better in every way. It seemed, indeed,
that here was some one of a resolute character, not to be wasted on the
trivial and gross things. In an instant, he had gone to her, had caught
her in his arms with, "Hello, dear!" smothered in the kiss he implanted
on her lips.

Mary strove vainly to free herself.

"Don't, oh, don't!" she gasped.

Dick Gilder released his wife from his arms and smiled the beatific
smile of the newly-wed.

"Why not?" he demanded, with a smile, a smile calm, triumphant,
masterful.

"Agnes!"... It was the sole pretext to which Mary could turn for a
momentary relief.

The bridegroom faced about, and perceived Agnes, who stood closely
watching the meeting between husband and wife. He made an excellent
formal bow of the sort that one learns only abroad, and spoke quietly.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Lynch, but"--a smile of perfect happiness shone
on his face--"you could hardly expect me to see any one but Mary under
the circumstances. Could you?"

Aggie strove to rise to this emergency, and again took on her best
manner, speaking rather coldly.

"Under what circumstances?" she inquired.

The young man exclaimed joyously.

"Why, we were married this morning."

Aggie accepted the news with fitting excitement.

"Goodness gracious! How perfectly lovely!"

The bridegroom regarded her with a face that was luminous of delight.

"You bet, it's lovely!" he declared with entire conviction. He turned to
Mary, his face glowing with satisfaction.

"Mary," he said, "I have the honeymoon trip all fixed. The Mauretania
sails at five in the morning, so we will----"

A cold voice struck suddenly through this rhapsodizing. It was that of
the bride.

"Where is your father?" she asked, without any trace of emotion.

The bridegroom stopped short, and a deep blush spread itself over his
boyish face. His tone was filled full to overflowing with compunction as
he answered.

"Oh, Lord! I had forgotten all about Dad." He beamed on Mary with a
smile half-ashamed, half-happy. "I'm awfully sorry," he said earnestly.
"I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll send Dad a wireless from the ship,
then write him from Paris."

But the confident tone brought no response of agreement from Mary. On
the contrary, her voice was, if anything, even colder as she replied to
his suggestion. She spoke with an emphasis that brooked no evasion.

"What was your promise? I told you that I wouldn't go with you until
you had brough