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Show 5 A Soldier and a Beard By E!sie I I HL?HLH 1L BsWssssssssnssssssVBME "iWllMiiMiiMiiffii "mm niffininnBniiiniiii'iwui wmn n 1111111 I DARESAY we a little toward ? her. "Thanks, yes; but" her eyes J dropped regretfully "I do so love a minuet, you know." "Ah, so do I," said the duke cheerfully. cheer-fully. "Still, one has to sacrifice one's most cherished partialities sometimes." He leaned back agafn in his chair with a sigh of content, and regarded his companion solemnly solemn-ly for a moment. "A most becoming way of doing your hair," ho murmured, mur-mured, "though a trifle out of date." "That," she said, with a little flirug, "is the penalty of betng an anachronism " "Say. rather," replied the duke palantly, "that in these days true beauty is too often penalized." "And chivalry dead, they say " The duke wagged his head mournfully. mourn-fully. "What can one expect in an age of motor cars and money grubbing?" grub-bing?" he deplored. "There will bo no men a hundred years hence. Mark my words they will all be machines. Now. in our day " "Oh," protested the dowager, "aren't you taking mo rather too far back,,: His grace looked reflective. "I believe I am a bit," he conceded. "But I was always a trifle hazy about dates even as a a voungster, you know, when I had to pass ex-I ex-I animations at school." 'k "And that." she commented, "must have been long, long ago " "A devil of a I mean a prodigious long time ago, of course," he admitted admit-ted Now, the Duke of Oaklands was setting an old man. He was, in fact, 71; and a career of strenuous netivi-tv netivi-tv both In private and public affairs had aged him somewhat beyond his years. Moreover, tho prospect of his nephew's eventual succession to the title had tended to embitter his outlook out-look upon the fast-receding pleasures of life. The duke's brother, as most people know, had married at the age of 50, and died 10 years later of apoplexy, leaving one son, the present heir r presumptive, and two daughters who don't count. The duke himself was a widower and childless. He had come to detest his nephew, in whom he professed to detect all the worst symptoms of modern degeneracy de-generacy not the least of the young n an 8 fauIts belng ,n tfac ikn, a total absence of respect for X. TIe' Indccd- to a lament able degree did ho carry this falling inat tho duke would willingly have iWu"?!1 ith the Proverbial shilling shil-ling had It been in his grace's power to cancel the entail-whlch, unhappily, unhap-pily, it was not. The only other alternative al-ternative that suggested itself to the duke was that he should marrv again, triumphantly produce an heir' and so exclude bis nephew once and for air from the succession. n.Pj?r2 Was one thing, 'however, that tne dnke valued even more than he disliked his nephew, and that was the unruffled domestic serenity to winch he had been accustomed for the past 20 years, and which a vnung Wife might be expected in "some measure to disturb. "Quite a prodigious long time ago." repeated the duke. "Time," reflected the dowager, "slips by so fast." "Time," said the duke impressively was made for slaves I read that somewhere or other. N0 one hc added swelling out his chest "'could possibly accuse me of being a slave Nor he turned his eye wltfi infinite in-finite condescension upon his companion com-panion "nor you, my dear lady, nor you' ' She bobbed her curls at him in a little old-fashioned curtsev, which pleased the duke immensely, for he rubbed his hands. "That's ripping! Do it again." he begged "do it again!" "I can't go on doing it," protected the dowager. It's it's rather tiring." "It's a lost art." the duke assured her. "All arts are lost," he sighed "even the art of making love. The ah the young men of the present day are quite shockingly ignorant of all thoso pretty little tricks of courtship court-ship which ahem! which distinguished disting-uished our age, my dear madam Tempest laudata actor . ..." I seem to have got it wrong somehow, but j on know the quotation." "I think it should bo 'actress," shouldn't it?" she suggested. "Very likely, very likely." agreed the duke affably. "But we are justified justi-fied in the assertion. Can the present in any way compare with the past, 1 ask you? Ah me! tho old times! What days they were! What days! What revelry, what feasting, what glorious adventures by day and but, bless my soul, my dear lady, I forgot. I mustn't go on. I really mustn't." "And just as you were getting so interesting," murmured the dowager. The duke regarded her with stern disapproval. "I am surprised at you," he said. Eve! Eve! that pretty-, wilful, naughty naugh-ty Eve! What a lot she has to answer for!" "Adam was just as bad," pouted the dowager. "Worse." assented the duke "much worse. I have alwavs maintained, main-tained, in the teeth of all opposition, that of the two Adam was distinctly the more blameworthy in that little affair of the apple " "And your opinion should carry weight," ventured the dowager demurely. de-murely. "I flatter myself yes," the duke acquiesced. "I fear. Indeed, I have In my time earned some light reputation as a man who has trifled a little in the apple line himself." "If report does not err in other lines, too," she said, drawing her brows together in a becoming frown of rebuke "You ah refer ?" he queried, toying with his beard. "People have called you a cruel man," mused the dowager. "Ah!" the duke spread out his delicate, sinewy hands In mild protest pro-test Cruel only to be kind and all that sort of thing, you know. People aro so uncharitable," he added. add-ed. "They don't like being killed, I expect," ex-pect," she hazarded. "Xo." said the duke thoughtfully. "No, I suppose they don't like being killed much even though they deserve de-serve it. War," hc shook his bead sadlv. "war is a terrible thing." The dowager gave a little suppressed sup-pressed shudder. "Don't speak of It!" she entreated. "Pray don't speak of it!" "I won't," said the duke; "though permit mo to point out it was you who first introduced the subject. There are, in fact, other matters that I would much prefer to discuss with you " "The old, old times, for Instance?" suggested the dowager, glancing at him out of the tail of her eye. "When we were young," murmured the duke. "Little toddly things in short frocks and pretty long stockings stock-ings I mean of course," he explained, ex-plained, "that you were in short frocks and pretty " "Never mind the pretty part," she hastened to interrupt. "I remember i I used to think you a horrid little boy. You were distitute of the most elementary sense of gallantry, too vou used to take away my sweets whenever you had a chance." "Bless my heart!" exclaimed the duke "Did I really?" "You see, even at that tender age the predatory instinct had already begun to show early signs of development de-velopment in your grace's character." "Oh, come not predatory!" objected object-ed tho duke. "Well then, acquisitive," Bhe substituted. sub-stituted. Tho duke nodded thoughtfully. "A mero racial characteristic," he observed ob-served "a quality that should elicit admiration rather than censure. Without With-out the acquisitive instinct that glorious passion for annexing other people's property on every' available occasion where would the British nation be today? The principle, I admit, is capable of dangerous extension ex-tension in the hands of unscrupulous persons but it contains the true germ of nobility and greatness." "Your grace's logic," said the dowager dow-ager demurely, "explains much In your grace's conduct which has hitherto, hith-erto, I am afraid, been grossly misrepresented mis-represented by the public." "Eh what?" said the duke, glancing glanc-ing up in surprise. "For instance, there was your friend Egmont . . . wasn't there?" "Never knew the gentleman," he replied. "You don't mean Egbert, do ou' the little Don we used to call Egg-flip?" "No. I don't," retorted the dowager dowa-ger "Hc wasn't a Don at all, nor even a Spaniard. He was a count." "Dear me," said the duke, "was he?" "Well, you ought to know," she snapped, "if anv one does." "I don't," said the duke, shaking his head, "I den't indeed." "Your grace has a conveniently short memory," said the dowager with cutting sarcasm. 1 Perhaps you will also disclaim any recollection of a certain person called let me see, calkd Montigny ?" "Mont Mont what?" repeated the duke knitting his brow. "I really don't quite take you, my dear lady. . . . Unless you refer to Montoaglo," he added, brightening, "known as Monty?" "I see I must rrfr'sh your poor, treacherous memory," she smiled. "Count Egmont was executed In Flanders and Baron Montigny was murdered in Spain " "Gracious!" exclaimed the duke. "How on earth did you know that?" "Every schoolgirl knows it," said the dowag. "And you," she went on accusingly, "aro popularly supposed sup-posed to have been implicated in both these crimes." "I?" said the duke, silting up. "God bless my soul, my dear lady! I protest I know nothing whatever about the matter!" "It's no use prevaricating," retorted retort-ed the dowager. "You will pretend next that vou knew nothing about Haarlem! " "Never mot the gentleman," ho de- clared with conviction. "Never mot him In my life, I assure you." "Haarlem was not a gentleman," sho corrected. "Ah then, that accounts for it," said tho duke arily. "I only associate associ-ate with er with gentlemen, dou't you know." "Haarlem," explained the dowager patiently, "was a city, my friend. After a protracted siege you entered it and, in defiance of your pledged word, massacred the inhabitants to the number of over iluOO innocent persons per-sons " "Dear me," said the duke, "did I really?" "Undoubtedly," she assured him "Do you mean to say that you forget even that?" Again the duke shook his head and sighed. "It ah It happened, you see, such a deuce of a long time ago," he apologized. apolo-gized. "My er my uncle would, no doubt, recollect the sad occurrence," hc added, as a happy thought. "Your uncle? Oh fie!" smiled the dowager. "You shouldn't make fun of the dear man. After all he's not so so very old, remember." "Well, he's older than I am, anyway," any-way," snapped the duke. "He might marry again, you know " she reminded him, "even yet ' "There's not the remotest "chance 01 It, he declared. "No woman in her senses would be fool enough to marry my uncle." "Then you really think." said the dowager, and her voice became quite confidential as she leaned prettily toward her eompanion, "you roally think that you will . . . well, you know what ?" The duke nodded In perfect comprehension com-prehension of this sryptie remark. "I entertain not the least doubt on the point," he assured her. "I am glad of that." she murmured absently. "It would bo rather Jolly to be a a " "Duchess?" suggested the duke. The dowager drew herself up haughtily haugh-tily and tried to look angry. "Your grace mistakes!" she began with extreme dignity. "I " "Mj grace does nothing of the sort," interrupted the duke impatiently. impatient-ly. "What? Is a man not to be allowed al-lowed to know his own feelings, pray?" "A man?" echoed the dowager. "Well, a duke, then," ho corrected, regarding her sternly. "Oil. but I was thinking of mine," she stammered, looking down at the tips of her pointed little shoes. "I was wondering wheether it would be . . . well, right for a woman " "A woman?" said the duke, staring. star-ing. sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssswi'ii hi mm ii "Well, a dowager, then to marry a a crimc-stalned man like " "Like?" demanded the duke severely. severe-ly. "His Grace of Alva," replied tho dowager, with a saucy little courtsey. "I am told," said the duke, fixing a stern eye upon her, "I am told " The dowager stiffened perceptibly. "I am told," repeated the duke with cold precision, "that in the days of her youth, the dowager countess of Elm park was well, was no better than she should have been, at any rate " "An an abomlnablo calumny!" gasped the dowager hotly. "So I should hardly have expected." calmly pursued the duke "I should hardly have expected her ladyship to entertain any violent scruples of the kind you mention." "I don't believe a word of it," protested pro-tested the dowager, blushing, "or " "Or what?" Inquired the duke kindly. kind-ly. "Or I should not have chosen this this particular character to come to the ball in tonight, of course." "I am very glad you did," said the duke, "for I assure you It Is an infinitely in-finitely becoming one." "That was my only reason," explained ex-plained the dowager earnestly. 'You know tho picture, I suppose''" The duke bowed, "I see It before me," he replied. "No, no," she frowned. "1 mean tho picture in the National gallery Hogarth's portrait of the countess of Elmpark." "I made a special point of examining examin-ing it the other day," he announced, "when I looked in to study the duke of Alva's costume . . . Hogarth's portrait of the duke of Alva, you know room B. A fine painting!" "I don't believe you have ever been to the National gallery in your life," declared the duchess vehemently. vehement-ly. "Hogarth never painted a portrait por-trait of the duke of Alva at all." "Dear me." said the duke, "didn't he? Why not?" "Because he happened to live r.bout 200 years after the duke was dead," snapped the dowager. "Well, he er he might have painted one from from hearsay, you know," suggested the duke "Anyhow, you are wrong. I did go to the gallery. gal-lery. I went expressly to see the countess portrait a most charming, a most remarkably beautiful old lady " "Yes, she was considered the most beautiful woman of the period," the dowager informed him. "Do you think I I'm at all like her?" "Not a bit," replied the duke with decision. "I mean," he added hastily, "you are ever so much more beauti ful. And, besides, you have forgotten Hi to make up your faco to look old. sH Otherwise the likeness is perfect flBi "Your costume is pretty good, too," ffii remarked tho dowager, somewhat M9 mollified. "Especially the beard. I&S but " bmB "Yes, I flatter myself the beard Is MBS good," returned the duke, "though mma deucedly uncomfortable. You were SSK going to add?" , 938 "I was wondering what on earth fflj induced you to Impersonate such a ffil shocking old reprobate as the Duke 0 "Because he wore such an attrac- liStf tlve costume," expiained the duke. "I bSEf happened to oome across an old en- Iklw graving and that decided me More- ig&lj over," he added, "I am credibly rn- fS formed by my ah solicitors that I fjgPy am lineally descended from the lvas HL on my mother's side; ray great- Wrc grandmother's cousin married a WM Spaniard called Alva. It is quite WJig likely that he was a kind of distant $j. relation of the duke's." m'& "Quite, of course." admitted the dowager "And It must be so pies?- ftfj. ant to play at being a duke even for an evening." I "Permit me to remind you," said the duke stiffly, "that in mv case the game is likely to become a reality." '''jpg. "0," she retorted, "if you mean that f?fe for a snub . . . Besides, since you are going to be a duke permit me to k'-fca remind you ahem! permit me to re- rffi mind your grace that I may possibly f. also become a dow " She checked herself sharply, with a bluBh. countess," replied the duke blandly. V&M "Don't flatter yourself that you will Ur become anything of the sort, my dear Infi "Eor I warn you beforehand that I intend to live to a dickens of an age " "You needn't think that you will f,', disappoint me like that," she mocked. "Indeed, I am getting tired of being H I a dowager already." "And I," said the duke, "am begin- i'.v;. nlng to find this beard a little cum- 1 1 bersome. If I were to kiss you. I j " ) believe it would come off." I "Then for goodness sake, don't J I don't risk such a catastrophe," she implored him. ' "A soldier," responded the duke I galantly, ' fears no risks." "But but your beard!" she en- I treated. j "I will sacrifice It," answered the duke resolutely. "If necessary, I am prepared to sacrifice it" "Oh, well, since you must be so J I so foolish," faltered tho dowager. But the remainder of her sentence was lost in the duke's beard which, J happily, however, did not come off, |