d never been so happy, for I was sure Mr.
Porter loved me. I couldn't help being sure; his heart was in his
eyes every time he looked at me.

When we started from New York, we were Mr. Middleton, and Mr.
Porter, and Miss Middleton to one another; at Chicago, it was Tom,
and Blakely, and Miss Middleton; I became Elizabeth in Utah (I made
him call me that.) And when we reached Nevada.....

It happened so naturally, so sweetly. Dad was taking a nap after
luncheon, and Blakely and I were sitting on the rear platform of our
car, the last car in the train. It was a heavenly day of blue sky
and sunshine; the desert was fresh from recent rain. And then a few,
dear, faltered words changed the desert into a garden that reached
to the rim of the world.

"I love you. I didn't mean to tell you quite yet, but I.....
I....."

"I know. And it makes me so happy."

* * * * *

You never saw anybody so delighted as Dad was when we told him.
"This makes me glad clear through," he said. "Blakely, boy, I
couldn't love you more if you were my own son. Elizabeth, girl, come
and kiss your old Daddy."

"And you aren't surprised, Dad?"

"Not a bit."

"He's known I've loved you, all along. Haven't you, Tom?"

"I may have suspected it."

"But I'm sure he never dreamed I could possibly care for you," I
said. And then, because I was too happy to do anything else, I went
to my state-room, and had a good cry.

I have read somewhere that Love would grow old were it not for the
tears of happy women.

Chapter Six

When we flew down the grade into California, everything seemed settled;
we were going to Santa Barbara where Dad was building a little palace
for his Elizabeth as a grand surprise (Blakely's mother was in Santa
Barbara); we would take rooms at the same hotel; I would be presented
to Mrs. Porter, and as soon as the palace on the hill was completed--a
matter of two or three months--Blakely, and Dad, and I would move into
it. Only, first, Blakely and I were going to San Bernardino on our
wedding trip.

Wasn't that sweet of Blakely? When I told him about San Bernardino,
and the livery-stable, and the cottage where Dad and I used to live,
he said he'd rather spend our honeymoon there than any place in the
world. Of course Dad had never sold the cottage, and it was touching
to see how pleased he was with our plan.

"You'll find everything in first-class condition," he said; "I go
there often mys