ynch, in Howard Street. Regina was the sort of girl
frequently selected by a girl of Emeline's type for confidante and
companion: timid, conventional, always ready to laugh and admire. Regina
consented to go to dinner with Emeline and Mr. Page, and as she later
refused to go to the theatre, Emeline would not go either; they all
walked out Market Street from the restaurant, and reached the Howard
Street house at about nine o'clock. Regina went straight upstairs, but
Emeline and George Page sat on the steps an hour longer, under the
bright summer moon, and when Emeline went upstairs she woke her roommate
up, and announced her engagement.

George came into the store at nine o'clock the next morning, to
radiantly confirm all that they had said the night before, and with
great simplicity the two began to plan for their future; from that time
they had breakfast, lunch, and dinner together every day; they were both
utterly satisfied; they never questioned their fate. In October George
had to go to San Diego, and a dozen little cities en route, for the
firm, and Emeline went, too. They were married in the little church of
Saint Charles in Eighteenth Street, only an hour or two before they
started for San Jose, the first stop in George's itinerary. Emeline's
mother and sisters came to her wedding, but the men of the family were
working on this week-day afternoon. The bride looked excited and happy,
colour burned scarlet in her cheeks, under her outrageous hat; she wore
a brown travelling gown, and the lemon-coloured gloves that were popular
in that day. Emeline felt that she was leaving everything unpleasant in
life behind her. George was the husband of her dreams--or perhaps her
dreams had temporarily adapted themselves to George.

But, indeed, he was an exceptionally good fellow. He was handsome, big,
dashingly dressed. He was steady and successful in his work, domestic in
his tastes, and tenderly--and perhaps to-day a little pityingly--devoted
to this pretty, clever girl who loved him so, and had such faith in him.
His life had kept him a good deal among men, and rather coarse men; he
had had to do more drinking than he cared to do, to play a good deal of
poker, to listen to a good deal of loose talk. Now, George felt a great
relief that this was over; he wanted a home, a wife, children.

The bride and groom had a cloudless three weeks of honeymoon among a
score of little Southern towns--and were scarcely less happy during t