Balcome nodded. "I guess you're right," he confided. "Patience. That's it." And to Mrs. Milo, "Say, when do we rehearse this tragedy?"--Whereat Dora cupped one hand over her mouth and fled the room. Mrs. Balcome was stung to action. "Hear that!" she cried, appealing to Mrs. Milo. "A father, of his daughter's wedding!" "Oh, sh!" cautioned Mrs. Milo. Balcome glared. "Let me tell you this," he went on, as if to the room in general, "if Hattie's going to act like her mother, she'd better stop the whole business today." He sat down. "Now, Brother Balcome,"--this pleadingly. "Don't call me _brother_!" shouted Mr. Balcome. That shout, like a shot, brought Mrs. Balcome down. She plumped upon the sofa. "Oh, now you see what I have to bear!" she wailed. "Now, you understand! Oh! Oh!" She buried her face in the coat of the convenient Babette. Mrs. Milo hastened to her, soothing, imploring. And Balcome rose, to pace the floor, flapping at his knee with each step. "Now, you see what _I_ have to bear," he mocked. "My only daughter marries, and her mother brings that hunk of hydrophobia to rehearsal." At this critical juncture, with Mrs. Balcome's weeping gaining in volume, a gay voice sounded from the library--"Toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot-toot!" The library door opened, disclosing Sue. She let the doorway frame her, and waited, inviting attention. She was no longer in her simple work-dress. Silk and net and lace--this was her bridesmaid's gown. Balcome's face widened in a grin. "By Jove, you look fine!" "Thanks to you!" "Shush! Shush!" He shook hands. "Not married yet?" Mrs. Milo, busily engaged in quieting Mrs. Balcome, lifted her head, but without turning. "_I?_" laughed Sue. "Understand there's a good-looking parson here." A quick smile--toward the door leading to the Church. Sue fell to arranging her dress. "Mm, yes," she answered, a little absent-mindedly; "yes, there is--one here." "Oh, marry! Marry! Marry!" scolded Mrs. Milo. "I think people are marry crazy." Balcome laughed. "I believe you!--Sue, why don't you capture that parson?" Mrs. Milo rose, taking a peep at the tiny watch hidden under the frill at a wrist. "Susan," she said sweetly, "will you see what the florist is doing?" "Oh, he's all right, mother dear. He----" "Do you want your mother to do it?" "Oh, no, mother. No." All gauze and sheen, like a mammoth butterfly, Sue hurried across the room. "I must save my strength for tomorrow," explained Mrs. Milo, and turned with that benevolent smile. The next moment she flung up her hands. "Susan!" Sue halted. "Ah-ha-a-a-a!" she cried triumphantly. "I thought it'd surprise you, mother! Isn't it lovely? Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it an improvement over that old gray satin of mine?" She came back to stroll to and fro, parading. "As Ikey says, 'Ain't it peaches?'" "Tum-tum-tee-tum," hummed Balcome, in an attempt at the wedding-march.