They had not one honeymoon, but two or three. When they left the hotel and came back to town, it was another honeymoon to enter together the house in which she had played so important a part without ever having seen it. When they stepped out of the cab she insisted upon first seeing it from the outside, instead of rushing up the steps as he was for doing.

“Don,” she protested, “I––I don’t want to have such a pleasure over with all at once. I want to get it bit by bit.”

There was not much to see, to be sure, but a door and a few windows––a section similar to sections to the right and left of which it was a part. But it was a whole house, a house with lower stories and upper stories and a roof––all his, all hers. To her there was something still unreal about it.

He humored her delay, though Nora was 321 standing impatiently at the door, anxious to see the Pendleton bride. But when she finally did enter, Nora, at the smile she received, had whatever fears might have been hers instantly allayed.

“Gawd bless ye,” she beamed.

Sally refused to remove her wraps until she had made her inspection room by room, sitting down in each until she had grasped every detail. So they went from the first floor to the top floor and came back to the room which he had set apart for their room.

“Does it suit you, wife of mine?” he asked.

With the joy of it all, her eyes filled.

“It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be,” she trembled.

For him the house had changed the moment she stepped into it. With his father alive, it had been his father’s home rather than his; with his father gone, it had been scarcely more than a convenient resting-place. There had been moments––when he thought of Frances here––that it had taken on more significance, but even this had been due to Sally. When he thought he was making the house ready for another, 322 it had been her dear hand who had guided him. How vividly now he recalled that dinner at the little French restaurant when he had described his home to her––the home which was now her home too. It was at that moment she had first made her personality felt here.

Sally removed her hat and tidied her hair before the mirror in quite as matter-of-fact a fashion as though she had been living here ever since that day instead of only the matter of a few minutes. When she came downstairs, Nora herself seemed to accept her on that basis. To her suggestions, she replied, “Yes, Mrs. Pendleton,” as glibly as though she had been saying it all her life.

They returned on a Saturday. On Monday Don was to go back to the office. Sally had sent in her resignation the day of her marriage and had received nice letters from both Carter and Farnsworth, with a check enclosed from the former for fifty dollars and from the latter for twenty-five dollars.

“What I’ll have to do,” said Don, as he retired Sunday night, “is to get a larger alarm-clock. It won’t do to be late any more.”

“You’re right,” agreed Sally. “But you won’t need an alarm-clock.”

“Eh?”

“You wait and see.”

Sally was awake at six the next morning and Don himself less than one minute after.

“Time to get up,” she called.

“I’m sleepy,” murmured Don.

“Then to-morrow night you’ll get to bed one hour earlier. But––up with you.”

“Right-o,” he answered as he sprang from bed. “But there’s no need of your getting up.”

“I’d be ashamed of myself if I didn’t.”

She had breakfast with him that first work morning as she planned to do every morning of her life after that.

“Now, Don,” she warned as he was ready to leave, “mind you don’t say anything about a raise in salary for a little while yet. I know Farnsworth, and he’ll give it to you the moment he feels you’ve made good. Besides, we can afford to wait and––I don’t know as I want you to have any more money than you have now. It’s ridiculous for you to have that two thousand from your father.”

“I guess we can use it, little woman,” he laughed.

“We can save it,” she insisted. “And, of course, it’s pretty nice to have an emergency fund, only it sort of takes half the fun out of life to be so safe.”

“It takes half the worry with it, too,” he reminded her.

She thought a moment. Then she kissed him.

“Maybe it’s good for people to worry a bit,” she answered.

“You’ve already done your share,” he returned. “You’re going to meet me for lunch at twelve?”

“Yes, Don.”

“Sure?”

“Of course, it’s sure.”

“I wish it were twelve now.”

“You’re not to think of me again until twelve comes––not once. You’re to tend to business.”

“I know, but––”

She kissed him again.

“Along with you.”

She took his arm and led him to the door and 325 there––where, for all he cared, the whole street might have seen him––he turned quickly and kissed her once more.

Don was decidedly self-conscious when he stepped briskly into the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, with a brave attempt to give the impression that nothing whatever out of the ordinary had happened to him during his brief vacation. But Blake, as he expressed it to her later, was there with bells on. He spied him the moment he came through the door and greeted him with a whistled bar from the “Wedding March.” Not content with that, he tore several sheets of office stationery into small bits and sprinkled him with it. He seemed to take it as more or less of a joke.

“You certainly put one over on us,” exclaimed Blake.

“Well, let it go at that,” Don frowned.

He was willing to take the horse-play, but there was something in the spirit with which it was done that he did not like.

“Always heard bridegrooms were a bit touchy,” returned Blake.

Don stepped nearer.

“Touchy isn’t the word, Blake,” he said; “proud comes nearer it. Remember that I’m proud as the devil of the girl you used to see here. Just base your future attitude toward her and me on that.”

A few minutes later Farnsworth restored his good humor. As he came into the private office, Farnsworth rose and extended his hand.

“I want to congratulate you, Pendleton,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you,” answered Don.

“We feel almost as though we had lost a partner in the firm,” he smiled. “But I’m mighty glad for both of you. She was fitted for something a whole lot bigger than Wall Street.”

“She taught me all I know about the game,” confessed Don.

“You couldn’t have had a better teacher. Sit down. I want to talk over a change I have in mind.”

Don felt his heart leap to his throat.

“I’ve wanted for some time another man to go out and sell,” said Farnsworth. “Do you think you can handle it?”

“You bet,” exclaimed Don.

Farnsworth smiled.

“You see,” ran on Don in explanation, “I’ve been selling bonds to Sally––er––Mrs. Pendleton, for a month or more now.”

“Selling her?”

“Imaginary bonds, you know.”

Farnsworth threw back his head and laughed.

“Good! Good! But the true test will come when you try to sell her a real one. I’ll bet it will have to be gilt-edged.”

“And cheap,” nodded Don.

“Well,” said Farnsworth, “I want to try you on the selling staff for a while, anyway. Now, about salary––”

“Sally told me to forget that,” said Don.

“I guess because she knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t forget it. My intention is to pay men in this office what they are worth. Just what you may be worth in your new position I don’t know, but I’m going to advance you five hundred; and if you make good you’ll be paid in proportion as you make good. That satisfactory?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then we’re off,” concluded Farnsworth.

Don met Sally at noon at the dairy lunch where they had gone so often.

“Come on, little woman,” he greeted her. “This place may be all right for the wife of a clerk, but now you’re the wife of a bond salesman.”

“Don!”

“On a five-hundred-dollar raise.”

“We’ll stay right here,” she said; “but I’m going to celebrate by having two chocolate Éclairs.”