we'll have to live in New York more or less--I
suppose?"

"More or less? Altogether. My work is here."

"I believe there is more work for both of us in Europe."

"And do you imagine I'd live on your money? I've nothing but what I
make."

"I could pull wires and get you into one of the embassies----"

"I'm no diplomat, and don't want to be. Rotten lazy job."

"Couldn't you be foreign correspondent for your newspaper?"

"We've good men in every European capital now. They've no use for
more, and no excuse for displacing any of them. Besides, I've every
intention of being a playwright."

"But playwrighting isn't--not really--quite as important as poor
Europe. And I know of several ways in which we could be of the
greatest possible use. Not only Austria----"

"Perhaps. But you'll have to wait until I've made money on at least
one play. I'll be only too glad to spend the honeymoon in the
Dolomites, but then I return and go to work. You'll have to make up
your mind to live here for a year or two at least. And the sooner you
marry me, the sooner we can go to Europe to live--for a time. I've no
intention of living my life in Europe. But I'm only too willing to
help you. So--better marry me tomorrow."

"I can't get away for at least two months--possibly not then. Ask
Judge Trent. And a honeymoon in New York would be too flat--not?"

"Better than nothing . . . however--here's an idea. I'll get to work
on my play at once and maybe I can finish it before I leave. If it
went over big I could stay longer. Besides, it'll be something to boil
over into; I don't suppose I shall see any too much of you. What's
your idea? To set all the young men off their heads and imagine you
are Mary Ogden once more? It _would_ be a triumph. I've an idea
that's what you are up to."

"Certainly not," she said angrily. "How trivial you must think me.
I've not the least intention of going to dancing parties. I should be
bored to death. I hardly knew what young Vane was talking about today.
He seems to speak a different language from the men of my time. But it
is only decent that I bore myself at luncheons and dinners, for my old
friends have behaved with the utmost loyalty and generosity. Jane
Oglethorpe would have been quite justified in never speaking to me
again, and I have violated the most sacred traditions of the others.
But it has not made the least difference. Besides, I must keep them up
to the mark. I