6 NORTH SHORE BREEZE and Reminder 
= 
“Sylvia, I love you, every bit of you, you wonderful little 
thing. If you say the word we'll get a license and he 
married this afternoon. 
Miss Knox gasped at the daring thought, but didn't 
try to withdraw her hand. “Why, Mr. Anson, what 
vould mother say ?”’ 
“Tt isn’t what mother yould say, it’s what you say,” 
the man persisted gently but persuasively. “Sylvia, dear, 
don’t you like me a little?” 
“No,” the girl replied, shaking her head. 
Mr. Anson’s jaw dropped dejectedly. 
with delight at his evident disappointment. 
“T love you a lot, Roger; don’t,” she commanded as 
ke leaned closer, “or everybody will see you.” 
“There’s no one to see. Follow instructions, Peters,” 
he called happily to the chauffeur, who was only waiting 
the order. Like a shot they were off down the road at 
breakneck speed. 
“Where are we going?” Sylvia demanded. 
“To get the license,’ Roger grinned like a Cheshire 
cat, as he brought forth a little white box from his pocket 
and slipped a ring on the girl’s finger. “You see, dear, | 
was pretty sure of your answer, and was all prepared.” 
“Conceited man!’ Miss Knox raised her hand and 
kissed the ring, then turned to him with troubled eyes. 
“What will mother say? She doesn’t know a thing about 
you, because if I told her about meeting you I shou Td have 
to explain about the dancing lessons and she would have 
stopped them. I did so want to learn to dance.” 
“Never mind,” the man comforted, “everything will 
turn out all right. Shall we go and tell the lady mother, 
and ask her consent?” His eyes were twinkling merrily. 
“Oh, no,” Sylvia cried. “She would stop us, 
she turned her face away. 
It was nearly sundown when they entered the maroon 
car again. Sylvia realized as she glanced at the two 
rings on her finger that hadn’t been there a few hours 
before, that it was her car, too. She smiled happily at 
the thought. 
“Where shall we go now,” 
smiling joyfully at her beaming face. 
16 radiate from him. 
Sylvia laughed. “Let’s go somewhere and dance. 
It’s proper to dance at a wedding and as we're the only 
ones who know we’re married——” 
Anson knew she wanted to ward off as long as possi- 
bie the time when she would tell her mother. 
“The Monmouth,” he ordered. 
Peters grinned. He had been let into the secret and 
anproved his master’s choice in wives as well as in cars. 
Sylvia was strangely quiet for her as they skimmed 
along, threading their way through the intricate mass of 
machines that glided up and down the broad boulevard. 
der husband watched her with worried eyes. 
“What’s the matter, dear,” he asked gently. 
“T’m wondering what mother will say,” she confessed. 
“Don’t worry,” Roger begged, “I’m beginning to think 
you are sorry you married me.” 
“So soon?” she laughed. “No, dear, I’m too happy 
to be sorry. No matter what mother says, it can’t make 
any difference now.” 
The machine stopped and they alighted. As they 
entered the big hotel, Sylvia firmly resolved that no matter 
what her fears Roger wouldn’t be bothered with them, 
rot on that afternoon, at least. 
She glanced up sideways at the man she had just 
married from under the brim of her hat. How tall and 
distinguished looking he was, though not at all handsome. 
He was just the kind of a man she had always dreamed 
of marrying, when she had thought of the subject at all, 
She laughed 
and 
her husband whispered, 
Happiness seemed 
She had only know him a month, yet she realized that it 
had been her desire to see and be near him, waen sie 
could, that had prompted her to ask her mother if they 
weré going home soon. 
Little had she thought when afternoon after after- 
noon without her mother’s consent she had stolen away 
to the Casino to satisfy her craving and learn to dance 
that there she would meet the man she would marry. 
As they entered the restaurant—it was the tea hour 
—strains of “Ballin the Jack” greeted her ears. Sylvia's 
eves danced, and for the time her fears were banished. 
“Hurry, Roger,” she urged, “I want to watch the 
HOR, CLOtN. 
They found a table in a secluded corner, and then 
urned their attention to the dancers. Only half a dozen 
couples occupied the floor. 
“Look, Roger, look,” Sylvia gasped, pointing to a 
couple at the far end of the room. 
Her husband looked in the direction her finger 
pointed and his keen eyes twinkled gleefully as he watched 
the two dancers. As they dipped and twirled there wasn’t 
a more graceful couple on the floor than the tall military 
nian with the white imperial and the litle woman in cling- 
ing white crepe. ‘As they swayed to and fro the tall 
aigrette on her hat tickled her partner on the chin, neck, 
ear, but he bore it bravely for the sake of Terpsichore. 
“By George,” Roger grinned. ‘“That’s Col. Seabury. 
I didn’t know you knew him. I wonder who he’s with.” 
“T don’t know him, but Roger, he’s with my mother,” 
Sylvia exploded wrath fully. 
“Your mother,” her husband gasped ‘incredulously, 
“T thought she didn’t approve——” 
“She doesn’t, or rather didn’t.” 
flashing angrily, then suddenly she laughed. 
orise her. “She can’t raise a fuss here.” 
Her husband squeezed her hand. 
She’s caught red-handed, so can’t scold us.” 
Unseen, the young couple approached the two now 
seated at a tabie at the other end of the room. 
“Mother, dear,” Sylvia began. 
Mrs. Knox started guiltily, and stared blankly at her 
radiant daughter, while a brilliant red flooded her face 
way up under the brim of her hat. 
“Why—where,” she stammered, 
“What are you doing here?” 
The next few minutes were spent in confused ex- 
planations, jumbled introductions, and irate scoldings, 
which left Col. Seabury mildly disconcerted, Roger glee- 
fully amused, Sylvia doubled up with laughter, and Mrs. 
Sylvia’s eyes were 
safe. 
“We're 
quickly rising. 
Knox wi rath fully indignant over what she termed “Syl- 
She “couldn’t help admiring her son-in- 
law, however. Finally she was pacified, and they seated 
themselves at the table. Col. Seabury leaned confidently 
over toward Sylvia and whispered something in her ear. 
Sylvia glanced roguishly at her mother, whose guilty 
blush confirmed the Colonel’s statement. 
“The Colonel wouldn’t take no,” that worthy lady 
murmured, faintly protesting. 
via’s escapade.” 
Harold Donaldson Eberlein, of Philadelphia, who is 
writing a book on Colonial Architecture to be published 
in September by Little, Brown & Co., in collaboration with 
Mary H. Northend, was a guest ‘at Miss Northend’s 
house, in Salem, over the week-end. The leading article 
of the July issue of American Homes and Gardens, was 
bv Miss Northend, entitled, “A North Shore Home of the 
Georgian Type,” being a description (illustrated) of 
Mrs. Lucius M. Sargent’s beautiful estate at Pride’s 
Crossing, occupied this summer, as last, by her daughter, 
Mrs, F. L. Higginson, Jr., and family. 
July 16, 1915. 
“Let’s sur-- 
