“Mrs. O’Toole has decided that she cares less about a title in the family than about Marie’s being happy, and as Marie never had any trouble in deciding what she couldn’t live without, she’s going to marry a nice man from Montana just as soon as she can get ready. Next fall, I suppose that will be.” “She’s been rather amusing,” reflected Madeline, “if she has bothered a lot at times.” Betty stared, wide-eyed, at this wrong-headed view of things. “She never meant to bother. And she was the one who made me decide about Jim.” Madeline laughed gleefully. “I wondered how long you’d keep on talking as if splendid gifts to Harding College were your chief interest in life, Betty Wales. By the way, speaking of tea-shops, has Mr. Morton answered your letter?” “He telegraphed,” Betty explained. “He just said, ‘He’s a nice boy, Miss B. A., and you can manage him, so I wish you much joy.’ Not a word about the Coach and Six. I hope he isn’t hurt at my backing out. Do you think he can be, Madeline?” For answer Madeline picked her small friend up and tucked her in among the cushions of the window-seat. “You are not to worry about people’s feeling hurt,” she ordered. “People will feel sorry, of course--foolish people like me. I have an idea that I’m going to miss you fearfully, Betty Wales. A career is an awfully lonely thing, the week your very best little pal is getting married. But you’ve always been true to your title. You’ve been Miss B. A. to Mr. Morton and to every single other soul you’ve ever had anything to do with. That’s why we’re bound not to lose you now, for all of Jim.” “You dear old Madeline! As if Jim or I wanted to lose our dearest friends! Now tell me about the wedding-with-features, so I can write it all to Mother, and then she won’t mind so much about the cottage. And help me think of some splendid gifts to suggest to President Wallace, so I can see him to-day, and then write to Mr. O’Toole that it’s all arranged. And help me to try on my bridesmaid’s dress for Babbie’s wedding, to be sure if it fits. See how I can’t get along without you, you dear silly Madeline!” “That’s one way to say it,” Madeline told her, “but the truth is---- Oh, stop me, somebody! If I get to sentimentalizing over the happy past I shall weep, and with a rapid succession of festal occasions looming before me I can’t spare a handkerchief so early in the game.”