It was Saturday night in happy Paris.
Marcelle Abadie yawned lazily, and moving across the room to the radio, snapped on the switch and twirled the dial to her
favorite station. Her every motion was languid, mechanical.
"Alphonse," she murmured, her voice a bare shade
higher than the soft tone of the music, "have you ever been told that as a conversationalist you are an exceptional
bore?"
The man seated across from her leapt to his feet, and regarded her angrily. "Nom d'un nom! Then you
consider it boresome to listen to a man's declara- tion of love?"
Marcelle shrugged her lovely shoulders. "I am very easily
tired," she confessed lightly; then, in a piercing, explanatory manner: "Oh, ce n'est pas ca, du tout!— It is the mere
repetition of the thing, over and over, monotonously, until I do not think that I could bear another amor- ous protest!
Have I not impressed you with the fact that I intend to marry money, much money, and that I refuse absolutely to
countenance a placid Pari- sian existence?"
"Do not be a fool, ma cherie." An ex- pression of pain darted across
Alphonse's features, and he reached for her hand. "Consider matters in the light of reason. Although I will admit that you
are the most beautiful nurse in all Paris, and a thousand and other little things like that, I hardly think that you will
discover it a simple matter to find a millionaire patient who will be proud to marry you-"
"Et ne pour-quoi
pas?" she interrupted in a crude pretence of surprise. "You have no idea to what extent I would go to convince a rich man
that I am his intended mate."
He fell back before her calm assurance. "You—you cannot mean
that?"
"Mais oui; I can!" she insisted in a calm, business-like tone, appropriate to her words. "Suppose that I
married you, Alphonse; what would life hold for me, other than a futile struggle against over- whelming odds? In the
capacity of wife of a very ordinary writer whose income does not even approach a substantial fig- ure, I would feel that I
had lived entirely in vain. I cannot, and I will not, be pro- vincial, regardless of the price. The am- bitions which I
have cherished for seven long years refuse to be smothered, and even the whole-hearted love of a man would scarcely be
adequate to fill the gap in my heart which their abandonment I have promised myself that it shall be would occasion. The
world is large, and my playground. I want to travel, to see things, to do things, and to enjoy the lux- uries which life
denies the average wom- an. If you were in a position to offer me these things, I would fly to your arms in the
traditional melodramatic fashion; but -"she hesitated, and her eyes sought the floor.
"You—you common fille de
joie!" Al- phonse ground the words between his teeth, and reached for his hat on the table. You are a fool Marcelle, and
if you persist in that ridiculous attitude, you will receive a series of lovely bumps which should hammer a bit of sense
into that pretty little head of yours. I am go- ing." He moved to the door. "When you have decided to forget the
Cinderella fancies, send for me, and we shall plan
our honeymoon; until then, I shall employ my hours of liesure to
better advantage than heretofore. Good night."
Good night! Marcelle clenched her hands and glared at him in
lofty disdain. A sudden flush of temper drew the warm blood to her cheeks. "You need not en- tertain the slightest hope
that I will ever plead with you to return," she started but [t]he sudden jangling of the telephone in the corner of the
room cut through her words, and with an impatient gesture, she strode across to it and lifted the receiver to her
ear.
"Eh bien? Marcelle Abadie."
"You are needed at once, mademoiselle. A call has just been received
from the country home of Monsieur Pierre Can- trelle, at Aix-les-Arbees. Would you care to accept?"
Pierre
Cantrelle! The wealthy sports- man who earned more newspaper head- lines than the Chamber of Deputies! The most
sought-after eligible within a thou- sand kilometers!
"Certainement." She endeavored des- perately to conceal
her anxiety. "I will report for duty within an hour."
She turned from the instrument, her eyes seeking out the
figure of her guest, so that she might gloat over him and tor- ture him with the possibility of eventual success, but he
had already gone. She wondered if he had heard. Coute que coute, the sooner she banished thoughts of Alphonse from her
mind, the happier she would be. Better, indeed, to dwell upon the prospect of exercising her wiles on the reputedly
handsome sportsman.
Alighting from her conservative little Italian roadster before the imposing man- sion of
Pierre Cantrelle, she walked swiftly up the narrow tiled walk to the steps, mounted to the high Jacobean porch and pressed
on the bell.
A minute passed. No reassuring foot- steps came from within. Another min- ute; still no reply. She
pushed again on the buzzer.
"Qui est La?" The scarcely audible whisper drifted to her ears from the an- cient
speaking-tube directly in front of her.
She placed her lips to the apparatus. "A nurse from l'Hopital de
Cicely."
A moment of silence; then: "Ent'rez, s'il-vous-plais. I am alone on the second etage-" the voice seemed
to break "-and I doubt If I can—creep back— to my room-"
She understood the symptoms; weak- ness claimed the sufferer who,had been obliged to lift himself from his bed and
stagger to the speaking tube. The door yielded to her touch, and throwing it open, she leapt with surprising agility up
the winding staircase to the upper land- ing of the house.
"Where are you?"
"Here. I succeeded." A
light suddenly flashed on from a room a little to her left, and illuminated the darkened hall- way. "I must have
overestimated my strength. Things went rather black for a second or so, but I managed to crawl back."
She
stopped across the threhold and considered the pyjamaed figure on the bed. "You're feeling better?" she asked, with a
professional smile.
"Very much so," he assured her: "I must confess, however, that I scarcely ex- pected the
most beautiful girl in all Paris to—to nurse me."
"You must not exert yourself, Monsieur Cantrelle. "Her accent
was polite to the verge of ineptitude, and with a sigh of resignation, he lowered his head to the pillow. "Now," she
continued, "kindly furnish me with a few details. To begin with, I would like to know if you antici- pate a visit from le
docteur tonight."
He thought for a moment. "I hardly believe that Docteur Robellin will return until morning,"
he said. "You see" he hesitated again for a full minute, "I suf- fered a mild attack of ptomaine poison- ing, and
discovering myself alone in the house, I put through a hurry call to the physician. His arrival proved timely, and I
weathered the storm with no serious effects, other than a session of weakness and nausea which have just about abated.
Robellin insisted that I allow him to en- gage the services of a nurse, as a precau- tionary measure—and here you
are."
"C'est tout. "Marcelle lifted her eyes from the makeshift chart which she had prepared. "Any medicines to
administer?"
"None." He flushed guiltily, and she wondered whether he had childishly hid- den the bottles. "But,
by the way, nurse, what is your name?"
"Mademoiselle Abadie," she said swift- ly; then, obviously relenting:
"Marcelle Abadie."
His eyes roved to the ceiling. "Qu'elle nom pour qu'elle femme!" he said
softly.
his lips. "You will do well to cease speak- ing now," she
admonished bluntly. "I am going to take your temperature, and if you have even so much as a single degree of fever, you
will be obliged to remain silent throughout the night."
"Dieu que non!" He opened his mouth and allowed her to
place the thermometer beneath his tongue, the merest semblance of a smile hovering about his lips.
Her eyes met
his for a brief instant, held them, and fell, her lips tightening as the realization came over her that her cheeks flushed
crimson. It had been im-
possible to stare into those level brown eyes without wavering, and the sensations
evoked by his handsomely irregular pro- file were those which unwittingly betrayed themselves.
Her fingers
trembled as she withdrew the thermometer, and denoted the figure attained "by the mercury: Ninety-eight degrees. No doubt
his pulse was also nor- mal; but she dared not trust herself to the extent of touching his wrist.
"What is the verdict?" He lifted him- self from the pillow, and placed
his hands on his hips.
She turned her back on him, and moved to the table near the bedside. "You will be
yourself by morning," she announced, with forced placidity.
He glanced suspiciously at her. "I know that it is a
holiday, but—you are not go- ing?" he asked suddenly, as though the very suggestion frightened him.
Her
composure had returned, and she faced him squarely. "Not if you wish me to remain. You are not entirely hors du danger,
monsieur, and holidays mean but little to a nurse."
He nodded seriously. "If you ventured so much as a single
step from this room I am certain that I would have a danger- ous relapse! Draw up a chair, and let us talk. Frankly, a
chat with you will do more good than harm. If you refuse, I will no doubt endure a sleepless night."
"Very
well," she snapped back uncom- promisingly, although her heart sang with elation. At least, she had awakened bis
interest.
chandelier, he regarded her, strange emo- tions coursing through
his body. He had never seen anything so beautiful, so de- sirable. "I never knew that a woman could be so lovely," he said
solemnly, and touched his bedewed forehead with a handkerchief.
Her lips parted in a glowing
smile.
"Love makes all women beautiful," she whispered, dimpling and blushing very prettily.
"Love?"
He remained before her, his breath coming fast. "Do you mean—?"
"That I love you, mon amour!" Her soft voice
thrilled him, and he quivered in anticipating of her caresses. "From the first minute I saw you, I loyed
you!"
Exultantly sure of herself, "Marcelle drew his head down to her, and kissed him full upon the lips. Her
warm fingers caressed his cheeks, and moving upward, stroked his curly black hair with a motion so tender as to lull him
to a sense of ab- solute security. "You are going to learn the true hidden meaning of the word 'love'," she promised,
looking at him for a moment, and then dropping her eyes.
His lips narrowed into a slim, straight line. "I
believe that I am beginning to learn—already!" he announced, tighten- ing her masterfully in an arm which had ceased to
tremble.
"Then kiss me!" She stared pleadingly into his eyes. "Kiss me, and teach me— the meaning of your kind
of love!" She nestled in his arms, her head resting upon his shoulder, her eyes closed.
"The meaning of all
love!" he said soft- ly, forcing her head backward with a hand which cupped her lovely chin. "This is love!" His own
mounting passion ans- wered hers in a kiss of terrible ardor, which touched her to the very depths of her soul. . .
.
Dawn.—The dawn of a new day and of a new life!—Marcelle lifted her head from the pillow and allowed her glance
to roam about the chamber which would in the future be her own. Her life mate! Al- though the unexpected success of her
scheming had left her somewhat dazed, her selfish, material impressions darted again to the fore, piercing the spell of
unreality which enveloped her, and she smiled with smug complacency. She doubted very seriously that Pierre could awaken
in her the tender affection which she still felt for the struggling writer, Al- phonse Fortier, but at any rate, she might
learn to care for him to some extent. The luxuries with which he would be in a position to provide her would adequately
recompense her for the slight discrepancy.
Her heart still sang as she arose from the bed and donned the prim
white uni- form which she had so carelessly tossed
aside the night before. She would allow Pierre to sleep as late as he wished. N0 doubt, he felt completely
fagged.
"Good morning, ma cherie!" His voice, loud and clear, cutting sharply through the stillness, however,
assured her that her concern had been needless.
"Good morning!" She moved to the side of the bed, and lowered
her lips to his. "You had better rest a little longer, chere, or you will be unable to carry out our little program
today-"
"Our wedding day!" His expression be- came suddenly deadly serious. "Do you really love me,
Marcelle?"
She laughed away his doubts. "Je t'adore!" she insisted
passionately. "Noth- ing will ever take me away from you, new that—that—"
"I know." He chewed nervously at his
lower lip. "But there is something I must entire face of the matter." His eyes wav- ered, and his hands shook as with
palsy.
"What is it?" Contagiously, the germ tell you; something which may alter the her mouth was a splash of
scarlet in the of his apprehension transferred itself to her.
"I — I'm—" The sound of footsteps in the lower
hallway checked his confession, and his face blanched pathetically.
Athough Marcelle's heart thumped an- xiously
against her ribs, she remained silent, listening intently to the regular pace of the newcomer as he ascended the stairs,
-approached the room—
"Bon jour." The door opened slowly, and a tall, distinguished man stepped across the
threshold. Marcelle gazed at him in frank admiration; handsome to the point of actual beauty, with a figure which radiated
elegance and position, he re- garded them with sparkling eyes. "I am happy to that you have definitely im-
proved."
"Almost unbelievably, Monsieur; bien merci," acknowledged the man in the bed.
The newcomer
smiled. "I rather ex- pected a different finale yesterday even-
ing, Henri," he reminded.
Henri! Marcelle stared at her newly betrothed in
sheer consternation. Henri! Qu'elle diable! What did he mean—?
"Mademoiselle," the other turned to her. and held
out his hand, "I am Pierre Can- trelle. May I offer you my sincerest thanks for your share in our patient's miraculous
recovery?"
Marcelle's mouth gaped open. "You— you are Pierre Cantrelle-?"
"Assurement; no doubt Henri
must have told you that I would return this morn- ing? Had I not been called away on ur- gent business, I assure you that
I would have remained with you at his bedside throughout the night. Henri means more to me than I can readily express,
made- moiselle. He has served me faithfully in a confidential position for nine years-"
Marcelle nodded her head
dumbly. The secretary! She had thrown away her most priceless possession upon a mere, penni- less
pen-pusher!
"Will you allow me to,reward you far your assistance?" The cultured voice of Pierre Cantrelle
drifted to her ears, re- storing her to the present.
"I—I suppose that I have—I have al- ready been—paid in
full—" she stam- mered, and her fingers trembled as she endured the strange sensations of thou- sands of francs dribbling
through them, like water through a sieve. . . .
"Is this the Crescent
Beauty Parlor?" Sitting at her office desk, temporarily forgetting the rows of typewriter keys which faced her, Doris
Steele spoke into the telephone.
The reply must have
been in the affirm- ative, because her next words were: "Will you ask Nelly if she can take *10 for a shampoo and a wave
at four o'clock? . . . This is Miss Steele speaking . . . yes, that's right, Steele. . . .
S-t-e-e-l-e!"
Doris hummed snatches of a catchy song as she waited for the
answer. . . . "Guess I ought to change my name to Jones or something," she thought. "I always have to spell it for
everybody!"
"Hello!" She swerved back to. the tele- phone mouthpiece. "She can? ... All right . . . thank
you!"
Glancing at her notebook at exactly the point where she had left off a few min- utes before, her
fingertips resumed the staccato hammering of the keys. It was Saturday morning, and she was in a hurry to finish her work
before the office closed at noon.
Doris had a "date" on ice for that eve- ning ... an extra heavy date with her
best boy friend, Kilbur Gray, who was taking her to a dance out on Long Island.
It was only recently that Doris
had be- gun to patronize the beauty shops. Her dark brown hair, liberally streaked with bronze tints, was naturally long
and wavy when she arrived in New York from her
small-town home, and she had always been accustomed to giving it an occa- sional shampoo with her own
hands.
One day, in the office rest room, a girl had remarked:
"You ought to get your hair bobbed!"
"Why?" asked Doris. . . . The idea had never occurred to her!
"Because you're the type for it."
"Looks
good now, doesn't it?"
"Sure! But it would be real swell if it was bobbed!"
Doris thought it over. . .
. Maybe the girl was right. ... On her way to the subway the next morning, she noticed the Crescent Beauty Parlor around
the cor- ner.
After office hours, she dropped in to the Crescent and made several inquiries. The result could be
seen a little later when she emerged, hat in hand, and headed gleefully toward the apartment house where she occupied a
one-room- bath-kitchenette suite.
Your
skin is glorious, Sweetheart. Wilburs gaze were avidly traveling
Thereafter, it was a difficult matter to persuade Doris to
wear a hat. . . " I just love it when the breeze blows through my hair!" she would explain.
Soon she realized
that bobbed locks need frequent attention, and she became a regular customer at the Crescent. Nelly was the staff
hair-dresser who kept Doris head in good trim!
Cut and arranged in a fluffy style, the bronze elements in her
hair seemed to be more pronounced than the brown, thus giving a piquant air to her personality that was more tha[n]
nordinarily attractive.
Nelly was quite proud of her pretty patron.
"Who's your girl friend?" asked
another operative after Doris had left the shop on the evening of her first visit.
"Isn't she cute?" murmured
Nelly. "Her hair has never been bobbed before." "She'll be a steady customer of yours now! You get all the breaks!" the
other retorted, complaining: "Why didn't they turn her over to me? . . . You catch all the good-looking ones, but I get
the hens and crows!"
Nelly laughed complacently, and dis- appeared into her booth.
Doris insisted upon
trying many dif- ferent ways of fixing her new bob, criti- cally seeking to find out if there was a mere becoming type.
... It was Nelly who advised her to adopt the bushy fluffi- ness in back, exposing all of her creamy white forehead and
tiny ears.
Her boy friends raved about it. . . . The girls in the office were jealous, even the one who
suggested it would be "real swell"... All of which was a sure sign that it was alluringly fetching!
Doris was on
time for her four o'clock appointment. When she minced down the aisle of the beauty shop, several pairs of eyes trailed
her until she vanished behind the curtains of Nelly's booth.
Whisking off her dress, she sat down clad only in a
sheer silk chemise that was simply the whipped cream on the cake of her glowing young charms.
"You've got to do
better than your best this afternoon!" she warned Nelly, smil- ing. "I'm stepping out tonight!"
"He's a lucky
boy, whoaver he is!" looking young man in New York. . . . Mmmmm!" Doris sighed.
"That takes in a lot of
territory!" said Nelly. "New York is a big city."
"And you're going to say there are a lot of young men in this
town," retorted Doris. "I know! But this one is different, if you know what I mean."
"What makes him so
different?"
Nelly liked intimate conversations with her customers on topics that dealt with the emotional side
of human nature.
"Oh, you want details!" laughed
Doris. "You'll have to use your imagination. . . . It's a hard thing to describe, but he just makes me feel different when
I'm with him, that's all."
"Goose flesh all over?"
"More than that! . . . Say, did you ever have a
pins-and-needles cramp?"
"Lots of times!"
Nely smiled and went on with her work. During the shampoo,
Doris said little. It was after her hair had dried, and the waving operation was about to start, that she
remarked:
"I'm going to wear an evening gown to- night . . . How do you think I'll look?"
"You can
wear one!" said Nelly. "You've got the skin and the figure! You'll look lovely."
"Wilbur likes me in
it!"
"That's the 'best looking young man,' I suppose?"
"Of course!" Doris murmured. Inno- cently, she
pulled down the front of her chemise and put her finger on an in- finitesimal spot, almost invisible, on her chest. "What
is this, Nelly? ... I no- ticed it this morning when I was dress- ing."
In the course of Nelly's investigation,
she pulled the chemise considerably lower than was necessary. ... A generous por- tion of Doris's firm young breasts came
into view.
"Oh, it's only a little blackhead!" said Nelly, testing it with a fingertip. "I can fix that in no
time."
Suiting the action to the word, the blackhead vanished under Nelly's skilled manipulation of a loop-holed
instrument Then she suggested:
"Let me see if you've got any more." Arms and shoulders and neck were ex- amined
minutely, but there was nothing to mar the satin sheen of flesh.
"Any on your back?" Nelly continued the
examination. "Better be careful, be- cause evening gowns have hardly any back to them these days."
The chemise
interfered with the thor- oughness of the inspection, so Nelly push- ed the shoulder straps. Down went the garment around
Doris's waist.
"You've got the loveliest skin!" Nelly must have thought that the gown was going to be a very
daring model, because her hunt for the blackheads, which she failed to find, went far afield! Finally, she faced
Doris:
"There! You can wear janything, or nothing, now! Your skin is perfect." Her eyes swept the gracefully
rounded con- tours. . . . Youth was expressed in every line and curve. . . . Breasts that were as perfect as the skin that
formed a natural brassiere, topped with cherry-red nipples, stood out boldly.
"You're a sweet little thing!" whis- pered Nelly. "You ought
to take good care of yourself. . . . Not many girls are blessed with a shape like yours!"
Doris laughed. "It is
cute, isn't it?" The chemise still lay bunched about her waist.
"I hope I never get fat!!" Doris con- tinued.
"I'd hate it, except that I'd like to fill out a bit here." Her hands went up to her breasts, fondling the delicate
roundness.
"What an idea!" said Nelly. "It's funny about people! Here you are, want- ing to develop a big bust,
and here I am trying to reduce mine."
Doris glanced at her. The long whitecoat successfully hid Nelly's
figure.
"Are you big there?"
"I'll say I am!"
"How big?"
"Plenty!" declared Nelly. "I have to buy over-sized brassieres. I
was always full-breasted, even when I was a kid."
"Oh, let me see!" exclaimed Doris, im-
pulsively.
Nelly obligingly opened her coat. . . .
Securely imprisoned within the confines of a mesh
bandeau, with ridges of flesh escaping from the sides and top, her bosom strained impatiently.
"Mmmmm!" murmured
Doris. "You are big, aren't you?"
In the deep valley betwen those bulg- ing mountains there were several dim-
ples, and through the lace mesh darkly red shadows could be seen, surrounding each pointed tip.
"You haven't
seen anything yet!" com- mented Nelly. A flip of her finger un-
hooked the brassiere. Instantaneously, Doris saw the most
voluptuous develop- ment that she had yet observed.
"They're marvelous, Nelly!"
Stretching out a hand,
she touched each breast, gingerly at first, then more inter- estedly.
"Why in the world do you want to re-
duce?"
"Oh, I don't know! Too much of a good thing is sometimes not so good."
"The boys love them that
way, don't they?"
"Do they?" asked Nelly, laughing. "What do you know about the boys?"
"I know that
much, anyway!" Doris whispered.
Nelly let the front of her coat flap loosely as she resumed the hair waving job.
She didn't bother to readjust her brassiere, nor did she stop to re-button.
"What lotion do you use on your
skin?" she asked.
"Oh, you should use something to keep it soft and pliable!"
"What, for
instance?"
"We have a lotion that's wonderful. I'll show it to you after I'm through with your hair. It keeps
your skin just like satin."
"I'd like to try it."
"And you should have a body massage once in a while.
Tones up the sinews and the muscles and makes the flesh springy and lively. Did you ever have one?"
"I've had a
facial massage!" said Doris.
"I mean a body massage."
"All over?" Doris stressed the question
incredulously.
"Sure!" replied Nelly.
"It must be funny. Do you give them,
too?"
"Certainly."
"Does it make a person feel good?"
"It does!" echoed Nelly. "I'll tell
you what I'll do. You are going out for a grand evening with the 'best looking' young man in New York. You want to look
and feel your best. I'll give you a massage and fix you up with the lotion 'neverything!"
"No, you won't!"
declared Doris. "Do you expect me to spend my week's pay in here this afternoon?"
"Who said anything about the
cost?"
"Well, how much?"
"We'll come to that later, beautiful!
I'd be willing to give you a
massage for nothing if I owned this shop."
"But you don't own it!" laughed Doris.
Nelly leaned over
her, whispering con- fidentially: "That's very true, but who knows what goes on inside my booth?
Nobody!"
It was nearly seven o'clock before Doris turned the key in her
apartment door. In the interim she had been subjected to the most bewildering variety of beauty treatments! She hadn't
dreamed that such things were possible!
Undressing quickly, she paraded before her mirror, excessively proud of
her ap- pearance. Her skin glistened pinkly, and the fragrance of her impregnated the at- mosphere.
It was while
she was admiring herselt that Margie Snow,her girl friend, with whom she now shared the apartment, burst in.
"I
thought you had a date?"
"You bet I have, and an important one, too!"
"It's getting
late."
"This is a society dance, darling, and Wilbur isn't calling for me until 9 o'clock."
"Oh,
pardon me!" said Margie, haugh-
tily, peeling off
her coat and hat. "Is he taking you to dinner?"
"No! I had a bite to eat before I came in."
"And where
were you all afternoon?"
"Dolling up at the beauty parlor!"
you're getting so that you spend most of
your time, and I suppose most of your money, in that place.'
Doris laughed.
"I may spend some time
there, but it doesn't cost me much.
Magie sniffed sarcastically as she took off her dress and reached in the
closet for a negligee. A pink silk combination did not even pretend to conceal the duskiness of her brunette charms,
full-fledged and luxuriant.
"Frank Samson is
blowing me to a show, and he says he knows of a new speakeasy with the duckiest dance floor and the best liquor in the
city." Margie had tossed the negligee on the bed, and was now stepping out of her combina- tion.
Doris, drawing
on a stocking, glanced at her.
"You should have had what I had this afternoon,
girlie."
"What?"
"A massagg ... all over!"
Margie sniffed again. "And somebody poured a
bottle of perfume over you, too, my nose tells me!"
"Not a whole bottle!" Doris said, teas-
ingly.
"Who massaged you?"
"Nelly . . . she's a wonder!"
"You telling me?" smiled Margie
enig- matically, disappearing into the bath- room.
"To hear you talk, you'd think a mas- sage was one of your
daily habits!" Doris called after her. "You've never had one!"
"No-o-o-o-?" sung out Margie, turning on the
shower. "Tell me, dearie ... did she find any blackheads?"
Doris paused in the act of putting on a pair of silk
panties.
"How do you know about that?"
Margie's laughter was heard above the sound of rushing
water.
"That's her favorite pastime! . . . Hunt- ing for blackheads!"
Wilbur Gray rang the bell
promptly at nine o'clock.
Doris was ready, and his neart was not to be blamed for pumping his blood heat- edly
through his veins when she pranced into the living room and greeted him.
"You're more gorgeous every time I see
you!"
"Thanks. Do you really like this eve- ning gown?" Doris turned arid pirouetted before him. The bodice was
simply strips of velvet diminishing in width until they became very narrow straps over each shoulder. The schism between
her pretty breasts, clearly defined, caused them to stand out even more prominently.
In back, there was a
sweeping vista of bare skin down to the flowing hip line. The gown was such that a'brassiere could not be worn with it,
and the consequences were obvious when the eye took in the ensemble!
"It's swell!" said
Wilbur.
Swathed in a fur coat, Doris seated her- self beside him in his roadster, and soon they shot across the
bridge, threading their way through traffic, until they set- tled down for an easy loping ride along
the winding Long Island roads.
Wilbur had a flask, and there
were sev- eral convenient pauses in quiet country lanes. After the third attack on the flask, he put an arm about her
shoulder. His fingers barely touched her neck.
"Oooooooo!" Doris exclaimed. "Your hand is cold. Here, get
yourself warm!"
She made a slight opening in the front of her fur coat, through which he slid his
hand.
It was surprising how warm it became in the twinkling of an eye! But it was surprising that his fingers
began to move in a surreptitious arc.
Doris felt the creeping sensation, and when his hand discovered the
swelling
breast for which he was searching amid the vast area of fur,
she murmured:
"Now, Wilbur! Be a good boy! I only suggested that you get your hand warm!" "Thanks for the
suggestion!" he whis- pered, gently toying with the softness that lay beneath his palm.
"This other hand is
cold, too!" The re- mark brought a smile to Doris's red lips. She looked at him thrillingly.
"May I warm
it?"
"Well, I don't want you to suffer from frozen fingers!" she said. "Then you couldn't drive."
The
implied consent was sufficient for Wilbur. In a second or two his arms vanished from sight amongst the fur. Doris snuggled
closer.
"Give me a little kiss!" he breathed.
"We're going to a dance, aren't we? Or is this going to
be a petting party?"
His hand was coursing up and down her back in a way that sent repeated thrills chasing each
other in rapid succession. Another hand was wandering in another direction that was capable of distributing a greater
variety of thrills!
"We'd better be going, Wilbur. We'll be late."
"Oh, let's stay a little while. How
about that kiss?"
"Only one . . . that's all."
But the moist parting of her lips pro-
longed it to an extent that made it many kisses rolled into one.
Doris's heart beat in a furious flutter, and her response was soulful!
When their lips melted apart, she sigh-
ed in bliss.
"I'm mad about you!" declared Wilbur. "And I've got an idea! Let's pass up the dance and
elope!"
As their mouths met and clung tenu- ously once more, she whispered: "Where's the nearest minister,
darling."
Toward dawn, in a tiny hotel in another state where marriages can be consum- mated without
interminable license de- lays, the newly-weds basked in the moon- beams that were peeping through the window of their
room.
"Your skin is glorious, sweetheart!" Wilbur's lips were avidly travelling, on and on, over a rapidly
expanding terri- tory.
Doris closed her eyes and sighed, twist- ing her bare arms about him in heavenly
rapture.
"And I think the perfume in your ato- mizer must be expensive! I like it."
Laughing happily,
Doris thought of Nelly and her ministrations that after- noon.
"Kiss me, darling boy!" she gloated. "Kiss me and
make it last f-o-r-e-v-e-r!"
WHOOPEE IN SUITE 16
Bellhop: "Mrs. Newlywed, PLEASE put your phone on the
hook.
A switchboard dame who was listening-in just bit three
George Taylor put his watch back in his pocket and filled his lungs with the keen night air. He He was
standing on a small ledge, railed in like a miniature porch, that jutted out from the side of the house. A tortuous,
winding street, typical of the older part of Paris, lay below him.
Inside the dwelling, behind the curtain- ed
windows and drawn shades, sounds of revelry cut into the stillness and came floating to his ears.
"Speaking of
wild parties!" George mused, lighting a cigarette. "This one certainly reminds me of a tornado back home!"
He
had arrived in Paris only a few days before, after winning a scholarship which entitled him to a year's post-graduate
work
in the science of medicine. He had taken rooms
in a pension in the Latin quartier of the city, and had scarcely unpacked his belongings when he receive the invitation to
the soiree that he had forsaken for a moment's breathing spell in the fresh air.
"Phew!" he whistled, blinking
his eyes.
Leaning against the rail, his brain be- gan to rid itself of the surcharge of wine and cocktail fumes
that were making him feel woozy and befuddled, eo he decided to stay out there in the air a little longer. But he had no
sooner reached this deci- sion than he heard a feminine voice di- rectly behind him:
"Ah, monsieur, I have been
looking all over the place for you! Isn't the party enjoyable?"
He turned to look into the dancing eyes of a
titian-haired charmer who was his hostess.
"For no particular reason!" he prevari- cated. "The window was open and I came
out for the view!"
"It is worth while!" she murmured, shutting the casement that extended from floor to ceiling.
As she did so, George saw the white surface of a bare back that the decolletage of her gown uncovered to the bend of her
hips, and when she swung around to face him he was confronted by a similar expanse of pale skin except for peaked strips
of velvet that cupped the softness of her breasts.
"Has monsieur a cigarette for me?" asked Lucette Cailleaux,
her crimson poppy mouth opening in a flushed smile. A short upper lip, shaped like the lower so easily!
George
had been admiring Lucette all evening. He had danced with her once or twice, but she was such a popular part- ner that he
was crowded out too fre- quently!
A pungent perfume mingled with the crispness of the air as she swayed forward
to accept the flame of a match for the cigarette that she placed beween her lips and George was agreeably disturbed by the
pressure of a warm thigh just above his knee.
Isn't it a bit chilly for you without a cloak?" he
asked.
Mischievously, she blew a puff of smoke directly into his face, and laughed. "Mon- sieur will keep me
from freezing, no c'est pas?"
A soft arm was creeping about his neck! George glanced at the casement window. He
hadn't been in Paris long enough to stop worrying about jealous husbands! Suppose that window should be pushed suddenly,
and an irate torrent of Gallic malediction commence to pour down on his head!
"Where is Francois?" he
queried.
Lucette laughed again. "Fear not, mon- sieur, that we will suffer any interruption! Francois, at this
minute, is thoroughly oc- cupied and interested, tres beaucoup, with a blonde, and a brunette who are sitting in his fat
lap trying to curl three hairs on the top of his bald head!"
Her mouth was almost touching George's lips. Her
breath was very sweet and hot, impregnated with the odeurs of wine, per- fume and smoke! He found it not at all
displeasing.
Reassured that Francois was not likely to burst upon them with uxorial wrath, George let his hands
play up and down the smoothness of her back. She pressed closer.
"Kiss me, mon George!" Her fingers seized his
face and drew him as she tip-
toed the better to
take complete posses- sion of his lips, and he glimpsed more than the curling tip of a lively tongue, avidly
expectant!
It seemed to be minutes later when she slowly released his face and gasped: "De- licious,
monsieur!"
George's mind was in a whirl. He took a deep breath:
"Tell me, madame, is that what is
called a French kiss?"
Lucette smiled and tilted her head co- quettishly. "Isn't a kiss the same honeyed meeting
of the lips the world over?"
George looked daringly into her eyes. "Yes and no!"
"Don't people kiss
that way in Amer- ica?" She seemed very much surprised.
"Sometimes!" said George. "It depends upon who is
kissing and who is being kissed . . . you understand!"
"Oui, oui! But it should be a meeting of souls as well as
lips, monsieur, other- wise there is no meaning to a kiss!" One shadowy eyebrow slanted upward, and she shrugged her
shoulders.
"Yes, yes, of course!" he agreed.
Her arms were still coiled around his neck. He was
sitting sideways on the rail- ing, one leg dangling free. The exotic heat of her enveloped him like a misty fragrant
cloud, and, as she talked, he felt her move sinously nearer.
"A kiss should be tasted, ne c'est pas, like one
toastes wine upon the tongue!" she continued, in a low mumur.
"Certainly!" assented George. His hands were
wandering over her now. He had completely forgotten the possibility that Francois might appear on the scene, and Francois
might appear with the softness of the contours, yielding so delightfully be neath his fingers. Her breasts were small in
comparison with the fullness of her hefty hips, curving in and out most in- triguingly!
Lucette's lip[s] were
moistly demonstrat- ing what was her clinging conception of a tasty kiss, as she slowly insinuated her- helf against him
until every line and curve fitted perfectly!
George's enthusiasm was growing apace. His blood, already heated
with the wine that he had consumed, now was racing like molten lava in his veins under the exhil- arating spell of her
kiss.
"Mmmmmm! Monsieur!" she moaned Her lips tore away from his, only to plunge into his mouth once more with
greater avidity than ever! George felt his knees giving way, wobbly under the ecstatic strain!
Suddenly she
wilted limply in his arms and would have fallen, had he not held her so tightly, so possessively!
And at that very instant, the
excited voice of Francois could be heard: "Lucette! Lucette!" he called. .
She squirmed away. "I must go, mon-
sieur!" Her eyes were aswim with emo- tion. "Lover!" she whispered, planting a swift, impulsive kiss on his lips before
she vanished through the casement window!
George was panting. He wished that there was a comfortable chair out
there on the ledge, so that he could sit down to recover his equilibrium!
"What a girl!" he muttered, holding a
light to his cigarette. It was his first amor- ous experience in Paris, and he marveled at the passionate impetuosity that
had overwhelmed him.
"I need a cocktail!" he said, but he hadn't taken a step toward the window when it opened,
and willowy brunette charms embodied in the person of a lovely femme staggered out and almost collided with him. A glass
was in her hand, and some of its contents spilled.
"Oh, monsieur . . . pardonnez-moi!'
She laughed
gaily, adding: "I did not know that anybody was out here!" George was glad that she hadn't thought of taking their hectic
rendezvous a few minutes ago! And he grinned as he won- dered what the brunette would have done if she had stumbled upon
the fiery tab- leau.
"I was just going in for a cocktail!" he said.
"Here, monsieur, please take
mine!" she offered. "It seems as though I have had far too many already!"
"Oh, no, no!" he demurred. "Go ahead
and drink it! I'll run in and get another." She blocked his passage, smiling, "Please, monsieur! Take this one! See! I
shall sweeten it for you." She touched the rim of the glass with her bloodred lips and the sharp point of a snaky tongue
dipped itself into the liquid.
Then, swiftly circling his neck with her arm, she held it to his mouth at exactly
the spot where the sweetening process had taken place!
George drank thirstily. "Thanks!" he
murmured.
"It was a drop of honey, monsieur," She whispered. And there is an ocean of it where that came
from"Her parted lips moved about the edges of his, nibbling, biting, moisture-laden, hot.
George's arm about her
waist encom- passed a slimness tha!t seemed as if it might be brittle if it were not so resili- ent, but his hand, upward
bound, met a breast that was amazingly full-fleshed! Then, slipping downward, his fingers found hips that were boyishly
small!
The party sounded very, very far away to George as he gave himself up whole-
heartedly to the thrill of her kiss and the exploring of her
beauties, which were a study in contrasts!
At last, she let her lips dissolve. Ahh! she sighed. It was the most
luscious kiss I've had tonight!' A fingertip stroked his cheek.
"Monsieur would like another cocktail,
perhaps?"
"I'd like another kiss!"
"Oh, but you are greedy!"
"No! Thirsty!"
She
pinched his nose playfully. Mon- sieur shall have both kiss and cocktail, and as many of each as you desire! A million,
billion, trillion!"
George was fascinated by her colorful personality!
"You will wait here?" she
murmured, approaching the window. "I will bring the glasses! Cocktails before kisses!" Non?
Left alone once
again, George chuckled. "I guess that's why they call this town gay Paree." He hadn't taken three puffs of his cigarette
before the brunette re- appeared, a glass in each hand. She sipped one, darting a tonguetip in it, her eyes
sparkling!
"That's mine!" he declared, reaching for it.
'Monsieur likes honeydew, I see!" She sidled
up to him, offering her mouth. Whether the kisses tasted better with the cocktail or the cocktail tasted better with
kisses, George couldn't make up his mind, but there was a tempestuous merger of lips before and after each sip, and when
the glasses were empty she began to teach him variations in the tricky art of oscu- lation!
In the midst of a
particularly long and especially succulent kiss, she trembled like a reed in his arms!"
"What's your name?" he
asked, a mo- ment later, soothingly.
"Sophie, monsieur!" she answered sigh- ing. "I am Sophie La Rue! They call
me the idol of Montmartre! Everybody knows me!"
"No wonder," said George, resuming the kiss.
It was
progressing steadily toward an- other crescendo of fiery flares when they heard someone fumbling with the latch on the
window, and a shrill voice said:
"Diable!"
Sophie smiled, because she had slipped the catch that
locked the casement when she came back with the cocktails!
"It is Sara, mon ami! She has such a temper that she
will break down the win- dow if it does not open. I! had better see what she wants."
Disengaging herself from
the interlac- ing hetwork of George's muscular arms,
Sophie unlatched the casement and let it swing wide. A girl
with a blazing bush of the reddest hair that he had ever seen peering out into the dimness of the little
balcony.
At the sight of Sophie, she said excited- ly: 'Ah—ha, so there you are, ma bebe." "Mais oui!" I am
here!" replied Sophie calmly. "What of it?"
"Our host, Francois, is beside himself, searching for you from
cellar to garret!" continued Sara. "He swears that you promised to dance with him, and the pros- pect seems to have gone
to his head with all the wine he has swilled!" She laughed and waved a hand. "Go to him, dearie, and comfort him before he
is completely insane!"
Sleeky tigerish eyes were focused upon George as Sara rambled on. They were heavy-lidded
eyes, glinting feverishly, and egg-white of her complexion.
"If monsieur will excuse me—"Sophie was saying. "I
did make a promise to Francois that I should keep. Au revoir!" She stepped inside as Sara stepped out on the
ledge.
"Bon soir, monsieur!" said Sara, smil- ing at George. "Or perhaps I should really say bon matin! Look!
The dawn is break- ing."
That's right!" said
he.
"Oh, it is cold, ne c'est pas?" A shiver rippled through her. "Let us go in, mon homme! Would you care to
dance with me?"
"I was just about to propose the same thing!" he countered with an interested
grin.
The balcony gave directly on to a nar- row piazza, and beyond it was the draw- ingroom, where several
couples were drift- ing about in a pretense of dancing, but paying more heed to each other than to the music. Sophie was
there, hugged by Francois.
On chairs and settees, more couples draped themselves in
lesser or greater de- gree of wanton abandonment in accord- ance with the stage of satiety of their amorous
inclinations.
George paused in the doorway with Sara. Amusement showed on his face as he glanced about the room.
Everywhere he looked there was a piquant exhibition! Two white arms around a manly collar, all else invisible except a
silken kneecap. A gleaming thigh clasped by a flowered garter! Two faces welded in a soulful kiss! Masculine fingers
frantically trying to solve the mysteries of a brassiere! Lace- fringed panties and other lingerie of all the colors of
the rainbow! And a be- wildering variety of sizes and shapes in breasts that were pointed pinkly, redly or
darkly!
He heard Sara laugh and looked into her slinky eyes.
"Monsieur might prefer a cozy corner
instead of a dance!' she purred, lopping her arm with his. 'There is a settee just big enough for two non?"
She
pointed to the end of the piazza. Almost hidden in the shadows he saw the little couch, invitingly vacant.
"I'm
glad you suggested it!" he said, sitting beside her.
"Oh, you should not be bashful or back- ward, mon ami!"
Sara's lily-white hand seemed to be counting the buttons on his vest. "We are friends, ne c'est pas?"
"I hope
so!" murmured George inanely, dropping his eyes to the swelling mounds so frankly disclosed by the brevity of her corsage.
An individualistic perfume, heav- ily spiced by musk, emanated from her with the allure of the orient in its
odeur.
She leaned back against a large cushion on one side of the settee. One hand still flited nervously about
him, the other was resting like a lily-white bird on his shoulder. v
"Monsieur didn't feel the chill on the
balcony?"
"No!"
Sara's lips were perpetually open, whether or not she was talking, laughing or silent,
and George was thrilled by her habit of constantly poking a salmon-tinted tonguetip between the edges of her pearly teeth.
It was as characteristic a gesture as her musk-laden perfume!
"It is never cold when Sophie is near!" she
commented, smiling. "Her kiss is a living furnace, monsieur, oui?"
George felt a bit embarrassed. He had always
felt that it wasn't gentlemanly to kiss and tell," so he simply said:
"Is it?"
Sara laughed lightly.
"You are a diplo- mat, mon ami! But you wouldn't be di-
vulging any secrets to admit that you en- joyed the kiss of Sophie! She herself would boast of another
conquest!"
"It is her privilege!' said George. "But let us talk about you, mam'selle! Your hair is very
pretty."
Her fingers had slid along his shoulder and were now toying with the lobe of his ear.
"You
like red hair, monsieur?"
"It is strikingly attractive!"
Sara looked pleased. "It has always been as
you see it now! I was red-haired baby!"
George thought that she still was!
"Is that a dimple?" he
asked, placing a hesitant hand near the bend of her elbow.
"Mais out! And here is another!" She lifted the other
elbow. "There are many more, aussi!"
"Where?" he pursued, courageously.
"For instance ..." she
whispered, pull- ing down the front of her gown ever so slightly. In the valley between her breasts, George saw a perfect
dimpled recess, but his eyes did not overlook the red carnation buds on the adjacent hill tops!
He bent his head
to kiss the dimple, distended and crystal hard! It was as and then his lips travelled to first one and then the twin bud,
both becoming
though he had dipped his face in a bowl of
perfume!
Sara drew in a hissing breath through clenched teeth, ending in a gasp that ex- pressed her joyous
reaction to his caress.
"Oh! Monsieur! I should faint if you did that again!"
George put it to the
test. Sara didn't faint but her hissing sigh and the grind- ing of little teeth together were even more eloquent than if
she had lost conscious- ness. And finally, a muffled scream of sheer delight caused him to look up quickly.
Sara
had thrown her curly red head back on the pillow, eyes shut tightly, lips thrillingly a-quiver. The hollow at the base of
her throbbing throat might have been an exaggerated dimple, and George's kiss found it sweetly warm! It was an easy
matter, then, for him to claim her mouth! And in the rhapsody of her de-
lirious response, there was nothing want- ing!
In the momentary lull that
sometimes occurrs between stormy guests, George heard her whisper.
"There are as many dimples, cheri, still to
be discovered!"
"I'll kiss each one," he replied, "if you will show them to me."
Sara laughed
enticingly. "Wouldn't it be ever so much more fun if you searched for them yourself? Seek, monsieur, and you will be sure
to find!"
George played the game of hide-and-seek with a thoroughness that was its own rich reward!
It
was broad daylight when George climbed the s[t]airs of his pension, rattled the key in the apartment lock, and, un-
dressing quickly, crawled wearily into bed, murmuring:
"Seven o'clock and all's well, so far."
"Move over closer to me, sweetie."
"Didn't I tell you I was a lady?"
"I don't care what you
were."
Ever hear the one about
the man who married a Scotch wife because he knew she'd never give him a piece of her mind?
He: "Let's play posto....ce."
She: "Oh,
that's such a childish game.
He: "Not the way I play it."
"Well, well, where in the world did you get so many brothers and
sisters?"
"Oh, Papa told me a stork left them all on the doorstep."
"You tell Papa he'd better
watch his step."
"Style was what
made Oscar Wilde."
"Yes, and Thornton Wilder."
"CHOCK FULL O' NUTS"
Does not necessarily refer to a candy- it might mean an
asylum.
They MET She SPOKE He REFUSED She
WONDERED "Not my TYPE." said he "Too BOLD FACE;"— "Not MY type," said she, "You're a small PICA."
IT ALL DEPENDS ON YOU"
If
two keep company, whether there'll be a crowd. Little Willie from his mirror Licked the mercury all off, Thinking in
his childish error It would cure his whooping cough; At his funeral Willie's mother Smartly said to Mrs. Brown: "
'Twas a chilly day for William When the mercury went down!
Florette smiled grimly—the
scene had been to her liking.
By OSCER RUE
It was the night before the Carnival, Moulin du Diable were whooping it up,
celebrating the occasion in their own ex- clusive fashion. They danced, cavorted and played like school children on a pic-
nic, and the walls of the Moulin echoed back their shrieks of laughter.
But even more than the hilarious
guests,
Florette Carvel, lovely proprietress of the
establishment, celebrated. Satisfied pa- trons meant increased business, and in- creased business meant a substantial bank
account. Oh, it was good, she reflected, to feel independent, to know that one's exist- ence did not depend upon the
generosity of others!
Her glance rested upon a party of six that occupied a ringside
table. Headed by the Parisian artist of note, Monsieu Rene Volland, the sextette were literally rais- ing the roof. Their
voices sounded clearly over the hubbub of countless other voices and their dances were wilder, and more impassioned. They
had ordered lavishly everything on the menu, from capons and anchovies to roast duck and caviar; and demanded that they be
served the rarest liqueurs from the cellars of the Moulin What a magnificent time they were hav- ing—and what a
magnificent bill they were running up!
She smiled in satisfaction as four of the party arose from their chairs
and stag- gered to the check-room for their cloaks, leaving only Rene Volland, who was ap- parently too drunk to notice
their de- parture and a short, fiery brunette, at the table.
Plorette's eyes narrowed, and a flicker of hatred
shone from them as she con- sidered the remaining pair. The minutes ticked away slowly.
Finally, without a word
of farewell the brunette slipped away from the now sod- den Parisian, and the door of the Moulin closed behind her
retreating figure. Rene Volland, was very much alone. His head slumped forward on his chest, and he
slept.
Florette smiled grimly. The scene had been set to her liking, and the final act of the play would provide
her with the thrill that comes once in a lifetime!
Four o'clock. The Master of Ceremonies had made his little
bedtime speech, and the waiters were in the act of assisting inebriated patrons to their limousines. Rene Volland
slumbered on.
He awakened to the touch of a feminine hand on his shoulder and lifted tired
eyes.
"Misericorde! Cannot a man sleep—?" He hesitated sharply and strove to steady himself long enough to solve
the identity of the woman who had roused him: "What do you want?"
Florette maintained a severe counten- ance.
"It is the time of closing, monsieur," she said. "I am sorry."
He nodded dizzily. "Certainement; you want me to
go, I presume?"
"Yes." She tendered him the check. "Your indebtedness amounts to two hun- dred and forty-six
dollars and eighty-nine cents, monsieur."
The announcement sobered him. "Two hundred —?"
"Yes,
monsieur. Your party ordered quite lavishly, as the numerous empty champagne bottles should convince you."
"But
it was not my party!" he protested. "I came as an invited guest!"
Florette's lips narrowed to a thin line. "Regardless of whose party it was, I am
legally entitled to hold you responsible for the bill," she said. "I will therefore be pleased to accept a personal
check."
"Useless." He shrugged his shouders. "I have no money. The collapse of Fer- rando Mills stock has
reduced me to ab- solute penury."
Florette thought for a moment before she replied. "Ordinarily, in such cases,
I have recourse to the police," she ad- vised, gloating over his evident perturba- tion, "but in this Instance, I will be
more generous. You are Monsieur Rene Vol- land, and I admire your work; I am Mademoiselle Carvel, proprietress of the
Moulin. We shall bargain; Paint my por- trait tomorrow, and I shall be pleased to issue you a receipt — in
full."
"Mademoiselle is very kind." Rene iTfted himself to his feet. "You may come to my studio tomorrow
-"
Florette signalled to two of the waiters who had remained in the background dur- ing the enactment of the
scene. "You will stay here, Monsieur Valland," she said quietly. "These two gentlemen will es- cort you to the room which
you shall occupy for the remainder of the night. Kindly provide them with the keys of your studio, so that they may go at
once and procure your palette, easel, and what- ever accessories you may require, as I shall report to you tomorrow
morning at nine. I will expect my full-length portrait to be finished by six in the evening."
"But,
mademoiselle!" He stared at her in amazement. "That will be impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible to a determined
woman," she gave back, viciously. "I shall not exact of you a masterpiece, but only a simple sketch which will bear your
signature. Good night, monsieur."
"Good night, mademoiselle."
And with a little cry of helplessness,
he fell back into the waiting arms of his escort.
Rene was awakened at eight on the following morning, put
through a series of invigorating treatments by a masseur par excellence, and served with an ex- cellent breakfast. For the
first time in his life, he felt almost physically fit after a night of dissipation, and he looked for- ward to the
adventures of the day with a newborn sense of anticipation. Mademoi- selle Carvel was a strange creature, but a devilishly
thorough one! Imagine her insisting on a picture done in less than eight hours!
He set up his easel in the most
desirable spot, and prepared his paints. It would be interesting, this attempt to portray on canvas the lovely features of
his hostess!
There was something about her that ap- pealed to him;
something that called out for recognition, for -
The sudden opening of the door startled him, and he turned to
consider the in- trudef. Mademoiselle Carvel stood upon the threshold, a pleasant smile transfigur- ing her lovely
features. Her long black hair rolled down her shoulders in waves of jet that scintillated in the reflected sun- light from
the window, lending a bizarre
contrast to the mandarin robe of bright- est orange which draped her
body.
"Good morning," she gre[e]ted him. "You are ready?"
"Good morning." He bowed slightly. "All is
in preparation. Will you kindly be seated here?"
She moved to the chair which he had designated as an improvised
dais, then, without hesitating a moment, she slipped
fell to the floor in a heap at her feet, revealing in every detail the unbelievable loveliness of her creamy body.
Only a filmy wisp of silken veil remained to con- ceal her magnificent proportions.
Rene gasped in amazement.
"You wish me to—to paint you like that, mademoi- selle?" he cried, scarcely conscious that he spoke.
She smiled
at his discomfiture. "Why otherwise should I remove the greater part the gown from about her shoulders. It of my clothing,
monsieur? Am I so proud of my shapeless body that I should exhib- it it with impunity?"
"No, no!" he said,
pencil in hand. "You are superb, mademoiselle! Never before have I seen such perfection, in the femi- nine form; never
-"
"That will be quite sufficient," she in- terrupted. "You will kindly work in sil-
ence."
Her cruel retort cut him to the quick, and squaring his jaw,
he commenced to sketch. Her sang-froid had completely un- nerved him.
For two hours he labored without a
minute's respite; he sketched the outlines of her form, filled in those details which he considered of paramount
importance, and shaded other details with that almost uncanny ability that had made him fa- mous.
Quite often,
he had been obliged to cau- tion her as to the importance of remaining immobile, but while he inwardly sym- pathized with
her for the strain under which she labored to comply with his re- quest, he did not comment on it. He feared the reply
which he felt certain she would deliver.
She groaned slightly, and an uplifted arm dropped slowly to her side.
Her eyes closed.
Rene considered her sharply. "Made- moiselle -" he started, but the pallor of her features cut
him short. Florette had fainted.
Hurrying forward, he lifted her into his arms and deposited her on the long
couch beneath the window. Then, with a cadmness that surprised him, he moisten- ed a handkerchief in the bowl of flowers
on the table and spread it over her fea- tures.
She stirred just a little, and her eye- lids
fluttered.
"Mademoiselle!" He leaned over and placed an arm beneath her head. "You are feeling
better?"
She nodded, and her eyes opened. "In- finitely better, but, oh, so tired!"
"That is to be
expected," he explained. "You have undergone a frightful strain."
"It does not matter." Her gaze centered on
him. "Alcide, my dearest, I—I cannot go through with it! I loved you so!"
He fell back before the awful portent
of her words. "Then you know my name?" he whispered, anxiously.
"Know your name?" Her lips parted in a glowing
smile. "Alcide, have I ever known the name of another since you—?"
"Florette!" Sudden recognition had made all
things clear in a blinding flash. "Florette Carmouche! Then ,you—you have forgiven?"
"I have forgiven, Alcide,
because I love you too much to refuse you even that!" She moved closer to him. "Love me, Al- cide! Kiss me until I can no
longer think the awful thoughts that have haunted me for ten years; bury your head upon my breast and tell me that
you—that you still care!"
"Care!" he repeated. "Florette! I have never ceased to worship your memory, even
-!"
His voice died as his hungry lips fast- ened
themselves upon her hand in a kiss so tender, so full of love, as to drive all thoughts of the past from her mind. The
caress of an adolescent youth, she thought; so pleasantly different from those of the men who had sought her
favors!
"My little sweetheart!" His face could be no closer to hers,
yet she had the feel- ing that he was drawing nearer, ever nearer. Her emotions were further stirred by his proximity; it
had been ten long years since she had enjoyed the strange sensations of actually wanting the arms of a man about her, or
desired kisses that were more than kisses.
Cupping her face between fingers that trembled, he kissed her again,
ardently, delightfully. She did not resist him; her head was in a whirl, and the blood pounded furiously in her ears. Her
eyes closed tightly, in order that she might bet- ter feel his strength, his nearness.
"Florette, ma cherie," he
said softly, "won't you try to understand how utterly, unbelievably precious you have always been to me?" His breathing
became lab- ored, and he crushed her fiercely to him.
"I do understand,"she sighed, her bos- om heaving
spasmodically.
Her confession filled him with happi- ness. "You—you still love me?"
She nodded her
head, and in a wild gesture of abandon, her arms encircled his neck and drew down his lips to hers.
"We must be
dreaming!"
Their lips met again, dug, and melted together.....
It was long past the noon hour when the
enraptured lovers permitted them- selves to return to earth. It had been so delightful, so wonderfully unreal, to linger
in the Seventh Heaven of Reciprocated Affection.
"I—I don't deserve this happiness," Florette whispered,
shattering the sweet
silence that hung between
them. "I have been unworthy of your respect, Alcide. It was I who planned that party last night, and I who engineered the
scheme which resulted in your desertion and conse- quent embarrassment." She paused for a moment, then went on: "I wanted
re- venge, and I wanted to see you suffer! You have no idea what hell life has been during those long ten years since you
left me in Alsace; left me to wait, and to hope, and to trust, until -"
"Until your patience could no longer
bear it!" he finished for her. "But do not blame yourself, cherie. It was my ridicu- lous pride that prevented me from
com- municating with you. Two days after that occasion when I kissed your lips in fare- well, I was placed under arrest on
a false charge and sentenced to five years' impris- onment. After being released four years later, unvindicated, I
returned to Alsace, only to discover that your father had died, and you had gone away. I had al- most for[g]otten your
features, but my love has lived, and will continue to live—al- ways!"
Florette's head slumped to her breast. "I
have been a beast," she sobbed, "a bitter, faithless beast!"
"No, mon coeur," he said, taking her again into his
arms. "You have been only a poor little girl too much in love to en- dure a test which proved too exacting! But come; we
are again together, and to- gether, we will remain -"
"Always, Alcide!" she promised. "Al-
ways!"
Couple: "Five dollars for a marriage? We haven't that [ ... ] much judge."
We haven't that much, Judge."
Justice: "Well, I can give you a trial marriage for two
dollars."
SOON
The bathing girls will be making
their
first
STRIPS
of the
season!
Hub: "Don't buy any of those cheap eggs."
Wife: "Why not,
Ignatz?"
Hub: "I don't like to wear anything but the best on my vest."
HELPLESS HARRY HAS A
BEAUTIFUL GIRL BUT SHE HAS NO CLOTHES AND HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. KEEP HER IN BED SO SHE WON'T CATCH A COLD,
HARRY!