“It can’t be too soon for me,” he said. “Why not next week?” she suggested. He professed himself delighted. “And--Chris----” she added, with a blush, “I’d like ever so much to get a new dress for Sandra and a few little things----” He gave her a cheque for five hundred dollars, which he thought would be ample. So that he was surprised, on the wedding day, to find her wearing a grey suit he was sure he had seen on her before. She was waiting in the “Ladies’ Sitting Room,” with little Sandra beside her, dressed in a lace frock trimmed with ribbon and a flopping beflowered hat which almost hid her grave little face. He complimented Minnie upon her appearance, although he was deeply disappointed, and then began to praise Sandra, when Minnie burst into tears. “Oh, my poor, poor baby!” she sobbed. “My poor innocent little lamb! She doesn’t realise one bit---- Oh, you _will_ be nice to her, won’t you?” “Come, come! You know I will. She loves me already, don’t you, pet?” To his chagrin and surprise, the child answered clearly: “I don’t love you. I like you. I only love my daddy.” He knew quite well that she had been taught to say that. It wasn’t a child’s thought. He turned redder than ever, but held his peace. “I’m doing wrong!” cried Minnie. “You see!” “But surely.... Little Sandra, you like old Uncle Chris a lot, don’t you?” Sandra looked at her weeping mother, then at Mr. Petersen’s distressed face, and herself began to cry. Minnie caught her in her arms and tried to comfort her. “Don’t cry, dear. Mother wouldn’t let _anyone_ hurt you.” “Minnie!” he protested. “Oh, do stop!” she cried. “You don’t know anything about children. Don’t cry, sweetheart! You’re going to live right in the house with dear old Michael! Isn’t that _nice_!” Mr. Petersen suspected at this time and at future times, that Minnie didn’t do all she might to make the child fond of him. In the course of time she dried her eyes, her mother, red-eyed and pale, straightened her hat, and the festive wedding party set off for the church. It was evidently a terrible ordeal for Minnie. And for poor Mr. Petersen. He looked at her haggard and tormented face, and suffered from many new doubts. Was she marrying him for money, for a home for her child, for safety? “She doesn’t love me,” he said to himself, and added, with deeper unhappiness, “She doesn’t even _like_ me.” They went out, man and wife, back to Mr. Petersen’s house, where Mrs. Hansen waited to salute them. She knew her days there were numbered, but the occasion called for a smile and a cheerful demeanour, and she complied. III “Shall we put it in the papers?” asked Mr. Petersen. “No!” cried Minnie, “I hate that!”