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■'-^did. .\nd the several that followed it. As
for Seville, she suspected that in the back of his
mind he still thought curious things about her,
but she refused to let them bother her. .After
all, she liked him, and Se\'illc was a person who
lived a very full and delightful life by realizing
what she liked and enjoying it.

In the month that followed, Seville Haw-
thorne and Peter Dunsany saw each other a
good many times, sometimes by accident,
sometimes by Peter's planning. Which should,
in the interests of romance, have resulted in but
one thing — Peter falling in love with her. But
he didn't. It was Seville who did the falling in
love.

Not that she wanted to. Not that she in-
tended to. She simply did, and when it had
happened she didn't know what to do about it,
Peter having made it plain to her that love was
a thing he had no intention of indulging in. It
was while she found herself in this situation
that Courtney Rondel crossed her path.

Now Courtney Rondel, who followed the
same profession as Peter Dunsany and had
almost as great a prestige to his credit, was
many things that Peter was not. Courtney,
who had never known a stage minus a camera,
thrived on publicity. He counted his con-
quests by the dozen and was, altogether, a
dangerous and combustible person to walk into
the life of a girl who was fighting against caring
for 3 man. Also, he amused Seville.

He made, indeed, a very good job of amusing
Seville. The first week he met her he made
live engagements with her. And because
Seville was a little bewildered by the person
she'd turned out to be — falling in love with a
man who thought her, at best,anad-4'enturess —
she gave a very good imitation of a lady
captivated by Hollywood's Don Juan.

The first time Peter heard about Seville and
Courtney Rondel, he lifted his eyebrows in a
distinctly British manner. The fourth tinie, he
told himself that, evidently, not finding him
good material, Seville had turned her eyes upon
more available property. But the tenth time
found him not quite so philosophical. He told
himself he was disappointed in her, which was
a masculine way of sa>'ing he was surprised at
her choice of men. In fact, after seeing her at
least a half dozen times «ith the gallant Court-
ney, he got decidedly hot under the collar.
More — he got cynical.

"TT was in his cynical mood that he accepted
-••an invitation to somebody's dinner, a thing
he seldom did. Did he e.xpect to find Seville
there? Certainly not. But he wasn't sur-
prised when he did.

She was, he thought, lovelier looking than he
had realized. He made up his mind to leave
early, before the dancing started. He found
himself, at the end of the eighth dance, still
waiting for a chance to dance with her.

At last he found it, and Seville gave him his
dance, without a thought to the gentleman to
whom she'd promised it. After all, hadn't she
given Peter Dunsany her heart? W' hy hesitate,
then, about a dance? But she didn't enjoy it
much, perhaps because Peter wore a grim man-
ner and had very little to say.

Peter, too, found the dance disappointing.



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In the middle of it he guided Se\-ille through an
open doorway and out upon a terrace. "I
shan't give her the satisfaction of knowing I'm
disappointed in her," thought Peter to himself.
And he said, suddenly, "I never thought you
were like this."

■■npHIS?" Seville wondered if she'd stepped

-*- on his togs.

"Falling — for a chap like Rondel," snapped
Peter, quite forgetting his determination not
to mention any names.

Seville sent him a slanting glance from her
amazing blue eyes. "Well." she sighed, "you
never cantell whom you will fall for. j-ou know."

"Women," remarked Peter grimly, "are all
alike."

"Did you expect to fmd them all different?"

"I expected to tind you different!" he e.x-
ploded.

That rather nettled Seville. "Now, look
here, Peter Dunsany,"- she said logically,
"you never expected to find me one way or the
other. Besides, you don't care a button what I
am. And an)'-»a>-, I can't see why you make
such a fuss because I tind Courtney Rondel
amusing."

"Fuss!" snorted Peter, curiously upset for a
man who cared nothing about women. "I'm
not making any fuss! It's nothing to me, one
way or the other. I'm just surprised, that's all."

"But why?" persisted Seville. She really
wanted to know.

"You're not like — that is, I didn't think you
were like these flappers who think a movie hero
is a dream come true. Why. how anxone who
can play Debussy as you do — "



"What a lot you've got to learn about
women," sighed Seville. " I might play a harp
like the Heavenly Host, and still lose both my
head and my heart to the wTong man!"

"Then you do lo\'e him! You actually love
him!"

Seville flung up her golden head. "And
what if I do?"

"All right," said Peter shortly. "Have it
your own way. It's none of my business, any-
way."

"No, it really isn't," retorted Seville sweet-
l_v, and she went back to her dancing. But she
felt furious, and reckless, too, because she was
so miserable.

She wished she could hurt Peter Dunsany
the way he was hurting her.

CHE had her chance — to defy him, at any
'-'rale — later that very evening. It all came
about when Courtney Rondel asked her to fly
with him the next morning — to be the first
person he'd take up, after earning his pilot's
license.

Se\'ille accepted thoughtlessly, not realK"
intending to go. She thought too much of
her neck to risk it with Courtney Rondel. Hut
the news got around, as news will among
people who li\e on gossip, and when she was
standing near the door, waiting for Courtney
to caU his car, she heard Peter Dunsany's
voice at her elbow. He was saying, sharplj-,
"What's this I hear about you riding with
Rondel?"

" .\eroplane," explained Seville absently.
"He's just got his license — or whatever it is
you have to take people up."



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This is the house that Van Dine built. Or rather S. S. Van Dine
designed it and Paramount built it for the picture version of "The
Greene Murder Case." It would take a whole flock of X's to mark
the spots where the bodies were found, for this is the famous death
mansion itself



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"Of course, youre not going!" Peter said it
with finality.

Seville made up her mind to go. "Of course
I am. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

His eyes met hers. "It's — rank suicide
cried.

Seville's heart gave a jump. "Don't you
want me to go?"

But Peter froze. "It is nothing to me," he
said stiffly. " But I think you ought to realize
— the risk. Rondel is a novice."

Seville flung up her head. Why couldn't he
be human — just once! "I'm not afraid of
risks," she said scornfully. "And I like excite-
ment." She turned towards Courtney Rondel,
waiting beyond the door.

PETER let her go — four steps. Then he went
after her. He was in a most curiously un
settled state of mind. He said, hurriedly, " 1
wish you'd — reconsider. I — I really don'l
want you logo."

But Seville wasn't to be stopped now. She
wanted to be defiant, just why, she didn'tknow.
"I don't think you know what you want," she
told Peter Dunsany, and she hurried on to the
man waiting for her.

Peter Dunsany had a beastly time of it that
night, when he was alone. He thought of
Rondel and the long list of women who had
loved and been loved b>' liim. It was sickening
to think of Seville — lo\ely, gay, careless Seville
— in that gala.xy. He thought of phoning Ron-
del — -asking him to give up that crazy flying
notion — and knew what little good it would do.
And at last, just as the dawn was creeping o\er
Beverly Hills, he thought of Se\ille as he
had first seen her, lying in a white, still heap
on his floor. Then he saw her, crumpled and
broken, lying among the wreckage of a faUen
plane. The thought was unendurable. Peter,
with a nice, conservative, English oath on his
lips, sent for his car. Let Seville think him a
fool — let her say what she liked — he wasn't
going to let her fly that morning!

He drove much faster than the law allowed,
but even so Peter Dunsany didn't reach the
flying field until after nine. .\nd he knew, the
moment he stopped his car, that something had
happened.

His heart, closing like a vise, told him e\en
before he sensed the feeUng of something un-
foreseen and terrible that hovered over the
groups of men standing around.

Peter caUed one of them, a mechanic he
knew, over to his car. He said, "Has Rondel
gone up yet, Davis?"

T^.WIS, the mechanic, looked at him queerl)-.
-'-^His mouth was taut, his face grey.
"Haven't you heard?" he asked slowly.

"Heard! Heard what? My God, man,
what's happened?"

"Cracked up," muttered Davis. "He took
the air at eight. Twenty minutes later — "
Davis Nviped a wet forehead.

Peter heard his own voice, as if from far
away. "He — was alone? He — -was he hurt?"

"He was hurt, aU right," returned the
mechanic grimly. "I reckon he'll pull through,
though he won't do any love-making for many
a moon. But the young lady with him—"

Peter looked out over the field. The sun-
light, turning the hangar roofs to sUver, hurt
his eyes. He said, dully, "Dead?"

"God, yes!" Davis wiped his face again.
"I tell you — it gets a guy — a girl — "

Peter switched his engine on. He drove his
car away — blindly — through the sunlight. He
found himself on a road leading out of town.
He followed it, dazed and shaken. He tried to
tell himself, "Seville — dead!" But it didn't
register. Nothing did — but the agony that
thickened his throat, clutched his heart. Oh,
Peter knew now what he wanted. He thought
of the last words Seville had said to him!

He drove, he didn't know where and cared
less. Driving was a form of physical relief
from the mental agony that gripped him. He
lost all track of time and place. He, an empty
shell of a man, drove through an empty world.

And then he was home again. He hadn't



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1.



[07



1929 debutante



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It was her
Or an image
But a great



intended to go home, but there he was. He
told himself he must go somewhere — do some-
thing — but what was there to do? Seville was
dead.

He walked up the curving path from the
garage to his door. He stumbled as he walked,
but he wasn't conscious of that. He found the
door — ^opened it — and stood as if death had
touched him. too. For there, standing before
him, was Seville.

It wasn't Seville, of course,
ghost. Or a trick of the shadows,
conjured up out of his own heart,
cry broke from Peter's lips.

"Oh, Seville — why didn't I know in time!
I love you — do you hear. I love you — and you
are dead!"

The ghost moved, came to him. It said, in
Seville's unforgettable voice, "Peter — my dear
— I'm not dead." She put a hand upon his
arm to prove that fact.

"prCTER caught her in his arms. He kissed her
■'- ■ — oh, 'Seville was alivel That kiss proved
that. He said, huskily, "They told me — "

Seville's mouth was tremulous. "I know. I
knew you'd think it was me — that's why I
came here. I couldn't make myself go up, after
all. And he — Courtney — took one of the
girls from the office. Poor little girl — "

Much, much later, Peter looked at Seville
sheepishly.

"I've been a fool," he said. "But — do you
think you could — marr\' me?''"

Seville wasn't sure. "There's one thing
first," she told him firmly. "Tell me why, in
the name of madness, you accused me of break-
ing your nice iron gate on purpose that first
night? .\nd tried to hustle me out of your
door, broken head and all? .\nd why, while
you're answering f|ijestions, did jou say all
those beastly things about my game — and that
rubbish about risking my neck to meet you?"

PETER looked at her helplessly. He wished
she wouldn't dig up buried skeletons. " Look
here," he said pleadingly, "can't we forget all
that?"

"Forget? Forget? I %vish you'd tell me
what there is to forget ! Peter — much as I love
you — and that's a lot — I won't budge a step
towards marrying you until you answer every
question! Fact!"

"Then, " returned Peter grimly, "if you will
lia\e it — I heard you, you see, talking me over
ijefore I ever met you."

"You heard me — talking you over?" Seville
stared at him.

"At Matton's," said Peter miserably. "You
were lunching with somebody called Claire.
I knew your \oice, when 3'ou tumbled in my
<loor that night — and besides, she called you
Seville."

"You say, you heard me talking about you?
\ctually, about you?"

Peter nodded stiffly. He wasn't enjoying



this. "If you must have it, you said, I think,
'I'm going to get Peter the Great or die in the
attempt.' I shouldn't have listened — but
hearing my name — "

Seville looked suddenly alert. "They do
call you that, don't they!"

"They do. You also complimented my —
swagger, you called it. You said you would
stumble on me unawares. \^ou — but I say,
Seville- "

"pOR Seville, from staring at him with eyes
•*- growing wider and rounder, had gone off into
peals of laughter. E\en as he stopped, non-
plused, she collapsed weakly on a chair, limp
from merriment.

"I must say," said Peter somewhat testily,
"I don't see — "

"Oh, Peter! Stop! Stop!" Seville wiped
the tears from her eyes. "And )'ou thought —
oh, dear me — you actually thought — "

"I wish you'd stop laughing," said Peter
glumly. "I don't see the joke, myself."

"But — " Seville went off into another gale
of hysterics. "You thought — I meant you!"

"Well, who in thunder did you mean?" cried
Peter, who had had just about enough of this.

Seville pulled herself to her feet. "I'll show
you," she giggled. "I gave him to Hawley — to
feed! Wait — I'll show you!"

Out of the room she went, arul back she
came, with something small and furry in her
arms. She put it down and it swaggered, like
a dignified old gentleman, across the room. It
contemplated Peter testily, through two bored
little eyes.

"It's — a dog!" ga.sped Seville, rather un-
necessarily, since Peter had eyes of his own.
" He's — a very famous show dog — Imperial Jap-
anese spaniel! He's — Peter the tJreat. Hon-
estly, he is! Look him up in the dog annals of
.\merica. Rosa Rosina, the star, owned him.
I wanted him! I came to Hollywood, to get
him! But, of course, I wasn't going to ask to
buy him outright — hke that. She'd have
doubled his price! I meant to sort of stumble
on him — fall in love with him — let her know I
just had to have him! Oh — Peter, dariing — "

Peter felt smaller than the midget who sat
eyeing him disdainfully from the middle of a
pillow. "My hat!" breathed Peter. "And
that's called Peter the Great!" He looked at
Seville sheepishly. "DarHn;g, can you forgive



SEVILLE, it seemed, could. Peter kissed
her. Then he said firmly, "But one thing
is certain — he gets a new name!"

The four pounds of pedigree on the soft
pillow looked languidly at Peter Dunsany.
"Yap, yap," said the four pounds disdainfully.
Then he licked his little black nose with a red,
indiflferent tongue. One name was as good as
another to an Imperial Japanese spaniel, who
counted more aristocrats among his ancestors
than Peter could.



Hollywood — A Manless Town



[ CO.VTINUEU FROM P.VGE 43 |



menless women are careful not to infringe upon
the rights of the girls with boy friends.

Those who don't go in for the code are
ostracized. Alice White doesn't exactly con-
form to the rules. She gets 'em when she can
and how. .And she takes 'em away from the
other girls if the opportunity presents itself.
.\s a result, this blonde vamp is hated by the
sisterhood.

Joan and Doug, Gary and Lupe, Sue and
Xick, Bebe and Ben have a better chance for
happiness in Hollywood than anj-where else.
The wild sirens are not allowed to do their
wildest.

The unattached young women respect the
ingenuity it required on the part of the lucky
femme with a bov friend.



So come to Hollywood, young man, and
bring your purse along. And stay, oh do stay!

For there are plenty of girls on the shelf.
There are plenty of them who want Romance
and a Moon and Young Love and all the other
things Marian Harris sings about.

.And who in Hollywood can give romance?
Ham actors? Conceited, selfish actors who
don't know what it means when the lady of
that particular evening says pointedly, "I'm
wearing an orcltid dress tonight"? ISlen who
talk about themselves and demand an audience
along with every bowl of chili they buy?

In the strictest sense of the word, Hollywood
is as manless as ringside seats at the weekly
prize fights.

That romance you see is only for the camera.



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[09



How They Manage
Their Homes

[ CONTINUED FROM I'AGE 78 1



Her friends . . . "Oh, Daisy is my best girl
friend and \'iola Sliore, the writer. I don't run
with picture people much, y<5U know — just
piclc up my friends from anywhere when I like
them . . . they may be distinguished or they
may be manicure girls. IMost of my friends
are ones I knew before I paid income tax . . .
and their names wouldn't mean a thing to
anybody. I haven't any boy-friends now . . .
npt beau.x, I mean. Just one back in New
York . . . he'll be out soon, then I'll have a
beau again."

CLARA takes two baths a day, night and
morning, hot, with fancy salts in them, and
a cold shower after. She loves to play bridge,
to swim in a pool, but not in the ocean; some
tenjnis and a mere soi{ptoii of golf. She owns
what she calls a "little shack" at Malibu
Beach, however.

" .\11 the laundrj- for both houses costs about
S40 a month.' reveals Daisy. "Clara's bed
is changed every day, and when we entertain
at the beach for a week-end I spend about
$25 on food, but at home I can feed us all,
four servants included, for .S.'iO a week. I
buy as much wholesale as possible."

Clara loves to drive her own car, a big, open
one, vepi' sport j' — "as I like lots of air," she
says with a grin.

There's a dog, too, named "Bo," a Spitz-
collie, all white, whose kennel occupies one



Online LibraryMoving Picture Exhibitors' AssociationPhotoplay (Volume 36 – 37 (Jul. - Dec. 1929)) → online text (page 63 of 145)