That Makes the World Go Round by Marie Conway Oemler

If I hadn't loved Willy more than any girl had ever loved any man before, I should never, never, never have had the wild courage to marry him, on account of my mother; and if Willy hadn't adored me to distraction, he would never, never, never have had the temerity to marry me, on account of his father. Not that there was anything in the least objectionable about Willy's father, or about my mother, who are about as dear, delightful angels as one shall find this side of Elysium. But -- divided, they stood; united, they simply fell upon each other, tooth and claw!

When Willy passed the little millinery shop in West 127th Street, with the big "Valleau et Cie. " above the door, and glancing in saw the "Cie. " -- who was only little me -- sitting with head bent over the bunch of red roses which was to adorn a stunning hat, he stopped dead short and stared with all his blue, honest, German eyes, -- the very nicest eyes that ever were. And I looked up and stared back with my French black ones. From that moment neither of us had the faintest doubt but that the good God had meant us for each other. It was just like that! One minute before, and I had had no thought but of making a fine hat, and Willy had had no thought but of hurrying on to his luncheon; and the next moment the eternal, beautiful miracle had happened, snatching us out of every-day ordinary 127th Street and plumping us into Paradise, an Adam and Eve who didn't know each other's name.