“Starr, my little Starr! My darling! Did you mean all you said? Would you really marry me? I’ve loved you always, Starr, since first I saw you a tiny little child; I’ve loved your soft baby kisses and those others you gave me later when you were a little girl and I an awkward boy. You never knew how dear they were, nor how I used to go to sleep at night dreaming over and over again, those kisses on my face. Oh, Starr! answer me? Did you mean it all? And could you ever love me? You said you would answer that question to no one else but me. Will you answer it now, darling?” For answer she came and stood within his arms, her eyes down-drooped, her face all tears and smiles, and he folded her within his strong clasp and stooping, whispered softly: “Starr, little darling—my life—my love—my—_wife_!” And then he laid his lips against hers and held her close. Three weeks later when the roses were all aburst of bloom over the porch at Rose Cottage and June was everywhere with her richness and perfection of beauty, Starr and Michael were married on the piazza under an arch of roses; and a favored few of society’s cream motored down to Old Orchard to witness the ceremony. In spite of all her disagreeable predictions and ugly threats Aunt Frances was among them, smiling and dominating. “Yes, so sensible of her not to make a fuss with her wedding just now, when her father is getting his strength back again. Of course she could have come to my house and been married. I begged her to—naturally she shrank from another wedding in connection with the old home you know—but her father seemed to dread coming into town and so I advised her to go ahead and be married here. Isn’t it a charming place? So rustic you know, and quite simple and artistic too in its way. Michael has done it all, planned the house and everything, of course with Starr’s help. You know it’s quite a large estate, belonged to Michael’s great grandfather once, several hundred acres, and he has used part of it for charitable purposes; has a farm school or something for poor slum people, and is really teaching them to be quite decent. I’m sure I hope they’ll be duly grateful. See those roses? Aren’t they perfectly _dear_?” It was so she chattered to those in the car with her all the way down to the farm; and to see her going about among the guests and smiling and posing to Michael when he happened to come near her, you would have thought the match all of her making, and never have dreamed that it was only because Michael’s great forgiving heart had said: “Oh, forgive her and ask her down. She is your mother’s sister, you know, and you’ll be glad you did it afterwards. Never mind what she says. She can’t help her notions. It was her unfortunate upbringing, and she’s as much to be pitied as I for my slum education.”