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We need no gifts, whose thoughts and prayers maintain Through all theyears a strong and stronger chain, Yet take the little gift, thevisible sign Of the deep love between your heart and mine.
The marriage of Albert Bradley and Anne Polk Barrett was as close asanything comes, in these prosaic days, to a high adventure. Nancy'sUncle Thomas, a quiet, gentle old Southerner who wore tan linen suitswhen he came to New York, which was not often, and Bert's mother, atiny Boston woman who had lived in a diminutive Brookline apartmentsince her three sons had struck out into the world for themselves,respectively assured the young persons that they were taking a gravechance. However different their viewpoint of life, old Mrs. Bradley andold Mr. Polk could agree heartily in that.
Of course there was much to commend the union. Nancy was beautiful, shecame of gentlefolk, and she liked to assert that she was practical, she"had been a workin' woman for yeahs." This statement had reference to acomfortable and informal position she held with a private associationfor the relief of the poor. Nancy was paid fifteen dollars a week,seven of which she in turn paid to the pretty young widow, an oldfamily friend only a few years older than herself, with whom sheboarded. Mrs. Terhune was rich, in a modest way, and frequently refusedthe money entirely. But she took it often enough to make the bloomingNancy feel quite self-supporting, and as Nancy duly reported at thesunshiny office of the Southern Ladies' Helping Hand every morning, oralmost every morning, the girl had some reason to feel that she hadsolved her financial and domestic problem.
Bert was handsome, too, and his mother knew everybody who was any bodyin Boston. If Nancy's grandfather Polk had been Chief Justice of theSupreme Court of Maryland, why, Bert was the seventh of his name indirect descent, and it was in Bert's great-great-grandfather's homethat several prominent citizens of Boston had assumed feathers andwarpaint for a celebrated tea-party a great many years ago.
More than that, Bert was at a sensible age for matrimony, twenty-five,and Nancy, like all southern girls, had ripened early, and attwenty-two had several years of dancing and flirting behind her. Therewas nothing impulsive about the affair. The two had trotted about theiradopted city for perhaps two years before Bert brought Nancy theenormous diamond that his mother had given him years ago for just thiswonderful time. Circumstances had helped them to know each other well.Nancy knew the sort of play that made Bert stutter with enthusiasm asthey walked home, and Bert knew that Nancy made adorable little faceswhen she tried on hats, and that her salary was fifteen dollars a week.At this time, and for some years later, Bert was only one of severalrenting agents employed by the firm of Pearsall and Pearsall, City RealEstate. He moved his office from one new office-building downtown toanother, sometimes warmed by clanking new radiators, sometimes carryinga gasoline stove with him into the region of new plaster and paint. Hisname was not important enough to be included in the list of tenants inthe vestibule, he was merely "Renting Office, Tenth Floor." And Nancyknew that when he had been a few months longer with Pearsall and