Frills, Fads and Foibles

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 612, 14 March 1929, Page 5

Frills, Fads and Foibles

Notes and Hints Though the lines of fashion may vary, there are obviously certain fabrics which it will be safe to go on buying for many a long day to come. Notable among these are moire, satin, and taffetas. So if you are blessed with a good dressmaker, and have any opportunity to secure fabric bargains in this category, you will be well advised to go ahead. My cout.uriere friends in Paris tell me that all three materials will have a continuous vogue. Moire will fashion some of the most exclusive models for afternoon as well as evening. Afternoon moire is of the rich and heavy order; that for the evening, though equally rich, is considerably lighter.

Evening colours are to be pink, blue in all manner of shades, grey in similar variety, and wines likewise; while a quite new shade is a sort of orange tan. Grey is enjoying—and by all the signs will continue to enjoy—a great popularity for outdoor wear.

Picture frocks are taking on a new lease of very active life. This does not mean, however, that the straight, classical evening frock will be demode. But it does mean that tlie picture frock is being much more generally accepted, now that the decree for very feminine evening fashions has gone forth. Exaggeratedly sparse effects will be reserved for daytime wear.

Paris is still mad on snakeskiu and lizard skin, and not only do shoes and handbags match in the reptile vogue, but belts, hatbauds and umbrella bandies.

Among minor and yet major incidentals, suede belts are of first importance. Even dance frocks have their belts of exactly matching suede, and on these flimsy robes and on sport suits alike, the belts are always finished with a square, oblong, or oval buckle of matching stones. All this signifies, also, that the craze for sports styles—which in one “jumper” form or another have so long dominated the world of evening dress as well as morning and afternoon attire—is gradually on tho wane. There is a most definite and persistent reaction on the part of welldressed women toward a more emphasised feminine contour. One can always get an indication of the forthcoming trend of line by visiting the exclusive corset salons, and here it is notable that brassieres are cut—most cleverly—to support the bust in a firm natural curve, instead of flattening it to achieve the erstwhile übiquitous boyish figure. Whatever our private and personal opinion as to the respective beauty and sightliness of curves versus straight lines, there is no manner of doubt that the new brassieres are a distinct gain from the Standpoint of health.

mo..t after slid —a to whisper fervent prayers, as she had so often done, to heavens that seemed to be of brass. CHAPTER VI. It was a dewy autumn morning a '24 k ,at Y aDd Mar saret, quite recovered trom the shock of her experience off the coast of Argyle, was walking through the fields near her home, m her hand a basket of mushrooms newly gathered. There was a pensive look on her beautiful face, and m her eyes just that faint hint of melancholy that was always there In her less animated moments. Across the short herbage something gleamed whitely in the sunshine, and though her basket was almost full, she moved toward it, and carefully cutting the mushroom represented by the gleaming disc, added it to the spoil already gathered.

As she straightened herself, she became aware of a young man, who had just crossed the stile, half a score of yards away, and who was moving toward her with a smile upon his face. Tali, well proportioned, and goodlooking, with a sun-bronzed face that most people liked well enough, he was dressed in sporting coat, riding breeches and gaiters, while he carried in his hand an ash-plant, which, as he drew nearer, he pointed in humorous accusation at the girl. “Fie, Margaret! Poaching?” "No!” answered Margaret, smilingly looking round. “If you want to make me into a poacher, Donald Mayhew, you must put a notice up—‘Mushrooms Preserved. Trespassers will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of the law,* which has a dreadfouad sound, whatever it may mean.” The young man. laughed and shook his head. “I don’t want to drive you away. I am glad to see you in my domain, so I will leave my mushrooms for all the world to steal. But how are you, Margaret, after your thrilling adventures?” “Quite well, thank you, Donald, though I am afraid my father is still suffering from the shock.” Donald Mayhew nodded. “I can un derstand that. It must have been a very trying time. I read about it in the papers, Carston, it seems, played the part of hero.” He saw the shadow that crossed the girl’s face as he spoke, and divined that, whatever Carston had done, Margaret was not pleased to be indebted to him. “Yes,” answered Margaret, reluctantly, “he certainly saved my life.” Donald Mayhew looked at her closely, then lie drew a bow at a venture. “You don’t seem properly grateful, Margaret,” he said, rallyingly. “One would think that you were sorry that Carston saved you from a watery grave.” “Oh, of course, I’m grateful, but ” “Ah! I understand,” he cried, as she broke off. “Carston is not satisfied with gratitude. He wants something more. That is it. isn’t it, Margaret?” The quick flush that flooded her face

told him that he had guessed the truth; and suddenly he took a step nearer, and laid a hand upon her arm. “Margaret,” he said in a voice that was both urgent and earnest, “Why won’t you save yourself from all this kind of thing, by marrying me? You know that 1 love you, that I’ve always loved you since I left school to go to Oxford. Oh, you must listen to me now, for there can be no treachery to the dead in telling you the truth. I know that you loved Noel; and that he loved you; and as I told you a year ago, I should never have spoken, if I were not quite sure that Noel is dead. He must be, after this long time. It is impossible that he can be alive now, or he would have communicated with you—with me. And since he is dead, I am entitled to speak, to plead my love, to ask you to ” “No! No! Donald,” interjected the girl, hoping to divert him from his purpose. “I will not be turned aside, Margaret! I love you, and by right of my love, I demand an answer. I know that I can never quite fill the place in your heart that Noel did, I know I can only be second best to you—if that; but Margaret, 1 love you utterly, completely, beyond any hope of redemption, even if I wished it; and I ask you to let my love speak for me. With you at Mayhew Court, Margaret, life woul be like Paradise; without you, the Court will be a barren heritage, and the savour will have died out of life. “Margaret,” he concluded ferventlj - , “you simply must marry me.” For one moment Margaret felt moved by the appeal, and with John Carston looming in the background of her mind like the shadow destiny, even suffered herself to consider it. She liked Donald Mayhew well. It was

true, as he said, that lie would be no more than second best, but if he were content . Such a marriage of quiet affection had more to be said for it than many marriages daily celebrated; while it would deliver her from Carston, whom her father openly favoured. Her suitor caught the thoughtful, considering look upon her face, and believing that his words had weighed with her, that a little more pleading might win his cause, spoke again. “Margaret, you must marry some day. You are too young and beautiful for spinsterhood. And Carston is not “Oh, hush!” exclaimed Margaret in a whisper. “Here comes Mr. Carston ! himself.” It was quite true. Carston was walking along the hedge side with a doublebarrelled gun in the crook of his arm, and how long he had been aware of them standing there Margaret could only guess. She moved quickly, freeing her arm, and as she did so caught a look of chagrin on her companion’s face. “Confound the man!” echoed Donald Mayhew, in a low voice. Margaret smiled a little at his impatience, but the next moment the j smile died as she caught Carstou’s! eyes fixed upon her with something | in their depths that somehow made j her feel apprehensive of trouble to come. “Good morning, Miss Margaret,”' said Carston affably. “Morning, ! Mayhew!” Then he looked at the . j girl’s basket and smiled. “I see you’ve j ! been hunting and had better luck than I have! I was just cutting home across these fields of yours. Mayhew,, l when I caught sight of Miss Mar-j j garet, and as I have a message for j

her father, I have ventured to break into your little tete-a-tete. I hope you will pardon my doing so.” “Yes!” answered Mayhew, in a tone that was far from affable. Carston smiled a little grimly, and then stood without speaking for a short time. He looked at Margaret, who was conscious of acute embarrassment, and then he glanced at the younger man, who still stood his ground. “I’m afraid the message is a private one,” he said, suggestively. “Do you mind?” An angry flush came on Donald I Mayhew’s face. “Of course not.” he ! said sharply. “I was forgetting. T j "ill wait for you on the other side I of the stile. Margaret.” “No, Donald, please do not wait.” “But I shall,” said the young man, determinedly. John Carston watched him go, and then he laughed abruptly. “A very amateurish young man, Miss Margaret.” Margaret flushed a. little, and with an effort checked the more indignant protest that came to her lips. (To be continued.)