“That's so,” assented the dress-maker. “Have you got the back breadths run together, Miss Bunner? Here's the sleeves. I'll pin 'em together.” She drew a cluster of pins from her mouth, in which she seemed to secrete them as squirrels stow away nuts. “There,” she said, rolling up her work, “you go right away to bed, Miss Evelina, and we'll set up a little later to-morrow night. I guess you're a mite nervous, ain't you? I know when my turn comes I'll be scared to death.” With this arch forecast she withdrew, and Ann Eliza, returning to the back room, found Evelina still listlessly seated by the table. True to her new policy of silence, the elder sister set about folding up the bridal dress; but suddenly Evelina said in a harsh unnatural voice: “There ain't any use in going on with that.” The folds slipped from Ann Eliza's hands. “Evelina Bunner--what you mean?” “Jest what I say. It's put off.” “Put off--what's put off?” “Our getting married. He can't take me to St. Louis. He ain't got money enough.” She brought the words out in the monotonous tone of a child reciting a lesson. Ann Eliza picked up another breadth of cashmere and began to smooth it out. “I don't understand,” she said at length. “Well, it's plain enough. The journey's fearfully expensive, and we've got to have something left to start with when we get out there. We've counted up, and he ain't got the money to do it--that's all.” “But I thought he was going right into a splendid place.” “So he is; but the salary's pretty low the first year, and board's very high in St. Louis. He's jest got another letter from his German friend, and he's been figuring it out, and he's afraid to chance it. He'll have to go alone.” “But there's your money--have you forgotten that? The hundred dollars in the bank.” Evelina made an impatient movement. “Of course I ain't forgotten it. On'y it ain't enough. It would all have to go into buying furniture, and if he was took sick and lost his place again we wouldn't have a cent left. He says he's got to lay by another hundred dollars before he'll be willing to take me out there.” For a while Ann Eliza pondered this surprising statement; then she ventured: “Seems to me he might have thought of it before.” In an instant Evelina was aflame. “I guess he knows what's right as well as you or me. I'd sooner die than be a burden to him.” Ann Eliza made no answer. The clutch of an unformulated doubt had checked the words on her lips. She had meant, on the day of her sister's marriage, to give Evelina the other half of their common savings; but something warned her not to say so now. The sisters undressed without farther words. After they had gone to bed, and the light had been put out, the sound of Evelina's weeping came to Ann Eliza in the darkness, but she lay motionless on her own side of the bed, out of contact with her sister's shaken body. Never had she felt so coldly remote from Evelina.