The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

“228 T was downright glad when this war thing came up and I could take it!” “You—you want to be killed?” Jane gasped. “Y didn’t care whether I was blown to bits or not, until five minutes ago!” said the astonishing Mr. Farnham. ‘But I did want to see you just once before I started, and when Weston called me up—oh, Jane, dear! If you could only know how I love you, and if you could only tell me that maybe, some day, you’d care enough about me to marry me—why, all the shells in their beastly old war could never harm me or—” It is something to know one’s mind. These last amazing minutes Jane had la- bored under the impression that she did not know her own; it was, of course, absurd that she could be in love with this young man, whatever his qualities. He was different, far different from any man of her acquaintance; he was splendid and the thought of having him hurt stung her and frightened her as nothing had ever frightened her before; but at the same time —it was here that Jane stole a glance at Wilbur Farnham’s decidedly handsome fea- tures, so close to her in the moonlight. In the most minute fraction of time Jane knew her mind! “You're not going to their beastly old war!” she said. “I won’t let you!” Farnham’s arms went out to her. ‘“‘Jane—oh, my darling!” he said hoarse- ly. “Is it true? You do love me just a little?” Jane Fayre swayed toward him and her eyes looked into his own. They were very wonderful eyes just now as Jane breathed: “Oh, Will, I think—” She said no more! As if snatched back by an invisible hand of steel, Jane ceased swaying and drew herself away from the handsome young man; her hands, which had risen instinctively toward him, dropped quickly. . Jane, staring at Mr. Farnham for two or three blank, horrified seconds, shrank away and covered her eyes. For the moment she had quite forgotten, but—she was not Jane Fayre! In point of law, she was Jane Thompson, a married woman. And while her whirling brain tried to tell her, over and over, that she was no more Jane Thompson than Jane Jones, while her whole being yearned to- ward Farnham’s strong arms and her lips THE ARGOSY. to tell him that love at first sight was the realest thing in the world, the cold, hard fact persisted. Somewhere at their heels, a desperate criminal was hurrying toward them, and with him, Jane seemed to know, was a mar- riage certificate bearing her own name. It was well enough to crouch here and tell herself wildly that she had but to con- fide all in Farnham and he would under- stand—but would he? Would he even be- fieve her? And if he professed to believe her and actually did not, was his love so great that he would know her to be without blame? Suppose the unthinkable Thompson ap- peared and told whatever lying version of the nightmare seemed best suited to his needs of the moment? He would have the certificate and the records of the justice’s office and the witnesses and all to substan- tiate him! An instant’s dreadful temptation came to Jane, to surrender to Farnham’s arms and keep her secret. It could not be. She huddled lower down, a miserable little bundle of bewildered hu- manity; and Mr. Farnham, amazed but all uncomprehending, caught her to him—and became more amazed as he felt Jane drag herself away and heard her heartbroken: “Oh, don’t! Please don’t!” “Oh, please!” Jane pleaded. “I can’t— can’t—”’ “Can’t what?” ‘Marry you!” Jane whispered. ‘“But—why?” Farnham gasped. ‘“‘[—can’t tell you.” Mr.. Farnham drew both her hands from her face. “You must tell me,” said he. “Jane, you do love me?” “More and better than any one else in the world!” Jane avowed steadily. ‘“Then—there is somebody else?”’ ‘““‘No!” his hostess said wretchedly. Pure amazement crept into Mr. Farn- ham’s eyes and with it some amusement. “Dear little girl,” he said softly, ‘“‘what- ever is the trouble? They haven’t rushed you into an engagement with some one? Because if they have—”’ “Tm not engaged.” “Ts it because I’m comparatively poor, Jane?” Farnham asked more quietly. “I’m a long way from the millionaire class, but at the same time—”’ COMMICLOokKs (C@