The Wolf Point herald. (Wolf Point, Mont.) 1913-1940, 1925-04-02
CHAPTER Ill

SGz<Aa In III
The name of Peter DeWolfe. IT s
A.. was upon the register of the Garlic
ton hotel, written in a hand purposely
scrawled and blotched to prevent any
one in the fux of diplomats, army Off
GERS. correspondents and gentlemen
adventures, the classes from which
this rlcn New York bachelor drew q
large and almost aifectionate acquaint-
ance, from believing through his door
to come down 10 the bar.
He was waiting for a steamer tina
had made up her mind frequently MOI
to leave Liverpool for another five
days. Two nights he had spent al
ready in London where, if he had
wished, he might have dined at nj
least II of half a dozen recognized
homes, had luncheons with a Russian
ex-ambassador or Tommy Caminthorn
of the wal office, or Boleby Broke, the
critic who writes the reviews for the
International Gazette, or taken break
fast with Mrs. Holderee Rabb. tbe
widow of a certain maharajah's son
who had gone wrong at Oxford. He
had an inclination, however, to write
verses and wander by himself through
the naughty jam of soldiers and vel
loW-haired girls in Leicester square and
the Circus. He ate his meals in lonely
state.
Unfortunately the unpleasant flavor
which had attached itself to the mem
DRY of his visit to Beconshire Heath
still chung. He could see Lady Ben
ham-that good old soul who had in
sisted that she never be addressed by
her title-beaming at him as she told
him how sorry she was that business
had called him away so suddenly. He
felt guilty Of the polite lie he had told
to make his exit from the lives of the
Benhams. He could see Muriel's cold.
hard expression when, having pressed
her lips to his, she found no response
and told him at once that she hated
him. He would never see her again.
and though it had been none of his
fault, or at least not in large measure.
there would be a certain impression in
her mind that he had willfully dis
lodged her from her correct and yirtu-
u pedestal, and Colonel Eversby Ben
hama good friend, provided with a
n of humOr-could not fail to see
the affair through his beloved sisters
unimaginative eyes. Peter had tried
to reach him and found that on forty
eight hours notice he had gone to Mes
opotamia.
Above all, Peter had gone to Eng
land to do a certain thing-to meet
the strange Brena Selcoss and at Ben
hams challenge dissolve the mystery
which surrounded her. All that he had
accomplished so far had been to look
once into her wonderful eyes from a
distance and hear from Muriel that
terrible and unspeakable and. undis-
closed horrors awaited thetman upon
whom this extraordinary young woman,
with her mixture Of Grecian and Irish
blood, her gorgeous hair and jersey
cream skin, her American origin and
her inexplicable English isolation, be-
slowed her favor.
Peter had always said that many men
were really w persons-one, the ac-
tor in life, clothed with a body Of flesh
and bone; the other, a second person
ality without tangible reality, but who,
a counselor possessed of a voice al
most audible, often advised caution,
sometimes played the role of con
science, was always a friend, but
something's took on a damnable, patron
izing manner 1t was this invisible
friend who had advised Peter to shut
himself up with his attempts at verse
writing and had led him to procure q
passage home it was Peter himself who
knew very well that he would not go on
board the Aquitania, that lie had come
to England to meet some kind OF a
witch woman, that he had seen her
great dark eyes once and saw them
gazing at him out of every corner now,
that he had committed himself to find
ing out all that was to be known of her
and that in the end he would do some
unconservative, b~reak-neck thing to
throw himself with a crash Of conven-
lions into her lap and note what hap
pened afterward.
Peters determination, making ready
to reject every advice of his counsel
ing and invisible second personality,
completely wasted. Brena Selcoss
acted first.
On the third afternoon of his rest
l~essness, when the night was falling
and the fog leaned on the exterior of
the window panes of his room like a
pile of wet sleeps wool, he had start
ed a lyric twenty-five times and TWEEN
ty-two times baked for meter or ex-
pressive word, had crumpled up the
sheet of paper and thrown it at "a
w~astebasket. His pencil was blunt
the crumpled sheets, in the evil gray
light of late afternoon, having missed
their receptacle, lay around the floor