Miss Vernon had employed six weeks of argument in convincing Mr. Ridgeway that a church wedding was imperative, although she admittedly preferred the simpler form, where the minister conducts the ceremony in the presence of two witnesses and a ring. Society demanded the exhibition. Mr. Ridgeway warned her that he could not survive the ordeal and would leave her a widow at the altar. Their difficulties had at last resolved themselves into that condition which confronts every engaged pair; and they, like others, were preparing to inform the world of their intentions. "There's no way out of it, Hugh," she finally sighed, "unless we decide to give up the hope of getting married. That would break my heart," she said, with her rarest smile. "This would be the most delightful period of my life if it were not for that distressing announcement, the two months of purgatory between now and the day of the wedding, and then the--calamity. I know it will be a calamity. I can't get through it alive." "You poor boy! I wish we could have a quiet little Wedding. It would be so sweet, wouldn't it, dear?" she said plaintively, wistfully. "But instead we are to have a hippodrome. Bah!" he concluded spitefully. "I wouldn't talk this way, dear, if I didn't know that you feel just as I do about it. But," and here he arose wearily, "this sort of talk isn't helping matters. It's a case of church against choice. To-morrow night we'll tell 'em, and then we'll quit sleeping for two months." "There's only one way out of it that I can see. We might elope," she said laughingly, standing before him and rubbing the wrinkles from between his eyes. Gradually his gray eyes fell until they looked into hers of brown. A mutual thought sprang into the eyes of each like a flash of light plainly comprehensive. He seized her hands, still staring into her eyes, and an exultant hope leaped to his lips, bursting forth in these words: "By George!" "Oh, we couldn't," she whispered, divining his thought. "We can! By all that's good and holy, we'll elope!" Hugh's voice was quivering with enthusiasm, his face a picture of relief. "Honestly, do you--do you think we could?" The girl's eyes were wide with excitement, her cheeks burning. "Can we? What's to prevent? Will you do it, Grace--will you?" cried he. "What will everybody say?" "Let 'em say. What do we care? Won't it be the greatest lark that ever happened? You're the smartest woman in the world for thinking of it." "But I wasn't in earnest," she protested. "But you are now--we both are. Listen: We can slip away and get married and nobody will be the wiser and then, when we come back, we can laugh at everybody." "And get our pictures in the papers." "Then, by Hokey! we won't come back for five years! How's that? That'll fool 'em, won't it? Say, this is great! Life is worth living after all. You'll go, won't you, Grace?" "I'd go to the end of the world with you, Hugh, but--"