She said, “It looks like I stuck my neck out. Maybe I’ll learn not to take a proxy for granted.” “That’s just it,” I managed to say. “I really wanted to marry you three years ago, and I still feel that way about the real--you. But I just can’t get feeling like that about a rubber doll even if it does look like you.” “Oh,” she said and looked down so I couldn’t see her face. “Look, Gwen,” I hesitated, then I blurted out, “How do these proxy people go about getting married?” “Same as always. Hunt up a minister and take the vows.” “And--then what?” I insisted, and at that instant I made a discovery: _Lady_ proxies can blush! “And then you go out and buy a coffin for two,” she murmured into my mangled necktie. Transcriber’s Note: This etext was produced from Imaginative Tales, September 1955 (Vol. 2, No. 1). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed. The illustration has been moved to better fit the story.