In the Bronx were dogwood blossoms and leaves of tender green and
beds of tulips, and along the Boston Post Road, on their right, the
Sound flashed in the sunlight; and on their left, gardens, lawns,
and orchards ran with the road, and the apple trees were masses of
pink and white.

Whenever a car approached from the rear, Carter pretended it was
Mrs. Ingram coming to prevent the elopement, and Dolly clung to
him. When the car had passed, she forgot to stop clinging to him.

In Greenwich Village they procured a license, and a magistrate
married them, and they were a little frightened and greatly happy
and, they both discovered simultaneously, outrageously hungry. So
they drove through Bedford Village to South Salem, and lunched at
the Horse and Hounds Inn, on blue and white china, in the same room
where Major Andre was once a prisoner. And they felt very sorry for
Major Andre, and for everybody who had not been just married that
morning. And after lunch they sat outside in the garden and fed
lumps of sugar to a charming collie and cream to a fat gray cat.

They decided to start housekeeping in Carter's flat, and so turned
back to New York, this time following the old coach road through
North Castle to White Plains, across to Tarrytown, and along the
bank of the Hudson into Riverside Drive. Millions and millions of
friendly folk, chiefly nurse- maids and traffic policemen, waved to
them, and for some reason smiled.

"The joke of it is," declared Carter, "they don't know! The most
wonderful event of the century has just passed into history. We are