Adventure Magazine Cover — page 184: what you’re looking at

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

170 had not spoken to her openly, but there were a hundred signs that cheer even despairing lovers, and McNeill was far from being despondent. He had definitely made up his mind to force Remsden’s hand upon the princes’ return, scheduled for the tenth day after they left for Washington. Their banquet had been set for the following evening and all New York, especially that part of its social center that had not been invited, was agog over the rumored extravagance of the affair. It was to be an Arabian Nights enter- tainment, it was said. There would be. magic wrought in more ways than one, and all the fabled magnificence of Aladdin’s gardens would fade before the spectacle of the feast to be spread in the private suite of their imperial highnesses as the society columns, still secretly delighting in titles, styled these two Chinamen who claimed to be representatives of a new republic. Guests had been asked to attend in Oriental garb, and all the glamour of a fancy-dress affair fascinated the fashion-writers and stimulated the curiosity and envy of those not fortunate enough to receive invitations. Remsden, rather in fear than bravado, McNeill thought, had accepted for himself and Helen, and Neill himself had likewise signified his intention of being present. Helen and he were discussing costumes when she presented her finger for his inspection. “It is numb, Neill,” she said. ‘‘First it was the upper joint and now it is the second—the same finger I pricked so badly with those roses 1 thought you sent me. I can’t bend it between those tw6 joints at all. Look at it.” S As McNeill took the tapering finger a strange fear gripped his heart. The men- tion of the roses seemed to have promoted the presentiment. Helen’s hand was white, well kept, the texture of a gardenia petal, though the tips showed the faint rose-hue of perfect health. The index finger of the right hand was the one she complained about, and McNeill noticed that it was subtly different from the rest. He could bend it between the first and second joints but there was no reflex action. The nail lacked color and the pinkness of the tip was entirely missing. The flesh was unshriveled, but it had a frozen look; it was like a finger carved in alabaster, Adventure a finger of Galatea with all the rest of the beautiful statue come to life. - A tiny, light-brown speck marked where the sharp thorns of the American beauties had punctured the skin and drawn blood. There was a smaller mark lower down, made in the same way. He strove to hide his premonition. He dared not gaze into her face, though presently he would have to force himself to that inspection, he knew quite well. “How long have you noticed this?” he asked. ‘Since the morning after the thorns pricked me,” she answered. “I thought nothing of it, but it has steadily grown worse. I asked Dr. Hastings about it and he thought there might be some slight local infection, but it has -not swelled; it has simply lost all sensation. He didn’t seem to consider it very serious. It is my sewing finger, and I do sew occasionally,” she laughed, “‘so I have noticed it.” “By the way,” asked McNeill casually, though he made a strong effort to control his voice, ““you never found out who sent you those roses?” ‘‘No—no one has claimed the honor. You.are quite sure you didn’t leave a stand- ing order, Neill? It would be like you.” “Quite sure. I wouldn’t worry about this if I were you. It will probably pass.” “Oh, I won’t worry about it. It is probably a matter of circulation. I’ll have to be more careful of my diet and cut off candy I suppose.”’ Neill laughed with her and then, de- liberately forcing back all emotion, he pro- ceeded to the test he dreaded. “Won’t you play something?” he asked, steadying his voice. She went over to the piano and Neill made a point of choosing something that she must play by note. To aid her in this he turned on the piano lights and then settled himself in a chair that gave him a good view of her face, turning it, as she did occasionally, toward him. To the ordi- nary observer there would have seemed nothing out of the ordinary, save that the face was very fair to look upon with its perfect oval, the scarlet lips and the steady, large eyes beneath curving, delicately pen- ciled brows. It was at these latter that Neill directed his closest attention, though he managed to hide it from her, smiling when he met her gaze. Gomichoo cS (eo)