ded his name.

Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill at ease.

"You're not listening. You're not listening at all," complained Alice
Greggory at last, reproachfully.

With a visible effort the man roused himself.

"Indeed I am," he maintained.

"I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be
friends--you and Billy." The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.

There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said:

"Perhaps--because I wanted to be more than--a friend--is why you're not
satisfied with my interest now."

A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed
painfully, then grew very white.

"You mean--"

"Yes," he nodded dully, without looking up. "I cared too much for her. I
supposed Henshaw was just a friend--till too late."

There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl
stammered:

"Oh, I'm so sorry--so very sorry! I--I didn't know."

"No, of course you didn't. I've almost told you, though, lots of times;
you've been so good to me all these weeks." He raised his head now, and
looked at her, frank comradeship in his eyes.

The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved a little under his level
gaze.

"Oh, but I've done nothing--n-nothing," she stammered. Then, at the
light tap of crutches on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. "Oh,
here's mother. She's been in visiting with Mrs. Delano, our landlady.
Mother, Mr. Arkwright is here."

Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam could carry them, were the
bride and groom. The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey
side by side had become a joyous certitude that always it was to be like
this now.

"Bertram," began the bride, after a long minute of eloquent silence.

"Yes, love."

"You know our wedding was very different from most weddings."

"Of course it was!"

"Yes, but _really_ it was. Now listen." The bride's voice grew tenderly
earnest. "I think our marriage is going to be different, too."

"Different?"

"Yes." Billy's tone was emphatic. "There are so many common, everyday
marriages where--where--Why, Bertram, as if you could ever be to me
like--like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!"

"Like Mr. Carleton is--to you?" Bertram's voice was frankly puzzled.

"No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, I mean."

"Oh!" Bertram subsided in relief.

"And the Grahams and Whartons, and the Freddie Agnews, and--and a lot
of others. Why, B