Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1922)

definitely, that Judith would not be "interested" in Carlotta. He knew that she would resent her. He knew . . . why, he knew that she would be jealous of her. That, somehow, Carlotta would ruin his friendship with Judith. There would be no more happy evenings. They wouldn't talk about the House, or Lloyd George, or H. G. Wells or the theories of Bernard Shaw. They wouldn't talk about the "Morals of the Renaissance." Because, inevitably, every topic would lead back to Carlotta and her exotic presence in his house. Judith would ask endless questions he couldn't answer. Judith would probe and he felt a sudden intimate dislike of being probed. He felt a coward, but he avoided going to her home, avoided writing her. He wanted to think Carlotta out first, so that, clearly, he could explain her to Judith. Poor Marcus ! He didn't know that Carlotta was the first thing in his life he couldn't "explain." She was his first experience with instinct. Of course Judith heard about Carlotta. She heard it from many sources and with bizarre and fantastic adornments : Sir Marcus Ordeyne had stolen the Sultan's favorite . . . Sir Marcus Ordeyne had Turkish blood in his veins and was, surreptitiously, starting a harem . . . there were at least six houris seen on the premises, lounging on sumptuous cushions sipping Moorish coffee . . . the things that went on, my dear! . . . Sir Marcus Ordeyne and "Morals !" Who had ever heard of a man who devoted his outer life to the study of morals that could bear investigation. Investigate Sir Marcus Ordeyne, for instance, and you find ... a harem! Judith Mainwaring suffered in as long a silence as she had it in her to maintain, and then she telephoned Marcus and asked him, casually, to bring his "ward" to tea. By the shock she sensed in his manner, by the broken syllable of his reply, Judith knew the worst. Ah, the cool, imperturbable Marcus ! The lean ascetic to whom her wiles and lures had been but the follies of a pretty woman, to be borne with for that reason . . . dear Marcus who had said, so innocently, "I detest the species!" . . . Her Marcus . . . hers no longer Judith thought that her pain would kill her, and knew that it wouldn't. No, she would go on . . . and on . . . Marcus was her dream and one awoke from dreams . . .ah, but she had dreamed him so deeply and so long. . . . Now she was awake. Wide awake. The daylight was cruel and bleak, and hurt her eyes. The air of reality was thin and harsh, and hurt her heart. But she would grow used to them . . . after awhile . . . there was time to be got thru with ... a certain number of days . . . and nights . . . the once blessed evenings when Marcus had been qT-|M0TI°N PICTURR I with her and would now be with her no longer . . . Maybe this youngthing would hurt him, as he had hurt her. Maybe, then, he would come back to her, kuozving. . . . But she wouldn't want him then . . . knowing. She had wanted him to know from her. Marcus ... so infinitely wise ... so infinitely simple. Marcus didn't want to take Carlotta to Judith's for tea, and he didn't know quite why he didn't want to, and because he didn't know why he didn't want to, he felt impatient with himself, and took her anyway. He had always had a detestation of chaotic persons — persons who didn't know why they didn't want to do things Marcus had, hitherto, been able to tabulate his aversions and his desires as a man should. Of course it was rather horrid. Carlotta was whimsical and sort of cleverish, but Marcus wished she hadn't been. He kept explaining things to Judith. His manner was conciliatory and it made him furious. Judith was critical and benevolent and, he felt it, cruel. Mentally, she was tearing Carlotta to pieces, to shreds. Or trying to. She didn't succeed very well, because Carlotta was almost entirely unconscious of her. Women didn't figure a great deal in Carlotta's Carlotta bent to him and i,*-. . • j . ■ nr \ her lips hovered against his, (Co.itinucd on page 96) thrining> awake passionate. "With me . . . ," she said, "with me, . . . alone . . ."