Ryder remembered the old parsonage on Bank Street very well. He had been wont to go to the church hard by when he was a boy. The same minister was not there now, but the present incumbent had a peaceful, old-world face, was silver-haired and kindly spoken, and might have been the same whom Ryder remembered. The clergyman welcomed them as though he were well used to such calls. Miss Mont was shy and kept her veil down until the clergyman's wife and a servant were brought in to witness the ceremony. Then she plucked up courage, raised her veil, and if her cheeks were tear-stained nobody remarked it. The old man stood before them and pronounced the simply worded ritual with grace and kindliness. Ryder himself felt confused. It was really the first time he had ever been present at such a ceremony. "With a ring?" the minister asked him softly before he began, and Ryder knew just enough to nod and then fumble in his inner pocket for a tiny leather case which he always carried. Out of this he brought forth, happily at the right moment, a plain gold band, worn rather thin, and with letters engraved on the inner side that were almost indecipherable. It had been his mother's wedding ring--the one keepsake that had come into his possession as a boy from the parent he scarcely remembered. The girl evidently understood when he produced the ring. She smiled at him tremulously and, before the band was slipped on her finger, she touched her lips to it. Then: "You, John, do take this woman, Ruth--" and so on to the end. Ryder responded as though in a dream. It all seemed unreal. Serious as was the moment, the undercurrent of his thought was: "'Ruth?' That is a pretty name. But I got the idea somehow that her name was Rose." They were married. Ryder feed the minister with a liberality that made his withered cheeks flush with pleasure. The clergyman's wife kissed Ruth heartily, and the servant, who was sentimentally inclined, wiped her eyes furtively on the corner of her kitchen apron, which she had forgotten to take off when she came into the study. They went out to the taxicab again, the chauffeur of which was grinning knowingly. "Now, dear, where shall we drive?" asked John Ryder. "My trunks are at the Pennsylvania station by this time I am sure. May I choose where we shall go?" "Of course," he answered, though he felt some surprise. "Then let it be Pinewood." "Why--why," Ryder cried, "you must have studied this business all out. Ah, you sly girl! What put Pinewood in your head?" "They say it is very nice there--and quiet--at this time of year. It will remind us of old times," she added dreamily. Afterward when he was attending to the checking of her baggage and arranging for his own to be sent on from the steamship dock, it suddenly smote Ryder that her remark about Pinewood reminding them "of old times" was peculiar.