Edward felt these things and was oppressed. A great pity for Hazel and her following of forlorn creatures surged over him. A kind of dread grew up in him that he might not be able to defend them as he would wish. It did seem that helplessness went to the wall. Since Hazel had come with her sad philosophy of experience, he had begun to notice facts. He looked up towards the aloof sky as Hazel had done. 'He is love,' he said to himself. The blue sky received his certainty, as it had received Hazel's questioning, in regardless silence. Mrs. Marston observed Edward narrowly. Then she wrote in her hymn-book: 'Mem: Maltine; Edward.' The service was over. Edward smiled at her as he passed, and met Mr. James' frown with dignified good-humour. Foxy, even more willing to go out than to come in, ran on in front, and as they entered the house they heard from the cupboard under the stairs the epithalamium of the one-eyed cat. 'Oh, dear heart!' said Hazel tremulously, looking at the cake, 'I ne'er saw the like!' 'Mother iced it, dear.' Hazel ran to Mrs. Marston and put both her thin arms round her neck, kissing her in a storm of gratitude. 'There, there! quietly, my dear,' said Mrs. Marston. 'I'm glad it pleases.' She smoothed the purple silk smilingly. Hazel was forgiven. 'I'd a brought the big saw if I'd 'a thought,' said Abel jocosely. Only Mr. James was taciturn. Foxy was allowed in, and perambulated the room, to Mrs. Marston's supreme discomfort; every time Foxy drew near she gave a smothered scream. In spite of these various disadvantages, it was a merry party, and did not break up till dusk. After tea Abel played, Mr. James being very patronizing, saying at the end of each piece, 'Very good'; till Abel asked rudely, 'Can yer play yourself?' Edward came to the rescue by offering Mr. James tobacco. They drew round the fire, for the dusk came coldly, only Abel remaining in his corner playing furiously. He considered it only honest, after such a tea, to play his loudest. Hazel, happy but restless, played with Foxy beside the darkening window, low and many-paned and cumbered with bits of furniture dear to Mrs. Marston. Edward was showing his friend a cycle map of the country. Mrs. Marston was sleepily discussing hens--good layers, good sitters, good table-fowl--with Mr. James. Hazel, tired of playing with Foxy, knelt on the big round ottoman with its central peak of stuffed tapestry and looked idly from the window. Suddenly she cried out. Edward was alert in a moment. 'What is it, dear?' Hazel had sunk back on the ottoman, pale and speechless; but she realized that she must pull herself together. 'I stuck a pin in me,' she said. Tins in a wedding-dress? Oh, fie!' said Mrs. Marston. Tricked at your wedding, pricked for aye.' 'Oh, dear, dearie me!' cried Hazel, bursting into tears, and flinging herself at Edward's feet. Wondering, he comforted her. Mrs. Marston called for the lamp; the blinds were drawn, and all was saffron peace.