"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.