James G. Cooper was at this particular time secretary of the territory of Utah--an appointee of the United States government. He was a cavalierly man of southern birth and breeding--tall and handsome, and of courtly bearing, a great lover of the theatre. He was never known to miss a performance during Julia Dean's engagement. He was one of the most enthusiastic admirers she had; night after night, all the season through, he sat in front, early always in the same seat, and with eyes aglow and ears alert, he seemed to absorb every tone of her voice and catch, every gleam of her eyes--her every move was to him a thrill of rapture. Out of her thousands of admirers he was the most devoted worshipper at her shrine. Up to a certain time he worshipped in silence as if she were a deity. Chance had made them neighbors: the secretary's office and Mrs. Hayne's apartments were in adjoining houses, and it was not long before an acquaintanceship was formed which rapidly grew into a friendship and friendship soon ripened into love. These lovers were discreet, however. Many happy hours they passed in each other's company, but they did not parade their love, nor "wear their hearts upon their sleeves for daws to peck at." Little did her audience suspect that often when she cast her most bewitching glances, and brightened their faces with her radiant smiles, that those smiles were mounted especially for him; but he knew--how could he help but know. Cupid had drawn his bow and sped his dart. "Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, that's by me wounded Both our remedies within thy help and holy physic lie." So after the close of the season, much to the surprise of her numerous admirers, "these 'twain were made one flesh." They bade a rather hasty farewell to the land of the Saints, and wended their way to the far East by stagecoach, the terminus of the Pacific road being yet some hundreds of miles from Salt Lake.