The Million Dollar Doll

Auckland Star, Volume 55, Issue 12, 15 January 1924, Page 12

The Million Dollar Doll

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QAuthons of xJne MgMmny Qtnducton

WHO'S WHO IN THE STORY. MILKS SHERIDAN, aware r.r his wife's Infidelity is attempting to facilitate her obtaining :i divorce by creating a scnmlal about himself. To this eiul, he oilers 20,000 dols. to JULIET DIVINE, a beautiful show sirl, known as the Million Hollar Doll, if siicwlll take a yacht trip with him. Juliet Is unable to go, herself, but, greedy for the money, she persuades TERESA DESMOND (Terry), her lovely and unbelievably innocent half sister, an exquisite counterpart nf herself, to 170 In her stead, masquerading as I lie Million Dollar Doll. Ever since a kindness Miles did her in childhood Terry has made him her Dream Prince. BETTY SHERIDAN, Miles' wife, is in love with PAUL DI SALVAXO. a handsome Italian. EUSTACE NAZ_O, a wealthy Greek, who does not know of Terry's relationship t" .luliet. is in love with the younger gin. and is surprised 10 meet her a: Monte Carlo with Miles. MRS. HARKNESS, Miles - old servant, pre- j pared to hate the "Million Dollar Doll," is won over by Terry's sweetness and charm. Miles has stipulated that he will have nothing to do with the girl on the voyage, but his resolve is wavering, although he does not recognise the little girl whom he befriended so long ago. MISS CAROLINE SHERIDAN, his aunt, sojourning at Monte Carlo, is horrified at Miles' action, and comes on board the yacht to talk to Terry. Miss. Caroline's well-meaning advice to the "Million Dollar Doll" leaves Terry bewildered and miserable. Nazlo reviews what had gone before between him and Terry. The girl had run away from him, one night back in New York, nnd her unscrupulous father, Desmond, had told Eustace she had gone lo stay with friends. rutting two and two together Nazi" realises that the supposed Million Dollar Doll is Terry Desmond. He determines to question Mrs. Harkness whom he sees coming ashore from the yacht. From what Mrs. Harkness tells him, Nazlo gathers that Terry is still an innocent Conveut maid. At Algiers, Miles sees Paul rli Salvano with a group ot strangers. CHAPTER LXI. What We Might Have Known Days Ago. Sheridan threw Terry a keen look. "-Of course, you're too much a Bohemian to — er — worry about chaperons," ho went on, with liis discussion of the trip. " They're as oldfashioned as dragons, and even if they weren't, it wouldn't have suited my book on this trip, you know, to have your every step dogged 1 „.' a duenna. On the contrary!" "But j'ou and T won't he acting for the gallery at Bousaada. The chances are we won't meet a Kuropean there, 'except a few French officers en garrison. Would you like to take old Huxky along? She'd nearly fall over herself with joy to go." "Oh, I'd love tr have her!" cried Terry, clapping her hands. It occurred to Miles than Salvano and his friends were probably staring; but suddenly he didn't care. lie cared for nothing except the girl, who looked a darling child. She Would be a child for a ; few days, and he would be _ boy. Old Harky should play nurse to them both. Away off in the desert he and Juliet Divine would forget everything except the sunshine, the golden sands, and the burning violet of the African sky. "Good!" he said in a care-free voice. •'We'll start soon, it's too late to-day, because I must hire a car, and there'll be some packing. The journey's seven hours at least, and we our;ht to arrive before dark. But I'll take you to a Mosque or two, this afternoon," (hewas pretty sure that Salvano would do no sight seeing on these lines) "and we can let off about ten to-morrow morning." When they rose from their table a quick glance showed Sheridan that the Italian and his friends were gone. He took Terry to the Museum at Mustapha Superieurc, where only those interested in history and archaeology were likely to come, and there he left her while he hurried off to hire an automobile. There were several garages, and as the season had just begun he found a 1 good car and a chauffeur at the second ' place he visited. Satisfied that all was arranged, lie returned for Terry, showed I her El Biar, and the Jardin d'Kssai with its wonderful trees; the Kasbab; tlie Mosques;, and the Rue Bab Azotin. Everything else for which people j visited Algiers, Miles left till their re- ' turn, because—he imagined—Salvano wasn't a man to stop long in one place 1 which lacked the kind of amusement he cared for. Now that the "spy act - ' j was accomplished, a wire would probably flash the news to Betty. | Salvano would then travel to Biskra. I 1 and await the next chance to do a j T little spying. Everyone does go to f Biskra, and Miles had intended to go. P But Salvano's movements in Algiers would decide his. 1 It was bad enougn to keep runniii" against Nazlo, but Nazlo was a Welcome sight compared with the Italian. Nazlo 1 appeared only in the distance and had ; as much right as Miles Sheridan to 1 wander along the shores of the Mcdi- 1 terranean. But Miles drew the line at ] Paul di Salvano. j He and Terry dined on "Silvern-nod" , that night in the harbour of Algeria, '" and Miles was more friendly than usual j, in his manner, with the dim wish to ! 1 "make up" for keeping the girl on j. board the yacht. She had never enjoyed ! an evening so much. Next morning early, Sheridan, Terry! and Mrs. Harkness set oil' in a high- ! powered touring car for tlie desert! 1 oasis of Bousaada. j '■ ..Terry had read "The Garden of i' Allah" on board the yacht and last!' night at dinner she and Sheridan had j' talked of the desert. The girl was dis- | appointed not to see a waste of golden i? sand when Algeria and its suburbs were i left behind. But the Moorish irrigation '< and fields of wheat green in the midst;! of desolate tracts were like the preface i to an exciting book. Then, at last. ! < there were yellow sand whose hillocks;' were sparsely sprinkled with grass. It was as if the waves of a stormy ! sea had been sown with seeds which c had sprouted, and covered the tops of the billows with green. The car rocked among the billows of sand like' a boat; but presently the waves subsided into • a plain, and there was a glimpse of real desert. Away in the distance the sand was piled in fantastic shapes, like an army of lions that grouped and crouched, tawny in the sunshine, to drink from lakes of purple shadow. Beyond the horizon seemed to lie the sea. deep violet, and still as sleep. Terry could hardly believe that it was not the sea; and always just 'ahead, as the car plunged on. lay masses of colour —gold, rose and amethyst—which 1 were like beds of flowers till they 1 turned with nearness into bunches of ' desert crystal, and red or purple rock. i

In the midst of brown and arid wastes, were emerald patches, bright as a serpent's eyes. By and by, low mountains like a belt of uncut sapphires, enclosed the travellers in a secret world. Terry saw her first camels, passing in a string, and gazing at the car with supercilious disdain. Here and there a miniature oasis lay spread over the sand like a dark prayer rug, on the old-gold floor of an ancient mosque. "When shall we sec Bousaada?" Terry woiidered. But the mountains, of unbelievable shapes—castles and towers. sphinxes and giant tables seemed to have banded thcmcslves together for the keeping of secrets. The road improved, and had been carefully made; yet apparently it led nowhere. As the afternoon waned, the car forged on through an ocean of changing colours. The blue mountains turned crimson and mauve, and the sand glittered in the sunshine like a powder of rubies. Terry had not spoken for a long time; but when the gateway of the mountains opened to show a' forest of dark green palms, ringed with gold, and the diamond sparkle of water, involuntarily she touched Sheridan's hand. His closed upon it. The girl's heart stopped, then beat again with a new rush of blood. She looked up at him, and their eyes met. She did not know how. to read his look, but it made her happier than she had ever been. -Miles knew what she might have known days ago. Such as this Juliet Divine was, he loved her! CHAPTER LXII. It seemed to Tcrrv that something very great anj wonderful had happened. If she could have put it into words it would have sounded like nothing nt all. But the thing itself—the reality winch she felt -was a s much greater than words as (lie perfume of the rose is greater than the rose. Neither sp.c-.e. They sat in silence, close together in the car, which now and then flung tlie girl against the man's shoulder, with some jolt: and Sheridan was making up his mind to an act. which, only a few days ago, would have been impossible. Now, nothing was impossible where Juliet Divine was concerned, except to lot her go from him for ever. _ Mrs. Harkness was chatting on the front scat with the French-Algerian chauffeur who had a little English, and knew all about Bousaada, but the two behind did not. even hear tho voices. Terry, who could not tell what was in Sheridan's heart, feared that he might hear her s beating, it was so loud in her own ears. Even if he did not care in the wonderful way she cared, at least he must he trying to show that he no longer despised her, and that, after this day, they were to be true friends. Of course, she reminded herself, he was married, and she —if he knew her real age—would seem to him a child. Still, whatever she was, and whatever he believed her to be, from this moment an exquisite, a heavenly change had come over their relations to one another. Terry realised that never until now had she known the full meaning of ecstasy. The hand of the man she adored, clasping hers, had taught her what joy could be on earth, and her whole life had only led up to this moment. If she had to die now, within an hour, she would have had something to make her years worth while. As in a vision she saw the rose of early sunset fade from the billowing sand, to leave it a pale, luminous gold strewn with heart-shaped, violet hollows that were tracks of camels' feet. She saw low tents of nomads, black striped with red, or orange striped with black,, spread over the desert near the river and palms of Bousaada; and the thought (littered across the surface of her mind that they were like huge, resting butterllies. But all thoughts, except thoughts of Miles Sheridan, were on the surface. jThe depths of her were for him. ' The chauffeur, who had been often to Bousaada. drove past the tall palms that spouted, above the river bed, like fountains of dark wntcr against the crimson sky, wove through the small white town, and stopped before a low-built hotel. Sheridan had wired for rooms (the telegraph poles stride far nnd far. along the Algerian desert) and the landlord came to greet his guests. A smiling j dark maid showed "Mademoiselle et Madame" upstairs to their quarters, and | a few minutes later Terry stepped from the long French window of her room on I to a wide, covered balcony. Two other I rooms opened also upon this balcony, and ' Terry bad not stood, looking down, for more than a moment when Sheridan joined her. He did not speak, hut took his place beside the girl, and together they gazed at the river, the palm grove, and the distant hills. There was little water in the otied, hut, what there was sparkled like shattered glass, and the wet stones between the pools were red as huge garnets, or purple as lumps of ame.thvst. All the hills, near aud far, blazed with the last lircs of sunset and poured flames high into a sky that was azure at the zenith. "Do you like it?" Sheridan asked at last. "1 didn't know there could he anything so beautiful in the world." Terry answered: and her Voice shook a little, because these were the first words they had exchanged since he had held her hand. "It is beautiful." Miles granted. "But you'd soon tire of it!" "Xo. I should never tire of it—l couldn't." the girl assured him. "I shall hnfe to go away when the time comes."' lie laughed. "1 wonder? That would depends upon how long you had to stop. You wouldn't —exchange New York lor Bousaada'." "1 would." Terry persisted. "I couldn't bear to live in New York. It's splendid there —but just to go, now and then, from the country. Not to live. I think to live, people" need sky, and j great wide spaces. ' "You seem to be a very different sort I of girl at heart from what one would i judge you, if—you know yourself and | speak out your real thoughts,"not just | some sudden impulse that can't last." I Sheridan said. "Can you imagine yourself a desert dweller";" ! "It would be glorious!" Terry cried. I "That is. if—" She stopped. -fin on. -If—what?" ! "Oh—only that I wouldn't like to be . cpiite alone. It is so beautiful iv the | desert—a desert like this- that it j would he sad In he ail alone, sadder than ' in a ivlm-i. m-' •■ beau-■■.,'. I! .• . ;

should want someone to —to talk with about the beauty—someone who'd understand." "Someone, you mean, whom you loved?" "I —suppose so." "Can you love?" The words were spoken, not sharply or harshly, but with a certain hoarseness, as if they came with an effort. j (Te be continued dally.)