Over David it had suddenly come that the mating of lives is not a light matter. Standing at a window, he had caught from the storm a vague presage of perils and pitfalls approaching, through and around which he must be guide for another. That other was very, very dear to him. The thought set him to quaking. It was the first responsibility he had had in all his life. Then quick upon the thought surged a wave of deep poignant tenderness for her to whom he must be guide. There was a tap at the door, answered by Dick. "They're ready. All right, old man?" "All right," David said. "I'm ready." A minute later he stood waiting, while the old music rolled from the organ. A slender veiled figure appeared in a doorway. The mist in his eyes cleared away. Very steadily he took her. . . . . They entered their machine amid a shower of rice and old slippers. He caught her close to him and held her, silent. After a while he felt a sob shake her. "Why, dearest, crying!" "Oh, David, be good to me! I'm afraid. A girl gives so much. Be good to me always!" He drew her closer, if that were possible. "Of course, Shirley--always. You mustn't be frightened. It's the storm. In the morning the sun will be shining and things will seem different." And sure enough, in the morning the sun was shining and things seemed different. CHAPTER II THE WITCH The perils and pitfalls appeared. But they were not seen for what they were. As a guide David left something to be desired. Very carefully the lovers had planned the disbursement of their income: so much for rent, so much for the household and "extras," so much for David's down-town expenses. A limited amount was set for the furnishing of their home-to-be. With many declarations that love made up for all lacks and with many tiltings of Shirley's pretty chin, they had vowed to adhere rigidly to this budget. But the choice of the abode of so much love and happiness had been put off until after the brief honeymoon, that Shirley might share the fun of house-hunting. They thought it would be fun. It was not. That week, as they inspected an indefinite number of apartments of as many degrees of shabbiness and general undesirableness, Shirley's spirits and chin fell steadily. David's heart, seeing, fell with them. "Discouraged?" he asked at the end of the last day's hunt. She nodded wearily. "Landlords are pigs. They want so much for so little. Are you sure there's nothing else we can look at?" "I'm afraid not. I've gone through the lists thoroughly." "I wouldn't mind being _shabby_, if it weren't for the neighborhoods." She was tired. Her lip quivered. His heart misgave him. He tried to be gay. "Oh, let's forget it for a while. Let's go out to the club and play nine holes and then have a little twosome at dinner out there."