"Dear Miss Crosby, I'm so glad to see you again!"
Mrs. Milo came hurrying across the drawing-room to greet the soloist.
Miss Crosby shook hands heartily. She was smartly dressed in a
wine-colored velveteen, the over-short skirt of which barely reached to
the tops of her freshly whitened spats. Her wide hat was tipped to a
rakish angle. She was young (twenty-eight or thirty at most, but she
looked less) and distinctly pretty. Her features were regular, her
face oval, if too thin--with the thinness of one who is underfed. And
this appearance of being poorly nourished showed in her skin, which was
pallid, except where she had touched it on cheeks and chin with rouge.
A neck a trifle too long and too lean was accentuated by a wide boyish
collar of some starched material. But her eyes were fine--not large,
but dark and lustrous under their black brows and heavy lashes. Worn
in waves that testified to the use of the curling-iron, her yellow hair
was in striking contrast to them. But this bright tint was plainly the
result of bleaching. And both hair and rouge served to emphasize lines
in her face that had not been made by time--lines of want, and
struggle, and suffering; lines of experience. These showed mostly
about her mouth, a thin mouth made more pronounced by the cautious use
of the lip-stick.
"My dear," beamed Mrs. Milo, "are you singing away as hard as ever?"
"Oh, I have a great many weddings," declared the other, with a note
that was somewhat bragging.
Mrs. Milo looked down at the long, slender, ungloved hand still held in
one of hers. "Ah," she went on, playfully teasing, "but I see you're
not always going to sing at other girls' weddings."
Miss Crosby pulled her hand free, and thrust it behind her among the
folds of her skirt. "Well,--I--I----" She gave a sudden frightened
look around, as if seeking some way of escape.
Sue was quick to her rescue. "Don't you want to wait with the choir?"
she asked, waving a hand. "--You, too, Hattie."
Mrs. Milo seemed not to notice the singer's confusion. And when the
latter disappeared with Hattie, she appealed to Sue, beaming with
excitement. "Did you notice?" she asked. "A solitaire! She's engaged
to be married!"
"Married!" echoed Sue, and shook her head.
"Oh, yes. You're thinking of the Balconies. Well, now you see why
I've never felt too badly about your not taking the step."
"You mean that most marriages----?"
"It's a lottery--a lottery." Mrs. Milo sighed.
"But your marriage--yours and father's----"
"My marriage was a great exception--a very great exception."
"And there's Hattie and Wallace," went on Sue. "Oh, it would be too
terrible----"
"There are few men as good as my son," said Mrs. Milo, proudly; "--you
darling boy!" For Wallace had entered the room.
He came to them quickly. His pale face was unwontedly anxious.
"Is anything wrong?" questioned Sue.
"No," he declared. But his whole manner belied his words. "Only--only
there'll be a change tomorrow--an outside minister."
"_What?_" exclaimed Mrs. Milo. And to Sue, "Didn't I tell you!"
"But if Mr. Farvel doesn't wish to officiate," she argued.
Her brother caught at the suggestion. "Exactly," he said. "He doesn't
wish."
"What's the matter with him?" demanded Mrs. Milo, harshly.
"He has a reason," explained Wallace, in a tone that was meant to cut
off further inquiry.
"A reason? Indeed! And what is it? Isn't dear Hattie to be
consulted?"
Wallace put out his hands imploringly. "Hattie won't care," he argued.
"And, oh, mother, let's not worry her about it!"
Mrs. Milo smiled wisely. "I've always said," she reminded, turning to
Sue, "that there's something about Mr. Farvel that--well----" She
shrugged.
Wallace's hands were opening and shutting almost convulsively.
"Mother," he begged, "can I see Sue alone?"
Mrs. Milo's eyes softened with understanding. "My baby, of course."
She kissed him fondly and hurried out to join Mrs. Balcome. His
request was a familiar one. He called upon his sister not infrequently
for financial help, and to his mother it was a point greatly in his
favor that he shrank from asking for money in the presence of any third
person.
His mother gone, Wallace turned to Sue. She had the same thought
concerning the nature of what was troubling him; for he looked
harassed--worn and pathetically helpless. He was more stooped than
usual. The sight of him touched Sue's heart.
"Well, old brother," she said tenderly, putting a hand on his arm. "Is
the bridegroom short of cash? Now that would never do. And you know
I'm always ready----"
"Not that," he answered; "--not this time. I'm all right. It's--Alan."
"He's not happy!"
"No." Wallace glanced away. "But it's--it's an old story."
"Can I help him?"
He shook his head. "Nobody can do anything. We'll just change
ministers."
She struggled against the next question. "It's about a--a girl?"
As if startled, he stared at her. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, I--I don't know." She laughed a little, embarrassed. "But most
men at his age----"
"Well, it is about a girl," he admitted. "She disappeared--oh, nine or
ten years ago."
"I--see."
"But don't say anything to Hattie about it. She likes Farvel.
And--and she isn't any too enthusiastic about marrying me."
A smile came back into Sue's gray eyes. "My dear brother!" she
exclaimed.
"Oh, I'm not blind."
Sue addressed the room. "Our young mining-engineer," she observed with
mock gravity, "'he is jealousy'."
Wallace was trembling. "I love her," he said half-brokenly; "I love
her better than anything else in the world! But--but did you see her
look at him? when she had her wedding-dress on, and he and I came in?"
"Wallace!"--pity and reproval mingled in Sue's tone. Again she laid a
hand on his sleeve. "Oh, don't let doubt or--or anything enter your
heart now--at this wonderful hour of your life--oh, Wallace, when
you're just beginning all your years with her! Your marriage must be
happy! Marriages can be happy--I know it! They're not all like her
mother's. But don't start wrong! Oh, don't start wrong!" There were
tears in her eyes.
Farvel came in from the Church. He was himself again, and slammed the
door quite cheerily.
Wallace turned almost as if to intercept him. "I've fixed everything,
old man," he said quickly. "It's all right."
"But I can officiate as well as not," urged Farvel, passing the younger
man by and coming to Sue. "I don't want you to think I'm notional."
"She won't," declared Wallace, before Sue could speak. "I've
explained."
"Ah." Farvel nodded, satisfied. "You--you know, then. Well, I've
always wanted you to know."
She tried to smile back at him, to find an answer.
Her brother was urging Farvel to go. "You'll find someone to marry us,
won't you?" he begged. "Right away, Alan?"
"Oh, I understand," said Farvel. "I'd be a damper, wouldn't I?"
"Oh, no! Not that!"
Farvel laid a hand on Wallace's shoulder. "He feels as bad about it as
I do, dear old fellow!" he said.
The other moved away a step, and as if to take Farvel with him. "Yes,
Alan. Yes. But don't talk about it today. Not today."
Farvel crossed to the sofa and sat down. "I know," he admitted. "But
today--this wedding--I don't--I can't seem to get her out of my mind."
Then as if moved by a poignant thought, he bent his head and covered
his face with both hands.
Sue was beside him at once. And dropped to a knee. "Oh, I wish I
could help you," she said comfortingly.
Farvel did not look up. He began to speak in a muffled voice. "What
did I do to deserve it?" he asked brokenly. "That's what I ask myself.
What did I do?"
"Nothing!" she answered. "Nothing! Oh, don't blame yourself." Her
hand went up to touch one of his.
He uncovered his face and looked at her. He seemed to have aged all at
once. "Oh, forgive me," he pleaded. "I don't want to worry you."
A gasping cry came from a door across the room. Mrs. Milo had entered,
and was standing staring at the two in amazement and anger. "Susan
Milo!" she cried.
"Oh!" Without rising, Sue began to pick up bits of smilax dropped from
the florist's basket. "Yes, mother?" she replied inquiringly.
Mrs. Milo hurried forward. "What _are_ you doing on your knees?"
"Mother dear," returned Sue, "did you ever see anything like smilax to
get all over the place?" Her voice trembled like the voice of a child
caught in wrongdoing. "One little bit here--one little bit there----"
"Get up," ordered her mother, curtly. And as Sue rose, "What's the
matter with you, Mr. Farvel? Are you sick?"
"Mother!"--it was a low appeal.
Farvel rose, a trifle wearily. "No," he answered, meeting the angry
look of the elder woman calmly. "I am not sick."
Mrs. Milo turned to vent her wrath upon Sue. "I declare I don't know
what to think of you," she scolded. "Down on the carpet, making an
exhibition of yourself!"
Sue's look beseeched Farvel. "Don't stay for rehearsal," she said.
"Find another clergyman."
"That's best," he answered; "yes."
Mrs. Milo broke in upon them, not able to control herself. "Where's
your dignity?" she demanded of Sue. "Acting like a romantic
schoolgirl--a great, overgrown woman."
Farvel bowed to Sue with formality, ignoring her mother. "You're very
kind," he said. "I'm grateful." With Wallace following, he went out
by the door leading to the Church.
Instantly Mrs. Milo grew more calm. She seated herself with something
of a judicial air. "Now, what's this all about?" she asked. "You know
that I don't like a mystery."
Sue came to stand before her mother. And again her attitude was not
that of one woman talking to another, but that of a child, anxious to
excuse a fault. "Well,--well," she began haltingly, "someone he cared
for--disappeared."
"Cared for," repeated Mrs. Milo, instant relief showing in her tone.
"Ah, indeed! A girl, I suppose?"
"Y-y-yes."
Still more pleased, her mother leaned back, smiling. "And she
disappeared, did she? Well, I don't wonder he's so secret about it.
Ha! ha!"--that well-bred, rippling laugh.
Sue stared down at her. "You mean----" she asked; "you mean----"
Mrs. Milo lifted her eyebrows. "My daughter," she answered, "don't you
know that there's only one reason why a girl drops out of sight?"
In amazement Sue fell back a step. "Mother!" she cried. Then turned
abruptly, and went out into the Close.
Mrs. Milo stood up, on her face conscious guilt for her suspicion and
her lack of charity. But she was appalled--almost stunned. Never in
all her life before had her daughter left her in such a way. "I
declare!" burst forth the elder woman. "I declare!" Then following
Sue a few steps, and calling after her through the open door, "Well,
what fills that basket out there? And what fills our Orphanage?" And
more weakly, but still in an effort to justify herself, "What--what
other reason can you suggest, I'd like to know! And--and it's just
plain, common sense!" She came back to stand alone, staring before
her. Then she sank to a chair.
Wallace returned. "Where's Sue, mother?" he asked.
"What?--Oh, it's you, darling? She--she stepped out."
"Out?"
"Into the Close."
"Oh." He hurried across the room.
Mrs. Milo fluttered to her feet. "I--I can't have that choir in the
library any longer," she declared decisively. And left the room.
Sue entered in answer to her brother's call, and came straight to him.
She had forgotten her anger by now; her look was anxious.
"Sue, let's go ahead with the rehearsal," he begged.
"Wallace,"--she gripped both of his wrists, as if she were determined
to hold him until she had the answers she sought--"you knew her--that
girl?"
He averted his eyes. "Why, yes."
She spoke very low. "Was she--sweet?"
"Yes; sweet,"--with a note of impatience.
"Light--or dark?"
"Rather dark." Again he showed irritation.
"Was she--was she pretty?"
"She was beautiful."
Her hands fell. She turned away. "And she dropped right out of his
life," she said, as if to herself. Then coming about suddenly, "Why,
Wallace? You don't know?"
"I--do--not--know." He dragged at his hair with a nervous hand.
She lowered her voice again. "Wallace,--she--she didn't have to go?"
Her brother made a gesture of angry impatience. "Oh, I'm disappointed
in you!" he cried. "I thought you were different from other women.
But you're just as quick to think wrong!"
She brought her hands together; and a look, wistful and appealing, gave
to her face that curiously childlike expression. "Well, influence of
the basket," she admitted ruefully, and hung her head.
He thrust his hands into his pockets sulkily, and turned his back.
Mrs. Balcome came puffing in. "Say, you know dear Babette is getting
very tired," she announced pettishly. "And I wish----"
As if in answer to her complaining, there came a burst of song. The
library door swung wide. And forward, with serene and uplifted faces,
came the choir, singing the wedding-march. Each cotta swayed in time.
Balcome and Hattie followed the procession, the former scolding.
"Well, are we rehearsing at last, or what are we doing?" he demanded as
he passed Sue.
Mrs. Balcome shook with laughter. "Fancy anybody being such a dolt as
to rehearse without a minister!" she scoffed.
The choir filed out, and their song came floating back from the Close.
Miss Crosby entered and went to Sue. "Miss Milo, don't I sing before
the ceremony?" she asked.
Sue roused herself with a shake of the head and a helpless laugh.
"Well, you see how much _I_ know about weddings," she answered. "Now,
I'm going to introduce the bridegroom." Wallace was beside Hattie,
leaning over her with anxious devotion, and whispering. Sue pulled at
his sleeve. "Wallace," she said, "you haven't met Miss Crosby." And
to Miss Crosby as he turned, a little annoyed at being interrupted,
"This is the lucky man."
Miss Crosby's expression was one of polite interest. Wallace, trying
to smile, bowed. Then their eyes met----
"A-a-a-aw!" It was a strange, strangling cry--like the terrified cry of
some dumb thing, suddenly cornered. Miss Crosby's mouth opened wide,
her eyes bulged. Upon her dead white face in startling contrast stood
out the three spots of rouge.
"Laura!" gasped Wallace.
For a moment they stood thus, facing each other. Then with a rush the
girl went, her arms thrown out as if to fend off any who might seek to
detain her. She pulled the door to the vestibule against herself as if
she were half-blinded, stumbled around it, slammed it shut behind her,
and was gone.