"I suppose you'll want to be married in the courtyard of the Inn," Dick said some weeks later, when they were conventionally ensconced in Nancy's own drawing-room; Hitty happily rattling silverware in the butler's pantry in the rear, "with old Triton blowing his wreathed horn above us, and all the nymphs and gargoyles and Hercules as interested spectators. Well, go as far as you like. I haven't any objection. I'll be married in a Roman bath if you want me to, and eat bran biscuit and hygienic apple sauce for my wedding breakfast." "Betty and Preston are going to be married at the Inn," Nancy said; "you know her mother's an invalid, and they can't have it at home. Do you know what I'd like to give them as a wedding present?" "I don't." "Well, you know, Preston's firm has gone out of existence. The war simply killed it. They haven't much money ahead, and he may have a harder time than he thinks getting located again." "Yes?" "I thought I'd like to give them Outside Inn for a wedding present. Besides, I don't see what else there is to do with it. It's making several hundred a month, now, and promises to make more." "Good idea," Dick said. "You don't seem exceedingly interested." "Oh, I am," Dick said, "I'm more interested in our wedding than Betty's wedding present, but that doesn't imply a lack of merit in your idea. _You'll_ want to be married at the Inn, I take it?" "You'd let me, wouldn't you?" "Sure I'd let you. When a man marries a modern girl with all the trappings and the suits of modernity, he ought to be prepared to take the consequences cheerfully." "Then I'm going to surprise you. I don't want anything modern at all about my wedding. I want it in church with a huge bridal bouquet and _Lohengrin_ and white satin; Caroline for my matron of honor and Betty for my bridesmaid, and Sheila for flower girl. I want a wedding breakfast at the Ritz and rice and old shoes--just all the old traditional things." "Gee whiz," Dick ejaculated, "is this straight, or are you only making it up to sound good to me? You can have it anyway you like it, you know." "That's the way I like it," Nancy said. "It's good to be a modern girl, but I really prefer to be an old-fashioned wife--with reservations," she added hastily. "That's what we all come to in the end," Dick said, "no matter how we feel or think we feel about it--being modern with reservations." "I saw Collier Pratt to-day," Nancy said suddenly, as she watched a log split apart in the fireplace and scatter its tiny shower of sparks, "on the avenue." Dick carefully stamped out two smoldering places on the rug before he answered. "Did you?" he said. "He had a cheap little creature with him, dark haired in messy cerise." "It may have been his wife. I hear that she's living with him again." "Is she?"