And so the happy day arrived, just as the sun was sinking down behind
Mount Rose; we stood in the silent church; I held the flowers, a huge
bouquet of simple spring blossoms, while the groom slipped the little
gold band on the bride's finger and the organ pealed out the
benediction....

A few months later I arrived in New York and telephoned, "Hello, Nell,
is that you? Here I am, may I come out, or are you two still
honeymooning?" The answer came back: "We are still honeymooning, but
you may come out; in fact, I am just crazy to see you. You will never
find the way alone; meet Glen at his office and come out with him
tonight!" And I did. The bride was at the station to meet us,
radiantly happy. We motored over a beautiful bit of country and in
about ten minutes came to a beautiful villa, with beautiful gardens
and a glimpse of the sea in the distance; it did my soul good to watch
this picture of domestic bliss. They were like a boy and girl again,
up to their eyes in love and gloriously happy.

"A love and happiness with wisdom as its basis and made up of
understanding and friendship, with a dash of romance, and enough
passion to lend warmth and charm, and a good portion of common sense
that doesn't expect perfection": this is Nell's recipe for domestic
happiness.

Three years later. My husband and I have just returned from a week-end
visit to Mr. and Mrs. Royce: the recipe seems to be working fine; I am
trying it myself. We sat on the porch and watched them stroll out to
the beach, in the fading light of the setting sun, and then the
shadows of twilight hid them from sight. They disappeared, hand in