Under ordinary circumstances it would have
been a delightful hour for a walk. The sun had
almost set, and the shadows lay long across the
grass. The air was cool and unusually bracing
for a day so early in September. But all this
was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to
take a walk. He was hungry. He wanted his
dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home with
his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had
pictured this first evening together. He wanted
William, of course. Certainly he wanted William;
but if William would insist on running away
and sitting on park benches in this ridiculous
fashion, he ought to take the consequences--
until to-morrow.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Up one path
and down another trudged the anxious-eyed Billy
and her increasingly impatient husband. Then
when the fifteen weary minutes had become a
still more weary half-hour, the bonds Bertram
had set on his temper snapped.

``Billy,'' he remonstrated despairingly, ``do,
please, come home! Don't you see how highly
improbable it is that we should happen on William
if we walked like this all night? He might
move--change his seat--go home, even. He
probably has gone home. And surely never before
did a bride insist on spending the first evening