As he talked, he looked her over, carefully, cautiously--preoccupied with odd and curious ideas even while conversing about other things. That evening, when taking leave, he pressed her slender fingers together, gently, not alarming her--scarcely even awaking self-consciousness. He was always the artist, first of all. * * * * * After a month, even Elmer understood that Graydon was “sparking” Eris. And, from the time that Eris first was made to understand that fact she lived in a continuous, confused dream, through the unreality of which sometimes she was aware of her own heart beating with excitement. * * * * * He had said to her, one evening, after the family had gone to bed, that the stage was her vocation and that God himself must have ordained that she should, one day, triumph there. She listened as in a blessed trance. All around her the night air grew heavy with the scent of honeysuckle. A moon was shining. The whippoorwill’s breathless cry came from the snake-fence hedge. When he had had his mental will of her--excited her almost to blissful tears, soothed her, led her on, deftly, eloquently--he took her smooth hand of a child. All set for the last act, he drew the girl against his shoulder, taking plenty of time. Her head was still swimming with his eloquence. Hope intoxicated her. His lips meant nothing on her cheek--but her mind was all a-quiver--and it was her mind alone that he had stimulated and excited to an ecstasy uncontrollable; and which now responded and acquiesced. * * * * * “And after we marry I am to study for the stage?” she repeated, tremulously, oblivious of his arm tightening around her body. It transpired, gently and eloquently, that it was for this very reason he desired to marry her and give her what was nearest her girl’s heart--what her girl’s mind most ardently desired in all the world--her liberty to choose. But he warned her to keep the secret from her family. Trembling, enchanted, almost frightened by the approaching splendour of consummation, she promised in tears. Then the barrier burst under an overwhelming rush of gratitude. She was his. She would surrender, now, to this man who had suddenly appeared from nowhere;--an emissary of God sent to understand, sympathise, guide her to that destiny which, even he admitted, God had ordained as hers. * * * * * Eris was married to E. Stuart Graydon in her twentieth year at the parsonage of the Whitewater Church, at ten o’clock in the morning. All Whitewater attended and gorged. No rural precedent was neglected--neither jest nor rice nor old shoes,--everything happened, from the organ music and the unctuous patronage of “Rev. Styles,” to the thick aroma of the “bounteous repast” at Whitewater Farms, where neighbours came, stuffed themselves, and went away boisterously all that rainy afternoon.