“There isn’t a bit of use for you to try to stop us, Mary Christmas,” he began, looking appealingly at Mary, who had suddenly sat down again beside her luggage. “We’re running away together, and we’re going to be married. I’ve got the license, and we’re more than twenty-one. Besides, it’s a necessity. They won’t let us be married this summer--even with all the prospects I’ve got and more than a thousand in the bank. They’ve just told Mary so. It’s an outrage to make us wait! Just as if I couldn’t take care of her! In less than two years I’ll be third vice-president of the company. It’s as good as settled. So we’ve just decided to take matters into our own hands. And I tell you again, Mary Christmas, there isn’t a bit of use for you to interfere.” Mary Christmas did not interfere. She looked at Mary Wescott, and knew by a prophetic gift of insight that Mary was trying to reconcile romance as she had pictured it with this sinking, frightful feeling in the region of her heart. “Do you want to run away like this, Mary?” she asked gently. “Yes,” faltered Mary. “At least--I did--I _do_--because I think it’s necessary. William needs me. He lives in a terrible boarding-house--and--” “That’s not it,” broke in William, “at least it’s not the main thing. The main thing is, they don’t understand how we feel. They’re unreasonable, like my father and mother. If I couldn’t support her, it would be different. But I can. Besides I’ve got reason to think that Mary’s father doesn’t like me anyway.” He looked now at Mary as though ties of blood demanded that she receive this accusation. “It’s William’s politics,” she faltered again. “He’s a Democrat, and father _is_ unreasonable. At Christmas, when I talked with him, he said he hoped William would change. But William won’t!” Decision had crept into her voice. “And I’m glad! I wouldn’t marry a man who would change his politics--even for my father.” Mary Christmas was quick to detect a quality which had crept into her last words. “Even for your father.” She repeated Mary’s words. “Your father. How do you suppose he will feel when he hears you would not wait? And your mother, too?” “It’s not just a case of waiting,” interrupted William, to the relief of Mary, who was in no condition to answer Mary Christmas’ questions. “If we could be sure about a year from now--but we can’t! And it’s right about my politics. Mr. Wescott has insulted my party.” William drew himself up proudly. “He has said openly that no intelligent person could be a Democrat.” “It’s been awfully hard for William,” said Mary from behind her handkerchief.