The Spectator., 1916-02-29
: THE GRAY SWEATER GIRL
By OCTAVE DEAN.

The thing that Elizabeth round nara est to keep down was his penchant for signs to be followed.
 Elizabeth stuck to him dutifully, a good, solid anchor for this poor craft so often storm-tossed on the sea of imagination.
 After ten years of devotion on Eliz- abeths part Bryan still had a doubt He wondered if he had not made a mistake in marrying her. And this is why.
 One day long ago, after the same fashion country maid writes her name on newly laid egg and ships it off to market, he wrote his name across the corner of freshly laun- dered silk handkerchief and below it the mystic letters, CT M. F. w." which meant something very senti- mental-"To My Future Wife"
 'I am going to let chance pick my wife for me, said he, laying the white bit on the window ledge The wind there begins chance. And dozen peo- pie will pass it by-chance again-and a girl will pick it up-still chancellor if the side with the writing is hidden no one will touch it, but if the writing is exposed only woman could be observ- ant enough and curious enough to read it. The mysterious letters will impel her to take it home And that's where come in. I must watch and see who gets my handkerchief and follow her. Then comes chance again-she may be married, but 1 think not When luck has played into my hands so far she won't turn her back upon me then. Here goes!"
 And Bryan had watched the white thing tiutter to the pavement, where it lay awhile, finally being lifted by a girl in a gray sweater, cap and scarf. who stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket after reading the name. He grabbed his hat and rushed to the street. He had not seen the girls face, but he was sure of finding her ill clothes so easily identified.
 However, at this point luck turned against him in spite of his predictions and laughed loud and long. for he couldn't find the girl in the gray sweat er cap and scarf.
 The months went on and he married Elizabeth.
 Elizabeth was the first person he had gone to with his secret of the handkerchief, but she could not help him to identify his chance affinity She had not laughed at the idea. but told him how futile il would be to find the girl he sought.
 They had eventually drifted into marriage, first, because Bryan discov- work, and. second, because he found she was so pretty and entertaining he liked to have her around, But always he had the feeling that he should have married the girl in gray. Not that he wasn't fond. very. very fond, of Eliza beth, but chance had meant it to be another way and something, probably his own stupidity, had sent things wrong
 Now, for the first time in ten years, Elizabeth had to be away. Somebody was sick or dead, and Bryan, minus his companion, business manager and general comforter, was like a newly decapitated fowl. At the end of three days he was beginning to realize what she was to him. He had never dreamed he could miss her so much. and he waited impatiently for telegram say ing she was coming home.
 He thought of her engagement book in her desk. She would not mind his glancing over it, he knew. and it might give him an idea of her return. But he could not find it. It was not in any of the pigeonholes or small drawers above. Perhaps the deeper drawer below would hold it. So he turned the key and pulled it open. He started back, staring as though he had seen ghost, for there on top of a few packets of old letters lay silk handkerchief with his name and the mystic letters in the corner.
 "Ronny!" exclaimed woman's voice in the doorway. I'm so glad to get back. Why, Ronny, what's the matter, you look-Or. gracious. did you find that stupid old handkerchief after all? I wish I'd burned it!"
 Elizabeth" His face was radiant and he clasped her to him as though he would never let her go. You were the gray-sweater girl and you never told me-
 "Well-what if I didn't? Are you glad to see me because I'm the gray sweater girl or because I'm me?"
 Both. dearest. Chance has cor- tainly been good to me. To think that all these years I've been married to the one girl in the world meant for me. But why didn't you tell me?"
 If you must know I will tell you, Ronny Sit down and be sensible. Sup pose l had told you, Your gambling instinct, that fatal part of you that depends upon superstition and chance, would have been a million times