"That is all I want to know, Helen dear," I said, taking her in my arms. "But of course we shall get married according to the rules."
"You delicious idiot," Helen laughed, "of course we shall. Can you imagine Deep Harbor, if we didn't?"
The prospect was dazzling to the imagination. Miss Hershey and the daily Eagle between them—I laughed at the thought.
"I wouldn't do anything to hurt dad," Helen added softly, and I again held her close.
"I was only moralizing on this question of ceremonies, Helen precious," I whispered. "It has always amazed me that people attach such great value to them. I suppose it is, after all, because ceremonies have to be public, and they are thus a public acknowledgement of assumed obligations."
"If the church means anything to you, then its sanction must be a tremendous comfort," Helen mused. "I sometimes wish I knew what I believed, don't you, Ted?"
"I am trying to find out, but I don't know. Sometimes I think chemistry is the key to the mystery—and then it isn't. Chemistry didn't make your grey eyes, sweetheart. There is a Helen in them that no chemistry made."
"I don't think chemistry made Ted, either," she smiled shyly. "For if it did, he would be more logical."
"There's a nasty knock in that somewhere, young lady," I said in mock anger, "but I'm blest if I know where it is."
"I never know," she came back inconsequentially, "whether I love you more when you don't think, or when you tangle yourself up in whimsies trying to think."