n she turned
and put her hand involuntarily on the boy's shoulder. "Oh, Marty!" she
said. "I AM sorry."

The boy gave one quick upward glance, and cleared his throat. "I told
you that this house is mine. It isn't. It's yours. It's the only way,
if you're to remain in the city. Is it good enough? Do you want to stay
as much as all that?"

The puzzled look came back. For a moment Joan was silent, worrying out
the meaning of Martin's abrupt and rather cryptic words. There seemed
to be a tremendous amount of fuss because she happened to be a girl.

Martin spoke again before she had emerged from the thicket of inward
questions. She was only eighteen, after all.

"I mean, you can marry me if you like." he said, "and then no one can
take you back." He was amazed at his courage and hideously afraid that
she would laugh at him. He had never dared to say how much he loved her.

She did laugh, but with a ring of so much pleasure and relief that the
blood flew to his head. "Why, Marty, what a brain! What organization!
Of course I'll marry you. Why ever didn't we think of that last night?"

But before he could pull himself together a man-servant entered with an
air of extreme surprise. "I didn't know you'd come home, sir," he said,
"until I saw the suit-case." He saw Joan, and his eyes rounded.

"I was just going to ring," said Martin. "We want some breakfast. Will
you see to it, please?" Alone again, Martin held out his hand to Joan,
in an odd, boyish way. And she took it, boyishly too. "Thank you,
Marty, dear," she said. "You've found the magic carpet. My troubles are
over; and oh, what a pretty little bomb I shall have for Grandmamma!
And now let's explore my house. If it's all like this, I shall simply
love it!" And away she darted into the hall.

"And now," said Joan, "being duly married,--and you certainly do make
things move when you start, Marty,--to send a telegram to Grandmother!
Lead me to the nearest place."

Certain that every person in that crowded street saw in them a newly
married couple, Martin tried to hide his joy under a mask of extreme
callousness and universal indifference. With the challenging antagonism
of an English husband,--whose national habit it is invariably to stalk
ahead of his women-kind while they scramble along at his heels,--he led
the way well in advance of his unblushing bride. But his eyes were
black with emotion. He saw rainbows all over the sky, and rings of
bright light round the s