Adventure, February 1917 — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Nobody’s Island coming toward her; she turned naturally to Tennyson and the ‘‘Princess,” saying silent- ly to herself: And on her lover’s arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world that is the old. Across the hills and far away, Beyond their utmost purple rim—— “Have you any false teeth?” was the greeting that put a sudden end to poetry. “T beg your pardon for asking,” added Slade, his hazel eyes laughing, ‘‘but nearly every one has nowadays, and if you’ve got any, and can slip out the plate before land- ing, it will make a difference in the outline of the face that’s worth considering.” “I do happen to have just two—back ones,” answered Edith meeting this rather unnerving candor with candor. “I will cer- tainly take out the plate. But why is it necessary?” Slade had got into her corner now; they were leaning up against a projection of the big deckhouse, sheltered from spray as long as they did not attempt to look for a seat. The Azuria tramped masterfully over the Atlantic swells; the free wind sang in the rigging, The patch of sunlight at their feet swung with every swing of the ship; it looked wonderfully whiter than sunlight on land. Wine with a tang of ice in it was the air; cold, strong, and splendid the sea. The : girl—she was in truth scarcely more than a girl—felt her heart lift with the swing and scent of the waves. After all, after all, wasn’t it adventure—life? She ‘hardly lis- tened for Slade’s answer. Slade seemed hardly disposed to give one; it was some time before he replied lightly: “May as well be careful. That rig-out is worth the trouble I spent on it; no look of disguise, and yet the whole face changed.” He looked at her keenly. “But—you know—there’s been nothing in the bulletins,” said Edith. . “Not a thing,” agreed Slade. ‘Still, be on the lookout when you land, and don’t let yourself be surprised in any way. One can’t be quite sure of anything. I wanted to tell you that you had better go to the Astor Hotel after you’re through the cus- toms. I shall go to the Manhattan and leave my things, and make arrangements.” Edith, looking out at the blue and white waves, did not ask what the arrangements were. Slade laughed a little, and pulled his mustache. There fell a moment’s silence. 15 “What does the M stand for?’’ asked : Slade suddenly; and Edith following the thought in his mind without any difficulty, replied: “Mary. Edith Mary, or more correctly, Mary Edith.” “Oh—why?”’ in his tones. | “T was baptized Mary Edith, and my father called me Mary while he lived; but he died when I was a small child, and my mother, who wasn’t a Catholic, thought the ‘Edith’ smarter, so I grew up with the name. There was eager interest There was a lot of dispute over it at the time I was baptized. I hardly know which name is mine really, because I was baptized by one and registered by another.” “Registered which?’’? asked Slade, and now there was no mistaking the interest of his tone. “Registered as my father wanted — M “Then Mary is your name in strict law, no matter how many mothers called you otherwise.”’ “Oh, I dare say. I have a cousin Dorothy whose real name is Anne Sapphira, and an Augustus who signs himself Jim. No one minds these things much.” “Don’t they?” said Slade, the gold-brown eyes very bright, and very near to the blue ones. ‘I do—because you see, that little fact removes the only rock in the way of our marriage. You can’t legally marry under a false name, if both parties know it to be false, and I leave you to imagine what the effect of marrying as Edith Camp- bell would be, when the ‘Yellow Press’ gets hold of things. Mary Campbell is about the most ordinary name any one could wish to marry under. How would tomorrow suit you? We sha’n’t pull out of New York till the next day’s train; the boat doesn’t catch tomorrow’s.” Edith almost jumped. “My husband isn’t dead a week!” she ob- jected. “‘Surely-——”’ “T just want to put one question to you,” observed Slade, looking out at the sea. “Which is the greater unconventionality— — marrying when your widowhood is a week old, or traveling across the world” “T didn’t think—yes, of course I under- ory now, but have we got to go right on cComichbook