“First rate! I like it immensely. Sit down—take off your hat, or whatever you do to feel at home. That’s the way. Now let’s hear all about it. Are you married—or going to be? I see—going to be—no ring. Splendid!” “Here’s the ring,” said Wynne. “It will be worn for the first time today.” “Today! Today the best day in all the year! And you came to see me on the way to the church. Fine! Y’know, there is something in ’im after all, even though he’s devilish sporadic in coming to see me.” “He’s saving you up for the good time ahead,” said Eve; “and I can see why, now.” “Then give up seeing why, little lady. What’s your name, by the way? What is her name, young fellar?” “Eve.” “Eve—couldn’t be better. What was I saying? Ah, yes. Give up seeing _why_ and come and see _me_ instead. Rotten policy to save! (never saved a penny in my life). Fatal to save! Find out, when it’s too late, don’t want what you’ve been saving for—outgrown your impulses. Buried with your bankbook, and every one glad you’re dead. No—no. Spend while you are young. Get a hold on all the friendship and all the love within reach—and then, why then, when you’re old, at least memories will be yours as comforters. You agree, don’t you?” “Yes, I agree,” said Eve. “And what about you?” “All or nothing,” replied Wynne. “And I had rather keep the ‘nothing’ till I can claim the ‘all.’” “Good stars!” exclaimed Clem. “What a speech for a wedding day!” Then, catching a glimpse of the growing colour on Eve’s cheeks: “Don’t heed me, my dear. I’ve a reputation for saying things which, in the vernacular, I didn’t ought. But a man who speaks of nothing on his wedding day—?” Wynne hesitated, then: “This isn’t altogether our wedding day,” he said. “Eh?” “Today she and I are becoming—legalized partners.” “What the devil are you talking about?” “Partners. We shall join forces, she and I, and work together for success—think of, live for, and concentrate on that goal. Afterwards we—” But Uncle Clem would not let him finish. “Rank folly!” he cried, jumping to his feet. “You’ve read your Plato!” said Wynne. “Plato be damned! Well enough for an old philosopher to mumble his repressive theories from a dead log in the market-place—but for you at twenty-what-ever-it-may-be, tss—madness—rot—folly! My dear, dear girl, for God’s sake, tell him not to talk such utter damn nonsense.” “You haven’t quite understood,” said Eve, very gently. “He speaks of success and denies love—he places success before love. Doesn’t he know—? Here! don’t you know,” twisting suddenly round, “that love is the only success worth having—that success is only possible through love?” “Love is the reward,” said Wynne.