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HOW SUE ELOPED WITH HER OWN HUSBAND K —’ I j 1 (Personally Conducted by the Baby} \ J of Fashionable Society’s Poetess of Pas* won » ? irst aije Up Her /' -Z'Z X "x?'' lfl!h Loving Husband for Her / -...<■ Muse, and / w'/Fi' 'ir WK"’- then Gave up M " X W\ ZMOZ< A Her Muse for / • /v ~ Her Husband >JI //\B Vx • MWfckz. // \\ j>^ A 'ywKosu > .y THE most audacious and ro mantically unc o n vetff lonal thing has just happened In New York society. A wife has eloped with her own busband! And the wife, young, beniitiful. talented, is none other than Mrs Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff, so’ci ety a poetess of passion, and daugh- CfMl When Will »*DI"T I love you. ’ pleaded the D Duke, sinking on his knees. "You are adorable! You are divine! Your hair is golden—and it floats upon the air! Your eyes are like the blue fleur-de-lis of France! You must be mine!" The slender, golden haired girl, with the pale fleur-de-lis eyes, shook her head The representative of the house of Cboiaeul-Praslin, one of the proudest bouses of France, wrung bis bands "But why? Why?" frantically de manded the Duke. "Because J do not love yon,” she said simply. And then she turned and left the Duke alone in the tuberose-scented conservatory ’lt is love 1 want,” she breathed “Ixrvr—and 1 do not want Ibis love, this man. Oh, when will love come to me?" • , . . . Blanch ; Shoemaker sat alone In the little mauve boudoir of her pala tial Fifty third street borne in New York. It was nearly four o'clock I? the morning As she sat there, pen In hand, she formed the cen tra' figure of a picture as mar vellously toned as anything by Ro •ettl Everything was mauve She loved if Before her floated a mental pic ture. Tile young man was tall. He was slim He was dark He pos sessed no great qualities of intellect” which might appeal to the poet In her He did not paint. He did not write. He did nothing notable He had no title, he was not wealthy Yet. somehow, by tliat strange ca price of fate, lie was the one who appealed to the girl poet's heart. "Alfred.” she breathed, smiling fondly. "Alfred." Then she took her peu in hand, and. with eyes half closed a golden haired, enraptured Beata Beatrix In « mauve chamber wrote the follow Ing lines “As in sweet childhood's slumbering hours a hand In mother tenderness seeks for the cheek Os the loved one. gently disturbing sleep , Until the child soul stirs aud leaves the land Os dreams and wakings, half afraid to speak — Fo was 1 for lout vears with a deep <nd solemn slumber of the soul until My heart Iteard thee approach, and then tbv hand Waked me from dreams to love's reality And, like the child, with speech and / / "Ufc she went / / on . / her / /,/ hobby / // Pegasus, / frorrj • /// her , /// Alfred’s / fond arms.” fpr of Mr. and Mrs, Henry Shoe maker, who separated from her bus baud early iu the year because he constantly Interrupted her'when she was writing poetry at her magical hour of four In the morning What poetess could stand for this? However, as things have turned out, the Muse could not lons wPh stand the assault of Cupid The husband turned up one morning late in May al bis Xvlfe's country retreat, and the poetess, having found the Muse an unsatisfactory * onipaniot), eloped with him The romantic story Is published here for Hie tirst time. .PTER I I Love Comet soul grown still, bewildered in' toy joy, i looked on t hee- ■ And life grew sweet and 1 con d understand." CHAPTER II Cu/iift Guidts Their c<u 'T'HE Due de Choiseul I’raslln re * turned to France. The score nr more of other suitors disconso late, dropped from the, ring The engagement of Blanche Shoemaker." the talented young poetess of so defy, to Alfred Wagstaff. Jr., was announced. Society a flutter. ■'Alfred Wagstaff’s not a Sir Gala had. nor an Apollo” "Still, tie’s nice looking.’ That was the dictum of society One golden mornitig in April—tt was tin* 29th—-of 1907. a few guestt gathered in the drawing-room ol Henry W Shoemaker’s mansion t< witness the marriage of his dnugh ter* Blanche, to Alfred Wagstaff. Ths wedding was very simple—ami. to the bride, very brief Where shall we go on our honor moon?” she had asked, not long be fore the wedding. “Let us go automobiling together.” Alfred had enthusiastically sug gested. ".That will be wonderful!" she had evclnimed. "We shall go nutoind biling. with Eros as our guide. Eros, the god of love shall guide us - “ to tile vales of Arcadia" "To Washington and Hot Springs" raid the groom to the chauffeur The horn tooted. Ttie exhaust >f the machine exploded. The friends cheered Then the car made a whit- 1 ribboned lino as It dashed down th sunshiny streets Cupid guided the car. •■RAPTEH 111. Muse or Husband* THK days sped by with golden * wings Before they realized It tile honeymoon was over, and tl.e couple happily settled down it. . beautiful cottage on Dong Island. "I shall write as J have nev*r written before,” said the bride \ t ld she did Morning .after morning - at four ..’clock she sat in Iter Hute com, writing love poems to th* husband who slept. l our o clock was her mystical hour the hour •.•.be:; the voices *f ancient Greece spoke to her soui. when bvgoue memories of other Mv*s returned, when all that her han.l some husband evoked in her heart found expression. One morning, as dawn whs creep z ’ ? ' - 1 : ' z - x Jfc * K 1 ' 4 ' • 'IL \ P ’ ' . Ik \ I■% I \ ' * F" ■ X --Wi'L 1 A / \WU ■ / ix WW* t * wk* W Wil ••' f At.'t \ f'r I / AXiPON] \ ’ z / » My V /' Z > \ .. ’/ '-IT.. X-- -**y-ii- • •’ •'•x>'w ~ ihe Exquisite Frohle of Mrs. Blanche Wagstaff, Society’s Poetess of Passion Who Gave Up Her Husband for Her Muse and Then Just Had to Elope wjth Him at Last. ii'g. with pink lingers, over the waters of Long Island Sound, the young wife mused tints: "What do 1 love Inin tot? His lus trous eyes Os mirroreu sea change, -deep is yonder wave. Oi yet the wonders of hi« spirits flee When laughter woos him frtpn re flection grave. Or is it tor tile tender, suppliant. . W a y He has in seeking me at close day. To put hl« head upon my breast and say \ thousand times he loves me? Is it for His ardent lips or gentie band's caress’ Or v< t his midnight locks that I adore? Not for these charms I love him — 9 .. iyrf<M. Tttf? by Ammar Wraw»«n»r. Brest Britain Rights Reserve*. nor not less Were be to lack them; nay, 1 worship more The inner Being tn its loveliness." At that moment there were steps in the hallway—the husband's steps. Tlie door opened “Why don't yon retire. dear? It Is «o very, very foolish to stay up at this hour, writing.” The poetess suppressed the flush of resentment, for love was still new True, the wings of the Muse were ruffled—but their lips met The Aliise is Jealous Friends spoke of the wonderful couple; how happy they were; b >w deioled and watchful was the husband, bow charming was the golden haired baby who came Thev noted that husbatid and wife never parted that Alfred never let Blanche out of his presence. So- ciety eagerly visited the beaut u couple, and the couple were deluge with social demauds. “1 cannot stand tills life, the young wife said. "I cannot write tv I'm to go around to teas, .dinners, and receptions all the time." "But it is enjoyable.” the busband said. "I like society.” “I must get away—Oh, 1 must get away! Don't you understand? Can't you understand? I must write! I must write these poems that ache, that burn, that pant for expression. I must be alone. I must have solitude.” They went to Greece and she sat at midnight under the shadow of tne Acropolis A year later, driven desperate by the distractions of New York, the poetess again foufid it necessary to go abroad “I would travel tn the Sahara z FT I I* C u “And down a she’s * n a ' a • / nice, K’s| /’ big VX. . .-/ / r'-rv- comfy Z l right s =v= s £-^ •nto J<eqiv=> loving / A )JA J Alfred’s / a rrns /JTrZX ' desert—under the stars, and listen to the Arab folksongs.” A! Siers the couple motored tn Biskra, and then, with a caravan of twelve Arabs, six camels and three mules, they went into the Sahara. At night the society poetess of passion sat alone, for from the caravan, and wrote beneath the **nrs while the Arabs safig folk songs. Then, lonely, unhappy, desiring ber company, the fond husband would wonder over the sands, until, beneath a palm tree, he found bis wife dreaming upon the moon. "I had to come, dear.” he would say. ‘‘Why—why do you stay so long?” '"But you disturb me,” she would complain, kindly. “Please, please let me alone. To write, you know, I must be alone—l must be alone.” CHAPTER IV. Exit Husband. TO have one’s wife writing poetry at four in the morning might cause the most ideal of husbands to complain. While his ardor never diminished, the young husband found it irksome to have his wife up ar the unseemly hour, writing verse. The interruptions continued; the poems suffered: the Muse rose iu revolt Then an interesting rumor whs whispered in New York society. Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff has left ber husband. She has gone to live with her mother.” Mrs. Wagstaff’s lawyer, sagacious and severe, advised her to shun so ciety and live in seclusion. The separation was hushed up. and. al though few knew the facts, some,, said the young wife was to go to Reno, where a divorce was to be secured Meanwhile, seeing only a few lit -rary friends, who were iu sym pathy with her. the young wife de voted herself to writing. But. ah. Cupid was on the trail of the muse. The bride had taken with her her automobile and chauffeur. Soon one of the few friends whom she saw then whispered a strange thing to her. “Your busband still hopes for a reconciliation— y6ur chauffeur is a friend of bis. He keeps Alfred in formed all about you.” There was something novel in the thought of being pursued by a chauf feur detective. She' still wrote in the mornings But it was not long before the poems no longered flowered. All she could write was a poem of her loneliness One morning, while she was sit ting alone, disconsolate, an idle pen In band, there was a stirring in the jalousies outside ber widow. Dawn was rising—there was the Spring odor of fresh things in the air. At the sound she rose in alarm. Look ing out. to her amazement, she saw her husband —as fresh, as handsome, as when she first met him She had not seen him for about four months She wouldn’t have thought the eight could cause such a mighty fluttering in her bosom. But be was radiant "Dear heart,” he said, sprlnglnj through the window. “I’ve not been able to live without you. I had to come. Oh, you must—you—you must come with me.” “Alfred,” she breathed, and th* old rapture—strangest of strange things!:—flooded her heart. She for got all about poetry—all about tbs muse. “You. must come ” t "Wbat do you mean?” she asked "We’ll go away—together! Elope!” “Elope!” "Yes, in the automobile! Let go —oh, anywhere! Atlantic City!" For a few moments she was dazed Elope with her husbaud? Had a wife ever done so audacious, so amazing, so novel a thing before? True, she felt the old romance in her heart; and, in very truth, she knew it had never died. But to go away with her own husbaud —would tt be proper? What would people say? "But little Alfred—our baby?” she asked. The baby was fast asleep io his little room. “We’ll take him with us." repliei the dashing husband, who had es sayed the romantic thing of which no one in society had ever believed him capable. But had a baby ever eloped with Ils parents before? Did a bridal couple ever take a three-year-old baby on a honeymoon? It «n thrilling, piquant, romantic "You love me, do you not?’ ths cavalier husband eagerly asked. “You have not ceased ’ “f thought—oh. I thought “But?” "I was unhappy—l did not knov the reason—l lost interest in poetrv —I did not know it, but I was logg ing for you. yearning for you Mv heart was hungry, and. foolish little thing. I did not know —I did not know!” “And you were going to get a di vorce?” “Oh, I was foolish! I imagined my wmrk was everything" “And now?” “I’ll go,” she said. "I’ll go—to the end of the world with you,” And the muse—alackaday! Wbera was the muse? CHAPTER V All Ends Well. LETTERS to Riverside, from th* grave lawyer, from soliciicu relatives, from the few ftlcni? wn<* knew of the poetess’s retreat, me. with no reply. Where was she? Xvbat could b* the matter? Telegrams, too, brought no response. The suspense was dreadful. I' was as dramatic as the suspense io a play. Then, one day. a message came —to the lawyer, the parent* and relatives. The telegram read: “I have eloped with my husband The baby is with us The days fly by with golden, wings Again wj bark of life is launched gloriously on a silver sea. We are going la take a honeymoon around ths world.”