When he had explained it he had met with one of those maddening stupidities of hers that strained his forbearance to the breaking point. How could she get away without Lorry knowing--Lorry always knew where she went? She was miserable over it, sitting close against his shoulder on a bench opposite the Greek Church. "How about going for a few days to your friends, the Barlows, at San Mateo?" he had said, his hand folded tight on hers. "The Barlows!" she exclaimed. "The Barlows haven't asked me." That was the sort of thing she was always saying and he had to answer with patient softness. "I know that, dear one, but why can't you tell Lorry that they have. They're going to have a dance and a house party and they want you to come on Tuesday and stay over till, say Thursday or Friday." She cogitated, looking very troubled. He was becoming used to the expression, it invariably followed his promptings to falsehood. "I suppose I could," she murmured. He pressed the hand tenderly. "I don't want to urge you to do anything you don't like, but I don't see what else there is for it. It's not really our fault that we have to run away--it's Lorry's. You've said yourself that she'd make objections, not to our way of doing things, but to me." Chrystie nodded. "She would. I'd have a fight to marry you anyway." No one was in sight and he raised the gloved hand and pressed it to his lips. Dropping it he purred: "We don't want any fights. We don't want our joy marred by bickerings and interference." Chrystie agreed to that and then muttered in gloomy repudiation of Lorry's prejudices: "I don't see why she feels that way about you. Nobody else does." "We won't bother about that. She doesn't have to love me. Perhaps later I'll be able to prove to her that her brother-in-law isn't such a bad chap after all." He shifted a little closer, flicking up with a possessive finger a strand of golden hair that had fallen across her cheek, and murmuring his instructions into the shell pink ear his hand brushed. "You tell her you've had an invitation from the Barlows to come down on Tuesday and stay till Friday. Say they're going to have a party. That being the case you'll take a good-sized trunk. Give the order yourself to the expressman and tell him to send it to the ferry and when you get there check it to Reno. Then you leave the house in time to catch the late afternoon train to San Mateo and as soon as you get out of sight order your driver to take you to the ferry. You'd better cross at once and do what waiting you'll have on the Oakland side." "You'll be there?" she said, stirring uneasily. "Yes, but I won't speak to you." "Oh, dear"--it was almost a wail--"how I wish we could be married at home like Christians!"