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

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

February, 19 2 1 35 vigorating. Vida Phillimore, a well preserved woman of fashion, youthful and with the air of a woman of high spirits which have been partially suppressed by force of environment. Every day she found her husband's relatives a little more difficult. At last, after an afternoon in which she was subjected to criticism of her clothes, of her habits and of her friends, she complained to her husband. "You may find my sister's advice of some value in these matters, my dear," he told her. His words enraged her so much that she rushed to her own room, scribbled a note to him and handing it to the butler, she left the house. A moment later, the Judge read the message. "For six heavy years 1 have been laid away in the grave and I have found it very slow indeed trying to keep pace with the dead. In short, Philip, you and I don't suit in double harness. There is no other man. I only wish there were. You must let me have a nice quiet divorce, incompatibility ; it certainly suits us." Judge Phillimore was hurt as he finished reading the letter. He was outraged, for he had grown to think of divorce as something that only he could ladle out to others, and this event seemed like an encroachment on his private rights. At the very moment when he was trying to control his feelings, in the estate of John Karslake, the owner and his new bride were arriving. Cynthia was shy and bride-like. She followed John about with adoring eyes. She professed delight at all the extravagancies of his mansion. She was entranced with him, and was even unwilling to let him go out of her sight for the half hour he spent with Tim Fiddler, his horse trainer, and his wife, an old-fashioned woman who was content with one husband and willing to give him personal attention. John patted his favorite horses. He all but forgot his happy bride. But when dinner was served and found her sitting far from him at the extreme end of the long dining table, he could not help coming close to her. He even leaned over the table to kiss her. "Do you really .... oh, reallv, .... love me?" she pleaded. "I do .... I do!" "More than everything else in the world?" "Can you even ask such a question ?" he replied. "More than every blessed thing?" she pursued. "Would you do all the things for me that men have ever done for the women they have loved?" "Of course, dear, of course, I would. You know I would." She looked away for a moment. Then searchingly she probed his eyes as she asked him passionately : "Would you go to hell for me .... ?" For a moment John was appalled, but he met her gaze and vehemently told her of his love. And Cynthia, not yet quite assured, was forced to rest content with that. As the months rolled by, Vida Phillimore became more and more her former unmarried self. To her friends she admitted she was having the time of her life ; she confessed she did not realize how impossible the Judge had been. And in due time her divorce was granted. In the Karslake household six months had brought the first cloud. It was John's abominable habit of being careless about his clothes which caused it. On a morning following a late supper at the club Cynthia took it upon herself to criticize her husband sharply for his slothfulness. "Oh, hell. Your damned tidiness again !" he reproached her. "Please put your things where they belong," she insisted. He made no attempt to obey her. Instead he muttered a curse and stood watching her. Cynthia was angry. She suddenly lurched forward and struck him in the cheek with a comb. "You little spitfire! You devil!" he cried, as he tore the comb from her. He was really angry at her and as he held her arm, she realized she had gone too far. The fight died out of her. She burst into tears and let him hold her limp form as she sobbed. It was their first bitter quarrel, but it was soon followed by another. This time the Karslakes went to Piping Rock to attend the races. Vida Phillimore was there with her friends and it happened that they sat in a box adjoining that of the Karslakes. The Karslake entry was in the third race. Cynthia had been vivacious and happy until during the race she turned to ask her husband for the field glasses he carried. He was about to hand them to Mrs. Phillimore, who sat beside him. Cynthia looked angrily at the former wife of the Judge. "I want the glasses, John," she said. John looked helplessly toward Mrs. Phillimore, who was jumping up and down following the course of the horses. "What can I do?" he replied. "I want them. Get them from her." "I can't, Cyn. That's all there is to it." "Oh, you're impossible. I can't stand this any longer," she cried. She jumped up, left the box and hurried to the clubhouse. Later, although his entry had won, Karslake had no pleasure. His wife would not speak to him when he met her at the clubhouse. And when he returned later in the day she was gone, had returned to town in his car, leaving him to make his way back as best he could. When he arrived home he found Cynthia packing her belongings. "What's wrong with you, Cyn ?" he asked. "Please don't make it worse by trying to explain," she retorted. "I quite understand." "Cyn .... don't be a little fool .... listen to me." John was willing to compromise. The entire quarrel seemed too trivial to continue. But Cynthia was in deadly earnest. She repulsed John's advances with a warning not to come near her, and finally, when he did not desist, she tore off her wedding ring and told him that she intended to divorce him.