The broad space before the house was laid out in hedges and blooming beds with a long, straight drive leading in one direction to the highroad, in the other direction to stable, carriage house, and garage. When we were securely alone I said: “Have you missed me?” “Our friendship meant a lot to me,” replied she. “I have discovered that it’s the principal thing in my life,” said I. We paced the length of the drive toward the lodge in silence. As we turned toward the house again I said: “I have chartered the largest yacht I could get--for a cruise round the world.” A pause, then she in a constrained voice: “When do you start?” “Immediately,” I answered. “Perhaps to-morrow.” She halted, leaned against a tree, and gazed out through the shrubbery. “You’ve not been well?” said I. “I never am, when I lose interest in life,” replied she. “You will be gone--long?” “Long,” said I. “Either we shall not see each other again for years--or--” I paused. After a wait of fully a minute she looked inquiringly at me. “Mary,” said I, “shall we take a motor launch and go over to Connecticut and be married?” She began to walk again, I keeping pace with her. “It’s the only sensible thing to do,” said I. “It’s the only way out of this mess. And to-morrow we’ll sail away and not come back until--until we are good and ready.” I waited a moment, then went on, and I had the feeling that I was saying what we were both thinking: “We’ve had the same experience--have been through the same bankruptcy. It has taught us, I think--I hope--I can’t be sure; human nature learns slowly and badly. But I see a good chance for us--not to be utterly and always blissfully happy, but to get far more out of life than either is getting--or could get alone.” As we turned at the group of outbuildings she looked at me and I at her--a look straight into each other’s souls. And then and there was born that which alone can make a marriage successful or a life worth the living. What is the difference between friendship and love? I had thought--and said--that love was friendship in bloom. But as Mary and I looked at each other, I knew the full truth. Love is friendship set on fire. We did not speak. We glanced hastily away. At the front door she halted. In a quiet, awed voice she said: “I’ll change from this riding suit.” And what did I say, gentle reader, to commemorate our standing upon holy ground? I did no better than she. With eyes uncertain and voice untrustworthy and hoarse I said: “And tell your maid to pack and go to town with the trunks--go to the landing at East Twenty-third Street. Can she be there by four or five this afternoon?” “Yes.” “Then I’ll see you at the bay--at the launch wharf--in half an hour? I’ve got to send off a telegram.” “In half an hour,” said she, and with a grave smile and a wave of her crop she disappeared into the house. * * * * *