Mrs. Milo started. "Well,--er--the fact is," she admitted, "he didn't exactly show it to me." "Oh." It was scarcely more than a breath. Mrs. Milo tossed her head. "No," she added tartly, a trifle ruffled by what the low-spoken exclamation so plainly implied. "If you must know, it fell out of his bureau drawer." Mrs. Balcome threw out a plump arm across the bending back of the sofa and touched a sleeve of the satin gown covertly. "Hm!" she coughed, with meaning. But Hattie only moved aside irritably. Of a sudden, she was strangely pale. Dora entered. "Miss Susan, a telephone summons," she announced. "Yes--yes,"--absent-mindedly. When she was gone, Mrs. Milo rose and hastened to Dora, who seemed on guard as she waited, leaned against the library door. "Who is telephoning?" she asked. Dora's eyes narrowed--to hide their smile. "Oh, Mrs. Milo," she answered, intoning gravely, "the fourth verse, of the thirteenth chapter--or is it the ninth?--of Isaiah." With face raised, as if she were still cudgeling her brain, she crossed toward the vestibule. "Isaiah--Isaiah," murmured Mrs. Milo. Then, as Dora seemed about to escape, "Dora!--I wouldn't speak in parables, my child, when there are others present." She smiled kindly. "It is the soloist telephoning," explained Dora; then, so deliberately as almost to be impudent, "A _girl_." Mrs. Milo showed instant relief. "Oh, the soloist! Such a dear girl. She sang here a year or so ago. Yes,--Miss Crosby." Dora out, Mrs. Balcome turned a look of wisdom upon her hostess. "I see," she insinuated, "that we're very much interested in the new minister." Like that of a startled deer, up came Mrs. Milo's head. "What do you mean?" she demanded. "If he isn't engaged already, prepare for wedding Number Two." "_Wedding?_" Mrs. Balcome tipped forward bulkily. "Sue," she nodded. Mrs. Milo got to her feet. "Sue! What're you talking about? Why, she never even speaks of marriage." "Well, maybe she--thinks." "She doesn't think, either. She has her work, and--and her home." Mrs. Milo was fairly trembling. "How do you know she doesn't think? It's perfectly natural." "I know. And please don't bring up the subject in her presence." "Why, my dear!" chided Mrs. Balcome, amazed at the passion flaming in the blue eyes. "And don't tease her about Mr. Farvel." That voice so habitually well modulated became suddenly shrill. "Don't you like him?"--soothingly. "Not well enough to give my daughter to him." "Well," simpered Mrs. Balcome, all elephantine playfulness, "we mustn't expect perfection in our son-in-laws. Though Wallace is wonderful--isn't he, Hattie?" Hattie's back was turned. "I--I suppose so," she answered, low. "You suppose so!" Mrs. Balcome was shocked. "I must say, Hattie, you're taking this whole thing very calmly--very. And right in front of the boy's mother!"