So Eveley waived that part of her plan, and the parties were always of three, and sometimes, but infrequently, of four. That Sally accepted their arrangements so easily, and took so much pleasure in their entertainment, argued well. One night she said: "Of course, men have to work, but I shouldn't like my husband to dig away like a servant, should you, Eveley?" And Eveley felt the time was ripe. The next day she told Timothy he might take Sally out alone in the car for a drive, and ask her if they should not be married right away. Eveley was willing to wager that she would reject him. Timothy consented with alacrity, seeming to feel the burden of his semi-attached state. That evening at six-thirty, when Nolan came up for dinner, Eveley met him on the roof garden over the sun parlor. "Nolan, something has happened. They went at two o'clock, and they aren't home yet. What do you suppose is the matter? Maybe they had an accident. Maybe she got mad and wouldn't ride home with him. He wouldn't put her out, would he? Shall we notify the police?" "I should say not. Don't worry. Let's have our dinner. They can eat the leavings when they come. He has probably learned, as other and wiser men have learned, that a pretty and pleasant girl is not half bad company. I'll bet he is having the time of his life. My, it is nice to have you alone again. She is very sweet, and it's been lots of fun, but after all I am used to you, and this is nicer." Nolan's prediction proved far from wrong. At ten-thirty, a messenger boy shouted up from below, and Nolan ran down. When he came back he carried a small yellow slip addressed to Eveley, which he promptly opened. And as she peered over his shoulder, they read it aloud, together, in solemn chorus. "Three cheers and a tiger. She has accepted me, and we were married at Oceanside this afternoon. On our way to Yosemite for honeymoon. I am the happiest man on earth. Tell Nolan to go to the dickens. Love from Sally and Timothy Baldwin." Nolan lit a cigar and blew reflective rings into the air. "When a man is bitten with the germ of duty," he began somberly. For a moment Eveley was crushed. Then she rallied. "Just as I told you, Nolan. As long as it was a painful duty, marriage between them was impossible, and would have wrecked both their lives. But our campaign brought about the proper adjustment and tuned them to love again. So it was not duty, but love, and marriage is a joy. Now I hope you are convinced that I am right, and won't argue with me any more. And if I ever had any doubts about that one exception I make in regard to duty, they are all gone now. I am dead sure of my one exception." But when Nolan pressed her for an explanation, she begged him to smoke again, and let her think. CHAPTER XII THE REVOLT OF THE SEVENTH STEP