se this is the kind of thing they talked in the tumbrils," he
said suddenly.

"Are you frightened--shall we go back?" she asked.

"No. I'm only joking."

When they were getting the license, Jerry said to her:

"How old are you, Jane?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Is that all? I thought you were older than that."

During the rest of the arrangements, and during the brief ceremony, they
exchanged no words at all. Of the two, Jerry was the more nervous. When
they came out into the sunlight of afternoon, he gave a deep sigh.

"That's over," he said.

"It was rather like any business deal, wasn't it? I opened a bank
account once. It was rather like that, even more impressive," she said
coolly.

"That is about what we have done, isn't it? Opened a sort of mutual bank
account?"

She nodded.

"That's what we think we've done," she amended.

"Have we had any lunch?"

"No. But it must be three o'clock. We can let it go.

"I'm famished, and you must be, too. Let's go to the Brevoort and have a
wedding breakfast, isn't that what they call it?"

When they were seated at a small table, by the window, and he was
inspecting the menu, he said:

"I don't know any of the things you like to eat, Jane. Do you want to
order for yourself?"

"I would like roast chicken, a salad, and something sweet."

"Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you."

Jerry ordered wine. When it was brought, served, and the waiter gone, he
took up his glass, and leaned toward Jane.

"To our experiment, Jane Paxton!"

She flushed, took up her glass, and touched her lips to it in silence,
because she could not speak.

"Do you feel married to me, Jane?"

"No," she answered, smiling.

"How shall we announce it to the studio crowd? Shall we have them all in
to-night, and get it over?"

"No. I'd rather meet them one at a time, if you don't mind. It will get
about soon enough, and I don't want any fuss."

"All right. Suit yourself."

"I wish you would tell Miss Roberts first, Mr. Paxton."

"Call me Jerry. Why should I tell Bobs first?"

"She is such a good friend; she would want to hear it from you."

"I'm not so sure about that. We'll see. Are there some best friends you
have to tell?"

"Only one--Martin Christiansen."

"Christiansen--the critic fellow?"

"He is my only friend."

"You've got good taste in your friends, Jane. He is one of the most
sought-after men in this town. I suppose you know his story?"

"No; I am not in his confidence."