In sheer relief he began to laugh.

At last he stopped, as the old hurt look spread over her face.

“Excuse me, dear,” he said gently, “There was a little acquaintance between Miss Loring and myself.  It only amounted to a flirtation on her part, one of many.  It was a great distress to my mother, and I went out West, as you know, to get away from her.  I knew she would only bring me unhappiness, and she was not willing to give up some of her ways that were impossible.  I am glad and thankful that God saved me from her.  I believe she is going to marry a distant relative of mine by the name of Benedict, but I thank the kind Father that I am not going to marry her.  There is only one woman in the whole wide world that I am willing to marry, or ever will be; and she is sitting beside me now.”

The train was going rapidly now.  It would not be long before the conductor would reach them.  The man leaned over, and clasped the little gloved hand that lay in the girl’s lap; and Elizabeth felt the great joy that had tantalized her for these three years in dreams and visions settle down about her in beautiful reality.  She was his now forever.  She need never run away again.

The conductor was not long in coming to them, and the matter-of-fact world had to be faced once more.  The young man produced his card, and said a few words to the conductor, mentioning the name of his uncle, who, by the way, happened to be a director of the road; and then he explained the situation.  It was very necessary that the young lady be recalled at once to her home because of a change in the circumstances.  He had caught the train at West Philadelphia by automobile, coming as he was in his morning clothes, without baggage and with little money.  Would the conductor be so kind as to put them off that they might return to the city by the shortest possible route?

The conductor glared and scolded, and said people “didn’t know their own minds,” and “wanted to move the earth.”  Then he eyed Elizabeth, and she smiled.  He let a grim glimmer of what might have been a sour smile years ago peep out for an instant, and—­he let them off.

They wandered delightedly about from one trolley to another until they found an automobile garage, and soon were speeding back to Philadelphia.

They waited for no ceremony, these two who had met and loved by the way in the wilderness.  They went straight to Mrs. Benedict for her blessing, and then to the minister to arrange for his services; and within the week a quiet wedding-party entered the arched doors of the placid brown church with the lofty spire, and Elizabeth Bailey and George Benedict were united in the sacred bonds of matrimony.

There were present Mrs. Benedict and one or two intimate friends of the family, besides Grandmother Brady, Aunt Nan, and Lizzie.