sped to his heart, and held there,--held there close
and strong: held there so firmly that she could not get away, and so, in
default of other hiding-place, her face was buried on his breast,
and--well, she had to put her arms _somewhere_. When does a woman look
so like a stick as when her own arms hang straight down by her side
while a lover's are twining about her? If you need confirmation of this
startling theory, mademoiselle, simply take one look at that otherwise
delightful picture "At last--Alone." Observe the ardor of the
lover-husband; note the unresponsive droopiness of the charmingly
attired bride, and defend the straight-up-and-down hang of that useless
arm if you can. She might, at least, take the stiffness or limpness out
of it by simply placing the little hand on his shoulder, and that is
just what Marion did, until--until he himself seized and drew it around
his neck. The question as to how he should greet her had, somehow,
solved itself.

At last he raised her head. She was indistinctly murmuring something.

"Pardon me, Miss Blue-Eyes; but--to whom did you speak?"

"To you; I said that, if all the same to you, I would like to look at
you."

"And what did I hear you call me?"

"I said--Mr. Ray."

"_Mr._ Ray! Are you aware of the fact that Mr. Ray is quite a thing of
the past? very, very far in the past," he added, with deep and earnest
feeling in place of the playful tone of the previous words. "I have been
Ray or Mr. Ray, or Billy Ray and 'that scamp Ray,' many a long year.
Only one woman on earth called me always by the one name I strove to
teach you, Maidie, and that was--mother. Am I not yet 'Will' to you?"

A moment's silence, a moment's hesitation, and then, with blushing
cheeks and beaming eyes, bravely, loyally, comes the answer: "Yes! In
every thought, in every moment, only--it was not quite so easy to say."

"And now, if I forgive you, will you tell me, since you have had the
look you demanded, just what it was you wanted to see in such a
sun-tanned specimen? What is there to warrant such flattering notice,
Maidie mine?"

She was looking up at him with such a halo of hope and love and pride
and trust shining about her exquisite face; she stood there with one
soft little hand resting on his shoulder, while the other shyly plucked
at the tiny knot of dark-blue ribbon on his breast,--the ribbon that had
fastened her daisy to his scouting-shirt. He had relaxed the pressure of
his arms, b