Gitascowled. Geoffrey ran his hand through his hair until it stood up like a rooster’s comb. Polly’s eyes glittered. Elsie set her lips.
Gita turned on her heel. “Topper gave us your favorite lemon pie, Elsie,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m going to tell Amanda to make another for dinner.” And she marched off.
“I must go and take a look at Eustace.” Geoffrey made his exit.
Polly turned to her ally. “What’s happened?” Her eyes were more frightened than angry. “They looked as if he had just kissed her.”
“That’s nonsense, of course. You forget the circumstances——” Elsie’s eyes turned to the head of the table. “But something’s happened. That lemon pie hasn’t been touched. And it’s Amanda’s chef-d’œuvre and the favorite dessert of both of them.”
“Do you suppose he told her—told her—oh, it can’t be possible he still cares! Oh, no! I suppose she’d intrigue and fascinate any man if she took the trouble, and it looks as if she had. She told me once she was as vain as a peacock, and she’s become so used to admiration—no doubt she’s been missing it——” She grasped Elsie’s arm. “Tell Eustace not to let her go!” she cried, her voice harsh with fear. “Make him believe he’s only to hold on, has everything on his side—I forgot! You want him yourself. I’m out in the cold!”
Elsie was still frowning at the lemon pie. “All that’s in the future,” she said. “May never come to anything. But if I could keep him buoyed up until Geoffrey had no excuse to stay longer——” And then she shook herself angrily and drew her hand across her brow. “No, I’ll not do anything sly and detestable. It’s not a pleasant sensation to despise yourself. We have to live with ourselves—must keep on good terms. You’re quite equal to managing your own affairs and you’re on the ground. You can see to it they’re never alone.”
Dr. Pelham was heard running lightly down the stair. The two girls went hastily out into the hall.
“Well, I’m off,” he said. “Eustace won’t need me again today.”
Polly moved toward him. “I was going to take you for a drive to Cape May this afternoon——”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I promised I’d meet a colleague in the Traymore Book Store at three and take him for a tramp. He’s only able to get down to Atlantic City for the day. I’ll be over in the morning. Go up and sit with Eustace for a few moments, Elsie. He’ll be glad to see you.”
He smiled and nodded to Polly, and a moment later he was striding down the avenue. He had driven his car from New York but rarely used it.
Gita entered through a door at the end of the hall.
“Amanda has two more lemon pies,” she said encouragingly. “Intact. She made apple dumplings for the kitchen table. Bring your things over, Elsie?”
“Topper took them up to my room. Geoff just gave me permission to sit with Eustace for a few minutes.”
“Splendid. Go right up.”
She took one look at Polly and then made for the stair herself. “I’m going to lie down,” she announced in a high clear voice. “Awfully tired. Don’t sleep well. Amuse yourself, Polly.”
“Gita!”
Gita paused on the landing and clutched the banister. A show-down? Well—surely Polly must see there was no excuse for her to stay longer. “Yes?”
“Oh, nothing.” Polly swung on her heel. An explosion, and she would have to go. She had no intention of going.
Gita ran up to her room and locked herself in. She had never felt less tired. Nor did she want to think. She could always lose herself in a good novel, and she had a new one.
But half an hour later she slipped out of the house and tramped until it was time to dress for dinner.
Thedinner was almost gay. Each had her part to play and each was too clever to play it self-consciously. By common consent both Bylant and Pelham were ignored, and they talked of the past winter in New York, the summer distractions planned in Chelsea (in which Elsie promised Polly to take part if only for the sake of copy), and the new spring novels. The last subject afforded an opportunity to quarrel, which gave them a welcome release.
“I feel like a movie,” announced Polly, as they left the dining-room. “Come along, girls. We can all crowd into my car.”
“I can’t go, of course.” Gita bit her lip. “Must do the decent thing. What time do you suppose you’ll be back?”
“Round ten, probably.”
“I don’t think you should drive on lonely roads at night.”
“Nothing very lonely between here and Atlantic City, after we get out of that avenue of yours. But if you don’t want to stay alone—there’s always mah-jongg——”
“I detest mah-jongg. Run along. I’ll be all right.”
She shrugged her shoulders as the two girls ran upstairs to put on their things. She could hear the car, anyway. Easy enough to hide behind those thickly planted trees in the avenue.
“I’ll stop at the house and ask Geoff to go with us,” said Elsie, as the young gardener brought Polly’s roadster to the door. “Then he can take us to one of the hotels for supper. Polly says she feels like making a night of it.”
“Good idea,” said Gita coolly, and wondered what excuse Pelham would make.
She tapped softly on the door of the sick-room. The nurse whispered that her patient was sleeping soundly, for the first time without an opiate.
That duty done she sat down firmly with her novel; but after she had read one page four times wondered why anybody wasted time on fiction, and flung the really notable effort into a corner.
She resolved not to think and promptly began thinking.
Fine performance for her—sneaking out at night to meet a man and indulge in a semi-romantic episode on the salt marshes. They’d probably freeze. Better wear her fur coat. Look like a bear on its hind legs.
Not in the least did she feel like one of those old Gita Carterets. If they’d ever outraged their sense of decorum by doing such a thing and risked a cold in the head—thank heaven she never had colds—hoped Dr. Pelham wouldn’t sneeze—they’d have done it as a tribute to capitalized Romance . . . sake of one more enchanting memory . . . look back upon when suckling their first baby.
Doubted if they ever felt really romantic. Not enough imagination, probably. Merely sentimental.
Well, she didn’t feel romantic either. No ultimates to look forward to, no romance.
What on earth had possessed him to suggest such a thing? She could have got rid of Polly somehow and found plenty of opportunities to talk with him in the house or garden. Not because he wanted to make love to her—moonlight—solitude—night—all the rest of it. Including squawking ducks for chorus. Or was this the duck season? Or did they have wild ducks in New Jersey? She’d gone duck-hunting one night in California and it had been great fun although one got rather stiff.
She endeavored to concentrate on California. Gorgeous moonlight nights on the bay. Ferry-boats like fairy ships, glittering in the dark. Chain of lights “across the bay,” a necklace for the Queen Calafia Ordoñez de Montalvo had imagined far back in the centuries . . . Bare sharp hills. Fog moving in through the Golden Gate like a ship . . . California faded off the map.
Just an impulse, probably. Felt he had more to say and wanted to get it off his chest. No idea of making love to her; she need have no misgivings. He had a hot temper but a cold code of honor. Nor would he try to approach her obliquely. He had none of the subtlety of Eustace, the diabolic patience, the ability to cloak his desires and play a “wooing” game, while he watched for the right moment to strike. His self-control was of a different sort. Wonderful to break down that self-control, if things were different and she were different. But she had her own code.
Well, if their teeth didn’t chatter it would be something to remember when she was old. She really wanted to go more than anything else in the world. Oh, yes,wantedto go. Must have her drama—loved beauty, and the night was heavenly, in spite of the cold.
Shechanged into a thick skirt and heavy sweater and discarded the fur coat in favor of a dark warm cape she had bought the year before to wear when she prowled in her woods at night. At five minutes to ten she walked swiftly but alertly down the avenue, feeling less romantic than conspiratorial.
As she approached the gates she saw Geoffrey standing before his car in the full moonlight.
“Be careful,” she called out. “Polly and Elsie went to a movie and may be back any minute.”
“They won’t be home for two hours yet—later probably. Elsie came in to ask me to go with them and I made her promise to say I was out. Then Polly came in and called up two of her admirers and they were all to meet on the Boardwalk—go to supper after the movie. Getting into the house without running into them may be the problem——”
“I left the library window open.”
She stole a glance at him as he sat beside her in the car. The set grimness had returned to his face and his eyes looked more gray than blue. No doubt he regretted proposing anything so ridiculous; also, his conscience hurt him, probably. Wonder he hadn’t telephoned off.
They reached the edge of the broadest expanse of the salt-water marsh lands. It was as cold and desolate as the moon that silvered it, and looked as remote from Atlantic City, blaring and flashing a few miles away, as if it had swung off into space.
Geoffrey removed his ulster and locked it with his cap in the car. He wore a white woolen sweater and an old pair of corduroy breeches.
“I used to know these meadows like a map,” he said, as he rowed with sure strokes through one of the winding narrow channels. “I’d come here to think out my problems, and generally at night.”
Gita drew her cape about her and looked out over the marsh, sniffing the salt air. A sensation of peace descended upon her. She loved color and movement and brilliance, but she also loved cold austere beauty, low tones, hard outlines, white landscapes in winter. This marsh was starkly beautiful. Far in the distance was the black mass of a pine wood. As quiet as death. Only once a train roared over a bridge.
She looked at Pelham. He was smiling; his face was as boyish as when he had flown into a temper, but charmingly pleasant. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” he said frankly. “But we’re here, and I’ll leave remorse for tomorrow. You may tell Eustace if you like——”
“I certainly shall not. I may fly to the moon with a man if I choose. If he were still in danger I shouldn’t have come, of course—you wouldn’t have proposed it. But I came out to enjoy myself and I don’t intend to split hairs.”
“You’re rather a pagan, you know.”
“Perhaps. Seems to me we’re all pagans these days. Except you.You’rerather old-fashioned.”
“I expect to remain so. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t be anywhere else. We needn’t talk at all, if you’d rather not. It is enough for me——”
“You asked me out to ‘have a talk,’ ” she said mischievously.
“I’m only too ready to listen to anything you may have to tell me.”
But Gita had no intention of telling anything. She had once obeyed an egotistical impulse and the present mess was the result.
But something must happen to make the night memorable. No hope of anything fortuitous. Impossible to turn over, and be rescued, in these narrow channels. Not a soul on the meadows but themselves. . . . She wasn’t cold, after all—rarely was, for that matter. That fur coat was a wedding-present from Mrs. Pleyden . . . well, let her thoughts scatter.
Their eyes met with that quick spontaneous smile of youth to youth, which may mean all or nothing. If Geoffrey were experiencing the pangs of unsatisfied love it was evident he had no intention of betraying himself. He was a young man indulging in a picturesque hour with a beautiful girl and it was a part of his part to be duly appreciative.
But with that quick involuntary response, that smiling subtly intimate exchange, she felt a curious stir in her body. An invisible cloak seemed to envelop her under that dark ugly cape and turn mere warmth into a glow. A curious sense of unreality. . . . Reality?
“Have we been here before?” she asked abruptly.
“What I felt once or twice when we were in fancy dress? Unfortunately that sort of thing has been scientifically explained. It means nothing I’m afraid.”
“I rather like the idea of reincarnation.” Quite forgetting she had rejected it with scorn.
“So do I—as a man. But science is uncompromising.”
“Science is always finding out its mistakes. Look at anthropology. I read a lot of that last year.” She shied away from any mention of Eustace, even as tutor.
“True. Well, of course, anything is possible. We know very little after all. Certainly nothing of the Beyond.”
“I choose to believe,” said Gita clearly and looking straight at him, “that two hundred years ago I was living at that manor and you came here from Boston on a visit—political, probably—and brought letters to us. You would, of course . . . I think I knew it that night.”
“A very pretty game, if you want to play it.” She saw his eyes flash and his mouth set, simultaneously. “But this is not a romantic age, you know. Particularly since the war. I’m told that no old cliché is so heartily despised—that’s saying a good deal, isn’t it? Clichés being anathema in your set, I’m told.”
“That crowd is the merest ripple on the surface. Not hit in the solar plexus by the war like the young English writers, but taking their cue, although they’d hate to admit it. We’re all exactly the same as we always have been.”
“Fundamentally—I suppose we are. But luckily most of us are forced to live on the surface of our minds, at high pressure, and seldom have time to take a plunge.”
“Seldom, yes. But occasionally?”
He made no reply. She laughed at his frowning brows. Once more his eyes were almost black. She forced humor into her own eyes lest he receive a hint of that curious sensation of something rising in her veins. But her laugh was infused with that voluptuous warmth bordering on hysteria by which young girls betray themselves when indulging in prolonged attacks of giggles. “You really believe it, you know. One night after a ball, when our fine clothes were new, you begged me to slip out and row on these meadows with you, and you had a Spanish cape over your blue satin coat and white——”
“You are rather unfair, you know.”
“Not a bit of it.” Her voice rose. “We’re merely reconstructing the past, not building up any kind of future. No obstacles in those days, although my irate papa probably boxed my ears when I got back and marched you off to the library to ask your intentions——”
“I’d hardly have put him to the trouble!”
Her eyes glowed. “Of course not!” she said softly. “Of course not!”
“Do you love me?” he asked harshly.
She shrank back and pulled the hood of her cape over her face. “You are Geoffrey Dedham asking that, of course.”
“I’ll be damned if I am. What’s come over you? I thought you were above flirting?”
“I am!” Her voice was muffled by more than the hood.
“Put that hood back.”
But she covered what was still visible of her face with her hand. “I’m frightened,” she whispered. “Terribly frightened.”
“I’ve no intention of touching you. I was a fool or worse to come out here with you, but it will stop at that——”
“I’m not afraid of you. You don’t understand, of course.”
“Oh, yes, I do!”
“But you can’t—you mustn’t——Oh!What——” Gita for the first time since she was an angry child burst into strangled weeping. He had been resting on his oars. The boat suddenly shot ahead.
“Cry it out,” he said grimly. But his voice ended on an uncontrollable note of triumph.
“I feel so strange,” sobbed Gita. “I—I—don’t know what to think. I never——”
“No, never! Sap rising.”
“What do you mean by that?” She pushed back her hood and tried to stab him with her eyes. But they were full of glittering tears.
“You know quite as well as I do. And as soon as Eustace is well you’ll put it up to him squarely.”
She flung her head down on her knees, convulsive sobs wrenching her body. “I won’t! I won’t! I don’t want to marry you!”
“Oh, yes, you do. You never really wanted anything before in your life.” He rowed toward the shore.
“I’d hate you——”
“You would not!”
“I do hate you——”
“That’s all right. Hate me as much as you like. It amounts to the same thing.”
She began to tremble violently. “They say—you feel horribly when you come to after drowning,” she stammered through her chattering teeth. “I—feel—just like that.”
“Of course. You’re coming to life.”
“It’s not a—poetical feeling at all—and I must blow my nose!”
“Do. Have you a handkerchief?”
“Yes, I have.” She used it. “I wish I’d really drowned.” Her teeth were still chattering.
“It’s a submerged—hitherto—part of your ego that hurts as much as anything else. It’s undergoing birth-pangs as well as your ill-treated body.”
“I hate my body.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Oh-h-h——” A groan of dismay. “I—I feel deathly sick.”
“Lie down flat in the boat.”
She obeyed precipitately.
“Oh, I do feel dreadfully,” she moaned. “And I’ve—never—been—ill in my life.”
“Don’t talk. I’ll give you brandy in a moment. I brought it along in case of a chill.”
“Don’t tell me it’s in your hip-pocket!” She gasped. “I couldn’t stand that!”
“It’s in the pocket of my sweater. You must be feeling better. Here, sit up and drink this.”
She raised herself warily on an elbow and drank the brandy he had poured into the silver cup of his flask—a present from a grateful patient.
She fell back again, but only for a moment. A swift wriggling movement and she was sitting erect at her end of the boat.
“More beastly materialism,” she muttered. “Why couldn’t I have come all right by myself?” She stared at him resentfully, then gave a short laugh like a bark.
“God! How romantic!”
“We don’t need romance, my dear.”
She sighed, laced her fingers, and stared at the bottom of the boat. Then she looked up at him and smiled. He caught his breath. A wavering dazed smile, that passed from her lips and melted in her eyes.
“It’s all over—the resentment,” she said shyly. “And I’m glad—very glad——”
“We land in a moment. Can you drive a car?”
“Why—yes. Pretty well. Polly—and—others—have taught me.”
“Get into mine. Throw out my ulster and cap. Leave it at the gates. Take yourself off as fast as you can.”
“But——”
“Do as I tell you. Leave it in the shade where it won’t be noticed. Here we are. Jump out.”
Asshe parked the car under an oak she heard Polly’s swift roadster approaching. She darted into the heavier shade of the avenue, but that figure in its long dark cape looked ominous to two girls alone on a deserted road at night. Polly put on her brakes and brought her car to a protesting halt. She cried out sharply:
“Who’s there? I—I’ve got an automatic.”
Gita was in no laughing mood, but she heard herself giggling.
“It’s Gita!” exclaimed Elsie. “And that’s Geoffrey’s car.”
“I’m in for it!” She sighed. “And I’d have given my immortal soul to be alone tonight.”
She came out into the road. “Yes, it’s I. Been taking an airing.”
“Where’s Geoffrey?” Polly’s voice was high.
“Don’t know, I’m sure.”
“That’s his car.”
“Is it?”
“You’ve been out with him. Don’t deny it.”
Gita drew her hood over her face. “Why should I deny what you’ve no right to ask?”
“No right!”
“Certainly not. Sorry you caught me. Thought you’d telephoned to two of your heavies and were going to supper.”
“Did. But Bob Hillier passed out—how’d you know I telephoned?”
But Gita would not mention Geoffrey’s name. She turned and walked swiftly up the avenue.
“Gita Carteret!” Polly’s voice tore by her on a wild shrieking note. Elemental Polly, at last! Gita set her lips grimly and sped on. The matter was out of her hands. She would not discuss it. She wanted nothing but to be alone.
“Gita Carteret! You’ll pay! You’ll pay!”
Menacing, that shriek, no longer hysterical. Gita heard the roar of the engine behind her and moved hastily to the extreme edge of the road, glancing over her shoulder. The headlights swerved and drove toward her. She had no time even to harbor incredulity. Polly intended to ride her down!
She darted toward a space between the trees, through it and into the shrubbery, less terrified than humiliated at being obliged to run instead of standing up to a fair fight. But she could not grapple with a frantic roadster with blinding headlights.
The car plunged through the opening after her. She scrambled to the top of a hedge and swung herself over and fled across the lawn, dropping her hampering cape. The car crashed through the hedge. She waited until it was almost upon her, then jumped to one side. She caught a glimpse of the two girls. Polly’s face was a whirling disk of white fire. Elsie had flung herself upon her, trying to wrench her hands from the wheel, but Gita knew that Polly was nearly as strong as herself. Elsie took little interest in sports.
Polly brought the car about with a wide sweep, picked Gita out with the headlights and drove toward her once more. But Gita had got her breath. She dodged behind an oak on the lawn, ran swiftly to the left and entered the avenue again between trees too closely planted to admit even a roadster. Her one chance was to reach the house before Polly could bring the car about again and aim for the entrance to the avenue. She reached the foot of the steps just as Polly made a last wild attempt to ride her down.
Gita was breathless, but managed to walk up the steps with her head high. Topper had left his usual faint light in the hall. She lit several of the brackets. No more fighting-matches in the dark for her!
The car had come to a standstill and Gita wondered vagrantly why Polly hadn’t driven it up the steps and into the hall, in the fashion of their reckless ancestors when urging the more picturesque horse. But she heard nothing for a few moments but the low murmur of voices. Probably Polly had dropped out of her murderous obsession with a hard thud and was properly ashamed. She hoped she’d take herself off, and waited for the welcome sound of the roadster in the avenue. To retreat first would be to show a white feather, and if Polly wanted a scene let her have it. But she was severely shaken. She knew she had had a narrow escape. Once more she sighed. How was she to recapture those last wondrous moments out there on the meadows? Retreat into a throbbing solitude with this miracle that had come to her?
Rapid feet on the steps. They were coming!
Polly entered first. Her face was no longer blazing white. It was flushed, but otherwise composed. Elsie looked distraught, and fell at once into a chair, staring and gasping.
Polly’s head was as high as Gita’s. Her tones had never been more crisp and metallic. “Well!” she said. “I tried to kill you. No intention of denying it. Almost wish I had. But once more you’ve won out. Call the police if you like.”
Gita shrugged disdainfully.
There was a sound of flying feet on the stair.
“What is the matter?” demanded the nurse. “How could you make such a terrible noise under Mr. Bylant’s window? I only waited to give him an opiate, but he won’t calm down until he knows what has happened.”
Gita dismissed her with an impatient wave of the hand.
“Miss Pleyden lost control of her car. Nobody is hurt. Please tell him so at once.”
The nurse, her curiosity by no means gratified, retired from a promising scene.
Gita turned to Polly.
“I really think there is nothing more to say. Don’t you think we’d all better go to bed?”
Polly looked at her wonderingly.
“Don’t you realize that I tried to kill you?” she asked.
“Well, what of it? You didn’t. Nor do I feel disposed to lay it up against you. No doubt I’d have done the same thing in your place. Succeeded, too. If ever I start out to kill anyone I’ll do it. No anticlimaxes for me.”
Polly gave a short laugh. “Couldn’t have thought of anything more cutting! Can feel the knife down on the bone. Perhaps you are grateful to me. You always wanted drama. You’ve hit the high spots twice in one week.”
“Melodrama,” corrected Elizabeth Pelham. “But love and melodrama seem to be synonymous terms—in real life, at all events. We do it better in fiction. First Eustace, then you. And both of you belong to the topmost stratum of civilization!”
“No one is civilized,” snapped Polly. “There’s not one of us—who’salive—who wouldn’t kill to get what we wanted, if we dared. Well, I dared, and I’m not feeling ashamed of myself. Not a bit.” She turned to Gita. “You said out there I had no ‘right.’ I have! And you know it! He was mine and you deliberately took him from me.”
“He never was yours. Nor had he ever the least idea you cared for him, if that’s any consolation.”
“What on earth did he think? I’ve not looked at another man for months.”
“Thought you were amusing yourself with a new type. You told him you amused yourself with one man after another.”
“Probably did. Sounds like me. Nothing so blind as a man who’s in love with another woman. Were you out with him tonight? I’ve a right to ask that.”
“Well, I was.”
“Did he make love to you?”
“Of course not! How could you think of such a thing?”
“Don’t trust any man. But he’s in love with you and you with him. Don’t deny it.”
Gita gazed over her head.
Polly turned white and beat her hands together.
“And I must take it lying down! I, who vowed I’d get him and let nothing stand in my way. I wish to God I’d killed you!” she burst out passionately, although the words ended on a sob. “I’d gladly have been hanged or electrocuted or whatever they do to you in this state. And now I can’t go at it again. I feel as limp as a young corpse inside. Can’t even try to scratch your eyes out. Am the well-brought-up Miss Pleyden once more! Well—thank God I was something else for five minutes. I’ll cherish that memory through a long and prosaic life. Poor things, we moderns. Well, I’m off.”
She hesitated, then went forward and held out her hand.
“I don’t ask you to forgive me; but we may as well be sports.”
Gita shook the cold hand. “Good-by, Polly. I’m sorry. Wish it could be wiped out. I’ll miss you.”
Miss Pleyden shrugged her shoulders. “Chapters have to end sometime. You’ve made one quite interesting for me! I’ll light a cigarette if you don’t mind.”
She performed this rite, nodded to Gita and Elsie and swung lightly down the hall. A moment later they heard her car traveling at a reasonable pace.
Gita turned to Elsie. “Vale, Polly. But you don’t go. Not yet. You stay here until Eustace is able to leave. That’s final.”
“I feel lost and deserted myself!” exclaimed Elsie. “I wish I’d never laid eyes on you. You are a terrible devastating force, Gita. What will you do to my brother!”
And then she stared at Gita’s radiant face.
“Oh, don’t worry! Don’t worry! It won’t be as bad as you think.”
“Oh, when people are in love!” Elsie’s voice was more sarcastic than her mood.
Gita swung on her heel and stared out into the moonlight. “Better go to bed,” she said coldly. “Nothing more to say, is there?” . . .
She felt herself moving forward, felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to run out into that moonlight . . . recapture that mood so strangely compounded of exaltation and dismay, triumph and disappointment, poignant sweetness and futile resentment at the remorseless incompleteness of life. . . .
She whirled upon Elsie and, although her words tumbled out fiercely, a curious quaver of helplessness ran through them. “Oh, you both have your revenge! I should think life altogether wonderful tonight and I almost hate it. It was bad enough to have to break off—to miss—to have to wait—oh, damn honor! Damn noblesse oblige! I wish we’d been born in a different class—like some of your sophisticates—that never heard of such things—no, I don’t! I only wish things could have been different—that life didn’t always laugh at you—that life wasn’t always trying to get the best of art and generally succeeding——Life could be so wonderful and it’s just a mean chromo of art and delights in the fact and in taunting our anticipations—those lovely works of art we create and hang in the blessed spaces of the mind—taunting and shattering——
“Oh, stop staring at me as if I were a lunatic, and go to bed. I’ll be all right tomorrow. Oh, yes! Oh, yes! I’vegot to be. But at any rateIwon’t go to bed. That would be a little too much!”
And she hurtled past the startled Elsie and into the drawing-room and slammed the door behind her.
THE END
The greatest pleasure in life is that of reading. Why not then own the books of great novelists when the price is so smallOf all the amusements which can possibly be imagined for a hard-working man, after his daily toil, or in its intervals, there is nothing like reading an entertaining book. It calls for no bodily exertion. It transports him into a livelier, and gayer, and more diversified and interesting scene, and while he enjoys himself there he may forget the evils of the present moment. Nay, it accompanies him to his next day’s work, and gives him something to think of besides the mere mechanical drudgery of his every-day occupation—something he can enjoy while absent, and look forward with pleasure to return to.Ask your dealer for a list of the titlesin Burt’s Popular Priced FictionIn buying the books bearing the A. L. Burt Company imprint you are assured of wholesome, entertaining and instructive reading
The greatest pleasure in life is that of reading. Why not then own the books of great novelists when the price is so small
Of all the amusements which can possibly be imagined for a hard-working man, after his daily toil, or in its intervals, there is nothing like reading an entertaining book. It calls for no bodily exertion. It transports him into a livelier, and gayer, and more diversified and interesting scene, and while he enjoys himself there he may forget the evils of the present moment. Nay, it accompanies him to his next day’s work, and gives him something to think of besides the mere mechanical drudgery of his every-day occupation—something he can enjoy while absent, and look forward with pleasure to return to.
Ask your dealer for a list of the titlesin Burt’s Popular Priced Fiction
Ask your dealer for a list of the titlesin Burt’s Popular Priced Fiction
Ask your dealer for a list of the titles
in Burt’s Popular Priced Fiction
In buying the books bearing the A. L. Burt Company imprint you are assured of wholesome, entertaining and instructive reading
THE BEST OF RECENT FICTION
Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.Frank L. Packard.Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. A.Conan Doyle.Affair at Flower Acres, The.Carolyn Wells.Affinities and Other Stories.Mary Roberts Rinehart.After House, The.Mary Roberts Rinehart.Against the Winds.Kate Jordan.Alcatraz.Max Brand.Alias Richard Power.William Allison.All the Way by Water.Elizabeth Stancy Payne.Amateur Gentleman, The.Jeffery Farnol.Amateur Inn, The.Albert Payson Terhune.Anna the Adventuress.E. Phillips Oppenheim.Anne’s House of Dreams.L. M. Montgomery.Anybody But Anne.Carolyn Wells.Are All Men Alike and The Lost Titian.Arthur Stringer.Around Old Chester.Margaret Deland.Arrant Rover, The.Berta Ruck.Athalie.Robert W. Chambers.At the Mercy of Tiberius.Augusta Evans Wilson.At Sight of Gold.Cynthia Lombardi.Auction Block, The.Rex Beach.Aunt Jane of Kentucky.Eliza C. Hall.Awakening of Helena Ritchie.Margaret Deland.Bab: a Sub-Deb.Mary Roberts Rinehart.Bar 20.Clarence E. Mulford.Bar 20 Days.Clarence E. Mulford.Bar-20 Three.Clarence E. Mulford.Barrier, The.Rex Beach.Bars of Iron, The.Ethel M. Dell.Bat Wing.Sax Rohmer.Beasts of Tarzan, The.Edgar Rice Burroughs.Beautiful and Damned, The.F. Scott Fitzgerald.Beauty.Rupert Hughes.Behind Locked Doors.Ernest M. Poate.Bella Donna.Robert Hichens. (Photoplay Ed.).Beloved Traitor, The.Frank L. Packard.Beloved Vagabond, The.Wm. J. Locke.Beloved Woman, The.Kathleen Norris.Beltane the Smith.Jeffery Farnol.Betrayal, The.E. Phillips Oppenheim.Beyond the Frontier.Randall Parrish.Big Timber.Bertrand W. Sinclair.Black Bartlemy’s Treasure.Jeffery Farnol.Black Buttes.Clarence E. Mulford.
Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.Frank L. Packard.
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. A.Conan Doyle.
Affair at Flower Acres, The.Carolyn Wells.
Affinities and Other Stories.Mary Roberts Rinehart.
After House, The.Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Against the Winds.Kate Jordan.
Alcatraz.Max Brand.
Alias Richard Power.William Allison.
All the Way by Water.Elizabeth Stancy Payne.
Amateur Gentleman, The.Jeffery Farnol.
Amateur Inn, The.Albert Payson Terhune.
Anna the Adventuress.E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Anne’s House of Dreams.L. M. Montgomery.
Anybody But Anne.Carolyn Wells.
Are All Men Alike and The Lost Titian.Arthur Stringer.
Around Old Chester.Margaret Deland.
Arrant Rover, The.Berta Ruck.
Athalie.Robert W. Chambers.
At the Mercy of Tiberius.Augusta Evans Wilson.
At Sight of Gold.Cynthia Lombardi.
Auction Block, The.Rex Beach.
Aunt Jane of Kentucky.Eliza C. Hall.
Awakening of Helena Ritchie.Margaret Deland.
Bab: a Sub-Deb.Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Bar 20.Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar 20 Days.Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar-20 Three.Clarence E. Mulford.
Barrier, The.Rex Beach.
Bars of Iron, The.Ethel M. Dell.
Bat Wing.Sax Rohmer.
Beasts of Tarzan, The.Edgar Rice Burroughs.
Beautiful and Damned, The.F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Beauty.Rupert Hughes.
Behind Locked Doors.Ernest M. Poate.
Bella Donna.Robert Hichens. (Photoplay Ed.).
Beloved Traitor, The.Frank L. Packard.
Beloved Vagabond, The.Wm. J. Locke.
Beloved Woman, The.Kathleen Norris.
Beltane the Smith.Jeffery Farnol.
Betrayal, The.E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Beyond the Frontier.Randall Parrish.
Big Timber.Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Black Bartlemy’s Treasure.Jeffery Farnol.
Black Buttes.Clarence E. Mulford.
AT A POPULAR PRICE
Black Cæsar’s Clan.Albert Payson Terhune.Black Gold.Albert Payson Terhune.Black Is White.George Barr McCutcheon.Black Oxen.Gertrude Atherton. (Photoplay Ed.).Blue Circle, The.Elizabeth Jordan.Bob, Son of Battle.Alfred Olivant.Box With Broken Seals, The.E. Phillips Oppenheim.Brandon of the Engineers.Harold Bindloss.Breaking Point, The.Mary Roberts Rinehart.Bridge of Kisses.Berta Ruck.Bring Me His Ears.Clarence E. Mulford.Broad Highway, The.Jeffery Farnol.Broken Barriers.Meredith Nicholson.Brown Study, The.Grace S. Richmond.Buck Peters, Ranchman.Clarence E. Mulford.Bush-Rancher, The.Harold Bindloss.Cabbages and Kings.O. Henry.Cabin Fever.B. M. Bower.Calling of Dan Matthews, The.Harold Bell Wright.Cape Cod Stories.Joseph C. Lincoln.Cap’n Dan’s Daughter.Joseph C. Lincoln.Cap’n Eri.Joseph C. Lincoln.Cap’n Warren’s Wards.Joseph C. Lincoln.Carnac’s Folly.Gilbert Parker.Cat’s Paw, The.Natalie Sumner Lincoln.Cattle.Winnifred Eaton.Certain People of Importance.Kathleen Norris.Chief Legatee, The.Anna Katharine Green.Cinema Murder, The.E. Phillips Oppenheim.City of Lilies, The.Anthony Pryde and R. K. Weehes.City of Peril, The.Arthur Stringer.Clipped Wings.Rupert Hughes.Clue of the New Pin, The.Edgar Wallace.Colorado Jim.George Goodchild.Coming of Cassidy, The.Clarence E, Mulford.Coming of the Law, The.Chas. A. Seltzer.Communicating Door, The.Wadsworth Camp.Comrades of Peril.Randall Parrish.Conquest of Canaan, The.Booth Tarkington.Contraband.Clarence Budington Kelland.Court of Inquiry, A.Grace S. Richmond.Crimson Blotter, The.Isabel Ostrander.Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.Rex Beach.
Black Cæsar’s Clan.Albert Payson Terhune.
Black Gold.Albert Payson Terhune.
Black Is White.George Barr McCutcheon.
Black Oxen.Gertrude Atherton. (Photoplay Ed.).
Blue Circle, The.Elizabeth Jordan.
Bob, Son of Battle.Alfred Olivant.
Box With Broken Seals, The.E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Brandon of the Engineers.Harold Bindloss.
Breaking Point, The.Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Bridge of Kisses.Berta Ruck.
Bring Me His Ears.Clarence E. Mulford.
Broad Highway, The.Jeffery Farnol.
Broken Barriers.Meredith Nicholson.
Brown Study, The.Grace S. Richmond.
Buck Peters, Ranchman.Clarence E. Mulford.
Bush-Rancher, The.Harold Bindloss.
Cabbages and Kings.O. Henry.
Cabin Fever.B. M. Bower.
Calling of Dan Matthews, The.Harold Bell Wright.
Cape Cod Stories.Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Dan’s Daughter.Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Eri.Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Warren’s Wards.Joseph C. Lincoln.
Carnac’s Folly.Gilbert Parker.
Cat’s Paw, The.Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
Cattle.Winnifred Eaton.
Certain People of Importance.Kathleen Norris.
Chief Legatee, The.Anna Katharine Green.
Cinema Murder, The.E. Phillips Oppenheim.
City of Lilies, The.Anthony Pryde and R. K. Weehes.
City of Peril, The.Arthur Stringer.
Clipped Wings.Rupert Hughes.
Clue of the New Pin, The.Edgar Wallace.
Colorado Jim.George Goodchild.
Coming of Cassidy, The.Clarence E, Mulford.
Coming of the Law, The.Chas. A. Seltzer.
Communicating Door, The.Wadsworth Camp.
Comrades of Peril.Randall Parrish.
Conquest of Canaan, The.Booth Tarkington.
Contraband.Clarence Budington Kelland.
Court of Inquiry, A.Grace S. Richmond.
Crimson Blotter, The.Isabel Ostrander.
Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.
Rex Beach.
THE BEST OF RECENT FICTION