telling him that Madame Le Page was giving a musicale that night and that she especially desired his presence as guest of honor. He replied that he was in no mood to enjoy music and declined the invitation. Anne then begged him to be present as a favor to herself. She waited half an hour for an answer, but none came. She began writing a third note. On second thought she tore it, then tried to dismiss the whole farcical affair from her mind. In her heart she felt that Trevor would be in the music room at the hour appointed.