The Waterbury Democrat., 1934-07-14

He wanted to slip back welcoming parties where peol
 Parties where the curious would watch him avidly, trying to find out whether he had gotten over" being tilted by Imogene Crawford. It had been crushing disillu- sion when Imogene threw him over, only a few weeks before they planned to marry. He had adored her so utterly.
 And then, quite suddenly, Arnold Baker had settled in Brentwood. Arnold Baker,, stout man over forty with prominent blue eyes | and a hard laugh. Imogene had. | run off and married Arnold, re- turning haughtily to take up her l position as mistress of the Towers, Arnold's estate, and a fortune in | breweries. Roger, crushed and dazed, had eagerly accepted a tenn porary post in New York offered to him by a sympathetic cousin. He couldn't keep away from Brentwood forever. So now, after eighteen months, he was home again. He started up the tree lined avenue to the High street and shopping center of the little town.
 He tried not to think of Imogene, but his thoughts jerked nervously toward her. f1e stopped suddenly. with a swift indrawing of his breath; stopped before a photog- raphers that was new to Brent wood. It was a discreet, expensive looking place. No window damned with wedding pictures, athletic groups, and baby studies! Merely three photographic portraits, set to advantage against deep black velvet drapes.
 With wide eyes he continued to | stare at the center portrait. It was the head of woman. She was in masquerade costume, dressed evil dently as a pierrot, her slender neck emerging from a wide ruff. A mask covered her eyes and nose. Her head was tilted back, to show the pretty line of her throat, and she was smiling ravishingly pro- vocatively. He would know that mouth anywhere. It was Imo- genes!
 Memories flooded through him as he stared. If he had nothing else of her, he had to have thnt portrait. Setting his jaw, he strode into the shop, into discreet little lounge with gold chairs standing stiffly on black carpet. A young man came from a back room, sum- moning a smile as he met Rogers eyes.
 "I want that portrait of the woman in the mask" Roger said, abruptly. q mean, I'd like to buy it from you!" Suddenly conscious that he was doing something un- conventional, he reddened awk- wardly.
 I'VE DON'T SELL
 CLIENTS PORTRAITS'
 we don't sell our clients por- traits," the young man said, short ly. And the girl in the mask" l T knew her." Roger blurted. T want it for-for old time sake!"
 The photographer stared sus- | piciously. "You must have made a mistake" he said, "that lady" He stopped, looking at Roger with | some scorn.
 | It dawned on Roger that the | photographer could see no connec- | tion between himself, a homely young man in gray flannel suit, and the beautiful Imogene Baker, mistress of the Towers.
 "Well-" he began lamely.
 Good morning!" the young photographer said, coldly. His tonet, thought Roger, was unduly sarcastic. Warm and baffled, Roger found his way out of the shop.
 But he couldn't resist another look at the portrait. Imogene .. A soft, gay little voice broke in on his reflections.
 "You want to buy that! Per- haps I could help you .. :"
 Starting, he looked down at slight girl in blue smock.
 I'm the photographers assist ant" she said. His sister, in fact. heard all you said through the door. Feminine curi- osity!"
 "I did want it." Roger said slowly. There was something kind about the bright face raised to his. You see, well, l knew her. I-"