They lingered in happy disregard of passing time, each seeming to fear disillusionment if they deserted their magic garden. Huntington no longer felt the oppression of the years, Merry no longer drifted from her anchorage.

“Monty,” she whispered slyly, “dare I call you Monty?”

“If you don’t, I shall call you incorrigible!”

“Monty, who is Benten?”

She asked the question so hesitatingly, as if ashamed to admit her ignorance, that he laughed.

“Benten?” he repeated after her. “Surely you know Benten! She is none other than an adorable Japanese lady of antiquity who is known as the deity of Beauty, the divinity of Love and the Goddess of Eloquence. I have no doubt she has other attributes, but those are enough for us, aren’t they, little sweetheart?”

“Oh, Monty, you know so much!” she sighed. “It is going to be a terrible strain!”

She seemed very winsome in her present mood, and he smiled happily.

“The strain will be on me, dear heart,” he protested. “I have assumed wisdom all these years with no danger of being unmasked; now you will find me out.

“I’m glad it happened here in this garden,” she said contentedly. “I seem to feel more at home in this atmosphere. Benten shall be my patron saint from this day.”

“Shall we spend our honeymoon in Japan?” he asked. “Why not keep this setting to the end?”

She clapped her hands. “Splendid!” she cried. “That will be Paradise; and you’ll teach me all you know about everything?”

“Why not let your Hearn teach you of Japan? He knows it all. He would tell you, too, that Benten is also Goddess of the Sea,” he pointed to the brilliant spot of color at the end of the avenue, now made spectacular by the radiance of the setting sun. “He would understand why, under this influence, I could not keep from telling you my secret; for ’is not the sea most ancient and most excellent of speakers, the eternal poet, chanter of that mystic hymn whose rhythm shakes the world, whose mighty syllables no man may learn?’”

“Oh, Monty,” she murmured, nestling closer to him in blissful happiness, “please go on. To hear you talk is just like listening to a beautiful symphony. And to think you’re going to share it all with me! Let us stay right here forever!”

“Mer-ry!” came Philip’s call across the lawn.

“Uncle Mon-ty!” Billy halloed.

“There come those horrid boys,” she pouted, sitting up straight. “Why are boys, anyway?”

“You told me once that it was only when they became serious that you worried about them,” he teased her.

“They are serious now, they’ve found out you’re here, and they’re going to talk war with you. I don’t want to give you up even for a moment!”

“Nor I you,” he whispered, as the boys were close at hand; “but we must keep our secret a little longer.”

They rose and walked up the avenue to meet them.

“Mother said to wait because you were tired, but Billy couldn’t, so I came with him,” Philip explained lamely.

“I am never too tired to receive a welcome like this ”

“We want your advice,” Billy interrupted.

“Won’t it wait until we get to the house?”

“No,” Billy insisted; “it’s urgent. Phil and I want to go to the war, and if we don’t hurry they may call it off and then we’ll be rooked.”

“I wish there was a chance they might,” Huntington said feelingly. “There’s no fear of that, boy. They are in for a long and terrible struggle.”

“Great!” cried Philip. “I’ve always wanted to go to war, and I never believed there would be another.”

“I’m going because I want to get shot up just to spite Merry,” added Billy, remembering his grievance and looking at the girl gloomily.

“The fact that you realize so little what you are saying is the greatest argument you could advance in favor of your going,” Huntington said, looking at them gravely.

“I didn’t mean to speak as I did,” Philip replied apologetically. “It is a terrible thing, of course, but since it has come I am crazy to be a part of it. I believe I’ll run away if Mother and Dad don’t let me go!”

“I meant just what I said,” Billy insisted stoutly. “Merry is very unhappy, haven’t you noticed it?”

“Do I look so now?” she laughed at him.

“You shouldn’t interrupt,” he reproved her; “it isn’t polite. She doesn’t know what is the matter with her, but I do.”

“What is the matter, Billy?” Huntington inquired seriously. “If I knew, perhaps I could help her.”

“Of course you could; that’s why I’m telling you. She’s in love with me and she doesn’t know it.”

“By Jove!” Huntington exclaimed, looking at Merry’s beaming face as she walked beside him, and then at the serious features of the boy on the other side. “I’m afraid I can’t help, after all.”

“Yes, you can,” Billy insisted confidently. “Merry will believe anything you tell her. Now if I go to war and get shot up she will realize her destiny, and will come to the hospital over there somewhere and be a Red Cross nurse, and fix me all up. Then we’ll be married, unless my wound is fatal and I die,” he added, gulping down the pathos which this painful picture stirred within himself.

“I can’t stay with you, Billy, if you harrow up my feelings like this,” Huntington declared. “It isn’t fair to take advantage of your sympathetic old uncle.”

“He’s just talking in bunches, Mr. Huntington,” Philip said disgustedly. “You mustn’t mind what he says. His mouth is full of mush all the time now. I’m sick of it!”

“How about my feelings, Billy?” Merry demanded. “Have you no pity for me?”

“Why should I?” he retorted. “It’s all your fault. Uncle Monty, wouldn’t you like to have Merry in the family?”

“I certainly would,” was the frank response spoken with a sincerity which gave the boy unbounded encouragement.

“Now you’ve said something!” Billy exclaimed and he turned to Merry with a gesture of finality! “I want you in the family, Uncle Monty wants you, Phil wants me for a brother-in-law ”

“I’m not so sure,” Philip interrupted.

“Oh, yes, he does,” Billy continued unabashed. “So it’s up to you. Will you make us all happy, or will you send me to meet my fate amid the horrors of war?”

“That’ll be about all of that,” Philip said, scowling. “We came out here to talk war and not nonsense. I won’t stand for it!”

“We mustn’t get these two great questions confused, Billy,” Huntington said soothingly. “I have something to tell you later which may solve one of them, and we should approach the other with a calm and judicial mind. I haven’t any right to advise you, Philip, for your mother and father probably have definite ideas which must be respected; but if a way could be found for Billy to have some of the experiences over there without running too much danger, I should be inclined to throw my influence in favor of his going.”

“Hurrah!” Billy cried.

“That is all I could possibly expect, Mr. Huntington,” Philip acknowledged. “If Billy is allowed to go, I’m sure Mother and Dad will consent.”

“Very good. I promise you to look into it carefully, and Billy will keep you posted as to the result.”

“What’s the other solution?” Billy asked suspiciously.

“I’ll tell you later. Now let me speak with the others. There is nothing more for us to talk about, is there?”

“I’m sorry I spoke so lightly about the war,” Philip said, grasping Huntington’s hand as they separated. “I have fighting in my blood somewhere, and I’m so excited over it all that I forget myself sometimes.”

“War means to forget one’s self at all times, my boy,” Huntington answered kindly. “With all its savagery, with all its brutal return to primeval instincts, the sacrifices and the heroism it calls for ennoble those who are drawn into its hideous vortex. No man can once feel this and ever again look upon life in a small way. That is why, under certain circumstances, I might favor Billy’s desire.”

“That is my second desire,” Billy carefully explained; “my first is that Merry become a member of our family.”

“To that,” his uncle replied, “I have already given my unqualified approval.”

The boys left them and they continued to the house. Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher met them at the steps.

“I had begun to fear that you and Merry were lost,” Marian said, after Huntington greeted his host.

“We have been lost a long time,” Huntington replied, with a meaning they did not comprehend; “now we have indeed found ourselves.”

He took Merry’s hand in his and stood for a moment looking at them both.

“Would this time be inopportune,” he continued, “to ask if you can spare this little girl to some one who loves her very dearly?”

“So Billy has persuaded you to become his champion?” Mrs. Thatcher said with some annoyance. “I didn’t think Merry cared for him. He is so irresponsible, Mr. Huntington. It is difficult to refuse anything you ask, but couldn’t the matter wait?”

“The boy isn’t grown up enough to think of such things yet,” Thatcher added.

Huntington smiled quietly at the natural mistake. “It is for one who is perhaps too far grown up I stand as champion, but I am hoping you will not look upon that as an obstacle. I did for many months, but Merry has a way of making one forget his years.”

“You!” Marian cried.

“You don’t mean it, my dear fellow!” Thatcher held out his hand cordially.

“We children ask the parental blessing.”

Merry slipped by, into her mother’s arms.

“Oh! Momsie! I am happy at last!”

“You have certainly kept us in the dark!” Marian exclaimed, recovering from her surprise.

Then the pleasure in her face changed to one of concern. “You have loved Merry, yet stood aside these weeks?”

“I could not believe that she could care for me.”

“Almost a triple tragedy!” Marian said soberly, so low that only Huntington heard her. “Can any one ever forgive me!”

“Come, we must tell Edith and Cosden,” Thatcher urged. “They are consumed with impatience to see you.”

“Let us wait until dinner,” Huntington suggested. “Billy must be considered, for the dear boy believes himself madly in love with Merry, even as I did once with her mother.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Marian.

“It didn’t seem like nonsense then, but I forgive you since you give me this sweet child, which I know you consider a greater gift than the one I would have asked.”

“I never heard of this,” Thatcher exclaimed.

“No man can marry a woman like Mrs. Thatcher without finding wrecks along the shore.”

“A very pretty remark from a son-in-law,” she retorted. “I shall hold you strictly to your loyalty!”

“Let me find Billy while you are dressing for dinner,” Huntington said. “I’ll overtake you after breaking the news gently to him.”

“Don’t be late,” Merry whispered to him in parting. “When I leave you I shall think it all a dream.”

“So it is, dear heart, but one which is sure to come true!”

Billy joined his uncle in his room, and the older man sat down beside him on the window-seat.

“Boy,” he said, “you and I have been great pals, and I want you to be the first to know of a wonderful thing which has happened to me.”

“You’ve beaten Mr. Cosden at golf,” Billy guessed.

“It is something which will hurt you for a minute but I want you to show how good a sport you are.”

“You’re not going to make me live within my allowance?”

“Merry is going to marry me.”

“She isn’t!” the boy cried, almost bursting into tears. “She isn’t, she’s going to marry me!”

“Steady, Billy, steady! Remember what pals we are! You wouldn’t want her to marry you if she loved some one else, would you?”

Billy quieted down, swallowing hard but saying nothing.

“Think how many years I have waited for this wonderful thing to happen. Think how many years you have ahead of you in which to have it happen. For it will happen to you, boy, it must.”

“But you are a woman-hater.”

“No, boy, a Merry lover! Won’t you forget your infatuation and wish me joy?”

“I shall never marry,” Billy said disconsolately.

“That is what I said, twenty years ago!”

“You can’t depend on girls, anyhow.”

“That is what I said, twenty years ago! Won’t you wish me joy? It’s the first time I’ve ever asked you to do anything for me.”

“It’s asking a whole lot.”

“It is, and the greater the gift if you give it to me.”

“So Merry is really going to marry you?”

Huntington nodded his head.

“Oh, well, I suppose I shall get over it.”

“Good for you, boy! And you wish me joy?”

“I can’t; I’m a woman-hater now myself.”

“Wish me as much joy as possible under the circumstances.”

“I’ll do that; but don’t expect me to throw a fit in doing it.”

“All right,” Huntington patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “Now run and get ready for dinner, and don’t forget that I’m keeping Merry in the family!”

“Oh! come. Don’t rub it in!”

“I won’t, but I’m so happy that I’m kiddish!”

“Many a married man seems contented when he’s only resigned,” quoted Billy maliciously.

“Get out!” Huntington shouted, throwing a chair-pillow at the retreating figure.

It was at dinner that the party reassembled, this time in its full strength of numbers. The table was set in the Italian dining-porch, which occupied the east gable, and by reason of its uniqueness formed a charming background for the ceremony. Three of its sides were open, the over-story being supported on columns; the plaster wall was covered with masses of flowering and decorative plants, clinging to a lattice, and broken in the center by a niche enclosing an old marble fountain. Edith and Cosden greeted Huntington cordially when he came down, plying him with questions until he begged for mercy.

“You don’t show any ill effects from acting as trained nurse,” Cosden remarked; “in fact I never saw you look so well. Glad you came in time for this farewell dinner; I’m back into the harness again to-morrow.”

“I wish you could stay longer, Mr. Cosden,” Marian urged.

“I’m ashamed of the length of time I have already imposed upon your hospitality,” Cosden replied; “but you must hold Edith responsible. It takes her an eternity to get a little word of three letters out of her mouth.”

“That isn’t a commodity which requires advertising,” she remarked, tossing her head.

“I’ll get you yet, you little devil!” whispered Cosden.

“This dinner is epoch-making,” Thatcher said seriously after they were seated, “and the epochs divide themselves into two parts. The first one I’m going to explain; then, as it is proper that my wife should have the last word, Marian will tell you the second. We have with us this evening that’s the way the toastmaster usually starts in, isn’t it? a man whom I have known for several years, whose integrity is unquestioned, but who has been considered by his business associates as one who exacted his last pound of flesh.”

Cosden looked quickly at Thatcher, and reddened at the pointed glance which Edith gave him.

“A few days ago,” Thatcher continued, “owing to extraordinary business conditions, that man found the one house which he would like best to control in a position where he could legitimately force it to accept his own terms. I know, because that house was mine.”

“Cut it out, Thatcher,” Cosden growled; “this isn’t an experience meeting.”

Thatcher paid no attention to him. “At this crisis, I went down on my knees, and begged him a favor to accept a little trifle of four and a half millions profit in exchange for saving my house and reputation.”

“Harry!” Marian cried. “I’ve been blind to your troubles too!”

“This was his chance. He remarked coolly that he had been making plans to take advantage of his opportunity when it came, handed me drafts which enabled me to weather the storm, and refused to accept one penny of the blood-money which I was only too ready to give him. That is the way our friend Cosden collects his pound of flesh.”

“Connie did that?” Huntington demanded, gratified beyond measure but speaking lightly to cover Cosden’s embarrassment. “Why, Connie, I thought you were a business man!”

Edith made no comment but her gaze never left Cosden’s face. His confusion was genuine, for to be made a hero in the midst of one’s friends is more than any man can stand. Marian hastened to his rescue.

“I shall tell Mr. Cosden what I think of him when we are alone,” she said gratefully. “Now let us turn from the worship of Midas to that of a coy little divinity who may yet teach Edith to speak in words of one syllable. Harry says that I am to have the last word. It shall be brief: Mr. and Mrs. Henry Thatcher announce the engagement of their only daughter to Mr. William Montgomery Huntington.”

The effect of this announcement was even more dramatic than the first.

“You sly old dog!” Cosden cried, reaching over and pummeling Huntington on the back.

“Great work!” was Philip’s congratulation, but he subsided when he saw the expression on Billy’s face.

It was epoch-making, as Thatcher had promised. The relief over the happy solution of the business crisis, and the surprise and joy of the announced engagement made the dinner pass from an episode into an event. Billy’s lack of enthusiasm might be easily understood and as easily forgiven, but Edith’s subdued attitude was less comprehensible. It was only as they left the table to go out upon the piazza that she broke her silence. She held back after Marian and Merry passed through the door and turned to Cosden.

“Did you really do that?” she demanded.

He nodded his head sheepishly. “You see, as Monty says, I’m no kind of business man after all.”

“I think you’re the greatest business genius in the world!”

“You do!” he cried. “Then why don’t you follow Merry’s example?”

“I might,” she said smiling.