Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

"All the more reason for you to be talking the truth," Kit pointed out. "Yes — I suppose — oh, I don't know what to do!" Andrea burst out, torn by conflicting emotions. "There's only one thing you can do," Kit urged, and this time there was strength, certainty, in his voice. "We'll go up to his house — tonight — and tell him all bets are off, for a while anyway. You've got to get well, first thing. Then, after that, you can make up your mind. But you mustn't be rushed into marrying him. I won't let you be!" — and his fingers tightened on her arm. "Yes," Andrea sighed, after a moment. "You're right." To be free of conflict, even for a little while — free to let time tell her whether this emotion she felt for Kit Collins was love or something not so lasting — that was something so much to be desired. But she shrank from the stormy scene that must be gone through with Frank Harrison. "Yes," she said again. "You're right. We'll go to see Frank tonight — together." ¥ T was after twilight when they ■*■ walked up the long, curving path to Frank Harrison's big house — they had chosen to walk, perhaps to prolong the time until they must see the man who wanted Andrea with such a stormy intensity. The house was almost entirely in darkness; the only light was a dim one in the window of a room Andrea knew was the study. Andrea put her finger on the bell, and at the sound of its peal, echoing through the house, her heart contracted in apprehension. For the first time, she fully realized what it would be to live in that house as its mistress. Like living in — a tomb, a tomb of dead happiness. The door was flung back. Frank Harrison faced them. "Who is — " he began bruskly, before he had recognized them, and then, in a changed tone: "Good Lord — Andrea!" "I'm here, too," Kit said mildly, and stepped forward into the light. "Harrison," he said without preamble, "I came back to the flower shop after you'd left. Teach and I talked things over and we reached the conclusion that it was — well, best to lay all the cards on the table. You can't hold her to that engagement, Harrison. It's not human or — " But Frank Harrison was backing away desperately, his arms outstretched as if to make a barrier. "You can't come in," he said, his tortured gaze on the girl. "Not tonight, Andrea. I'll see you in the morning — we'll talk things out then — but you can't come in tonight. Take her away, Collins." His words tripped over one another. His white face stared at them, and they saw that his hand, where it still held the doorknob, was shaking. "Frank," Andrea cried, "what's the matter?" "Nothing!" He almost shouted the word. "It's nothing, I tell you! I'll talk to you in the morning!" Someone was hurrying down the hall in back of Harrison. Andrea recognized Curtis, the butler, and a glance at his face told her he was as frightened as his employer. "Mr. Harrison!" he called, paying no attention to Andrea and Kit. "You'll have to get a doctor, sir!" Andrea, hesitating on the threshold, spoke one word: "Junior!" Then, as neither Harrison nor his butler answered, she said, "Junior's ill! Is that the trouble?" and was pushing past Frank, past Curtis, racing toward the study where she had seen the light from outside. Behind her she heard Frank call out in agony, "Keep out of there, Andrea!" And then the three of them were standing in the center of the room with its massive masculine furniture — staring down at the figure of a woman on the sofa. "She — she fainted again," the butler whispered, and Andrea, readjusting the scene she had conjured up — a scene which had held Junior as its leading player — crossed the room rapidly and knelt at the sofa's head. She did not know who this woman was — although even then it crossed her mind that there was something faintly familiar about the delicate, small features. She knew only that she was white, and frail, and sunk deep in unconsciousness. Her own spiritual problem, her own physical weakness, were forgotten in another woman's need as she gave brisk orders. "Raise her feet, Curtis," she directed, "so the blood will go to her head. . . . Bring an ice bag and some clean towels and — " Curtis hurried from the room. Andrea, her hand on the woman's forehead, looked up and asked, "Who is she, Frank?" Harrison, his pretenses crumbling, said simply, "Elizabeth, my former wife. She came back tonight — I found her here when I got home." There was no time for recriminations— no time for halting explanations or more halting justifications. A doctor, hastily summoned, fought for Elizabeth Harrison's life while Frank Harrison stood by, gnawing his underlip. At that moment, Andrea seemed to see him in a new light — not as Beechmont's first citizen, not as the man who had promised her a 0»0«0*0«0«0*0*0*0*0*0«0»090tOtO«0#0#0»OtOtOt080tO*0»0*C C)oaa TTeluCo lo^ GEORGE BRYAN — CBS newscaster, who is heard on seventeen news periods every week. George had a varied and colorful career before he entered radio seven years ago. He was a salesman, a teacher, a writer, and even — very briefly — a Broadway actor. He is a native New Yorker and still lives in the lovely old Dutch house where he was born in Spuyten Duyvil. His hobby is sailing and he docks his sloop, the Barnacle, in his front yard, which is right on the Hudson River. Anyone who is willing to help with the ship's chores is always welcome as his sailing guest. Friends call him "Silver-Tongue Bryan" because of his rich, smooth speaking voice, and also because he's never at a loss for words. NGW under -arm Cream Deodorant safely Stops Perspiration 1. Does not harm dresses, or men's shirts. 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