"Oh, Molly, Molly!" Cutty whispered into his rigid fingers.

And so they were married, in the apartment, at the top of the world, on

a May night thick with stars. It was not a wedding; it was a marriage.

The world never knew because it was none of the world's business. Who

was Kitty Conover? A nobody. Who was John Hawksley? Something to be.

Out of the storm into the calm; which is something of a reversal.

Generally in love affairs happiness is found in the approach to the

marriage contract; the disillusions come afterward. It was therefore

logical that Kitty and her lover should be happy, as they had run the

gamut of test and fire beforehand.

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The young people were to leave for the West soon after the supper for

three. At midnight Cutty's ship would be boring down the bay. Did Kitty

regret, even a little, the rice and old shoes, the bridesmaids and

cake, so dear to the female of the species? She did not. Did she think

occasionally of the splendour of the title that was hers? She did. To

her mind Mrs. John Hawksley was incomparably above and beyond anything

in that Bible of autocracy--the Almanach de Gotha.

After supper Cutty brought in the old Amati.

"Play," he said, lighting his pipe.

So Hawksley played--played as he never had played before and perhaps as

he would never play again. We reach zenith sometimes, but we never stay

there. But he was not playing to Cutty. Slate-blue eyes, two books with

endless pages, the soul of this wife of his. He had come through. The

miracle had been accomplished. Love.

Kitty smiled and smiled, the doors of her soul thrown wide to absorb

this magic message. Love.

Cutty smoked on, with his eyes closed. He heard it, too. Love.

"Well," he said, sighing, "I see innovations out there in Montana. The

round-up will be different. The Pied Fiddler of Bar-K will stand in

the corral and fiddle, and the bossies will come galloping in, two

by two--and a few jackrabbits!" He laughed. "John, the Amati is yours

conditionally. If after one year it is not reclaimed it becomes yours

automatically. My wedding present. Remember, next winter, if God wills,

you'll come and visit me."

"As if we could forget!" cried Kitty, embracing Cutty, who accepted the

embrace stoically. "I'll be needing clothes, and Johnny will have to

have his hair cut. Oh, Cutty, I'm so foolishly happy!"

"Time we started for the choo-choo. Time-tables have no souls. But,

Lord, what a racket we've had!"




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