me--the real thing. The others--all the others had been shams and
make-believes and counterfeits. To think that I ever thought those
silly little episodes with Paul Mayhew and Freddy Small and Mr. Harold
Hartshorn were love! Absurd! But now--

And so I walked and moved and breathed in this spell that had been
cast upon me; and thought--little fool that I was!--that never had
there been before, nor could there be again, a love quite so wonderful
as ours.

At Newport Jerry decided that he wanted to be married right away. He
didn't want to wait two more endless years until I was graduated. The
idea of wasting all that valuable time when we might be together! And
when there was really no reason for it, either--no reason at all!

I smiled to myself, even as I thrilled at his sweet insistence. I was
pretty sure I knew two reasons--two very good reasons--why I could not
marry before graduation. One reason was Father; the other reason was
Mother. I hinted as much.

"Ho! Is that all?" He laughed and kissed me. "I'll run down and see
them about it," he said jauntily.

I smiled again. I had no more idea that anything he could say would--

But I didn't know Jerry--_then_.

I had not been home from Newport a week when Jerry kept his promise
and "ran down." And _he_ had not been there two days before Father and
Mother admitted that, perhaps, after all, it would not be so bad an
idea if I shouldn't graduate, but should be married instead.

And so I was married.

(Didn't I tell you that Jerry always brought his rings and put them
on?)

And again I say, and so we were married.

But what did we know of each other?--the real other? True, we had
danced together, been swimming together, dined together, played tennis
together. But what did we really know of each other's whims and
prejudices, opinions and personal habits and tastes? I knew, to a
word, what Jerry would say about a sunset; and he knew, I fancy, what
I would say about a dreamy waltz song. But we didn't either of us know
what the other would say to a dinnerless home with the cook gone. We
were leaving a good deal to be learned later on; but we didn't think
of that. Love that is to last must be built upon the realization that
troubles and trials and sorrows are sure to come, and that they must
be borne together--if one back is not to break under the load. We
were entering into a contract, not for a week, but, presumedly, for a
lifetime--and a good deal may come to on