at once eagerly masculine and poetically exalted. Mary slept fitfully,
but sweetly.

The next morning they were married. Stefan's first idea had been the City
Hall, as offering the most expeditious method, but Mary had been firm for
a church. A sight of the municipal authorities from whom they obtained
their license made of Stefan an enthusiastic convert to her view. "All
the ugliness and none of the dignity of democracy," he snorted as they
left the building. They found a not unlovely church, half stifled between
tall buildings, and were married by a curate whose reading of the service
was sufficiently reverent. For a wedding ring Mary had that of Stefan's
mother, drawn from his little finger.

By late afternoon they were in Shadeham, ensconced in a small wooden
hotel facing a silent beach and low cliffs shaded with scrub-oak. The
house was clean, and empty of other guests, and they were given a
pleasant room overlooking the water. From its windows they watched the
moon rise over the sea as they had watched her two nights before on deck.
She was the silver witness to their nuptials.




PART II

MATED

I