The Dark Star

"You may go in, James."

They entered together; and he was startled to see how young she seemed

there on the pillows--how pitifully immature the childish throat, the

tear-flushed face lying in its mass of chestnut hair.

"Good-bye, Rue," he said, still awkward, offering his hand.

Slowly she held out one slim hand from the covers.

"Good voyage, good luck," he said. "I wish you would write a line to

me."

"I will."

"Then----" He smiled; released her hand.

"Thank you for--for all you have done," she said. "I shall not

forget."

Something choked him slightly; he forced a laugh: "Come back a famous painter, Rue. Keep your head clear and your heart

full of courage. And let me know how you're getting on, won't you?"

"Yes.... Good-bye."

So he went out, and at the door exchanged adieux with the smiling

Princess.

"Do you--like her a little?" he whispered.

"I do, my friend. Also--I like you. I am old enough to say it safely,

am I not?"

"If you think so," he said, a funny little laugh in his eyes, "you are

old enough to let me kiss you good-bye."

But she backed away, still smiling: "On the brow--the hair--yes; if you promise discretion, James."

"What has tottering age like yours to do with discretion, Princess

Naïa?" he retorted impudently. "A kiss on the mouth must of itself be

discreet when bestowed on youth by such venerable years as are

yours."

But the Princess, the singularly provocative smile still edging her

lips, merely looked at him out of dark and slightly humorous eyes,

gave him her hand, withdrew it with decision, and entered her

stateroom, closing the door rather sharply behind her.

* * * * *

When Neeland got back to the studio he took a couple of hours' sleep,

and, being young, perfectly healthy, and perhaps not unaccustomed to

the habits of the owl family, felt pretty well when he went out to

breakfast.

Over his coffee cup he propped up his newspaper against a carafe; and

the heading on one of the columns immediately attracted his

attention.

ROW BETWEEN SPORTING MEN EDDIE BRANDES, FIGHT PROMOTER AND

THEATRICAL MAN, MIXES IT WITH

MAXY VENEM A WOMAN SAID TO BE THE CAUSE: AFFRAY DRAWS

A BIG CROWD IN FRONT OF THE HOTEL

KNICKERBOCKER BOTH MEN, BADLY BATTERED, GET AWAY BEFORE THE

POLICE ARRIVE Breakfasting leisurely, he read the partly humorous, partly

contemptuous account of the sordid affair. Afterward he sent for all

the morning papers. But in none of them was Ruhannah Carew mentioned

at all, nobody, apparently, having noticed her in the exciting affair

between Venem, Brandes, the latter's wife, and the chauffeur.