"PAINTED BUTTERFLIES,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 18 March 1932, Page 7

"PAINTED BUTTERFLIES,”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

CHAPTER XVI.

Jennifer wore a green velvet dress with an artless round collar from which rose her white little neck as appealingly as that of a child. She was the only one not in evening dress in the smart new restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard, paradoxically named, “Les Miserables, ’ ’ since its large windows were sapphire squares, resembling the soft Canadian twilight, its dancing floor was of specially made blue glass, while the exquisite orchestra was housed behind a carved golden grille, so that they could only be heard, not seen.

“You are the loveliest thing in the room to-night,’’ Carlos Ylayhcw, who was Jennifer’s escort, told her, in the soft Southern voice that had sent half the beauties of Mo vied and into ecstac-

‘ ‘ Well, really, Carlos, there is such a surfeit of good looks in this place that one stands a better chance if one is outstandingly ugly—don’t you agree?” asked Jennifer, as she daintily at her chicken a la Mary Bickford, with its Salade Marcon Davies, and, with her usual trick of hitting the bulis-eye with a chance remark, voiced one of the truths that most of the Hollywood film aspirants discovered for themselves sooner or later.

Jennifer was a huge success in Hollywood, and on her arrival had been photographed in a white blaze of calcium, and the next day had seen herself described in big black headlines as “The Baby Lucille,” while a full column of unstinted praise was dc\ oted to the dresses she had designed for “Black Cargo.” The same night she was entertained to a ‘‘little dinner” at Carlos Mayhew’s bungalow, which was in reality a miniature palace, with an Italian garden and a fountain all complete, with a marble statue of little Faith holding up the basin, the sight, of which immediately made Jennifer homesick.

Every called her “honey,” and the men scattered “dears” and “darlings” with equal impartiality amongst old and young, married and unmarried, of tiie opposite sex. Site had her choice of parties, tame or wild, for every night if she cared to accept; she had seen Charlie Chaplin, and taken supper with Harold Lloyd, and she had thrilled to the first sight of the Paramount Studios ■ lying back from Melrose Avenue, with the building shaped like a ship, bulking hugely on the skyline. It was like living in a dream world; even the avenues of waving palms, orange groves, and Canna lilies, the mocking birds singing in the pepper trees, the coyotes hiding in the brushwood, all obsessed her ■with their sheer beauty, but the feeling of taking part in a waking dream persisted until one day in an English newspaper sent out to her bv her mother, she read a paragraph in the “Gossip” section, which was like a sudden stab in the back. It was headed, “The little god smiles,” and the text ran in the usual banal fashion of such items of social intelligence. “Rumour has often connected the name of the Honourable Adela Creighton, one of the most beautiful and original of Society’s yoynger set, with that of various young men, but so far Rumour has only sustained its reputation for unreliability. However, it looks as if Cupid is to be rewarded at last, for just lately Miss Creighton has favoured a certain handsome young man with more of her charming com- j pany than seems altogether fair to the rest of those who seek her favours. The young man is the only son.of. al baronet prominent in the shipping . world, and an interesting announcement is expected shortly.” Jennifer bit her lip till a shooting pain told her that she had bitten through the skin. Her beautiful eyes saw the exquisitely clad, lovely young forms moving gracefully over the dancing floor through a shimmer of tears., °‘ What’s troubling you, Jennifer ? ’’ asked Carlos Mayhew, putting down ins knife and fork, as if to indicate that she and her affairs were of far greater, importance than his dinner. Passion and" sincerity dwelt in his voice, and if her mind had not been filled with other matters, ever since her coming to Hollywood, instinct would have warnc-d Jennifer long ago that the latest screen idol of Movieland was in love with her. The factwas, however, that though Carlos Mayhew possessed the physical and temperamental requisites for liis new callin", his mentality was far too shrewd the paradoxically stimulating 'yet enervating life that he now led, to eat into his character. Light flirtations he had indulged m, particularly during the first' few weeks, but even "the most industrious of the gossips could not connect him with a serious “affair,” and the reason was that, deeming Love wholly worthy, he had waited until Jennifer should come, and until his sense of decency regarding the period of mourning for the dead should be satisfied. . e , He had been present when Jennifer’s engagement to Frank Yardley had been announced at Adela Creighton’s dinner party, and he had seen the subsequent notice of its termination in the “Times.” But Jennifer had said nothing about her own private affairs, only was brimful of information regarding little Faith and her many charms; and Carlos Mayhew was too proud to seek a confidence that was withheld. . . . But his wife had now been dead, ioi ten months, and time had taught him Hint h : " love for her, compared with his rigidly-controlled passion for Jennifer.’ had been as a farthing dir. to the blaze of a noon-dav sun. Besides, had it not been for this slim slip of a

(To be Continued)

BY MRS PATRICK Mac GILL. Author of “Dancers in the Dark,” “The Ukelele Girl,” “The Flame of Life,” etc.

girl sitting opposite to him, apparently self-absorbed, he might never have lived to have tasted the sweets or his present life, an economic independence that, wisely invested, would yield him a competence, work that was interesting and absorbing, and some day, if Fate willed it, a married life that should be as perfect as love and effort could make it.

“Troubling me, Carlos?” Jennifer jerked herself out of the twilight of her own thoughts and caught up her companion’s words.

“Oil, nothing, nothing that can be helped, that is,” said Jennifer, with the quick, sunny little smile that made her so many friends. “But isn't life a tangle sometimes, Carlos?” she burst out suddenly; it was the nearest to mentioning her own troubles that she had ever been.

Carlos Mayhew did not immediately reply; but in his stillness was a sense of expectancy. His keen man’s blood was racing along Lis veins; his dark eyes leaped to the quickening of his heart.

“Jennifer, shall we go along to the bungalow and talk about those tangles? Perhaps we might smooth them out a bit,” he suggested, keeping a tight rein upon himself, or he would have taken the slender, green-clad form in his arms before everybody, and would have kissed the sweetly tender yet firm little mouth until lie had slaked the pasion that the mere sight of Jennifer aroused. He knew that she was as clear-eyed as himself regai ding some aspects of life, yet her whole personality expressed a candour and a purity that could only be described as child-like. Jennifer looked up suddenly, sensed the knowledge in the passionate glance, and her sensitive face burned with startled realisation. Carlos! She had never suspected. Putting her hand up to her white throat as if an invisible tight collar obstructed her breathing, she rose to her feet. “Shall we go? ft is a lovely night, she said, conscious of the futility of her remark, for not a dozen nights throughout the whole year in Hollywood are anything else than lovely.. They walked beneath the vivid, starhung sky, each conscious of that which neither tongue had named, and, in an effort to lessen the constraint, Jennifer spoke of her companion s new film, the contract for which had been signed only a few days since. “Does it contain many thrills, Carlos?” she asked, with an elaborate carelessness that revealed rather than concealed her self-consciousness.

“Enough thrills for Fairbanks himself,” was the laughing reply. “One of my scenes is a (light in an aeroplane that entails the throwing of myand the girl who is with nie from the machine,” he told her, in tones that were kept carefully casual. “Who is the girl?” asked Jennifer, more to sustain the conversation than because she was really interested. “j don’t know. They are doubling Greta Fayne for the part, because she s nervous! It’s funny how these stars never know the meaning of nerves until two tilings are assured -their place on tiie pay-roll, and their pull witn the public.” , A sudden idea darted into Jennifer s , head.' Bo far, the experiences of her new life had not included a flight in an aeroplane, and, though she was neither screen-struck nor greedy of sensation, yet somehow the idea of taking part, m just one film, so that, when it j got to London her mother could see her and Canos together on the screen, ! appealed to Her onorniousl}. | “Carlos, if they haven t yet arrang--led for Greta’s double, do you think that they would let me do it? It would be such a surprise for mother when "the film was shown in London,” said Jennifer, and her smile was that of an eager schoolgirl, as she looked up into the dark, handsome face beside her. “Come into the garden for a second. I want to say something to you,” was Carlos Mayhew’s reply, and then Jennifer realised that they had been walkino - faster than she had imagined, towards ‘Casa del Maura,” which was 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 wlntely m the soft blue dusk. “I think you know what I want t sa y to you, Jennifer,” almost whispered the beautifully modulated ioicc 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 m she had ever known; and the sum of her indebtedness to him for 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.