"Come as soon as you can get here!" she cried, delighted. "This is

going to be the happiest day of my entire life!"

* * * * *

And so it came about that Athalie in her pretty new gown and hat of

lilac lingerie, followed by a maid bearing three suit-cases, hat-box,

toilet satchel, and automobile coat, emerged from the main entrance of

the building where Clive sat waiting in a smart Stinger runabout. When

he saw her he sprang out and came forward, hat in hand.

"You darling," she said in a low, happy voice. "You've made me happier

than I ever dreamed of being. I don't know what to say to you; I

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simply don't know how to thank you for doing this wonderful thing for

me."

He, too, was happier than he had ever been in all his life; and so

much in love that he found nothing to say for a moment save the few

trite phrases in which a man in love says many commonplaces, all of

which only mean, "I love you."

[Illustration: "When he saw her he sprang out and came forward."] Doubtless she understood the complicated code, for she laughed and

blushed a trifle and looked around at her maid laden with luggage.

"Where can we put these, Clive?" she asked.

"What on earth is all that luggage?" he asked, surprised.

"I'm going to remain a few days," she explained, "so I've brought a

few things."

"But do you imagine there is anything to eat or anywhere to lay your

head in that tumble down old house?" he demanded, secretly enchanted

with her rash enthusiasm.

"I propose to camp. I can buy milk, crackers, and sardines at Spring

Pond village; also sufficient bathroom and bed linen. That is all I

require to be perfectly comfortable."

There was no rumble on the Stinger, only a baggage rack and boot. Here

he secured, covered, and strapped Athalie's impedimenta; the maid

slipped on her travelling coat; she sprang lightly into the seat; and

Clive went around and climbed in beside her, taking the wheel.

The journey downtown and across the Queensboro Bridge was the usual

uncomfortable and exasperating progress familiar to all who pilot cars

to Long Island. Brooklyn was negotiated prayerfully; they swung into

the great turnpike, through the ugliest suburbs this humiliated world

ever endured, on through the shabby, filthy, sordid environment of the

gigantic Burrough, past ignoble villages, desolate wastes, networks

of railway tracks where grade crossings menaced them, and on along the

purlieus of suburban deserts until the flat green Long Island country

spread away on either side dotted with woods and greenhouses and

quaint farm-houses and old-time spires.




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