Descended to the ground， James Williams faced hiscaptors with a smile. He was thinking what a good storyhe would have to tell in Cloverdale about having beenmistaken for a burglar. The Rubberneck coach lingered，out of respect for its patrons. What could be a moreinteresting sight than this？
“My name is James Williams， of Cloverdale， Missouri，”
he said kindly， so that they would not be too greatlymortified. “I have letters here that will show—”
“You’ll come with us， please，” announced the plainclothesman. “‘Pinky’ McGuire’s description fits you like flannelwashed in hot suds. A detective saw you on the Rubberneckup at Central Park and ’phoned down to take you in. Doyour explaining at the station-house.”
James Williams’s wife—his bride of two weeks—lookedhim in the face with a strange， soft radiance in her eyesand a flush on her cheeks， looked him in the face and said：
“Go with ’em quietly， ‘Pinky，’ and maybe it’ll be in yourfavour.”
And then as the Glaring-at-Gotham car rolled away sheturned and threw a kiss—his wife threw a kiss—at someone high up on the seats of the Rubberneck.
“Your girl gives you good advice， McGuire，” said Donovan.
“Come on， now.”
And then madness descended upon and occupied JamesWilliams. He pushed his hat far upon the back of his head.
“My wife seems to think I am a burglar，” he said，recklessly. “I never heard of her being crazy； therefore Imust be. And if I’m crazy， they can’t do anything to me forkilling you two fools in my madness.”
Whereupon he resisted arrest so cheerfully andindustriously that cops had to be whistled for， andafterwards the reserves， to disperse a few thousanddelighted spectators.
At the station-house the desk sergeant asked for hisname.
“McDoodle， the Pink， or Pinky the Brute， I forgetwhich，” was James Williams’s answer. “But you can bet I’ma burglar； don’t leave that out. And you might add that ittook five of ’em to pluck the Pink. I’d especially like tohave that in the records.”
In an hour came Mrs. James Williams， with UncleThomas， of Madison Avenue， in a respect-compellingmotor car and proofs of the hero’s innocence—for allthe world like the third act of a drama backed by anautomobile mfg. co.
After the police had sternly reprimanded James Williamsfor imitating a copyrighted burglar and given him ashonourable a discharge as the department was capable of，Mrs. Williams rearrested him and swept him into an angleof the station-house. James Williams regarded her withone eye. He always said that Donovan closed the otherwhile somebody was holding his good right hand. Neverbefore had he given her a word of reproach or of reproof.
“If you can explain，” he began rather stiffly， “why you—”
“Dear，” she interrupted， “listen. It was an hour’s pain andtrial to you. I did it for her—I mean the girl who spoke tome on the coach. I was so happy， Jim—so happy with youthat I didn’t dare to refuse that happiness to another. Jim，they were married only this morning—those two； and Iwanted him to get away. While they were struggling withyou I saw him slip from behind his tree and hurry acrossthe park. That’s all of it， dear—I had to do it.”
Thus does one sister of the plain gold band knowanother who stands in the enchanted light that shines butonce and briefly for each one. By rice and satin bows doesmere man become aware of weddings. But bride knowethbride at the glance of an eye. And between them swiftlypasses comfort and meaning in a language that man andwidows wot not of.