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Show the hillman I I By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM I JOHN HEARS MYSTERIOUS PHRASES WHICH TROUBLE HIM WITH GRAVE DOUBTS ABOUT LOUISE AT TIMES HE WISHES HE WERE BACK IN THE HILLS. Synopsis. Louise Maurel, famous actress, making a motor tour of rural England, was obliged, when her car broke down, to spend the night at the ancestral home of Stephen and John Strangewey, bachelor woman-haters, in the Cumberland district. Before she left the next day she had captivated John. Three months later he went to London and looked her up. She introduced him to her friends, among them Gralllot, a playwright, and Sophy Gerard, a light-hearted little actress. John! puritanical in his views, entered the gay bohemlan life of the city wifh enthusiasm. It was soon seen that John and the prince of Seyre were rivals for the heart and hand of Louise. Sophy also loved John secretly. The prince tried to entice John into evil ways by sending fascinating women to charm and bedevil him. CHAPTER XIV Continued. "Sometimes with Miss Maurel, sometimes some-times with her little friend, Sophy Gerard, Ge-rard, and sometimes alone," John replied. re-plied. "I have bought a Baedeker, taken a taxicab by the day, and done all the sights. I've spent weeks in the National gallery, picture gazing, and I've done all those more modern shows up round Bond street. I have bought a racing car and learned to drive it. I have been to dinner parties that have bored me stiff. I have been introduced to crowds of people whom I never wish to see again, and made one or two friends," he added, smiling at his guest, "for whom I hope I am properly grateful." grate-ful." "The prince has been showing you round a bit, hasn't he?" GruIIIot grunted. grunt-ed. "The prince has been extraordinarily kind to me," John admiited slowly, "for what reason I don't know. He has introduced me to a great many pleasant and Interesting people, and a great many whom I suppose a young t will Jars "There Is No Secret About It. It la Louise Maurel." man In my position should be glad to know. lie has shown me one side of London life pretty thoroughly." "And what about It all?" Graillot demanded. "You find yourself something some-thing more of a citizen of the world, eh?" "Not a bit," John answered simply. "The more J. see of the life up here, the smaller it seems to me. I mean, of course, the ordinary life of pleasure, the life to be lived by a young man like myself, who lfusn't any profession or work upon which he can concentrate concen-trate his thoughts." "Then why do you stay?" John made no immediate reply. Instead, In-stead, he walked to the window of his sitting room and stood looking across the Thames with a discontented frown upon his face. Between him and the Frenchman a curious friendship had sprung up during the last few months. "I gather," Gralllot continued, "that, to put It concisely and truthfully, you are the most bored man In London. There Is something behind all this effort ef-fort of yours, my friend, to fit yourself, your-self, the round human being, Into the square place. Speak the truth, now I Treat me as a father confessor." John swung round upon his heel. In the clear light it was obvious that he was a little thinner In the face and that some of the tan had gone from his complexion. "I am staying up here, and going on, with it," he announced doggedly, "because "be-cause of a woman." Gralllot stopped eating, placed the remains of his cake In the saucer of his teacup, and laid It down. Then he opened his lips to speak and abruptly closed them. Ills face suddenly underwent under-went an extraordinary change. A few seconds ago his attitude had been that of a professor examining some favorite object of study; now a more personal note had humanized hi expression. Whatever thought or reflection It was that had come Into hii mind, It had plainly startled him. i "Who Is the woman?" he asked fcrenthlpssly "There is no secret about it, so far as I am concerned," John answered. "It la Louise Maurel. I thought you must have guessed." The ;wo men looked at each other in silence for some moments. Out on the river a little tug was hooting vigorously. vig-orously. The roar of the Strand came faintly Into the room. On the mantelpiece mantel-piece a very ornate French clock was ticking lightly. All these sounds seemed suddenly accentuated. They beat time to a silence almost tragical in its Intensity. Gralllot took out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. He had written writ-ten many plays, and the dramatic instinct in-stinct was strongly developed in him. . "Louise!" he muttered under his breath. "She is very different, I know," John went on, after a moment's hesitation. "She is very clever and a great artist, and she lives in an atmosphere of which, a few months ago, I knew nothing. noth-ing. I have come up here to try to understand, to try to get a little nearer to her." There was another silence, this time almost an awkward one. Then Grail-lot Grail-lot rose suddenly to his feet. "I will respect your confidence," he promised, holding out his hand. "Have no fear of that. I am due now at the theater. Tour tea is excellent, and such little cakes I never tasted before." be-fore." "You will wish me good luck?" "No !" "Why not?" John demanded, a little startled. "Because," Graillot pronounced, "from what I have seen and know of you both, there are no two people in this world less suitable for each other." "Look here," John expostulated, "I don't want you to go away thinking so. You don't understand what this means to me." "Perhaps not, my friend," Graillot replied, "but remember that it is at least my trade to understand men and women. I have known Louise JTau-rel JTau-rel since she was a child." "Then it is I whom you don't understand." un-derstand." "That may be so," Graillot confessed. "One makes mistakes. Let us leave it at that. You are a young man of undeveloped temperament. You may be capable of much which at present I do not find in you." "Tell me the one quality in which you consider me most lacking," John begged. "I want you on my side, Graillot." Grail-lot." "And I," Graillot replied, as he shook his friend's hand and hurried off, "want only to be on the side that will mean happiness for you both." He left the room a little abruptly. John walked back to the window, oppressed op-pressed with a sense of something almost ominous in the Frenchman's manner, something which he could not fathom, against which he struggled in vain. Side by side with it, there surged Into his memory the disquietude disquie-tude which his present relations with Louise had developed. She was always charming when she had any time to spare sometimes almost affectionate. On the other hand, he was profoundly conscious of her desire to keep him at arm's length for the present. He had accepted her decision without with-out a murmur. He made but few efforts ef-forts to see her alone, and when they met he made no special claim upon her notice. He was serving his apprenticeship appren-ticeship doggedly and faithfully. Yet there were times like the present when he found his task both hateful and difficult. dif-ficult. He walked aimlessly backward and forward, chafing against the restraint of the narrow walls and the low ceiling. ceil-ing. A sudden desire had seized him to fly bark to the hills, wreathed In mist though they might be; to straggle on his way through the blinding rain, to drink down long gulps of his own purer, less civilized atmosphere. The telephone bell rang. He placed the receiver to his ear almost mechanically. me-chanically. ."Who Is It?" he asked. "Lady Hilda Mulloch Is asking for you, sir," the hall porter announced. Lady Hilda reered around John's room through her lorgnette, and did not hesitate to express her dissatisfaction. dissatisfac-tion. "My dear roan." she exclaimed. "what makes you live in a hotel? Why don't you take rooms of your own and furnish them? Surroundings like these are destructive to one's Individuality." "Well, you see," John explained, a he drew an easy chair upto the fire for his guest, "my stay in London Is only a temporary one, and it hasn't seemed worth while to settle anywhere." any-where." She stretched out her graceful boy in front of the fire and raised her veil. She was very smartly dressed, as usual. Her white silk stockings, which she seemed to have no objection to displaying, dis-playing, were of the latest vogue. The chinchilla aronnd her neck and In her little toque was most becoming. She seemed to bring with her an atmosphere atmos-phere Indefinable, In its way, but distinctly dis-tinctly attractive. Brisk in her speech, a little commanding in her manner, she was still essentially feminine. John, at her direct invitation, had called upon her once or twice since their meeting at the opera, and he had found her, from the first, more attractive at-tractive than any other society woman of his acquaintance. None the less, he was a little taken aback at her present pres-ent visit. "Exactly why are you here, anyhow?" any-how?" she demanded. "I feel sure that Eugene told me the reason which had brought you from your wilds, but I have forgotten it." "For one thing," John replied, "I have come because I don't want to appear ap-pear prejudiced, and the fact that I never spent a month in London, or even a week, seemed a little narrow-minded." "What's the real attraction?" Lady Hilda asked. "It is a woman, isn't it?" "I am very fond of a , woman who is in London," John admitted. "Perhaps "Per-haps it is true that I am here on her account." Lady Hilda withdrew from her muff a gold cigarette. case and a little box of matches. "Order some mixed vermouth with lemon for me, please," she' begged. "I have been shopping, and I hate tea. I don't know why I came to see you. I suddenly thought of it when I was in Bond street." "It was very kind of yon," John said. "If I had known that you cared about seeing me, I would have come to you with pleasure." "What does It matter?" she answered. an-swered. "You are thinking, perhaps, that I risk my reputation in coming to a young man's rooms? Those things do not count for me. Ever since I was a child I have done exactly as I liked, and people have shrugged their shoulders and said, "'Ah, well, it Is only Lady Hilda !' I am quite convinced con-vinced that if I chose to take you off to Monte Carlo with me next week and spend a month with you there, I should get my pass to the royal inclo-sure inclo-sure at Ascot when I returned, and my invitation to the next court ball, even in this era of starch. You see, they would say, 'It is ouly Lady Hilda !' " The waiter brought the vermouth, which his visitor sipped contentedly. "So there is a woman, is there?" she went on, looking across the room at her companion. "Have you committed yourself already, then? Don't you remember re-member what I told you the first night we met after the opera that it is well to wait?" "Yes, I remember," John admitted. "I meant It." He laughed good-humoredly, yet not without some trace of self-consciousness. "The mischief was done then," he said. "Couldn't It be undone?" she asked lazily. "Or are you one of those tedious tedi-ous people who are faithful forever? Fidelity," she continued, knocking the ash from her cigarette, "is really, to my mind, the most bourgeois of vices. It comes from a v.nnt of elasticity In the emotional fibers. Nothing in life lias bored me so much as the faithfulness faith-fulness of my lovers." "You ought to put all this Into one of your books," John suggested. "I probably shall, when I write my reminiscences," she replied. "Tell me about this woman. And don't stand about In that restless way at the other end of the room. Bring a chair close to me there, close to my side!" John obeyed, and his visitor contemplated contem-plated him thoughtfully through a little cloud of tobacco smoke. "Yes," she decided, "there is no use denying it You are hatefully good-looking, good-looking, and somehow or other I think your clothes have improved you. You have a little more air than when you first came to town. Are you quite sure that you haven't made up your mind about this woman In a hurry?" "Quite sure," John laughed. "I suppose sup-pose I am rather an Idiot, but I am addic;?d to the vice of which you were speaking." She nodded. "I should Imagine," she said, "that you were not an adept In the art of flirtation. Is It true that the woman is Louise Maurel?" "Quite true," John replied. "But don't you know " She broke off abruptly. She saw tho face of the man by her gl.la auddeol change, and her instinct warned her of the danger Into which she was rushing. rush-ing. "You surprise rue very much," she said. "Louise Maurel is a very wonderful won-derful woman, but she seems to spend the whole of her time with my cousin, the prince." "They are, without doubt, very friendly," John assented. "They have a good many Interests in common, and the prince is connected with the syndicate syn-dicate which finances the theater. I do not imagine, however, that the prince wishes to marry her, or she him." Lady Hilda began to laugh, softly, but as If genuinely amused. John sat and watched her in ominous silence. Not the flicker of a smile parted his lips. His visitor, however, was undisturbed. undis-turbed. She leaned over and patted his hand. "Simple Simon !" she murmured, leaning a little toward him. "If you go on looking like that, I shall pat your cheeks, too. You are really much too nice looking to wear such thunder thun-der clouds !" "Perhaps if we chose some other subject of conversation " John said stiffly. "Oh, dear me !" she interrupted. "Very well I You really are a most trying person, you know. I put up with a great deal from you." John was silent. Her face darkened a little, and an angry light flashed in her eyes. "Well, I'll leave you alone if you like," she decided, tossing her cigarette Into the grate. "If my friendship Isn't worth having, let it go. It hasn't often been offered In vain. There are more men in London than I could count who would go down on their knees for such a visit as I am paying you. And you you," she added, with a little tremble of real anger in her tone, "you're too hatefully polite and priggish prig-gish ! Come and ring the bell for the lift. I am going !" She slid gracefully to her feet, shook the cigarette ash from her clothes, and picked up her muff. "Yon are really an egregious, thickheaded, thick-headed, obstinate countryman," she declared, de-clared, as she moved toward the door. "You haven't either manners or sensibility. sensi-bility. I am a perfect Idiot to waste my time upon you. I wouldn't have done it," she added, as he followed her dumbly down the corridor, "If I hadn't rather liked you !" "I am very sorry," he declared. "I don't know quite what I have done. I do appreciate your friendship. You have been very kind to me Indeed. She hesitated as his. finger touched the bell of the lift, and glanced at the watch on her wrist. She sighed, and watched the top of the lift as it came up. Then she dropped her veil. CHAPTER XV. "This is very nearly my idea of perfect per-fect happiness," Sophy murmured, as she leaned across the table and listened idly while John ordered the dinner. "Give me very little to eat, John, and talk a great deal to me. I am depressed de-pressed about myself and worried about everything!" "And I," he declared, "am just beginning begin-ning to breathe again. I don't think I understand women, Sophy." "Wasn't your week-end party a success?" suc-cess?" she asked. "Not altogether," he confessed ; "but don't let's talk about It Tell me what Is depressing you." "About myself, or things generally?" "Yourself first." "Well, the most respectable young man you ever knew in your life, who lives in Bath, wants me to marry him. I don't think I could. I don't think I could live in Bath, and I don't think I could marry anyone. And I've just thirteen shillings and fourpence left, I haven't paid my rent, and my dressmaker dress-maker is calling for something on account on Monday morning." "There's only one thing to answer to that," John insisted cheerfully. "I D 3 " I fife "You Really Are an Egregious, Thlck-Headed, Thlck-Headed, Obstinate Country Man." am going to lend you fifty pounds while you make your mind up about the young man." She made a face at him. "I couldn't borrow money from a strange gentleman," she protested. "Rubbish!" he exclaimed. "If you begin calling me a stranger but there, never mind! We'll see about thnt dinner. din-ner. Tell me more about your love affair, af-fair, Sophy." "It Isn't a love affair at all!" she exclaimed, ex-claimed, almost Indignantly. "Why, I am sorry. Your prospective "Uilaace. then, shall I call It?" "Oh, it isn't interesting," she said. "It's just a young man In Bath. He Is a lawyer and moderately well off. He has wanted me to marry him for years. He was a friend of my brother's. broth-er's. Lately he has been bothering a little more than usual in fact, I suppose sup-pose I have received what might be called an ultimatum. He came up yesterday, yes-terday, and I went out with him last night. He has gone back to Bath this morning, and I have promised to let him know in a month. I think that Is why I went out to Waterloo bridge in a mackintosh and got wet." "Do you like him?" John asked practically. prac-tically. "I like him, I suppose," Sophy sighed. "That's the worst of It. If I didn't like him, there might be some chance. I can't realize myself ever doing more than liking hlra in a mild sort of way; and if he expected more, as of course he would, then I should probably hate him. He tried to kiss me on the way to the station, and I nearly scratched him. That isn't like me, you know. I rather like being kissed sometimes." John burled himself in the wine-list. "Well," he admitted, "it doesn't sound very hopeful. I'm no sort of judge In these matters, but I have heard lots of people say that one gets on all right after marriage without caring car-ing very much before. You don't seem to have a very comfortable life now, do you?" "Comfortable? No, but I am free," Sophy replied quickly. "I can come In and go out when I please, choose my own friends. It's rather fine to be here, you know to be In the atmosphere, atmos-phere, even If the limelight misses one." John sighed, and regarded her thoughtfully. "You're a queer little girl, Sophy," he said. "I don'tknow how to advise you." "Of course you don't," she answered. "No one could. As for you, I suppose you will marry Louise. What will happen hap-pen to you after that I don't know. Perhaps I sha'n't care so much about London then. You've made It very nice for me, you know." "You've made it bearable even for me," he told her. "I often think how lonely I should have been without you to talk to. Louise sometimes Is delightfully de-lightfully companionable, and kind enough to turn one's head. Other days I scarcely understand her; everything we say to one another seems wrong. I come away and leave her simply because be-cause I feel thnt there Is a wall between be-tween us that I can't get over." "There isn't really," Sophy sighed. j-.iu,ao o u ucni. vjuuaiuei lug eveiy- thlng, I think she is wonderful. But you are utterly different. She Is very complex, very emotional, and she has her ewn standards of life. You, on the other hand, are very simple, very faithful faith-ful and houest, and you accept the standards which have been made for you very, very rigidly, John. What are you looking at?" John's whole expression had suddenly sudden-ly changed. His eyes were fixed upon the door, his face was stern as a granite gran-ite block. Sophy turned quickly around. The maitre d'hotel, with another an-other satellite In his rear, was welcoming welcom-ing with much ceremony two lately ad-rlved ad-rlved guests. Sophy clutched at the tablecloth. The newcomers were Louise Lou-ise and the prince of Seyre. "I don't understand this !" John muttered, mut-tered, his lips twitching. Sophy Gerard said nothing. Her cheeks were pink with excitement. Suddenly Louise saw John and Sophy. So-phy. She stood quite still for a moment mo-ment ; then she came toward them, slowly and a little languidly.' The prince was still studying through his eyeglass the various tables which the head waiter was offering for his consideration. con-sideration. "What an astonishing meeting!" Louise remarked, as she laid her hand for a moment on Sophy's shoulder. "What Is going on behind my back?" John rose very slowly to his feet. He seemed taller than ever, and Louise's smile remained unanswered. "The ruin broke up my week-end party," he explained, "and I met Sophy in the Strand. In any case, I intended returning tonight. I understood that you would not be here until tomorrow about eleven o'clock. "Those were my plans," Louise replied; re-plied; "But, as you see, other things have Intervened. Our little house party, too, was broken up by this abominable abom-inable weather, and we all motored up to town. The Faradays have gone home. Tho prince heard from Miles that I was at home, and telephoned me to dine. Me volcl I" John was struggling with a crowd of hateful thoughts. Louise was wearing a wonderful gown; her hair was beautifully beau-tifully arranged; sjje had the air of a woman whose toilet was complete and perfect down to the slightest detail. de-tail. The prince's slow drawl reached them distinctly. "It whs my servant's fault I suppose," sup-pose," he said. "I told him to ring up last night and order the table for two In that corner. However, we will take the vacant one near your desk." He looked around and. as If for the first time, missed I-ouise. He come toward them at once. "The prince seems to have ordered his table last night," John remarked, bis tone, even to himself, sounding queer and Htrained. Louise made no reply. The prince was already shaking hands with Sophy. "I thought you were Rpendlng the week-end with my cousin, Strangewey," Strange-wey," he remarked, turning to John. "We did spend part of It together," John replied. "The weather drove us back this afternoon." "I crintrratulate you both on your good taste," said the irlnce. "There Is nothing more abominable than a riverside river-side retreat out of -Mison. We are taking tak-ing tH tulle on the left, Louisa" He led her away, and they passed down the room. John slowly resumed his seat "Sophy," he demanded hoarsely, "tell me the truth. Is there anything between be-tween the prince and Louise ?" Sophy nervously crumbled up the toast by her side. "The prince admires Louise, and has ,v done so for many years," she answered. "No one knows anything else. Louisa never speaks of him to me. I cannot tell you." "But you must know," he persisted, with a little break In his voice. "Forgive "For-give me, Sophy, If I made an ass of myself. my-self. First Lady Hilda, and then Gralllot, Grall-lot, and then well, I thought Louise might have rung up to see whether I was at home, if she came back sooner than she expected ; and the prince took the table last night 1" She leaned over and patted him on the hand. "Don't worry," she begged. "If Louise Lou-ise has to choose some day between him and you, I don't think she'll hesi- ml mm She Leaned Over and Patted Him on the Hand. tate very long. Don't look so stern, please. You look very statuesque and perfect, but I don't want to dine with a piece of sculpture. Remember that I am finding you too attractive for my peace of mind. There's your text 1" He poured a glass of wine and drank 11 uu. "I'll do my best," he agreed. "If It sounds like rubbish, you can still believe be-lieve that I appreciate everything you've told me. You are pretty, and I am lucky to have you here. Now ITl try to make you believe that I think so." She leaned over so that her head almost al-most touched his. "Go on, please 1" she murmured. "Even If It hurts afterward, it will be heavenly to listen to 1" The next night Sophy acted as showman show-man at the first production of the play, so long delayed because of Gralllot's insistence on a scene that promised to be startling to English plnygoers. Her part was over at the end of the first act, and a few minutes later she slipped Into a seat by John's side behind be-hind the curtain. "What do you think of It so far?" she asked a little anxiously. "It seems quite good," John replied cheerfully. "Some very clever lines, and all that sort of thing; but I can't quite see what it's all leading to." Sophy peered around the house from behind the curtain. "There isn't standing room anywhere," any-where," she declared. "I don't suppose sup-pose there ever was a play In London that was more talked about; and then putting it off for more than three months why, there have been all sorts of rumors about. Do you want to know who the people In the audience are?" "Not particularly," John answered. "I shouldn't know them, If you told mo. There are Just a few familiar faces. I see the prince in the box opposite." "Did you telephone to Louise today?" to-day?" Sophy asked. John shook his head. "No. I thought it better to leave her alone until after tonight" "You are going to the supper, of course?" "I have been asked," John replied, a little doubtfully. "I don't quite know whether I want to. Is it being given by the prince or by tho management?" "The management," Sophy assured him. "Do you come and take me I It's going to be rather fun." The curtain went up upon the second sec-ond act. John, from tho shadows of the box, listened attentively. The subject was not a particularly new one, but the writing was brilliant. There was the old "Marquis de Guy," a roue, a degenerate, but still overbearing over-bearing and full of personality, from whose lips came Borne of Gralllot's most brilliant sayings; Louise, his wife; and Faraday, a friend of the old rnarqulH, and obviously the intended lover of bis wife. "I don't see anything so terrible in this," John remarked, as the crutnln went down once more and thunders of applause greeted sorne wonderful lines of Gralllot's. The -mystery about the life of Louise further troubles John and he sets forth to get the exact ex-act truth, no matter how tragic for him It may be. (TO H-k. CON Ti N L' fc. D. i |