over which nineteenth century brides are popularly supposed to become sentimental. I must put it all down to the flippancy of my nature.
Arthur made no attempt to break the silence. If I was an unusual bride, certainly he was the most utterly unconventional bridegroom it was possible to imagine. His eyes were fixed dreamily upon two little fleecy clouds which were floating about artlessly above us. He could not have looked more hopelessly subdued if he had been sitting in a funeral coach, and going to bury a friend. I suppose my glance aroused him.
"Are you enjoying this ride, Elsie?" he asked, kindly.
"Yes," I answered, noting his effort to amuse me, and feeling grateful to him for it. "I sup pose," I said, laughing, "that all these people would be staring at us if they knew we were bride and bridegroom. They take us for brother and sister, undoubtedly."
"Or an old married couple," he added, smiling.
"I wonder if we ever shall be old commonplace people," I went on happily. "Imagine us
