Oddly enough, there was no real love-making such as you often read about. A pressure of the hand, a glance from the eye, there was seldom anything more. Only once--that memorable day on the river road--had he kissed her. No word of love had been spoken on either side. In that wild moment all conventionalities had disappeared like smoke in the wind. There had been neither past nor future, only the present in which they knew that they loved. With her he was happy, for he had no time to plan over the future. Away from her he saw the inevitable barriers providing against the marriage between a poor young man and a very rich young woman. A man who has any respect for himself wants always to be on equal terms with his wife. It's the way this peculiar organization called society has written down its rules. Doubtless a relic of the stone age, when Ab went out with his club to seek a wife and drag her by the hair to his den, there to care for her and to guard her with his life's blood. It is one of the few primitive sensations that remain to us, this wanting the female dependent upon the male. Perhaps this accounts for man's lack of interest on the suffragette question. [Illustration: WITH HER HE WAS HAPPY, FOR HE HAD NO TIME TO PLAN OVER THE FUTURE] Only Susan suspected the true state of affairs, being a woman. Having had no real romance herself, she delighted in having a second-hand one, as you might say. She intercepted many a glance and pretended not to see the stolen hand pressures. The wedding was already full drawn in her mind's eye. These two young people should be married at Susan Farlow's when the roses were climbing up the sides of the house and the young robins were boldly trying their fuzzy wings. It struck her as rather strange, but she could not conjure up (at this wedding) more than two men besides the minister, the bridegroom and the butler. By forsaking his accustomed haunts, under the advice of Jones, the hidden warfare ceased temporarily. You can't very well kill a man when you don't know where to find him. He ate his breakfasts haphazardly, now here, now there. He received most of his assignments by telephone and wrote his stories and articles in his club, in the writing rooms of hotels, and invariably despatched them to the office by messenger. The managing editor wanted to know what all this meant; but Norton declined to tell him. It irked him to be forced to rearrange his daily life--his habits. It was a revolution against his ease, for he loved ease when he was not at work. He had the sensation of having been suddenly robbed of his home, of having been cast out into the streets. And on top of all this he had to go and fall in love!