"Will you go with me now to a church not far away, where a friend of mine
is the pastor, and be married? Then we can defy all the cousins in
creation. Can't you trust me?" he pleaded.

"Oh, yes, but----"

"Is it that you do not love me?"

"No," she said, and her eyes drooped shyly. "It seems strange that I dare
to say it to you when I have known you so little." She lifted her eyes,
full of a wonderful love light, and she was glorified to him, all meanly
dressed though she was. The smooth Madonna braids around the shapely head,
covered by the soft felt hat, seemed more beautiful to him than all the
elaborate head-dresses of modern times.

"Where is the 'but' then, dear? Shall we go now?"

"How can I go in this dress?" She looked down at her shabby shoes, rough
black gown, and cheap gloves in dismay, and a soft pink stole into her
face.

"You need not. Your own gown is out in the office in my suit-case. I
brought it with me, thinking you might need it--_hoping_ you might, I
mean;" and he smiled. "I have kept it always near me; partly because I
wanted the comfort of it, partly because I was afraid some one else might
find it, and desecrate our secret with their common-place wondering."

It was at this moment that the matron of the building stepped up to the
absorbed couple, resolved to do her duty. Her lips were pursed to their
thinnest, and displeasure was in her face.