It was Mrs. Balcome, looking exceedingly wrathful. She puffed her way across the grass, clutching to her the unfortunate Babette, and dragging (though she had just arrived) at the crumpled upper of a long kid glove, much as if she were pulling it on preparatory to a fight. "Mr. Farvel,"--he had risen politely--"I have come to take away the presents and other things belonging to us. Since you have seen fit to turn my best friend out of her home, naturally the wedding cannot be solemnized here." Farvel bowed, reddening with anger. "Wallace Milo's wedding cannot be solemnized here," he said quietly. "_In_-deed!" Ikey had entered with another box. She received it, scolding as she put down the dog and pulled at the fastening of the package. "Oh, such lack of charity! Such shameless lack of ordinary consideration! What do you care that the wedding must take place at some hotel! And you know these decorations won't keep! And it's a clergyman who's showing such a spirit! That's what makes it more terrible! A man who pretends----" Busy with the box, she had failed to see that Farvel was no longer present. Now she whirled about, looking for him. "Oh, such impudence! Such impudence!" she stormed. Ikey indicated the package. "De man, he said, 'Put it on ice,'" he cautioned. "Ice?" Mrs. Balcome stared. "What's in it?" "It felt like somet'ing for a little girl." With a muttered exclamation, she threw the box upon the grass. "Is Miss Susan here?" she demanded. "I don't know." Ikey's eyes were clear pools of truth. "Have my daughter and her father arrived yet?" "I don't know." "Well, have they telephoned?" Mrs. Balcome strove to curb her rising irritation. "I don't know." Patience could bear no more. "What's the matter with you?" she cried. "Don't you know anything?" "Not'ing," boasted Ikey. "I promised, now, dat I vouldn't, und I keep my vord!" Mrs. Balcome seized him by a sleeve of his faded blue waist. "You promised who?" she screeched, forgetting grammar in her anger. "I'll report you to Mrs. Milo, that's what I'll do! How dare----" A hearty voice interrupted. "Good-morning, my boy! Good-morning!" Balcome grinned broadly, pleased at this opportunity of contrasting his cordiality with the harshness of his better half. Ikey was not slow in recognizing opportunity either. "Goot-mornin'," he returned, ostentatiously rubbing an arm. "Is Miss Milo at home?" inquired Balcome, with exaggerated politeness, enjoying the evident embarrassment of the lady present, who--not unlike Lot's wife--had suddenly turned, as it were, into a frozen pillar. "I don't know," chanted Ikey. "Well, is Mr. Farvel at home?" Now, Ikey stretched out weary hand. "Oh, please," he begged, "_don't_ make me lie no more!" "Ha-a-a-a?" cried Balcome. "_What?_" exclaimed Mrs. Balcome. Ikey nodded, shaking that injured finger. "To lie ain't Christian," he reminded slyly.