Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1920)

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And then die looked down at my feet. "Why, Jacqueline," she cried, "Muvver and Nursie have been looking everywhere for you. You're a naughty girl to run away from Nursie," The baby grinned, adorably, and burst out with a perfect flood of baby-talk which must have meant something to Miss Saunders, for she laughed, caught the baby up in her arms, and turned to me with a word of apology before she vanished, the baby held close in her arms, and crowing with delight. When she came back, I saw that she had changed — ■ she is even prettier than before, and there is a deeper sweetness in the blue eyes — a softening of the expressive, mobile face that is inexpressibly charming. "So that was Jacqueline second," I said, as we seated ourselves. "Yes — isn't she adorable?" in frank mother-pride. This seemed to me the right moment for a question I had wanted to ask, so I utilized it. "Do you think that marriage — motherhood— interferes with a career?" For a moment, she hesitated, then she smiled. "It might, when one considers the two years that one must be off the screen — the public forgets a picture star so quickly. But what one gains, in acting — in the ability to portray emotion — more than offsets the little time one must be away. I really dont see how a girl who has had very little experience with the real things of life — a girl who has never known real love, who has had none of the big experiences of life — can portray really emotional roles. "I have been off the screen two years — and I have done three pictures since I came back. I know that I have brought to my work in these pictures a more earnest appreciation of my work than I ever experienced before Jacqueline came." "And you are now heading your own company?" I asked. "Yes, and we are looking for a good story," she returned, her face lighting with interest at the mention of her new plans. "At first, of course, I will have to do some big, recognized book, play or story, because I have been off the screen so long that my first play under my own company must be from a well-known source. But after the first, I hope to produce stories based on the real things of life, and stories judged solely on their merits as screen subjects rather than on the author's reputation." At this moment, the maid entered with an enormous box. * "Five hats have come, Mrs. Saunders," she announced. Evidently, I considered privately, the maid doesn't approve of saying "Miss" to the mother of a two-year-old baby. But by this time, she had opened the box, and Miss Saunders, with almost childish glee, was trying on the most wonderful "confections" of the milliner's art. "I promised to pose for a page of fashions," she explained, "and these were sent down for me to choose the most becoming ones for the page." From then on, of course, the interview was finished. When two women, with a distinctly feminine interest in pretty clothes, get together over a treasure basket full of lovely hats, anything mundane (and interviews are mundane — some of them pathetically so!) must be forgotten. During the exciting discussion that folowed, a breezy, good-natured man entered. Miss Saunders turned to him, quickly. "Oh, Ellwood, which is the prettier?" holding up the two hats in question. "Both of 'em," he responded promptly — thereby proving himself a man of tact, diplomacy and finesse. "Oh, I forgot — this is my husband, Mr. Horkheimer," she introduced, breathlessly, and she immediately began rummaging again in the treasure basket, crying out with delight when she emerged with what looked like a puff of whipped cream and rose-leaves, but which proved to be a puff of tulle with layers of tiny satin roses. Then and there, I lost my note-book — and the rest of the interview. Those hats were too much for the feminine mind to withstand ! And I didn't even try ! The Caveman Cavalier (Continued from page 33) Perhaps it is a dynamic force within him, I am not sure just exactly what it is, but he would not brook any exaggeration, any silliness or any radicalism. I felt that with a certainty, but more than that, it is quite unlikely that any one would exhibit anything they did not actually feel — anything affected before him — any more than the woman would have defied the ideas and prejudices of the caveman. There is a decisiveness about him, yet he could not, in the most remote sense, be termed crude. Before I left, he drew aside the curtain and raised the shade. Beyond the window were the exquisite spires of St. Patrick's cathedral, grey, and not quite determinate in the mist of the snowy night. "An old — a rare engraving — in reality," he said slowly and in deep appreciation, as he lowered the shade and drew the curtain. "I think we pay perhaps ninety per cent, of our rent here because of just that, the other ten per cent., of course, for the apartment." When I arose to go, he had his wraps ready. I looked at him inquiringly. . . . "Are you going in the subway?" he asked, and there was the slightest suggestion of an English accent in his voice. I'm inclined to think maybe there is English parentage or ancestrv — Lord Chesterfield, the air of Pall Mall— altho he said he was Canadian and did not mention Britain. Most Englishmen mention Britain. "I am going uptown," he continued, "I'll walk to the subway with you." We came to the parting of our ways. . . "The East Side route will get you home with the least difficulty. I should take that," said Rockcliffe, with caveman mien, and I felt it was understood that I would take his suggestion. "I will — goodnight," I said. "Goodnight," he answered with a smile, and Rockcliffe, the Cavalier,' stood with bared head until I had gone. . . . And again, in summary, Rockcliffe Fellowes is just that, inexplicable as it seems — a caveman cavalier. . . . And, being feminine, and not quite certain which is the more attractive, the caveman— or the cavalier — we find that we like him.