.

"I wish you wouldn't talk that way. When we are married and you meet
my friends you'll have to brush up on a lot of things."

"I guess I'll manage to be understood," she retorted; "and when we are
married maybe you can get my job so as to support your wife!"

The orchestra began playing a new rag, and Trudy and Gay immediately
left their chairs to be the first couple on the floor. They were
prouder of their dancing than of each other.

After several dances they became optimistic over the future and
finished their dinner with the understanding that at the first
possible moment they would be married and Trudy was to be a
hard-working little bride causing her husband's men friends to be nice
to the Vondeplosshes, while husband would persuade the Gorgeous Girl
to be nice to his wife.

They decided, too, that Mary Faithful was clever and good--but queer.

That Steve O'Valley would discover that a self-made man could not
marry an heiress and make a go of it as well as a man of an
aristocratic family could marry an adorable red-haired young lady and
elevate her to his position.

That Trudy was far more beautiful than Beatrice Constantine, and as
one lived only once in this world--why not always strive for a good
time?

Whereat they had a farewell dance and moved on to the moving-picture
world, where they held hands and stared vapidly at the films,
repairing to a cafeteria on a side street for a lunch, and then to
the Faithful parlour. Mary had gone to church, Luke had boy friends in
to discuss a summer camp, and his mother snored mildly on the
dining-room sofa.

They took possession of the front parlour, and the enlarged crayons of
the Faithful ancestors bore witness that for more than two hours these
young people giggled over the comic supplement, debated as to the
private life of the movie stars, tried new dance steps, and then
planned how to get everything for nothing and, having done so, not to
share their spoils.

"A perfectly lovely time!" Trudy said, glibly, as she kissed Gay
good-night.

"Perfectly lovely!" he echoed, politely. "Don't work too hard
to-morrow, Babseley, will you? And do nothing rash until you see me."

"Call me up to-morrow at eight, Bubseley," she giggled. The pet names
were of Gay's choice.

So Bubseley tottered down the walk while Babseley turned out the
lights and retired to her room with a bag of candy and a paprika-brand
of novel. At midnight she tossed it aside and with self-