"Red," said she--and her hand slipped into his--"I like best to come into
your house, just as it is. Take me in--that's all I ask--and trust me to
make my own home there--and in your heart. That's all I want."

"You're in my heart," said her husband, "so close and warm there's not
much room for anything else."

"Then don't worry about the house. It will be a dear delight to fill the
empty rooms; I've a genius for that sort of thing. Wait and see. And
meanwhile"--she smiled up into his nearing face--"say good-bye to your
bride. She's quite ready to go--and give place to your wife."

So Redfield Pepper Burns kissed his bride, with the ardour of farewell.
But the next minute, safe in the shelter of the deep-hooded top, he had
welcomed his wife with his heart of hearts upon his lips, and a few
low-spoken words in her ear which would make the fiftieth-from-the-office
mile-stone a place to remember for them both.

Then he drove on, silently, for a while, as if the little roadside
ceremony had left behind it thoughts too deep for expression. And, quite
unconsciously, his hand upon the throttle was giving the Imp more and
more power, so that the car flew past the succeeding mile-stones at such
short intervals that before the pair knew it they were within sight of
the city on the farther side of which lay the suburban village which was
their home.

"I might stop at the hospital and see how things are," said Burns as they
entered the city's outskirts. "But it would be precisely my luck to find
something to detain me, and I think I owe it to you to take you home