The young people were to leave for the West soon after the supper for three. At midnight Cutty's ship would be boring down the bay. Did Kitty regret, even a little, the rice and old shoes, the bridesmaids and cake, so dear to the female of the species? She did not. Did she think occasionally of the splendour of the title that was hers? She did. To her mind Mrs. John Hawksley was incomparably above and beyond anything in that Bible of autocracy--the Almanach de Gotha. After supper Cutty brought in the old Amati. “Play,” he said, lighting his pipe. So Hawksley played--played as he never had played before and perhaps as he would never play again. We reach zenith sometimes, but we never stay there. But he was not playing to Cutty. Slate-blue eyes, two books with endless pages, the soul of this wife of his. He had come through. The miracle had been accomplished. Love. Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to absorb this magic message. Love. Cutty smoked on, with his eyes closed. He heard it, too. Love. “Well,” he said, sighing, “I see innovations out there in Montana. The round-up will be different. The Pied Fiddler of Bar-K will stand in the corral and fiddle, and the bossies will come galloping in, two by two--and a few jackrabbits!” He laughed. “John, the Amati is yours conditionally. If after one year it is not reclaimed it becomes yours automatically. My wedding present. Remember, next winter, if God wills, you'll come and visit me.” “As if we could forget!” cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted the embrace stoically. “I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will have to have his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!” “Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But, Lord, what a racket we've had!” “Well, rather!”--from Hawksley. “Bo, listen to me. Out there you must remember that 'bally' and 'ripping' and 'rather' are premeditated insults. Gee-whiz! but I'd like a look-see when you say to your rough-and-readies: 'Bally rotten weather. What?' They'll shoot you up.” More banter; which fooled none of the three, as each understood the other perfectly. The hour of separation was at hand, and they were fortifying their courage. “Funny old top,” was Hawksley's comment as they stood before the train gate. “Three months gone we were strangers.” “And now--” began Cutty. “With hoops of steel!” interrupted Kitty. “You must write, Cutty, and Johnny and I will be prompt.” “You'll get one from the Azores.” “Train going west!” “Good luck, children!” Cutty pressed Hawksley's hand and pecked at Kitty's cheek. “Shan't go through with you to the car. Kuroki is waiting. Good-bye!”