“Oh, yes; _here_, Uncle Albert!” cried Blanche, who, I know, would regard this wedding as a dress-rehearsal of her own. And then she and Theo began to enlarge, in a kind of two-part pæon, on this function that will never be. “A big tent on the lawn——” “Red carpet across the gravel——” “A _huge_ wedding-cake just in that very place”—with a bacchanalian gesture towards the mirrored table-centre. “All the lovely presents put out in the den——” “Too small, Blanche! I know Uncle Albert will want to give them _all_ his furniture.” “In mother’s bedroom, then! We could easily get it to look like not that at all!” “Yes, and Billy and Nancy standing up in the drawing-room together for all the people to look at and shake hands with, and kiss——” (Here a sound as of the word “Pup-chick!” from the other parlourmaid, who was disposing the finger-glasses.) “Yes, and showers of confetti dropping out of everybody’s hat for weeks afterwards——” “And the band playing like anything all the time—_all_ the wedding-marches and glides and rag time and all the waltzes that make you feel you _must_ dance——” “And a white satin slipper tied on to the back of the motor when they go away——” “Yes! One of mine, so’s you can see it! Oh, won’t it be a gorgeous day!” trumpeted Theo, bounding up and down as if wire springs only held her to her chair. “Oh, _why_ isn’t it going to be next week? Still, even this evening is _almost_ as good as a sort of wedding-breakfast! Don’t you think so, everybody? With Nancy looking so sweet in that dress, and the way I’ve done the table, and the champagne, and everything? Only, in one way”—crescendo—“it’s _better_! Because, if it were the _real_ wedding, the bride and bridegroom would be leaving us to-night! And as it is, they’re staying on,” concluded Theodora, with a peal of rapturous laughter, “and there’ll be _no_ horrid good-byes to say, and _no_ crying!” “_Won’t_ there!” came from the straight lips of her brother, in a grimmer and more deadly tone than even I had ever heard. “_You’ll_ be crying, miss, before the evening’s over.” And, to anticipate a little, she _was_. In half an hour or so, the easily-wounded heart of thirteen was being sobbed out on her pillow. For when, after the gratifications of a “quite grown-up bow” from Major Montresor and a prophecy from Uncle Albert that it wouldn’t be many years now before Theo had a wedding-breakfast-table of her own to decorate, the child had turned a glowing face up to her brother’s, she had received only the curtest of “good nights” dropped over his shoulder. * * * * * To me the thought of that farewell glimpse of him was nothing less than a reprieve.