“Suppose,”—said Mrs.Bryce, as they got into the limousine, “—suppose we postpone explanations until after lunch. I’m too worn out to understand anything you may say.”

So conversation was casual enough on the way home. Once there, Isabelle manoeuvred to get Larry alone, but Wally stuck to him like a father.

“Wally,” said his daughter, sternly, “Max wants you.”

“What does she want?”—impatiently.

“You.”

He went, reluctantly. Larry held out two eager hands to Isabelle, but she ignored them.

“Sweetheart,” he said, anxiously.

“Larry, you told a lie.”

“Many of ’em, darlin’. Which one?”

“You said I was going to marry you.”

“Aren’t you, crickety-Cricket?”—anxiously.

“I haven’t decided—yet.”

“But won’t ye decide, dearie?”

“I may—when I’m properly asked.”

“What is properly, Mavourneen?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been proposed to before, except by Jean Jacques Petard.”

She was entirely in earnest, so he humoured her.

“Would ye prefer the formal ‘Will-ye-do-me-the-honour-to-become-me-bride?’ sort, or a more impassioned style?”

“Oh, Larry, you must advise me! Which would you take?”

With a laugh—half amused, wholly tender—he took her into his arms.

“I’d take the quickest way to get ye, little wee leprechaun.”

“Larry, I won’t let you off. I do so want to be proposed to.”

“My dear,” he said gently, “I love ye a very great deal. I want ye to love me a very great deal, and to be my wife.”

Both arms went around his neck. She drew his tall head down to her, and kissed him.

“Thank you, Larry; I will,” she said.

He gathered her up and went to sit in a chair big enough to hold them both. He kissed her eyes, her saucy chin, her hair. He told her in tender ways, known only to the Irish, how he loved her, how he wanted to make for her a shield of his love, to keep her safe and happy.

“Do ye love me, Cricket?” he begged her.

“Larry,” she said, solemnly; “I feel as if you were all the people I have loved in my whole life—Ann, Mrs.Benjamin, Jerry, and Herbert——”

“And Percy?” he teased her. “When did ye begin to love me?” he asked, in the old way of lovers.

“On the boat, going down.”

“Ye didn’t.”

“I did.”

“I felt it comin’ on me, stronger and stronger, at Bermuda, but that night when ye came into my arms in the garden settled it. I had to come and find out who ye thought ye were lovin’.”

She only laughed. Luncheon was announced and the family appeared. The meal was more or less the usual midday repast, but to Isabelle and Larry it might have been ambrosia, or sawdust. They made motions of eating, between long glances. Wally and Max tried not to notice, but Miss Watts’s face was wreathed in a fatuous smile of satisfaction.

Later, when they went to the living room, she started to slip away, but Isabelle put her arm through the older woman’s and led her along.

“We’ll face this out together,” she whispered.

“We seem to have had the end of this story, Isabelle; suppose we now have the first of it,” said her mother in an amused tone.

The Captain and Isabelle smiled at each other.

“Will you recite it, or shall I?” he asked.

“Together.”

“Chapter One. The good ship ‘Astra.’ The hero forces his acquaintance upon the heroine...” he began.

“Didn’t you want to meet him?” inquired Max, curiously.

“Certainly, but I didn’t want him to know it. All the women on board made fools of themselves about him.”

“Deceivin’ little minx! Is this the way ye brought her up, Mrs.Bryce?”

“I didn’t bring her up. She’s brought herself up. Go on with the story.”

“The hero curried favour with one Miss Watts in hope of advancing his suit...”

“Miss Watts was foolish about him, too,” announced Isabelle.

“I was,” admitted Miss Watts.

“The heroine promptly acquired one Major O’Dell, of the English army, one odious youth, named Percy, one nondescript yclept Jack——”

“And an Irishman named O’Leary,” boasted Isabelle.

“And an Irishman named O’Leary. She led them all a pretty dance, and when her affairs were so complicated that a lawyer couldn’t straighten them out, whist! she disappears.”

“Engaged to a Frenchman!” supplied Wally. “Catholic tastes, our Isabelle, a regular internationalist.”

Larry looked at Wally as if seeing him for the first time, and laughed appreciatively.

“The Irishman followed,” prompted Isabelle.

“The Irishman followed. Now he wishes to apologize for the abrupt way in which he intruded into the peace conference. He makes the proper, if somewhat belated request, that Mr.and Mrs.Bryce will look upon him kindly as a son-in-law.”

His gay smile went swiftly from Max to Wally.

“Isabelle, has he proposed yet?” asked Max.

“Yes.”

“Did you accept him?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot believe that you could ever do anything so sensible.”

“Thank you,” bowed the Captain. “Mr.Bryce, the British consul has full information about me. I am a captain in the —— Regiment. I am on sick leave, wounded at Ypres.”

Wally put out his hand and grasped O’Leary’s.

“I’ll have a talk with the Consul this afternoon, but if Isabelle likes you as well as I do, your case is safe right now.”

Isabelle fell upon Wally and hugged him. The next victim was Miss Watts.

“I know you’ll be happy, my dear. You know how to take care of her, Captain O’Leary.”

“Trust me,” he said.

Isabelle went and stood in front of her mother.

“Well?” said Isabelle.

“I think you ought to kiss me, don’t you?”

She did.

“It is ridiculous for you to be engaged before you’re out,” remarked Mrs.Bryce.

“Max, I never intended to come out. I made up my mind about that long ago.”

Max shrugged her shoulders and held out a hand to Larry.

“I’m glad we are going to have such a handsome person in the family,” she said.

He bowed over the hand.

“Ye’re remindin’ me that ‘handsome is as handsome does.’ I invite ye to watch me.”

She laughed.

“Don’t talk any nonsense about getting married, for this child is only eighteen.”

“I’m expectin’ my orders any day,” he said, turning to the girl.

“To go back—there?” she cried.

He nodded. She went to stand in the circle of his arm.

“Max, when Larry goes, I go with him, if it is to-morrow,” she said—quietly, firmly.

No more was said about it at that time, but it was an issue that had to be faced very shortly. Two halcyon weeks followed for the lovers, and then for Larry a summons came. He brought the news to her one afternoon. When he came into the room she knew. She went into his arms with a little cry—

“Dearest, when?”

He held her close for a moment.

“I must sail on Saturday, belovedest.”

He felt the shiver that went through her, but she made no protest.

“I can be ready,” she said.

“Little love, I’ve been thinkin’, maybe ye’d better not go. Maybe ye’d better stay here and wait for me.”

“I’ll wait for you, just as close to those dreadful trenches as they’ll let me come!” she said, fiercely.

She summoned the family and told them the news. She wished to be married on the morrow and sail with her boy on Saturday.

“But you’ve got no clothes!” protested Max.

“We’ll be married to-morrow at five, Max; here or in a church, whichever you say.”

“Here, of course,” said Wally.

“We don’t want any fuss, or people, or excitement. I will pack to-night so that Larry and I may have the whole day free to-morrow,” said Isabelle, with a quiet authority that silenced them all.

For once Max let her have it her own way. She had always dreamed of Isabelle’s wedding as a big fashionable event. It was like her daughter to do it this way. She actually went off for the entire day with her lover, coming back only in time to dress.

There were no guests except Miss Watts and Martin Christiansen. Major O’Dell, whose orders took him back on the ship with them, acted as best man for Larry. Just as she was hurrying downstairs, Isabelle met Wally, waiting for her. He slipped a box into her hand and said brokenly:

“Little secret between us, Isabelle. I know you’re going to be happy with this chap, but I’m frightened,—it’s all such a gamble!”

She put her arms about him and kissed him tenderly. He felt that she had grown into a woman over night.

“It’s all right, dear. I’m not frightened. I’m sure!”

“Lord, but I’ll miss you!”

“Dear old Wally—dear old Wally!” she said very close to tears.

It was a simple brief ceremony, this wedding. They were all a little solemn with the thought of what this world in dissolution might hold for these radiant young lovers. Larry O’Leary’s face was something to remember, when Isabelle plighted him her troth, and there was a sudden womanly dignity in Isabelle’s bearing that made the eyes smart.

But later, at the wedding supper, no one could resist the boyish happiness of Larry. He swept them all into his joyousness, and when the time came for their farewells, there were no tears, only good wishes and high hopes.

In the motor car on the way to the hotel, Larry’s arm held Isabelle close.

“Wee wife,” he said, softly; “wee wife.”

There was no need of words, their happiness was folded round them like a cloak. They dined in their sitting room, as merry as larks.

“Happy, darlin’?” he asked her.

“I suppose that’s what you call it! I’ve got a whole new world, Larry. That’s your wedding gift to me!”

He kissed her hair and went into the other room for a second. When he came back he held something behind him.

“Heart of me,” said he, “I’ve a confession!”

“Larry!”

“It’s only luck that you’re here to-night.”

“What?”

“There once was a leprechaun visited me in the night, and she left me something to know her by. I’ve been lookin’ for her ever since. I swore I’d marry her when I found her!”

“Yes?”—anxiously.

“Will ye see if ye’ll fit my leprechaun coat?”

He held out the orange-and-black Chinese coat, and laid it about her shoulders.

“Larry! it was you!”

“Yes, darlin’, an isn’t it luck that it’s you!”

The coat and its owner were folded close to Larry’s heart. Both of them had come home.

the end.

the country life press

garden city, n.y.