Bertram, with the unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows he
himself possesses the nicest girl of them all.

Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his voice, grew suddenly
grave. She regarded her husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew a
profound sigh.

"Whew!" laughed Bertram, whimsically. "So soon as this?"

"Bertram!" Billy's voice was tragic.

"Yes, my love." The bridegroom pulled his face into sobriety; then Billy
spoke, with solemn impressiveness.

"Bertram, I don't know a thing about--cooking--except what I've been
learning in Rosa's cook-book this last week."

Bertram laughed so loud that the man across the aisle glanced over the
top of his paper surreptitiously.

"Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were doing all this week?"

"Yes; that is--I tried so hard to learn something," stammered Billy.
"But I'm afraid I didn't--much; there were so many things for me to
think of, you know, with only a week. I believe I _could_ make peach
fritters, though. They were the last thing I studied."

Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic
face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender.

"Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a cook," he said gently.

Billy shook her head.

"I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook,
myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She
said that--that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house
properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try,
honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged
bread and when you kneaded it."

"I don't ever need--_yours_," cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but he got
only a deservedly stern glance in return.

"And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and
pinches of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but,
Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere
was singing to me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many
pinches of flour and spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went
into a loaf of cake when all the while the very teakettle on the stove
was singing: 'It's all right--Bertram loves me--I'm going to marry
Bertram!'?"

"You darling!" (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did
almost kiss her this time.) "As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of
baking-powder went anywhere--with that in your heart!"

"Aunt Hannah says you