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Show 1 The Married Life of Helen and Warren U By MABEL HERBERT URNER 1 Originator of "Their Married Life." Author of "The " JournaJ of a Neglected Wife," "The Woman Alone," etc I Helen Is Gleeful Over a Bargain Until Warren Makes f Her Pay the Full Price (Copyright, 1915, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) their key was not at the desk, and she knew that Warren had come. Not waiting for the- ?lpw-running lift, she ran up the two flights of stairs. In answer to her eager knock, Warren War-ren opened the door. He was in his shirt sleeves, a towel in his hand. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry I'm late," drawing draw-ing his head down for a damp soap-smelly soap-smelly kiss. "But look look what I bought! " She tore off the paper aad shook out the shawl on the bed. "There, isn't that the most beautiful thing you ever saw. It'll make the most gorgeous evening wrap and I won't even have to cut it!" i "Thought you weren't to get any I expensive togs this trip?" rubbing his neck and head in vigorous man-fashion. "Expensive! WThat do you think I paid for it? Two pounds!" "You never got that for two pounds," examining the heavy embroidery. em-broidery. "I did, dear, I did!" excitedly. "At that little shop in Wardour street where I got the bead bag last year. Don't you remember I told you about those two old-maid sisters? The ladies that look like Dickens characters. charac-ters. Well, their brother's in the war, and they need the money." "Need it bad enough to sell that for two pounds?" While Helen breathlessly explained their desperate condition. Warren took the shawl to the window, scrutinized it, then threw it back on the bed. There was something in his frowning silence that made her vaguely uneasy. "Why, dear, don't you think it's exquisite? ex-quisite? Don't you think it's wonderfully wonder-fully cheap?" "What'd they ask for it in the first place?" "It was marked seven pounds, but she said I could have it for five just what her brother paid." "Yet you got it for two?" "Why yes, but I " "Well, it's all right to get things cheap, but we don't want to steal them. Here," throwing two pounds on the bed, "take that to those women first thing in the morning. Understand?" Under-stand?" "Oh," flushing hotly, "I don't think of it that way." "Huh, you're always spouting about the suffering war brings to women. But the first real chance you get to help one," contemptuously, "you grind her down to the last cent." "Why, Warren, you don't think I asked her to take so little? Why, she almost forced it on me." "So much the worse," scowling at the rough edges of a fresh collar. "Shows how desperate she was. Jove, if I'm ever up against it, I'll take my chances with a man every time." With burning cheeks Helen slowly refolded the shawl. "Where're we going for dinner?" curtly, struggling with the collar, his chin in the air. "Oh, dear, I can't bear to have you think I took advantage of that woman. I feel wretched about it." "You ought to. I've noticed your sympathy's always the kind that doesn't cost anything. Hot air's mighty cheap, but when it comes down to brass tacks you're not there. Now where're we going for dinner?" "Dear, don't say that it isn't true! It's only because I felt we shouldn't buy anything now. I didn't once ask her to take less oh, I think you might believe that." "Well, if you don't intend to buy why the deuce are you snooping around the shops? Make 'em drag out everything in the place, then say you're only 'looking' do you?" viciously vicious-ly brushing his coat. "Now what about dinner?" "Warren, you know I never do that. I wasn't even going inside. I was just looking in t)e window and she saw me. I told her I wasn't buying a thing this trip oh, it isn't fair for you to make me so miserable about it." "Well, most of these English people are having pretty rough sledding just now, so don't be too blamed keen On getting something for nothing. But all you women are alike," with a shrug. "You'd sell your eternal souls for a bargain. See here, I'm as empty as a drum didn't have time for lunch. How about Simpson's for dinner?" It was a little shop in Wardour street, one of the oldest quarters of London. Helen paused before the dusty window with its alluring assortment assort-ment of old prints, antique tapestries and yellowed laces. It was here she had bought, on their last trip, a curious old bead bag and a sampler dated 1764. As she turned from the window one of the old-maid sisters, who had served her, appeared in the doorway with an eager smile of recognition. "Your window's so tempting I couldn't pass without stopping. No, thank you, I'll not come in. I'm not buying anything this trip." But the woman looked so wistfully disappointed that Helen reluctantly entered. en-tered. "We've some very interesting things that you didn't see before," she began hopefully. "Oh, I'm sure you have," glancing around the dim little shop crowded with dusty treasures. "And we're selling everything very cheap now we have to," simply. "Our brother's in the war." Helen murmured her sympathy. "We had a post card from him three weeks ago," her lips quivered, "but not a word since." The older sister came in now from the back room. She looked pathetically pathet-ically colorless and frail. "Sarah, this is an American lady who bought some things of us last year." She smiled vaguely. It was plain she did not remember. "Oh, how lovely," exclaimed Helen, as the other sister now took from a Dhest an exquisitely embroidered white crepe shawl with long knotted silk fringe. "Brother bought this down in Devonshire Devon-shire just a few months before he left," stroking the fringe with a thin, blue-veined hand. "It's marked seven pounds, but we'll take five for it now that's just what he paid." "I'd love to have ii," Helen admitted, admit-ted, "but I couldn't think of it now. It's costing us so much to live over here the hotels and restaurants have all put up their prices!" , "Ah, yes, food is high," the older sister sighed, "but everything else is cheap. Look at us we'll sell our ?oods for almost nothing and no one will buy. Last week sister sold a piece of tapestry that cost us twelve shillings for eight. I don't know what we shall do, I don't know- I don't know!" Then, as though fearing she had said too much, she went back into the rear room. "Sister's not well," apologized the Dther. "She's grieved so over brother that she's not the same." Then taking up the shawl and holding it so the long fringe fell together in a rich mass she asked uncertainly, "Don't you think it's worth four pounds to you aven now?" "Then three," desperately. Helen hesitated. She was really distressed. dis-tressed. "I'm sorry, but I told you svhen I came in I couldn't buy." "I know you did, and we we've always al-ways been a one-price shop," proudly, "but now " her voice broke. "It's hard it's very hard," mur-I mur-I mured Helen. "But the war can't last ' forever it must end soon." "But if brother never " she bit ler lip; she could not put into werds ..he possibility of his never coming jack. "Oh, you don't know he was juch a good brother! And he was the est judge of tapestries in London," proudly. "They never had a sale at Christie's that he wasn't called in. We had an established business here but ow " She tuok up the shawl again and tremulously stroked the fringe. "Y'ou can have it for two pounds!" In a low voice. "You could sell it to any dealer in America for three times that much." Two pounds! Helen caught her breath. Three pounds had been absurdly ab-surdly cheap, but two pounds for that shawl! It would make the most wonderful won-derful evening wrap. She hesitated. Then the bargain instinct that is in svery woman succumbed to this final affer. "Very well, I'll take it." But as she counted out the money she was vaguely troubled. The thought af these women being forced to such a sacrifice was disquieting. Yet if she did not take advantage of it someone else would. She had not asked them to take so little the sale had been pressed upon her. When Helen left the shop, she saw by a clock in a chemist's window that it was a quarter after six. Warren always came home about seven. She must get bat k to the hotel before then. Two pounds for that shawl. Her Impatient fingers tore a slit in the paper through which gleamed the heavy silk fringe. She hurried on to the top of Charing Char-ing Cross road, the nearest bus line, but as many of the London buses had been drafted for the war, it was fifteen minutes before the one she wanted came by. When she finally reached the hotel |