Page:Frank Owen - Woman Without Love (1949 reprint).djvu/7

 love was. The first flush of passion that overcame her she mistook for love. But what matter? If it was only an illusion? Happiness always is an illusion.

The next night he left his horse and carriage down the road and waited for her. He smiled softly to himself as he thought of the delectable interlude that was in store for him. He drew his tongue over his dry lips. Then she came to him, slender, beautiful, breathless. Her eyes had never shone more brilliantly.

They drove for about fifteen miles and then stopped at a rustic hotel where Whitman Manners knew no questions were asked.

"My wife and I would like a large front room," declared Whitman, "if you have one vacant."

"I have a lovely one," replied the proprietor. "Southern exposure with windows on both sides."

Whitman laughed. "I doubt," said he, "if I'll have much time to look out of windows."

Mary had the grace to blush but she made no objection to sharing a room with him. She knew they couldn't be married in the middle of the night and anyway she was rather tired. It would be nice to sleep in his arms.

That night was a night of music, of beauty and dreams. Whitman Manners was a perfect lover. He was an adept in his chosen art. Always in after years when she had known sorrow, privation and much bitterness, Mary looked back on that night wistfully. She had known one perfect hour in an eternity of despair.

Not for a moment was she sorry that she had eloped. This was the man she loved. If need be she would follow him to the ends of the world. It was the love viewpoint of a girl not fifteen. To her eyes, Whitman was a Greek god. He was utterly perfect, without a single blemish.

In the morning after a late breakfast, they continued their journey. All day they drove, stopping occasionally to kiss a bit when they were on a particularly lonesome road. Several times they paused by the wayside for coffee and sandwiches. Neither of them was interested in a regular meal.

The second night was spent in a sinister house in a strange city. It was a house of shadows and wraiths, of dim lights and