Lucy did not speak for a few moments, and then, turning swiftly and putting both hands on his shoulders, in her old earnest fashion, said, transfixing him with her black eyes, in which mischief and pleading now struggled for mastery: “If a thing would be better, it is wrong not to do it, for we are bound to do our best. It shall be our wedding journey. How much money have you of your very own?” Stunned into plain fact-telling, Brownell named a sum of less than three thousand dollars, accumulated of extras and contributions to magazines. “Good! I have as much more of my half year’s allowance, which papa always pays in advance; it will do very nicely!” “But Lucy, you wonder, I will not take a wedding trip or travel on your money!” “Certainly not; yours will be more than enough for two months! I will save mine for the suburban cottage furniture on our return, and I can paper a not too big room beautifully myself, if the paper has stripes to guide by. Miss Keith taught Brooke and me this past summer, and we practised on the pantry, which looks quite well, because when the shelves were put back they hid the bubbles, where our arms ached and we didn’t rub the paper smooth.” “But think a moment, sweetheart,” almost gasped Brownell, who felt that he was on the full run downstream toward rapids for which he had not a paddle adjusted to shoot in safety. “Where shall we be married? This is Wednesday,—there are only three days! How about your father? and then, clothes?—women always need clothes! Don’t think I am objecting; it’s only that I will not take unfair advantage of your warm-heartedness,” he added, as a shadow of disappointment lurked on her piquant face. “Where? Here, to-morrow, at the Sign of the Fox, father and company to be bidden by telephone; they can arrive at three-forty, and go on to Gordon later. As to clothes—oh, Tom! all women have clothes enough in which to follow their heart’s desire, and I have trunks full!” Then that slim young hunter’s moon (which should have been in bed) thought some one called him softly, and, looking back, saw what would have lured his godmother Diana from her hunting trail of solitude! For the second time that season the personal affairs of Lucy and Brownell electrified the sober old house by their rapidity, and each one received the news quite differently. Miss Keith rushed for the raisin jar and began seeding with might and main, and handled the spice boxes until they rattled, for it would take all the early morning hours to bake the wedding cake, and all the early afternoon to cool it.