to eat a Thanksgiving dinner just before,'' laughed
Cyril. ``Maybe I ought to have waited and let
you rest an hour or two.''

``But 'twould have been too dark, then, to see the
rug,'' objected Marie. ``It's a genuine Persian--
a Kirman, you know; and I'm so proud of it,''
she added, turning to the others. ``I wanted you
to see the colors by daylight. Cyril likes it better,
anyhow, in the daytime.''

``Fancy Cyril _liking_ any sort of a rug at any
time,'' chuckled Bertram, his eyes on the rich,
softly blended colors of the rug before him.
``Honestly, Miss Marie,'' he added, turning to the
little bride elect, ``how did you ever manage to
get him to buy _any_ rug? He won't have so much
as a ravelling on the floor up here to walk on.''

A startled dismay came into Marie's blue
eyes.

``Why, I thought he wanted rugs,'' she
faltered. ``I'm sure he said--''

``Of course I want rugs,'' interrupted Cyril,
irritably. ``I want them everywhere except in
my own especial den. You don't suppose I want
to hear other people clattering over bare floors
all day, do you?''