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MOTION PICTURE
In the embrasure of the French window, Fleming Harcourt let his cigar ebb to a red pin-point of light. Across the flat city roofs the strange electric constellations of the city flared on the sky, as a month ago he had watched the Southern Cross burn red and blue. A jargon of street noises crept up to him — a throaty sobbing of violins from the music-room, where his hostess and her court were lingering over coffee and
room of the notorious Huntress, whose personality, in the two brief glimpses he had had of it, opened the view of as exotic, wild, unexplored a country as any he had seen on his wanderings.
He flicked the long, gray ash-bar from his cigar with a nervous gesture, and pressed his forehead to the cool panes of the window, frowning. It occurred to him that he had been a bit of a fool to let Ned Ashley’s maudlin panegyrics
‘‘H’m! lucky there’s a strike on at my mines,” he muttered wryly. ‘‘If I didn’t have to go West in a couple of days, I
might Well, I might be a d — n fool
and stay !”
The cool tinkle of Nadine Girard’s laughter trickled like crisp water-drops across his thought^. He half-turned, took a step toward the curtains, and checked himself roughly, seeing thru the folds that Ned Ashley was with her and
DONT LAUGH AT ME, N A DI N YL-NADINE ” THE POOR DUPE WAS PLEADING
liqueurs ; and six weeks ago he had stood in the gusty moon-washed groves of an African rubber plantation, listening to the chattering of small, brown apes above his head! Well, life was a patchwork of contraries, and he was a bit tired of exploring and journeying into strange places, so he had come home, resolved to put on the sack-coat of citizenry, to marry some comfortable, sensible girl and settle down.
Harcourt laughed softly to himself. Once an explorer, always an explorer, it would seem, for here he was, on his third night in the city, in the drawing
anent The Huntress arouse his curiosity to the extent of accompanying Ned to her house. He had come, sneeringly, prepared to find a typical vampire woman, either long and sinuous and scrawny or over-developed and provocative. He had found, instead, a slight child-figure with a face of dainty disdain and a short, curling, red upper lip that a man — he realized suddenly — might be willing to die to kiss ; and, moreover,, this Huntress, to whom rumor credited a hundred conquests, had a mind as well as a body, and a scornful wit like a flashing rapier.
speaking with a deadly earnestness that left no doubt as to the purport of his words.
“Dont laugh at me, Nadine — Nadine!” the poor dupe was pleading. “I tell you I mean it — every word. I cant play poker for thinking of you, nor even read the newspaper. Hang it all ! I — I adore you, and you laugh at me ! Haven’t you got any heart at all?”
“I have never felt it if I have,” said the woman coolly — “at least it is certain you will not be able to find it for me, my poor Ned.”
She laughed low. Fleming Harcourt
(Fourteen)