Adele turned and walked out of the room. She was married six weeks later. They had a regular pre-war wedding--veil, flowers, dinner, and all. Aunt Sophy arranged the folds of her gown and draped her veil. The girl stood looking at herself in the mirror, a curious half-smile twisting her lips. She seemed slighter and darker than ever. "In all this white, and my veil, I look just like a fly in a quart of milk," she said, with a laugh. Then, suddenly, she turned to her aunt who stood behind her and clung to her, holding her tight, tight. "I can't!" she gasped. "I can't! I can't!" Aunt Sophy held her off and looked at her, her eyes searching the girl. "What do you mean, Della? Are you just nervous or do you mean you don't want to marry him? Do you mean that? Then what are you marrying for? Tell me! Tell your Aunt Sophy." But Adele was straightening herself and pulling out the crushed folds of her veil. "To pay the mortgage on the old homestead, of course. Just like the girl in the play." She laughed a little. But Aunt Sophy did not laugh. "Now look here, Delia. If you're--" But there was a knock at the door. Adele caught up her flowers. "It's all right," she said. Aunt Sophy stood with her back against the door. "If it's money," she said. "It is! It is, isn't it! Listen. I've got money saved. It was for you children. I've always been afraid. I knew he was sailing pretty close, with his speculations and all, since the war. He can have it all. It isn't too late yet. Adele! Della, my baby." "Don't, Aunt Sophy. It wouldn't be enough, anyway. Daniel has been wonderful, really. Don't look like that. I'd have hated being poor, anyway. Never could have got used to it. It is ridiculous, though, isn't it? Like one of those melodramas, or a cheap movie. I don't mind. I'm lucky, really, when you come to think of it. A plain little black thing like me." "But your mother--" "Mother doesn't know a thing." Flora wept mistily all through the ceremony but Adele was composed enough for two. When, scarcely a month later, Baldwin came to Sophy Decker, his face drawn and queer, Sophy knew. "How much?" she said. "Thirty thousand will cover it. If you've got more than that--" "I thought Oakley--Adele said--" "He did, but he won't any more, and this thing's got to be met. It's this damned war that's done it. I'd have been all right. People got scared. They wanted their money. They wanted it in cash." "Speculating with it, were you?" "Oh, well, a woman doesn't understand these business deals." "No, naturally," said Aunt Sophy, "a butterfly like me." "Sophy, for God's sake don't joke now. I tell you this will cover it, and everything will be all right. If I had anybody else to go to for the money I wouldn't ask you. But you'll get it back. You know that." Aunt Sophy got up, heavily, and went over to her desk. "It was for the children, anyway. They won't need it now." He looked up at that. Something in her voice. "Who won't? Why won't they?"