Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

"O Photoplay Magazine "But, Georgiana — you'll get into troutle!" gasped Helen. "I hope so — that's the hig idea," retorted Georgiana. Henry would do was look reproachfully at her, hold up his forefinger, and say in babv-talk tones, "Good little girls don't do that." Now be reasonable — is a husband like that entitled to one minute more than the exact legal minimum of mourning? Georgiana said not. And she said it to Jeff's wife, who probably told Jeff, for Jeff wore a sort of pained expression the next time he saw Georgiana. Jeff had looked upon Henry as a perfect model, and it was a considerable shock to him to find that Georgiana did not fully appreciate him. But Jeff had the same insufferable tolerance about everything that Henry had, and so he didn't scold the widow. Georgiana had come to New York to visit the Chadbournes, and she unburdened herself to Helen as soon as they were alone. "Helen, do you know any really devilish men?" she demanded, abruptly. "Why no — what do you mean?" "Just what I say. You can't understand because you haven't been married for three years to a perfectly good man. The only time Henry ever got thrilled was when the new issue of the Atlantic Monthly arrived. Look here — " Georgiana dived into a wardrobe trunk, and began flinging out flimsy, fluffy, enticing garments. "There's my armor, and I'm here to make war. I'm going to round up a bunch of wild men and if I can find one bad enough, I'll marry him." "But Georgiana — you'll get into trouble," Helen gasped. "I hope so. That's the big idea," Georgiana replied. ON the footbridge which crosses the bridle path in Central Park. Georgiana stood idly dangling a few flowers she had picked from a bush right beside a sign saying she would be arrested if she did, and watched the people riding past below, her. They did not look especially evil and so they did not interest her. At last there came one riding alone, a big young man, from the West unless his sombrero lied, and Georgiana became more alert. Not that he looked any worse than the others but, well, there was something about him that — oh, you know how it is. She had a good opportunity to observe him unobserved, as he stopped to adjust a stirrup. It did not take him nearly as long as Georgiana wanted it to, and upon the impulse of the instant she flung upon him as he approached the bridge, her handful of contraband flowers. He caught one, looked up, astonished and rather pleased, and then Georgiana ran — first to escape, then wondering if the stranger would have the gumption to follow her. He seemed sorry to see her go, and made as if to follow, but changed his mind. Georgiana did not stop until she reached her car, and ordered the chauffeur to drive to the Casino. The restaurant in the Park was rather empty. At one_ table were an old man made up with wax and dye to deceive himself into thinking he looked about thirty, and a dizzy blonde. Georgiana cast a mildly speculative eye upon them, and _ in midair her glance met that of the ancient mariner of feminine seas. In her present mood, Georgiana would have outstared old Cyclops himself, and the enameled ruin feasted his eyes until the blonde objected. A minute later his companion went to do a job of telephoning and the reconstructed wreck toddled over to Georgiana's table. "We've met somewhere before; where was it?" he grinned. Georgiana looked at him thoughtfully. "So that's how it's done," she observed. "I've often wondered." With that she looked beyond. The hero of the horse-path had arrived. True, he was not looking for her, seemingly, for he merely summoned a waiter and ordered something to eat.