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Updated: May 25, 2025
Did I pass up Pig-iron and his limousine to come home in a flat-wheeled trolley with my hero, who's already made him sore once? Oh, didn't I though! I guess I'm crazy!" Cecille recoiled a little from that. A prize-fighter. A bruiser. A plug-ugly. But but why, that wasn't possible. And if your idea of such a one is what Cecille's once was, neither will he fill your eye. Just a kid.
Helene Cecille Stille, otherwise the "Baroness de Reviere," and sometimes designated "The Buckeye Baroness," She came for the purpose of prosecuting a charge against the Baron de Reviere of "wrongful conversion and unlawful detention of personal property," arising from circumstances which will appear further on. The "Baroness" was then, as she still is, a handsome woman.
Still that bright regard. And thereupon Cecille realized that she had been troubled deeply by one thing which she had heard. Felicity had passed it on to her. "They say he cheated," she voiced it, wide-eyed. "That he has a yellow streak." "So's a Bengal tiger." Such succinctness was reassuring. "A whole lot of 'em. And a man like him don't cheat. You'd oughta know that."
At that Felicity paused. "Does this hat look all right?" Cecille nodded. And then she was gone. So Felicity passes. No dark river. No swift oblivion. No agony of remorse. Those who may feel that her history is incomplete, that they have been robbed of their full meed of vindictive satisfaction, I must refer back to an earlier paragraph.
"Well, I guess I'll be going," she said. "The rent's paid a month in advance. Don't let that Shylock landlord gyp you." "I won't," said Cecille. "Well, I guess I'll be going." She picked up her bag. They did not kiss each other. "Well so-long." "I I wish you " Cecille checked herself. She had been about to say I wish you happiness. She meant that, yet clumsily she changed it. "I wish you luck."
Indeed she knew her luck. Indeed she played the game. The third evening she left Perry at home with Cecille. And for six whole weeks Broadway nudged and watched it. Broadway watched Perry Blair's courtship of Felicity and Dunham's, if you can call the latter's unhurried pursuit that.
The night that Cecille Manners had hysterics and Felicity was hurrying because she knew that Fiegenspann would "bawl her out" if she was very late, Perry Blair had been standing from eleven o'clock until a quarter to twelve on the corner of Broadway and Forty-fourth Street, too proud to turn the collar of his light coat up against the winter cold, too broke to buy a heavy one.
"I went because I saw in the paper that Mrs. Schuyler Driggs was going to be among the patronesses to receive." The hysterical giggle was gone from Cecille's voice. She shut tight her teeth and raised her chin. Felicity felt that it was safe now to remain silent. And she was right, partly right. She only failed to realize that Cecille was all too calm.
It held her as a snake's eye holds a bird, fascinated, in deadly peril. But they got on together. And as an economic arrangement it left nothing to be desired. Cecille sewed well and was paid twenty-two fifty a week. For her appearance in the Aero Octet Felicity received, at the beginning, forty-five. This may astonish some. It shouldn't. "I don't pay my girls much."
And yet folks wondered why a chap who knocked around this city hunting news sometimes drank more than was good for him. Cecille was still up, staring out of the window, when Felicity and Perry Blair came in that night. Perry stayed but a moment, only long enough to promise that he would come again. Then he was gone.
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