a long talk. She's a sensible girl, Hosy,
and she listened to reason. If she was sure that you wanted to marry her
so soon she--"

"Wanted to!" I cried. "Hephzy!"

Hephzy nodded again. "Then that's settled," she said. "It's a big
disappointment to me, I give in. I'd set my heart on your bein' married
at our meetin'-house in Bayport, with Mr. Partridge to do the marryin',
and a weddin' reception at our house and--and everything. But I guess
this is the best, and I know it's the most sensible. But, Oh Hosy,
there's one thing I can't give up. I want you to be married at the
American Ambassador's or somewhere like it and by an American minister.
I sha'n't feel safe if it's done anywhere else and by a foreigner, even
if he's English, which don't seem foreign to me at all any more.
No, he's got to be an American and--and, Oh, Hosy! DO try to get a
Methodist."

I couldn't get a Methodist, but by consulting the hotel register I found
an American clergyman, a Congregationalist, who was a fine fellow and
consented to perform the ceremony. And, if we were not married at
the American Embassy, we were at the rooms of the London consul,
whom Matthews, at the Camford Street office, knew and who was another
splendid chap and glad to oblige a fellow-countryman, particularly after
seeing the lady he was to marry.

The consul and his wife and Hephzy were our only witnesses. Frances'
wedding gown was not new, but it was very becoming--the consul's wife
said so, and she should know. Also she said she had never seen a
sweeter or more beautiful bride. No one said anything concerning the
bridegroom's appearance, but he did not care. It was a drizzly, foggy
day, but that made no difference. A Kansas cyclone and a Bayport
no'theaster combined could not have cast a damper on that day.

When it was over, Hephzy, who had been heroically struggling to keep her
vow not to shed another tear during our pilgrimage, hugged us both.

"I--I--" she faltered, "I--I can't say it, but you know how I feel.
There's nothin' I sha'n't believe after this. I used to believe I'd
never travel, but I have. And there in Mayberry I believed I'd never
be happy again, but I am. HAPPY! hap--hap--Oh dear! WHAT a fool I am!
I ca--I can't help it! I expect I look like the most miserable thing on
earth, but that's because I AM so happy. God bless you both! Now--now
don't so much as look at me for a few minutes."

That afternoon she left for Mayberry to do the "packing