Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

ii8 Photoplay Magazine — Advertising Section ^#i^ fSQ MonthS; Hi" — Ladies' 7 Diamond cluster, PJati num set. $75.00. R2 — Ladies' Solid Gold ring, one exquisite Diamond. $50.00. R3 — Engraved R4 — Solid R5— White-go'd white gold gold laval carved mountmounting, one Here; one fine ing, set witli fine Diamond. Diamond and blue white Dia$50.00. one pearl. mond. $50.00. „vs $25.00. R6 — .4rti.Htif Desism of white gold, set with 3 flashing Diamonds. \^ 860.00. R7 — (, tl I 1 T )th iiiiR s h 1 gold; one pertcrtly cut }>!in.' white DitiTnoKU. .St)5.00. umtimiiiinimH4nimiiiHn«ii<in»»i)imiiin*ii TTVERY article here shown is a iL special value. Every diamond genuine, blue-white perfect-cut. Your choice will be sent ON APPROVAL—NO RISK, NO MONEY IN ADVANCE. Pay only one-fifth if satisfied after examination — balance in ten payments. SWEET'S policy: You must be satisfied or no sale. SWEET'S capital, $1,000,000, guarantees this. PROFIT SHARING PLAN: 1^% yearly increase in exchange value allowed on every diamond purchased from us. Beautiful De Luxe Catalogue FREE Amazing collection of precious gems, jewelry, silverware, watches and gifts of every description. Every article a rare bargain. The lowest prices, the highest quality. Ten Months to pay on everything. Write today for your FREE Copy. Address Dept. 42 L. "the house (Df quality" LWSWEETINC IWO-1660 BROAPWAY; NEW YORK. Dollars and the Woman (Continued from page 40) "I learned at the hospital that someone paid your bill, Madge. You told me that no one did it. That was not true." Madge looked at Dan in silence. "And then I found this," Dan continued, producing the cancelled check. "I paid nothing at the hospital. Neither did Mr. Crewe. That check was for — another matter." For a moment she was tempted to tell him the truth, but decided not. "Some one paid, I tell you! And why not Crewe? He was your old sweetheart," Dan continued, beside himself with jealousy and rage. "But how did you repay the rest? This would not have paid your bills for a week. Men like Crewe don't pay bills for women they love without a reason — and wives don't lie without — " Madge looked into the white face and the blood-shot eyes of her husband with evident loathing. "Go!" she said between taut lips. "If you don't, I — I think I shall kill you!" Dan took his hat, and went out, leaving her alone. ARTHUR CREWE, arriving at the H=llyer door a few minutes later, came just in t'me to interrupt Madge in the act of throwing all her clothes and those of the baby into bags and trunks. Dan's distrust of her had killed all the love she had for him. She was going to leave him — to find a phce where she might have peace. "Why d'd you come?" Madge asked angrily of Crewe. "Because I cannot bear to see you unhappy in spite of my sacrifices," he answered quietly. "It was to save your life that I demanded the $300, Madge. I made you despise me, so that you would fight for your life. Otherwise you never would have pulled through. I never would have told you— in my heart I had given you up forever— but Madge, Madge, I saw how unhappy your were last night. You must come with me, dear. You could not earn a living. I want you to go to my sister till you can get a divorce. Then I want you to marry me." Madge's expression changed from loathing to wonder as Crewe talked, then her eyes filled with tears. "I don't ask your love. I won't force mine on you," Crewe added gently. "I just ask for the right to make you happy." Dan, entering the hall door with his pass key, heard the last words. "YoUt wife is leaving you," Crewe said, turning to Dan. "I have asked her to divorce you and marry me." Dan turned to Madge. His walk in the air had calmed him. "Yes," she said hysterically, "I am going. I wanted to get away before you came back." Dan went to the desk and got his revolver, then broke it, took out the cartridges and handed the gun to Crewe. "My temper is none too sweet at times," he said. "There will be no scene unless you make it, Mr. Crewe. Now as I understand it, you wish to marry Mrs. Hillyer to atone — " "I wish to marry her because I love her. In her case there can be no question of atonement, and if you were not an utter fool you'd know it," answered Crewe. "But why did my wife give you this?" Dan held out the check. "It was money she borrowed to send you West. The money she drew from the bank was stolen on the way home." "Then who paid the hospital expenses?" Dan demanded. "I did," answered Crewe. It was Madge's turn for bewilderment now. "That was a matter of which your wife was entirely ignorant." There was silence in the little room, then Dan Hillyer spoke. "Crewe, if Madge decides to marry you, she'll get a man, a real man clear down to the ground." It was several moments before Madge raised her voice. "You will understand, Dan," she said, "that when I leave you, I shall go wholly out of your life. If the baby is to be with me, you can never see him." "He belongs to you. You would not be happy without him," Dan replied. "I have been selfish enough. I have nothing more to say." Madge looked for a moment at her husband. The thought that Dan was willing to make this sacrifice for her, that he was willing to give up his child as well as her for her happiness' sake, proved that he loved her — and her old love for him came tumbling over the barriers. "Arthur," she said, turning to Crewe, "you have sacrificed much for me, but could you do — what he has done?" Arthur Crewe was too honest to pretend. He turned away and went out silently as Madge found her old happy place in Dan's arms. "I don't care if you spend everything you have," she whispered in his ear. "Spend? Why, I'm a miser from now on. I'll choke the Indian on every penny I get," answered Dan Hillyer. And he kissed her. :f: % H^ ^ BUT neither Madge nor ■ Dan ever knew that the reason for Colonel Barnard's change of mind over night in regard to the smelter process patent was an order that came from certain directors of the company in New York, who demanded that the deal be closed — and that the reason back of the directors was a rich young man named Arthur Crewe. Ave et Vale UHUHmiHiltHU (il4>''><;nit«J»I!«»»l!tM(llOH»ll!:?(ll)Hl|l THE great clock in the courthouse struck the mystic hour of twelve. The city was as silent as the age-wreathed column of Karnak or the sad-eyed lion that keeps constant tr>'st with the immortal dead upon the sand-strewn plains of Troy. Hushed was the plaint of traffic; mute the voice of discord and stOled the clamor of golden commerce. Policemen stood upon the streets as motionless as the marble caryatides that forever guard the pulseless sleep of the great Napoleon. A shower was falling, such a rain as chilled the ardor of the noble Ten Thousand ere the glad cry, "Thassala ! Thassala ! The sea I The sea !" burst from the home-hungry hearts and sand-parched lips of the followers of Thucydides. Still the rain fell! It was Niobe, the great Nature-mother mourning over the death of her loved and lost. All earth felt the solemnity of the hour: the halcyonic calm, for the great photoplay actress had lost her wad of chewing gum and nothing could be done in the studio until it was found. Even ativertisement in PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE is guarante«d.