"Of course you didn't need to live this way," observed Miss Dearborn at length. "You could have afforded to live much more expensively." "No, I couldn't," said Juliet with a flash in her eyes, though she smiled; "I couldn't have afforded to do one thing that would hurt Tony's pride. Why, Judith--he's a 'Robeson of Kentucky.'" "Well, he looks it," admitted Judith. "And you're a Marcy of Massachusetts. The two go well together. Juliet, do you know--somehow--I thought it was a fearful sacrifice you were making, even for such a man as Anthony--but--this blue-and-white room----" "Ah, this blue-and-white room----" repeated Juliet. Then she came over and dropped on her knees by her friend in her impulsive way and put both arms around her. The plain little going-away gown touched folds with the one whose elegance was equalled only by its cost. Anthony Robeson's wife looked straight up into the eyes of her maid-of-honour and whispered: "Judith, don't put Wayne--and--your blue-and-white room off too long. You will not be any happier to wait--if you love him." * * * * * Drawn up close to the door stood the cart. Beside it waited Anthony. Around the cart crowded twenty people. When Juliet came through them to say good-bye the son of the Bishop murmured: "Er--Mrs. Robeson----" "Yes, Mr. Farnham----" said Juliet promptly, her delicate flush answering the name, as it had answered it many times that day. "When are you going to be at home to your friends?" "The fifteenth day of October," said Juliet. "And from then on, every day in the week, every week in the year. Come and see us--everybody. But don't expect any formal invitations." "I'll be down," declared the Bishop's son. "I'll be down once a week." "Please don't stay long after we are gone," requested Anthony, putting his bride into the cart and springing in beside her. He gathered up the reins. "Good-bye," he called. "Take this next train home. It goes in an hour. Lock the door, Carey, and hang the key up in plain sight by the window there. We live in the country now, and that's the way we do. Good-bye--good-bye!" Then he drove rapidly away down the road. "And that pair," said the son of the Bishop gravely, looking after them and speaking to the company in general, "married, so to speak, in a hay-wagon, and going for a wedding trip in a wheel-barrow through the Berkshires, is Juliet Marcy and Anthony Robeson." "No, my son," said the Bishop slowly--and everybody always listened when the Bishop spoke: "It is Anthony and Juliet Robeson--and that makes all the difference. I think two happier young people I never married. And may God be with them."