s."

It took a long time to get her consent.

The next night I went to Eleanore's father. He received me quietly, and
with a deep intensity under that steady smile of his, which reminded me
so much of hers, he spoke of all she had meant to him and of her brave
search for a big, happy life. He told how he had watched her with me
slowly making up her mind.

"It took a long time, but it's made up now," he said. "And now that it
is, she's the kind that will go through anything for you that can ever
come up in your life." He looked at me squarely, still smiling a little,
frankly letting his new affection come into his eyes. "I wish I knew all
that's going to happen," he added, almost sadly. "I hope you'll get used
to telling me things--talking things over--anything--no matter
what--where I can be of the slightest help."

Then he, too, spoke of money. He meant to keep up her allowance, he
said, and he had insured his life for her. Again, as with my father, I
felt that disturbing lack of faith in my work. I spoke of it to Eleanore
and she looked at me indignantly.

"You must never think of it like that," she said. "I won't have you
writing for money. Dad has never worked that way and you're not to do it
on any account--least of all on account of me. Whatever you make we'll
live on, and that's all there is to be said--except that we'll live
splendidly," she added very gaily, "and we won't spend the finest part
of our lives saving up for rainy days. We'll take care of the rain when
it rains, and we'll have some wonderful times while we can."

We decided at once on a trip abroad as soon as I had finished my work.
And I remember writing hard, and reading it aloud to her and rewriting
over and over again, for Eleanore could be severe. But I remember, too,
more trips in her boat to gather the last odds and ends. I remember how
the big harbor took on a new glory to our eyes, mingled with all the
deep personal joys and small troubles and crises we went through, the
puzzles and the questionings and the glad discoveries that made up the
swift growth of our love.

And though I never once thought of Joe Kramer, he had prophesied
aright. I belonged wholly now to Dillon's world, a world of clean
vigorous order that seemed to welcome me the more as I wrote in praise
of its power. And happy over my success, and in love and starting life
anew with all the signs so bright--how could I have any doubts of my
harbor?

We were married ver