"Of course, but what's that got to do with it?" "Having that," said David, with the arrogant assurance of young men in love, "Shirley will be content." The rich aunt stared. "Humph!" she sniffed, "You're not even grown up. On your own head be it!" Shirley took some risks in inviting these visits. The picture David had got had her and Maizie living in dingy rooms, marks of hardship and privation thick around them. In fact, he found her a charming hostess in a cozy little apartment, comfortably furnished, with pretty dishes on the table and even a few pictures on the walls. And clearly, to eyes that saw, it was homely faithful Maizie whose arduous but well-paid secretaryship financed this menage; Maizie who, returning home tired from her long day, got the dinner; Maizie who washed the dishes, that Shirley's hands might not be spoiled, and did the mending when the weekly wash came back. Shirley set the table, sewed on jabots and did yards of tatting. Her "work" consisted of presiding over the reference room of a public library, telling shabby uninteresting young men where to find works on evolution and Assyrian temples and Charlemagne. This position was hers because her rich aunt's husband had political influence and her salary, together with the checks from Aunt Clara--not so big as the latter would have had David suppose but still not to be sneezed at--generally went to buy "extras," little luxuries working girls do not often enjoy. But David was in love; he saw only the mistress of his heart. And Shirley, who had the habit of contrasting what she had with what she wanted to have, did not see any risk incurred. "It's been such a grind to-day," she sighed, one afternoon when David went to the library to escort her home. "Fussing half the day with a long-haired Dutchman who wanted to know all about the origin of fire worship. Why should any one want to know about the origin of fire worship?" David didn't know, but thought it a shame she had to fuss with long-haired Dutchmen. "It's so deadly dull," she went on in the same plaintive voice. "Oh, David, you don't know what a rescuer you are, taking me away from this. I'll be so happy when we're in our own little home and I'll be _dependent_ again." David's emotions were too deep for words but he gave her a look more eloquent than speech. The experts are in accord as to the purblindness of love. No scales fell from his eyes, even when Maizie, on his next to last visit, made an occasion for a serious chat. "David," she suggested a little timidly, "don't you think you and Shirley had better wait a little longer?" He laughed at the notion. "Do you think we're not sure of ourselves?" "Oh, no! I've no doubts there. Just until you're a little better fixed financially." He shook his head decidedly. "Things are going pretty well with me now. And I've got to get Shirley out of this awful grind at the library."