The best man said that he and the maid-of-honour would walk the half-mile to the station. The son of the Bishop and the sister of the best man had already taken this course without saying anything about it. Nearly everybody murmured something about it being a lovely evening and a glorious sunset and a charming road, and, pairing off advisedly, adopted the same plan. The Bishop and Mrs. Bishop, Mrs. Dingley and Mr. Marcy decided on being driven over to the station in a light surrey provided for this anticipated emergency. The best man and the maid-of-honour succeeded in dropping behind the rest of the pedestrians. Their friends were used to that, and let them mercifully alone. "Mighty pretty affair," observed Carey in a melancholy tone. "Yes--in its way," admitted Judith Dearborn with apparent reluctance. "Cosy house." "Very." "Tony seemed happy." "Ecstatic." Judith's inflection was peculiar. "Nobody would have suspected Juliet of feeling blue about living off here." "She doesn't seem to." "What's made the difference?" "Anthony Robeson, probably." "Must seem pretty good to him to have her care like that." "I presume so." "It isn't everybody that could inspire such an--affection--in such a girl." "No, indeed." Carey looked intensely gloomy. The two walked on in silence, Miss Dearborn studying the sunset, Carey studying Miss Dearborn. Suddenly he spoke again. "Judith, do all our plans for the future seem as desirable to you as they did this morning?" "Which ones?" "Apartment in the locality we've picked out--life in the style the locality calls for--and _wait_ for it all until I'm _gray_----" with a burst of tremendous energy. "Good heavens, darling, what's the use? Why--if I could have you and a little home like that----" He bit his lip hard. The maid-of-honour walked on, her head turned still farther away than before. They were nearing the station. Just ahead lay a turn in the road--the last turn. The rest of the party, with a shout back at this dilatory pair, disappeared around it. From the distance came the long, shrill whistle of the approaching train. The maid-of-honour glanced behind: there was not a soul in sight; ahead: and saw nothing to alarm a girl with an impulse in her heart. At a point where great masses of reddening sumac hid a little dip in the road from everything earthly she stopped suddenly, and turning, put out both hands. She looked up into a face which warmed on the instant into a half-incredulous joy and said very gently: "You may." * * * * * The sun had been gone only two hours, and the soft early autumn darkness had but lately settled down upon the silent little house, waiting alone for its owners to come back some October day, when a cart, driven slowly, rolled along the road. In front of the house it stopped.