of drive--to live
on simpler food--what are those things? Look at these," she pointed to the
rows of books in the bookcases which lined two walls of the room. "I'm
marrying a man of refinement, of family, of the sort of blood that tells.
He's an educated man--he loves the things those books stand for. He's good
and strong and fine--and if I'm not safe with him I'll never be safe with
anybody. But besides all that--I--I love him with all there is of me.
Oh--_are_ you satisfied now?"

Blushing furiously she turned away. Her father got to his feet, stood
looking after her a moment with something very tender coming into his
eyes, then took a step toward her and gathered her into his arms.

VIII.--ON ACCOUNT OF THE TEA-KETTLE

"This is the nineteenth day of August," observed Anthony Robeson. "We
finished furnishing the house for my future bride on the third day of the
month. Over two weeks have gone by since then. The place must need
dusting."

He glanced casually at the figure in white which sat just above him upon
the step of the great porch at the back of the Marcy country house. It was
past twilight, the moon was not yet up, and only the glow from a distant
shaded lamp at the other end of the porch served to give him a hint as to
the expression upon his companion's face.

"I'm beginning to lie awake nights," he continued, "trying to remember
just how my little home looks. I can't recall whether we set the
tea-kettle on the stove or left it in the tin-closet. Can you think?"

"You put it on the stove yourself," said Juliet. "You would have filled it
if Auntie Dingley hadn't told you it would rust."

Anthony swerved about upon the heavy oriental rug, which covered the
steps, until his back rested against the column; he clasped his arms about
one knee, and inclined his head at the precise angle which would enable
him to study continuously the shadowy outlines of the face above him, shot
across with a ruby ray from the lamp. "I wish I could recollect," he
pursued, "whether I left the porch awning up or down. It has rained three
times in the two weeks. It ought not to be down."

"I'm sure it isn't," Juliet assured him. There was a hint of laughter in
her voice.

"It was rather absurd to put up that awning at all, I suppose. But when
you can't afford a roof to your piazza, and compromise on an awning
instead, you naturally want to see how it is going to look, and you rush
it up. Besides, I think there was a