could?" The girl's eyes were wide with excitement, her cheeks burning.

"Can we? What's to prevent? Will you do it, Grace--will you?" cried he.

"What will everybody say?"

"Let 'em say. What do we care? Won't it be the greatest lark that ever happened? You're the smartest woman in the world for thinking of it."

"But I wasn't in earnest," she protested.

"But you are now--we both are. Listen: We can slip away and get married and nobody will be the wiser and then, when we come back, we can laugh at everybody."

"And get our pictures in the papers."

"Then, by Hokey! we won't come back for five years! How's that? That'll fool 'em, won't it? Say, this is great! Life is worth living after all. You'll go, won't you, Grace?"

"I'd go to the end of the world with you, Hugh, but--"

"Oh, say you'll go! Now, listen to this," he urged, leaping to his feet. "We're going to be married anyway. We love one another. You can't be married until the twenty-third of May. Lots of people elope--even in the best of families. Why shouldn't we? If we stay here, we'll have to face all the sort of thing we don't like--"

"Yes, but it won't take us two months to elope," she protested. "Sh! Don't speak above a whisper. Aunt Elizabeth has wonderful ears."

"By Jove, darling, I believe you're two-thirds willing to try it on," he whispered.

"We must be sensible, Hugh. You see, I can't be married until the twenty-third of May. Well, aunt is determined to announce the engagement to-morrow night. Don't you see we couldn't elope until the twenty-second at best, so we're doomed for two months of it in spite of ourselves. If we get through the two months why should we elope at all? The worst will be over?"

"We can't escape the announcement party, I'll admit, but we can get away from all the rest. My scheme is to elope to a place that will require seven or eight weeks' time to reach. That's a fine way to kill time, don't you see?"

"My goodness!"

"Why not? We can do as we like, can't we? And what a bully lark! I'd be a downright cad to ask you to do this, Grace, if I didn't love you as I do. We can use assumed names and all that!"

"Oh, dear, dear, doesn't it sound lovely?" she cried, her cheeks red with excitement.

"The twenty-third of May isn't so far off after all, and it won't be half so far if we're doing something like this. Will you go?"

"If I only could! Do you really think we--we could?"

"Whoop!" he shouted, as he seized her in his arms and rained kisses upon her face. Then he held her off and looked into her eyes for a moment. Then he gave another whoop, kissed her, released her and did a wild dance about the room. She stood beside the big chair, equally as excited, laughing unrestrainedly at his hilarity. At last he brought up at the other side of the chair.

"But where could--I mean, shall we elope to?" she finally asked.

"Anywhere. Bombay--Australia? Let's make it a stunner, dear--let's do it up right."

"And be married away over there? Oh, Hugh!"

"Certainly. They can marry us over there as well as anywhere. Here, I'll write the names of ten places and we'll draw one from my hat." He sat down before a table and feverishly wrote upon the backs of a number of his calling cards the names of as many cities, his companion looking over his shoulder eagerly. Without ado he tossed the cards into a jardinière in lieu of a hat. "Draw!" he said tragically.

"Wait a minute, Hugh. What have we to elope from? There isn't the faintest objection in the world to our marriage."

"There you go--backing out!"

"No; I'm just as willing as you, but doesn't it seem rather absurd?" Her hand hung over the jardinière irresolutely.

"It will be the greatest wedding tour that mortals ever took. Draw!"

"Well, then, there's the card. Mercy!" she cried, dropping a card on the table. "That's a long distance, Hugh."

He picked up the card and his face paled a little as he read:

"Manila!"

They sat down in the chair, she on the arm as before. After a moment he glanced at her perplexed face, and asked:

"Are you afraid to go, Grace?"

"It isn't that, Hugh. I was just wondering if we could reach Manila by the twenty-third of May. It is unlucky to change the wedding day after it has been once selected," she said softly.

"Grace Vernon, you are an angel. I was afraid you would show the white feather. It's a go, then--Manila! We can start next week and get there in good time."

"Next week? Impossible!" she cried in alarm.

"Nonsense! You can get ready for a trip to New York, making your preparations for a sea voyage secretly. I'll attend to all the details. It will be easy. No one will ever dream of what we are doing until we cable the news home to your aunt."

"Oh, I must tell Aunt Elizabeth!"

"Not much! That's no way to elope. We must do it correctly or not at all. Nobody is to know until we are really married. Can you get ready in a week?"

"If I really must."

"Can't take any more time than that if we want to reach Manila in time for the wedding."

"Oh, Hugh! We can't go to Manila!" she cried, suddenly starting to her feet in distress. "My Uncle Harry lives there. He is my mother's only brother and he's been there since the close of the war. He's in the hemp business. Oh, dear! How provoking!" she concluded almost piteously.

"It's fine!" he exclaimed jubilantly. "We can be married at his home. I'm sure he'll be happy to have us. You can write and tell him we're coming, dear. Lord!" with great relief in his voice, "that simplifies matters immensely. Now we have an excuse for going to Manila. But above all things don't cable to him. Write a nice long letter and mail it just before we start."

She was silent a long while, staring soberly at the blaze in the grate.

"There'll be no bridesmaids and ushers over there, Hugh."

"We don't want 'em."

Silence for a few minutes.

"In a week, did you say?"

"Positively."

"Well, I'll be ready," she said solemnly.

He kissed her tenderly, lovingly, pressed her cold hand and said encouragingly:

"We'll meet in New York next Monday afternoon. Leave everything to me, dear. It will be much pleasanter to go by way of London and it will help to kill a good deal of time."

"Hugh," she said, smiling faintly, "I think we're proving that father was right. I can't possibly arrive at the age of discretion until I am twenty-three and past."

CHAPTER II

THE BEGINNING OF FLIGHT

Mr. Ridgeway paced back and forth outside the iron gates in the Grand Central Station on the afternoon of April 1st, 190--, a smile of anticipation and a frown of impatience alternating in his fresh, young face. Certain lines of care seemed to have disappeared since we saw him last, nearly a week ago, and in their stead beamed the light of a new-found interest in life. Now and then he took from his pocket a telegram; spectators stared amusedly at him as he read and reread:

DETROIT, MICHIGAN, March 81, 190--.

To H.B. Ridge:

Got away safely. Meet me Forty-second Street, New York, to-morrow at three. Feel awfully queer and look a fright. Sympathetic lady, next compartment, just offered condolences for loss of my husband. What are the probabilities of storm? Be sure and find out before we start.

SISTER GRACE.

"Isn't that just like a girl!" he muttered to himself. "Where else would Forty-second Street be but New York! London?"

They had decided to travel as brother and sister and to adopt Ridge as the surname. Hugh had taken passage for Liverpool on the liner Saint Cloud, to sail on the second, having first examined the list of passengers to ascertain if there were any among them who might know him or his companion in the adventure. The list was now complete, and he,