Painted Butterflies

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 986, 31 May 1930, Page 24

Painted Butterflies

Published by Special Arrangement,

8!

Mrs PATRICK MacGILL

Author o» " Dancers in the Dark The Ukeiele Girl.' ' The Flame o! L.fe etc etc

CHAPTER XVI. — (Continued) “Carlos, if they haven't yet arranged tor Greta's double, do you think that ! they would let me do it? It would be ! such a surprise for mother when the i film was shown in London,” said Jen- ; niter, and her smile was that of a;i : eager schoolgirl, as she looked up info the dark, handsome face beside her. “Come into the garden ' for a second. I want to say something to you,’ i was Carlos Mayhew’s reply, and then Jennifer realised that they had been walking faster than she had imagined i toward “Casa del Maura,” which was j the name that Carlos Mayhew had given to his Californian home. The night air was stealing the scent from the Canna lilies, and the wailing cry of a lonely coyote came up to them from the brushwood on the outskirts of the city. They sat down by the fountain, and the marble statue of little Faith shone out whitely in the soft blue dusk. “I think you know what I want to say to you, Jennifer,” almost whispered the beautifully modulated voice that was in such complete harmony with its surroundings.

“Yes,” said Jennifer, her face very white, her blue eyes reflecting her troubled heart. She liked and respected Carlos Mayhew better than any man she had ever known; and the sum of her indebtedness to him for saving them all at the time of James Read’s death could not be estimated in mere words; it was a debt that would last as long as life itself. But —and it was this that turned the young heart to water, and stilled the buoyant pulse —friendship, even the deepest, is ever a beggar’s portion, a mere crumb at the feast of love.

Carlos Mayhew, aching for the feel of his beloved in his arms, contented himself with taking one of Jennifer’s hands in his own, and the fastidious ness that was innate within her admired and appreciated his reticence.

“I loved you from the moment that my madness of that morning died, and I realised your beauty, your pluck, all the fineness of you, your love for your mother —oh, everything,” and, the reins of his self-control failing him at last, Carlos Mayhew drew Jennifer with the circle of his arms and covered the still, beautiful, young face with kisses. “Jennifer, I want you! Faith wants you! We both offer ourselves to you, to make of our lives the lovely thing that only you can make of them,” he pleaded, passionately. The moon, like a great white lamp, shone out suddenly from behind a blue cloud-bank, and splashed a flood of light down upon the marble statue of little Faith, seeming in some strange way to endow the sculptured baby limbs with life, adding a voiceless appeal to that of the man responsible for being. A wave of tenderness engulfed Jennifer, and suddenly she realised the beauty, the sacredness of the respon sibility laid upon the shoulders of these women who are mothers, and of the still greater army of those who, without being mothers, yet essay their duties. It meant stamping oneself on the little mind for the whole of life —like reaching out one’s hands to grasp Eternity. “Well, beloved?” The softly-uttered words were wafted to Jennifer’s ears on the scent of the Canna lilies, and Jennifer was miserably conscious of the fact that her heart was feeling pain that was keener-edged than it needs have been because memory was mingling the scent of Californian lilies with those of English roses —was love always to mean a garden to her she wondered. “You know, little heart of the world, I’ve not been stupid with the money I’ve earned since I’ve been out here.” the eager, pleading voice went on. “I’ve saved all I could without being downright mean, and this bungalow, with the furnishings, is my I own. It would do for a start, Jennifer, and perhaps, later on, we could | afford a house out Beverley Hills | way, if you liked. I only want to please you, beloved.” “I know, Carlos,” Jennifer’s voice, fresh and youthful, yet mild an ageless wisdom as she spoke. “But, you know, dear,” she went on, with a seriousness that held a quaint charm all its own, “out of a hundred women, there are ninety-nine who love men, and one who loves a man, and I am of the latter order.” It was the first time that she had ever mentioned Frank Yardley, even indirectly, and Carlos chivalrously understood her pain, pressing her hand to his lips with a warm ardour that doubled the sincerity of his words. “I know, dear. But I would not ask for the whole loaf; a few crumbs would satisfy me until I could teach you, firstly to forget, and afterward to love. One light always kindles another, you know, sweetheart, and there is no reason that I know of why we should be exceptions to the rest of humanity. We forget because, we must. One cannot live with a memory, however beautiful.” Jennifer’s head admitted what her heart denied, and altogether she felt desperately unhappy, acutely selfreproachful, because she could not feel an emotion that was not in her power to either give or withhold. “Oh. Carlos, I’m so miserable about it,” she said, with tears shining in the eyes that were so brightly blue. “Don’t worry, honey!” Though he used the form of endearment most common in the neighbourhood, Carlos Mayhew made it sound like a little poem. “It is too big a thing to expect you to decide all in a minute like this. Just weigh it up in that dear, clever little think-box of yours, and tell me in a few days,” he told Jennifer, so tenderly and patiently that the tears in her eyes threatened to fall down her cheeks. “I say, were you serious when you

said that you wanted to accompany me on that air stunt?” Carlos was not only changing the subject for the sake of putting Jennifer at her ease; he wanted to know for the definite reason that, in twenty minutes, he was due to confer with the director, camera-man and scenario writer of the film which was to begin on the morrow. “Oh, yes. Are you going to let me, Carlos?” Jennifer was more than happy to shift the talk from love to films, and agreed to go along to the conference to see what could be done. “Oh, sure, if she likes she can do it as well as the next one,” was the director’s careless acceptance of the proposition when it was made to him. after he had glanced at Jennifer and had seen that she was pretty much the same size as the nervous heroine of the drama. “Now, listen carefully, Miss Lome, because I don’t want to have to go over this bit of business tomorrow. You are supposed to be an innocent little country girl—a parson’s daughter —who is eloping with a young airman, who has brought his machine for a flight to the city where they intend to get married. However, there is an accident to the machine, and the complications that follow form the story. Do you follow?” said the director, looking up from his script. “Oh. perfectly,” said Jennifer, brightly, and the rest of the evening was passed in a bustle of the excitement that is the usual atmosphere of the little world within a world known as Movieland. CHAPTER XVII. A thrill pulsed through Jennifer as, ready for her film elopement, she crossed the sweet-scented country garden to the spot where Carlos Mayhew awaited her beside his airplane the “Winged Fury,” lying with its engine still, its giant wings quietly resting on the green sward like a mammoth bird grown suddenly weary. "Not nervous, are you?” he asked, as he helped Jennifer into the machine after so realistic an embrace that the director who was producing called out, “Hold that for a few seconds longer, Carlos! If the rest of the acting comes up to that bit, we’ll make a super of it!” As the beginning was so good, a little more by-play was improvised and photographed before the engine was started, the throttle released, and then, with his hands clasping the joystick, Carlos Mayhew directed the machine skyward, soaring up and up, so rapidly that at first Jennifer was disapiminted, for there was absolutely no sensation—at least, not any more than would be experienced in an ordinary elevator. But she soon found that what she had mistaken for lack of sensation was in reality movement so concentrated that for the time being her sensory nerves had failed to respond. It was when she felt so ill that she imagined death to be staring her in the face, when in point of fact she felt no longer human in the foul grip of airsickness, that Carlos Mayhew directed the nose of his machine earthward, preparatory to making the enforced landing that was part of the film scenario.

Down, down, down, through space with a velocity that was fearful to behold, but much more terrible to experience, dived the “Winged Fury,” and as they dived Jennifer heard Carlos Mayhew’s voice yelling in her ear. “Jump—jump clear; don’t be afraid.” Nerving herself to obedience, though how she did it she never knew, Jennifer jumped, with Carlos Mayhew following. All would certainly have been well, for both accomplished the jump successfully, but the machine in pursuit mis-timed its own descent, and Carlos was caught, pinned under the machine before he could be dragged clear. The deep-throated shout of horror from the male actors rose to the sky and mingled with the shrill screams and squeaks of the feminine portion of the crowd gathered to watch the shooting of the scene. “He is not dead, but it might have been better had he been killed, poor chap,” was the surgeon’s pronouncement, after a brief examination at the hospital to which Carlos was rushed. All work on the film was suspended until a committee of the foremost medical opinion established the terrible fact that Carlos Mayhew, screenland’s latest and one of its most levelheaded and lovable heroes, was finished so • far as his career was concerned. His spine was broken, and though he might live for years—possibly live out the normal span of a man’s life —there was not the slight est hope that he would ever walk again. “Jennifer! Jennifer!” the fevered, unconscious lips moaned in their delirium, and then followed such a tor rent of love words and tender endearments that the doctors had no hesitation in sending for Jennifer and bidding her remain, so that should he regain consciousness hers would be the beloved presence to which lie would awaken. Naturally, in a community which fed largely on its emotions, it was as sumed that there was some under standing betwen Jennifer and the injured man. and thus the centre of sympathy was partly shifted, while the burning topic of conversation in cafe, studio, and dressing room, was: “Will she stick to him or throw him over?” Carlos came to himself in the late afternoon of a glorious spring day, and Jennifer, as usual, was sitting by his side, cool and grave, her young beauty only slightly dimmed, looking, as it happened, at a large cabinet portrait of little Faith that had reached Hollywood via her mother only that morning. His first remark was a strange one. “I was like a man drunk with wine when you kissed me just before we v.-ent up,” he said, not in the feeble tone that might have been expected from him, but in a voice that was firm, clear and entirely self-possessed, the explanation being, of course, that his head was clear, but his body paralj r sed; there was no sensation in the nerve cells and therefore no pain.

Jennifer bent over the bed, and her lips, light, cool, and fresh, brushed his for a second as a moth hovers on a flower.

“I’ll call the nurse, Carlos, uear,' she said, in a voice so sweetly tender that the sick man who fell so well caught at her hand to detain her. say

ing, “Darn the nurse; let her wait What’s up. anyway, Jennifer and how long have I been here? 1 crashed 01 something, didn’t I? I cannot remem her clearly.” The wasted, but still sun browned hand was raised to brush 3 forehead that was lined in an effort

of concentration. "I hope ‘Hidden Fires' has not been held up for my bit ot a spill, Jennifer. Has it?’ “Hidden Fires” was the name of the film that had begun so disastrously. As a matter of fact, they had made a new start with a recast, but Jennifer could not tell the sick man the a nth. So she said, “No, they are going or. with it, all right, Carlos. They were

shooting some scenes today,” all of which was true, only another actor was taking his part.

Again Jennifer rose to go; again th brown, clinging fingers closed on and detained her.

“I’ll let you get the nurse as you seem so keen on her if you’ll tell me one thing,” the sick man demanded, his eyes making quite as strong an appeal as his words. Jennifer’s blood seemed to run suddenly cold; now was come the moment that in anticipation had been haunting her sleeping and waking, for nearly a fortnight. Carlos Mayhew immediately revealed the question that had been uppermost. in liis mind as well as most frequently on his tongue during the whole of his delirium.

“When I am better in a few days, ''ill you marry me, sweetheart?” he asked, tenderly, his eyes like those of a faithful dog begging for a bone. There was a catch in Jennifer’s voice, but no hesitation, as she slipped to her knees beside the bed, and, taking: the brown hand between her palms, pressed it to her lips. “I’m ready to marry you now, dear, if you like,” she said, quietly, her face aglow with a tenderness that, in its way, was lovelier than that for which it was a substitute—the white flame of mutual passion.

Carlos lifted his head and looked at her, hungry for her. While the blood-madness of Jennifer’s presence was upon him, he felt that he could laugh and talk and dream while all the Legions of Life thundered by. As she ben* forward to him, and kissed him—a fierce, tender, shy, passionate, impersonal kiss, full, like her sex, of paradox—but it was the tribute of all that was within her to the man who needed her, who would stumble and fail in a henceforward dark world without her.

“Oh, Jennifer, do you mean it? If seems much too good to be true, bur you will never regret it, beloved, if 1 can help it. Gee! I’ll get better in a brace of shakes now,” the terriblv injured man assured her happily. Jennifer turned her head aside, so that he should not read what her eyes might have revealed.

“You can fetch all the doctors and nurses in the place after one more kiss,” Carlos brightly informed his amateur nurse.

Outside, in the corridor, Jennifer ran into the doctor, who, as a matter of fact, was just on his way to her.

“Come to at last, has he?’ WhatY —what’s that?” the doctor, an irascible but clever Scot, asked testily, as Jennifer ventured to place a detaining hand on his arm.

Just wait a wee while till I’ve seen him, and 1 11 attend to you afterward,” Doctor Dunlop gave a little shake of his shaggy head in order to emphasise his words.

‘ What I have to say cannot wait doctor.”

Urgency lent imperiousness to the young voice. Beneath his grey brows, the doctor looked down with bright, shrewd, far-seeing eyes, and what he saw in the white, suffering face made him speak as gently as woman.

“i’ll just call to the nurse, and then we’ll have our wee talk. Wait in here.” Opening the door of his own room, he stood aside for Jennifer to enter, and told her to seat herself in his big, comfortable armchair. He was back in an incredibly short time.

“What I have to say will only take a minute, doctor.” Jennifer’s vivid blue eyes met the old, wise, steel-grev eyes frankly. Seated in the huge armchair, her tiny feet hanging because they did not quite touch the floor, her slim daintiness enhanced by the space on either side of her, she looked so fragile, and so defiantly brave In her fragility, that one could not help wanting to protect her. Like everybody else in Hollywood, Dr. Dunlop was aware of the current gossip concerning Jennifer and Carlos Mayhew, and, having a hazy idea of what she wanted to say to him, no hated the task ahead, the news that he would be obliged to break. “It’s about your marriage to the poor fellow in yonder, I’ve no doubt, lassie.” Bending forward, the doctor lightly touched the small hand resting on the arm of his chair. If Jennifer had been a child of his own he could not have spoken more tenderly. “You must not do it, my dear, whatever you feel about it,” he told her, in the quiet, intimate tones ot the consulting-room. “Not only his back, but his whole body has been so damaged that you could never have n normal life together. You understand me, of course?” Dr. Dunlop paused for a second to let the terrible news sink into Jennifer’s consciousness. The bright brown head bent in acknowledgment, “Yes perfectly. But we are going to be married all the same, doctor,” she told him, with a quiet determination that could not but impress. Accustomed to the volatile, emotional film aspirants who were his j chief patients, and misled by Jennifer’s appearance of dainty girlishness, he had up till now thought of her as one of the usual crowd, infinitely charming, but with her little head more or less perpetually in the clouds of film-drama. What he had been anxious to do was to save Jennifer from the mess that her youthful emotions, combined with her seeming inexperience, threatened to make of her life. But here was no child, in spite of the wide, dark blue eyes, and soft features. He had seen the same look in the eyes of women whose men had needed them in just such a way when war and not accident was responsible. His admiration for the little childishlooking creature in the chair was difficult to put into words, but he nearly crushed Jennifer’s hand with the force of the grip he gave it. “Then, if you go into it with your eyes open. Miss Lome, all I can say is that Carlos Mayhew should thank God for such a woman every day of his life.” As he spoke, he knew that Jennifer would not, like Lot’s wife, cast back a faithless look. (To be Continued on Monday.)

Pretty Amis and Elbows

How They May Be Acquired Every woman knows that love!, arms are a great asset to beauty. Therefore, the arms should be givt j, every consideration to preserve and accentuate their roundness of for:;: and smoothness of skin. Housework plays quite an importa 1 :. part in this connection. Scrubbing, sweeping with b long-handled broom, bedmaking and other branches of housework all aid in producing graceful rhythmic movements of hands anarms, writes a beauty specialise, in the ‘'Evening News” (London) When a woman’s daily life giv* > her little use of hands and arms she should do regular exercises. Everyone is familiar with Swedish drill movements. These should be done about 10 times each every night and morning. Another good exercise is to clench each hand and bend up to the elbow, so that the arm is doubled. This will improve the roundness of the elbows A slender, flexible wrist is attained by holding it firmly between the forefinger and thumb of the other hand and working the wrist backward and forward. If the arms are too thin for real beauty, regular massage with warm olive oil will work wonders in a very short time. First sponge the arms with warm water, dry lightly, and then apply the oil, which may be warmed by placing in a jar and standing in a bowl of ho! water. If, on the other hand, the arms are too plump, they may be reduced by firm massage with a reducing lotion, made from equal parts of spirits of camphor and rosewater. Very few women realise that the back of the arms have really no exer cise, especially the blood vessels under the skin. It is for this reason that so many blemishes appear. Washing and rubbing with a loofah are good, especially if the loofah is dipped in an oatmeal lotion. To make the oatmeal lotion place two table spoonfuls of coarse oatmeal in three parts of water and boil very slowly for three hours, then allow to cool, and strain. Add the strained juice of half a lemon and a tablespoonful 01 eau de cologne. When required for use, pour some of the lotion into a. saucer, dip in the loofah and apply to the entire arm. rubbing quite vigorously, but paying special attention to the back of the arms, where the skin is inclined to r>e coarse. A much desired warm ivory hue ot the arms is attained by bathing thenevery morning with tepid water and o good soap, wiping briskly—not sutb ciently to chafe—but to stimulate the circulation. Periodically after washing and dry ing thoroughly rub with cold cream—as much as the skin will absorb Rubbing the arms several times a j week with half a grapefruit or lemon ! from which the pips have been removed, will help, too. MASSAGE FOR ELBOWS To improve the appearance of the elbows, fill a basin with warm water, add a pinch of borax or any other water softener, make a lather with a good super-fatted soap. Rest the elbows in this, and gently massage them with the palms of the hands. You can do both elbows at once by lightly folding the arms. Dry on a soft towel.

Glycerine, olive oil or vaseline rubbed into the elbows helps to round j them out, and if mixed with equal j parts of lemon juice, will soon make j them white as well.

over a short slip of satin in the same shade, fashions this graceful evening gown. The rather severe “fitted” line of the upper part is broken by the dainty flared frill which falls from the back of the rounded decolletage, while the novel arrangement of the two skirt flounces lends a further note of i nterest.

THAT COLD ROAST!

Required: Slices of cold roast beef half a cupful of grated cooking cheese two large onions.

Chop two large onions and fry them | a golden-brown. Into a well-buttered baking dish lay neatly-cut slices of I cold roast beef, removing rat. Pour over a liberal amount of the j prepared onions and half of the grated i cheese. Another layer of sliced meat and again a layer of the remaining j onions and cheese. Dot with a few small bits of butter, add a few spoonfuls of water, and heat in oven until the cheese is melted. A delicious and complete meal is the result!