Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1927-07-08
THE MYSTIC
by special ARRANGEMENT with The
Chicago Tribune 6yndicate)
IN TWO PARTs-PART ONE

we'll and liked her. She's an interesting
and decidedly original woman, with great
taste and considerable knowledge OF art
hospitable, friendly. n never dull.
Deresby / knew cut slightly. a small,
sporting and not very significant man,
always yachting but quite agreeable
when one met him, which is seldom. The
house. OF course, is lovely. and as the
month was the Month Of June the gar
dens would be at their best. There
would be good tennis. The company
would certainly be entertaining and live
ly. But the truth is, like many men
I'm inclined to be lazy socially. Men as
a rule are far lazier socially than wom-
en-, who never seem to tire when it's a
question Of wearing pretty clothes, being
among people and seeming up to the
mark. The alternative to Deresby was a
quiet Sunday On the river with my
italian friend, Giulio Mantini, who had
taken q house that year at old Windsor,
flannels all the time, no women, no
ceremony Of any kind, tennis, sculling,
gossip about the Rome / hadn't seen for
three years. I nearly decided on Wind
sor, but at the last moment my disin-
clination for a social effort was overcome
by a chance remark. l was sitting down
In one of my clubs to write an excuse
to Lady Deresby when / heard a man
near me say to a friend, Il wish / were
going to Deresby next Saturday"
why? What's up there?" said his pal.
1.-THE girl who wrote The Mystic is
going to be there. I'd give something
to meet her."
They moved away to another part of
the big room and l drew a piece Of note
paper towards me and wrote an accept
ance to Lady Deresby.
II.
What a sensation 1.-THE Mystic made,
to be surel Futile people with small brains
believe in capturing success by imita-
ton. A famous man was nearer to the
mark when he said to me, you can only
command real success by being absolute
ly yourself, whether 1t be in art, politics,
or any other walk of life" But then the
question arises. what is yourself? And
that's a problem not always easy to
solve. The authoress of 1.-THE Mystic"
made q great sensation in q singularly
material. even singularly sensual. age by
writing a novel that was strangely pure,
full OF other worldliness, delicate. imma-
terial, almost, touched with the beauty
Of holiness. The book, as you will re-
member, was short, simple, unpretend-
ing. Yet 1t made an immediate and deep
mark on the world, both In England and
America, because of its amazing sincerity,
and the natural beauty of its exquisite
style, which seemed the reflection of the
hidden loneliness of an exquisite soul.
And SO certain is sincerity Of finding out
the way to the human heart that 1.-THE
Mystic" was read, re-read and actually
loved not merely by holy people who
were entirely detached from the spirit of
their age, but also by the most thorough
going worldlings and materialists to be
found in London. Paris and New York.
The little book, in fact. conquered every
one, and 1t had conquered me-.
1 went down to Deresby on that Sat-
urday of June solely in order to make
the acquaintance Of Marguerite Grey
x-l@ l~I tG@-
garet Grey" to be a nom de guerre. 1t
seemed too appropriate a name to be the
real name of the authoress Of that deli
cious book. To me 1.-THE Mystic" sug-
gested Marguerite Grey" and "Marguer-
lite Grey" suggested 1.-THE Mystic" The
connection was, I thought, too harmoni-
Gus to be quite likely. Lies so unkind,
SO fond Of dissonances. Probably 1.-THE
Mystic" had been written by some one
called, let us say, Emma Jones or Har-
riet Robinson. Nobody L knew had ever
met Marguerite Grey" Since the ap-
pearance OF the book the hunt for her
had been ceaseless and intense. But the
scent had never been strong enough to
lead to a kill. The quarry had not even
been viewed, SO far as / knew. Mar
guerite Grey had remained in the far
distance, unperceived. unknown, evasive
as a cloud on a bright horizon. Even my
friend, and ev~erybody's friend, Lady Pol
icIt, OucCt Qc6Ccludub III LLc ltuldie llIle
from Mrs. Leo Hunter, had never i'm
pounded her for a lunch party.
III.
I once stayed at Deresby In very late
autumn, just when the reds and the
colds and the orange browns of nature
were beginning to fade into the misty
| pallOrS OF winter, and / remember well
gazing down with Lady Deresby from a
height in the deer park OF the marvellous
house, which looked like a dim violet
castle Of legend under q frosty red sunset
'Deresby looks its best at this season.
I remember saying. 1T becomes legen-
Diary at the APPROACH of winter"
But when I saw 1t that Saturday In
June I was doubtful.
l went doWn by a fast train from Lon
don and arrived Just before four O'Clock
in the afternoon. The day was marvel
ously fine for an English day. We all
have our absurd ideas about things. ]
thought that day locke Elizabethan
There was a strong touch of Old England
about the Kentish landscape, the Kentist
village through which l drove to the
great gates Of the deer park. The leaves
seemed there for a festival. the flowers
in the cottage gardens looked like jolly
decorations for a day that hould Close
with feasting and morris dance.
When my carriage turned in at the
: gates / drove into what seemed to me
all the wonderful greenness Of the world
And across the great stretches Of greer
the enormou house with its clock towe
of the pointed roof welcomed me like
friend from an older century, bidding
me back into the past, telling me will
the voices of it's Ginning bells that thu
spacious days were the best.
On the south side of the house, TIL
garden side, I found my hostess will
some of the guests who had preceded me
Three ennis courts were in use. Fou
people who looked oddly scientific wer'
playing croquet. There we're plenty o
men. Among them / noticed a very tall
horsy-looking man of the greyhound
type, lean. stringy, alert, with light. keel
eyes sheltered by straw-colored eyebrow
and a dead white freckled complexion
His long legs seemed crying out for
horse between them. He looked abou
thirty-fve. / had never seen him be
fore n I don't know exactly why / no
ticed him specially, why my attention
for a moment was exclusively concen
trated on him. / learned immediatel
afterward hat he was Capt. Boyd Ham
mington, generally called "Soleil," a ia
nous racing and hunting man from tn
Shires. I'd heard of him for years
Everybody had heard Of him. But L,
never seen him before. A horse Of hi
called Soleil had won the Grand Nationa
with Its owner "up" some years before.