Part 23 (2/2)

”Oh! Well, then we'll call the s.h.i.+p _Marie Louise_.”

She saw that he was a little disappointed in the name, so she said:

”When I was a girl they called me Mamise.”

She was puzzled to see how this startled him.

He jumped audibly and fastened a searching gaze on her. Mamise! He had thought of Mamise when he saw her, and now she gave the name. Could she possibly be the Mamise he remembered? He started to ask her, but checked himself and blushed. A fine thing it would be to ask this splendid young princess, ”Pardon me, Princess, but were you playing in cheap vaudeville a few years ago?” It was an improbable coincidence that he should meet her thus, but an almost impossible coincidence that she should wear both the name and the mien of Mamise and not be Mamise. But he dared not ask her.

She noted his blush and stammer, but she was afraid to ask their cause.

”_Mamise_ it shall be,” he said.

And she answered, ”I was never so honored in my life.”

”Of course,” he warned her, ”the boat isn't built yet. In fact, the new yard isn't built yet. There's many a slip 'twixt the keel and the s.h.i.+p. She might never live to be launched. Some of these sneaking loafers on our side may blow her up before the submarines get a chance at her.”

There he was, speaking of submarines once more! She s.h.i.+vered, and she looked at the clock and got up and said:

”I think I'll try Mrs. Widdicombe now.”

”Let me go along,” said Davidge.

But she shook her head. ”I've taken enough of your life--for the present.”

Trying to concoct a felicitous reply, he achieved only an eloquent silence. He put her and her luggage aboard a taxicab, and then she gave him her most cordial hand.

”I could never hope to thank you enough,” she said, ”and I won't begin to try. Send me your address when you have one, and I'll mail you Mrs.

Widdicombe's confidential telephone number. I do want to see you soon again, unless you've had enough of me for a lifetime.”

He did very handsomely by the lead she gave him:

”I couldn't have enough--not in a lifetime.”

The taxi-driver snipped the strands of their gaze as he whisked her away.

Marie Louise felt a forenoon elation in the cool air and the bright streets, thick with men and women in herds hurrying to their patriotic tasks, and a mult.i.tude of officers and enlisted men seeking their desks. She was here to join them, and she hoped that it would not be too hard to find some job with a little thrill of service in it.

As she went through Georgetown now M Street was different--full of marketers and of briskness. The old bridge was crowded. As her car swooped up the hills and skirted the curves to Polly Widdicombe's she began to be afraid again. But she was committed to the adventure and she was eager for the worst of it. She found the house without trouble and saw in the white grove of columns Polly herself, bidding good-by to her husband, whose car was waiting at the foot of the steps.

Polly hailed Marie Louise with cries of such delight that before the cab had made the circle and drawn up at the steps the hunted look was gone and youth come back to Marie Louise's anxious smile. Polly kissed her and presented her husband, pointing to the gold leaves on his shoulders with militaristic pride.

Widdicombe blushed and said: ”Fearless desk-fighter has to hurry off to battle with ruthless stenographers. Such are the horrors of war!”

He insisted on paying Marie Louise's driver, though she said, ”Women will never be free so long as men insist on paying all their bills.”

Polly said: ”Hush, or the brute will set me free!”

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