NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
“Tell that to Mrs. De Peyton ana 
Mrs. Corwith. They’re looking for the 
good in everything.” 
“By Jove, I believe you’re jealous! 
This is the proudest moment of my 
life.” 
“Don’t be silly! And don’t try to 
make love to me any more. Wait un- 
til I’m married,” she added, with a 
laugh, the irony of which escaped him. 
“But, hang it all, suppose you 
should marry some one else and not 
me?” 
“That’s what I mean.” 
“Oh,” he said, perplexed. Then, as 
if his stupidity called for an explana- 
tion: “I had a beastly night. Didn’t go 
to bed til] 4. But, I say, why can’t I 
have the same privilege as these other 
chaps? Corwith makes love to you 
and so does Odwell, and, hang it, 
they’re both married. It’s rotten mean 
or’ — 
“Their wives are accountable for 
their manners, not I. But. come; will 
you go to Renwood's with me?” 
“I'd rather talk to you in that nice 
little corner of the billiard room at 
home if you”— 
“But I don’t need a brandy and soda. 
Oh!” This exclamation came with the 
discovery of an approaching horseman. 
“Tt’s Mr. Shaw, I’m sure.” 
Randolph Shaw, loyal to his feudal 
promise, appeared in the road a couple 
of hundred yards away. He drew rein 
and from that distance surveyed the 
two who were so near to encroaching 
upon his preserves. He sat straight 
and forbidding in the saddle. For a 
full minute the two factions stared at 
each other. Then, without a sign of 
recognition, Shaw turned and rode rap- 
Idly away. 
“He rides like a gentleman,” com- 
mented Miss Drake, after reflection. 
“Indian blood in him,’”’ remarked her 
companion. 
“Let us go home,”’ said she, whirling 
her horse like a flash. The duke had 
some difficulty in keeping abreast of 
her during the ride, and he lost sight 
of her altogether after they dismount- 
ed at Bazelhurst Villa. 
The momentary glimpse of a real 
man set Penelope’s opinions on edge 
for the remainder of the day and 
night. Shaw, whatever else he might 
be, was a man. Even while others 
addressed her in conversation she was 
absentmindedly recalling to memory 
zertain English gentlemen at home 
who could stand comparison with this 
handsome fellow across the danger 
line. But to compare any one of the 
men in Lady Bazelhurst’s house party 
—oh, it was absurd! She looked them 
over. Dull eyed, blase, frayed by the 
social whirl, worn out, pulseless, all of 
them. They talked automobile, bridge, 
women and self in particular. In the 
seclusion of a tete-a-tete they talked 
love with an ardor that lost most of 
{ts danger because it was from force 
of habit. One of the men was even 
now admitting in her ear that he had 
not spent an evening alone with his 
wife in four years. 
“There’s always something doing,” 
he said. “A week or two ago, by Jove, 
you wouldn’t believe it, but we had an’ 
evening turn up without a thing on 
hand. Strangest thing I ever knew. 
Neither of us had a thing on. Wesaid 
we'd stay at home and go to bed ear- 
ly just to see how it felt. Well, what 
do you think? We sat up and read 
till half past 10 o’clock, and then both 
of us thought of it at the same time. 
We dressed and went down to Rec- 
tor’s and waited for the theaters to 
let out. Three o’clock when we got 
home. You can’t imagine what a 
queer experience it is being all alone 
with one’s wife.” 
“Don’t you love your wife. Mr. Od- 
well?” 
“Certainly! But there’s always a 
crowd.” Both of them glanced over 
at pretty Mrs. Odwell. She was look- 
ing down at her plate demurely while 
Reggie Van Voort talked straight into 
her pink ear, his eyes gleaming with 
the zest of invasion. “I say. Miss 
Drake. you won’t mind talking to me 
awhile after dinner, will you?” went 
on Odwell. something like relief in his 
voice. 
After dinner she was obliged to set 
him straight in a little matter. They 
were sitting on the terrace, and he had 
thrown away his half smoked ciga- 
rette, an act in itself significant She 
had been listening patiently, from 
sheer habit and indifference. to what 
he was saying, but at last she revolted. 
“Don’t! You shall not say such 
things to me. I am not your kind, I 
fancy, Mr. Odwell,” she said. “I don’t 
know why you should tell me of your 
chorus gir! friends, of your suppers 
and all that. I don’t care to hear of 
them, and I don’t intend that you shall 
use me as a subject of illustration I 
am going upstairs” 
“Oh, come now. that’s rather rough, 
just as we were getting on so well. 
All the fellows do the same” — 
“T know You need not tell me. And 
you all have wives at home, too,” with 
intense scorn. 
“Now, that’s where you wrong as. 
They’re not at home, yon know. That’s 
just it.” 
“Never mind, Mr. Odwell; I’m going 
in.” She left him and entered the 
house. For a minute or two he looked 
after her in wonder and then, softly 
whispering. made his way over to 
where De Peyton, through some over- 
sight, was talking to his own wife. 
De Peyton unceremoniously announc- 
ed that he was going upstairs to write 
a letter 
Penelope, flushed with disgust and 
humiliation, drew near a crowd of men 
and women in the long living room. 
Her brother was haranguing the as- 
semblage., standing forth among them 
like an unconquered bantam’ In spite 
of herself she felt a wave of shame 
and pity creep over her as she tooked 
at him 
“Barnminster says the fellow ran 
when he saw him today.” his lordship 
was saying “But that doesn’t help 
matters. He has been on my land 
again and again, Tompkins says, and 
Doticemnten! 
EE EE EE SSS? 
Tompkins ougnt to Know ~ 
“And James, too,” said the duke with 
a brandied roar 
“Can’t Tompkins and his men keep 
that man off my land?" demanded Lady 
Bazlehurst. Every one took note of 
the pronoun’ Her ladyship’s temples 
seemed to narrow with hatred Bazel- 
hurst had told the men privately that 
she was passing sleepless nights in or- 
der to ‘“‘hate that fellow Shaw” to her 
full capacity. 
“My dear. I have given positive or- 
ders to Tompkins, and he swears he'll 
carry them out,” said he hastily 
“T suppose ‘Tompkins is to throw him 
into the river again.” 
“He is to shoot that fellow Shaw 
If he doesn’t keep off our lund I've 
had enough of it. They say be rode 
his confounded plow horse all over the 
west end the other day.” Penelope 
siniled reflectively °’Trampled the new 
fern beds out of existence and all that. 
Hang him, Tompkins will get him if 
he persists. He has told the men to 
take a shot at the rascal on sight. 
Tompkins doesn’t love him, you know.” 
Penelope went her way, laughing, 
and forgot the danger that threatened 
Randolph Shaw. 
The next morning, quite early, she 
was off for a canter. Some magnetic 
force drew her toward that obliterated 
line in the roadway Almost as she 
tame up to it and stopped Randolph 
Shaw rode down the hillside through 
the trees and drew rein directly oppo- 
site, the noses of their horses almost 
touching. With a smile he gave the 
Military salute even as she gasped in 
self conscious dismay 
“On duty. Miss Drake; no trespass- 
ing,’ he said. There was a glad ring 
in his voice. “Please don’t run away. 
You’re on the safe side.” 
“T’m not going to run.” she said, her 
cheek flusbing. “How do you know 
where the line is? It has been de- 
stroyed by the ravages of time.” 
“Yes. It has seemed a vear. This 
thing of acting sentine! so religiously 
is a bit wearing.” His great friendly 
dog came across the line. however, and 
looked bravely up into the enemy’s 
face, wagging his tail. ‘Traitor! Come 
back, Bonaparte!” cried his master. 
“What a beautiful dog!” she cried, 
sincere admiration in her eyes. “I 
love a big dog He is your best friend, 
I'll wager.” 
““TLove me, love my dog,’ is my mot- 
tou 
The conversation was not prolonged. 
Penelope began to find herself on rath- 
er friendly terms with the enemy. 
Confusion came over her when she re- 
membered that she was behaving in a 
most unmaidenly manner. Doubtless 
that was why she brought the meet- 
ing to a close bv galloping away 
[TO BE CONTINUED.) 
What It Was. 
Gusher—Everybody is crazy about 
this house. Busher— What is it—a swell 
hotel? Gusher—No. It’s a private lu- 
natic asylum.—Chaparral. 
