It came to her then with a sharp sense of relief that no organization--no union--could well afford to boycott products simply because they were made by women. "Because then," she thought, "women could boycott things that were made by unions, and I'm sure the unions wouldn't want that." She mentioned this to Archey and it was decided that Judge Cutler should follow the strikers' committee to Washington and present the women's side of the case. Archey went, but the atmosphere of worry which he had brought with him stayed behind. Mary seemed to breathe it all day and to feel its oppression every time she awoke in the night. "What a thing it would be," she thought, "if they did declare a boycott! All the work we've done would go for nothing--all our hopes and plans--everything wiped right out--and every woman pushed right back in her trap--and a man sitting on the lid--with a boycott in his hand...!" The next day after a bad night, she was listlessly turning over the pages of a production report, when Mrs. Kelly came in glowing with enthusiasm, holding in her hand a book from the rest room library. "Miss Spencer," she said, "it's in this book that over on the other side the women in the factories had orchestras. I wonder if we couldn't have an orchestra now!" Mary's listlessness vanished. "I've talked it over with a lot of the women," continued Mrs. Kelly, "and they think it's great. I've come to quite a few that play different instruments. I only wish I knew my notes, so I could play something, too." Mary thought that over. It didn't seem right to her that the originator of the idea couldn't take part in it. "Couldn't you play the drum?" she suddenly asked. "Why, so I could!" beamed Mrs. Kelly in rare delight. "Do you mind then if I start a subscription for the instruments?" "No; I'll do that, if you'll promise to play the drum." "It's a promise," agreed Mrs. Kelly, and when she reached the hall outside and saw the size of Mary's subscription she joyfully smote an imaginary sheepskin, "Boom.... Boom.... Boom-boom-boom...!" That is the week that Wally was married--with a ceremony that Helen had determined should be the social event of the year. She was busy with her plans for weeks, making frequent trips to New York and Boston in the building up of her trousseau, arranging the details of the breakfast, making preparations for the decorations at the church and at the house on the hill, preparing and revising her list of those to be invited, ordering the cake and the boxes, attending to the engraving, choosing the music, keeping in touch with the bridesmaids and their dresses. "Why, she's as busy as I am," thought Mary one day, in growing surprise at Helen's knowledge and ability; and dimly she began to see that in herself and Helen were embodied two opposite ideas of feminine activity.