tanding now, and Jim had her in his arms.

"I've been miserable without you," he said. "And it's all your fault.
You made me sure it was no use. Don't you remember how you said one day
that marrying a cousin must be like paying a long dull visit to
relatives?--a thing you hated."

"And you took that to yourself?"

"Naturally. I supposed you thought it merciful to choke me off, so I
shut up like an oyster. And then there was Dick----"

"He never existed. Oh, Jim, we've both been rather silly, haven't we?
But luckily we're both very young."

"I'm not. I'm almost old enough to be your father."

"You're just the right age for a lover. To think that by one speech
which I made merely in order to be mildly witty, I came near spoiling
the whole show! But you ought to have known better. You're such a
distant, uttermost, outlying cousin--a hill brigand of a cousin claiming
my relationship or my life."

"I'm going to claim more than either now."

"My gracious! I do hope so, or I shall have come to visit you in vain."

* * * * * * *

Nobody thought of the unfortunate cabman, but he was not neglectful of
his own interests; and having covered his horses and refreshed himself
with secret stores of wine and bread, he was asleep under an immense
umbrella when, after dark, his existence was remembered. By this time,
it was too late in Jim's opinion for Peter to go and call at Princess
Della Robbia's. Mary would have begun to dress for dinner, if she were
at home; and, besides, a place for Peter to spend the night must be
found without delay. She could visit Mary in the morning.

Jim tabooed the idea of a hotel, but thought of Mrs. Winter, as most of
her acquaintances did think of her when they wanted practical advice or
help. Peter's luggage was transferred from the cab to Jim's automobile,
the sleepy _cocher_ was paid above his demands, and the happiest man on
the Riviera spun off alone with the happiest girl, in a closed motor
car, to Monte Carlo. The chauffeur was told not to drive fast.

Providentially, "St. George's" dreaded aunt had gone, having been told
by a doctor that the climate was too exciting for her state of health.

The Winters' spare room was free, and the chaplain and his wife were
delighted. News of Mary there was none except that, three or four nights
ago, she had called while George and Rose were at Nice and had taken her
jewel-case, leaving no message b