THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE
license. When the clerk asked him to write his name upon it, he hesitated. What name should he assume? Under a mask he had wooed this girl, under an unreal name he must make her his bride. He loathed himself for a trickster. He had vilely stolen from her the love she would not give him. Even now, should he not confess himself the man whose face had frightened her, and go his way? And yet, surely, it was not just that he, whose soul was transfigured, should bear his old name. Surely George Hell was dead, and his name had died with him, So he dipped a pen in the ink and wrote “George Heaven,” for want of a better name. And Jenny wrote “Jenny Mere” beneath it.
An hour later they were married according to the simple rites of a dear little registry office in Covent Garden.
And in the cool evening they went home.
In the cottage that had been the woodman’s they had a wonderful honeymoon. No king and queen in any palace of gold were happier than they. For them their tiny cottage was a palace, and the flowers that filled the garden were their couriers. Long and careless and full
40
