“No. I don’t think he would wish to marry a Quaker—especially one as wicked as I am.” She could hear the fine teeth of Bell-Bell grind. “Isn’t it funny that one can be so very wicked and so very happy at the same time?” “No. Go to sleep. I must think.” “Mi—must I tell thee all that happened in the vestibule?” “No. I know.” “Oh! Thi—thee saw us?” “I went straight to bed.” “Then, how, Bell-Bell, dear—” “Look here, I’ve been through all that. There are others besides John Rem. I don’t like him a bit to-night. And I shall tell him so very early in the morning.” “Not so tall and strong as he, I think, dear Bell-Bell.” “All right. Go to bed, you wicked little Quaker.” “I can’t. I’ve got to talk. Bell-Bell, there couldn’t have been any one to hold _thee_ that way—as if thee were never to get away again! And—and kiss thee. That is twice!” she wailed, with the air of a felon confessing his felonies. “Does thee think me irreparably wicked? He does, I know, and will never look at me again.” “Never fear. They like us to be wicked—a little—you know. Now, off to bed with you!” “Truly?” “Truly. To bed!” IX AT TEN IN THE MORNING Until ten o’clock the next morning, at which hour he rose and confided it to his shaving-mirror, John Rem had enjoyed the happiest day of his life. But at precisely that hour he heard his name called out by a newsboy on the street. In a moment more not only his name, but his picture, was before him in the newspaper he had bought. And beside his own was the name and a fair sketch of Miss Estover, Quaker. In fact, it was all known, and, with marvellous guesses, where fact had failed, it had been printed. It was a piquant story, and so it had the place of honor on the first page and the blackest “heads.” The incident behind the jasmines when he had lifted her mask was given a hideous prominence, and the reporter confessed that it was this “happy accident” which disclosed identities to him, out for a story. The unusual circumstance of a dancing Quaker would have been a sufficient story. But in following the charming Quaker costume for character matter he had been presented with a sight of their unmasked faces, and the sound of a kiss. The final witticism of the jolly reporter was that the pretty Quaker would undoubtedly be called before the annual meeting, then but three days off, to be dealt with according to her deserts. What these might be he had gathered from several representative Quakers, who made them briefly but sufficiently terrible. Doctor Rem did not shave that day. For after he had read the part of the paper which he and the Quaker lady occupied, he received a telegram from Mrs. Jarn. “She is still here. She dare not go home. You have broken her heart. Come at once to consult with me. You are a brute!” X BY THE RIGHT OF A HUSBAND