Billy laughed. She was beginning to discern that it did not do much harm--nor much good--to disagree with her guest. “It's in the evening, then, of course?” pursued Mrs. Hartwell. “No; at noon.” “Oh, how could you let them?” “But they preferred it, Mrs. Hartwell.” “What if they did?” retorted the lady, sharply. “Can't you do as you please in your own home? Evening weddings are so much prettier! We can't change now, of course, with the guests all invited. That is, I suppose you do have guests!” Mrs. Hartwell's voice was aggrievedly despairing. “Oh, yes,” smiled Billy, demurely. “We have guests invited--and I'm afraid we can't change the time.” “No, of course not; but it's too bad. I conclude there are announcements only, as I got no cards. “Announcements only,” bowed Billy. “I wish Cyril had consulted _me_, a little, about this affair.” Billy did not answer. She could not trust herself to speak just then. Cyril's words of two days before were in her ears: “Yes, and it will give Big Kate time to try to make your breakfast supper, and your roses pinks--or sunflowers.” In a moment Mrs. Hartwell spoke again. “Of course a noon wedding is quite pretty if you darken the rooms and have lights--you're going to do that, I suppose?” Billy shook her head slowly. “I'm afraid not, Mrs. Hartwell. That isn't the plan, now.” “Not darken the rooms!” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell. “Why, it won't--” She stopped suddenly, and fell back in her seat. The look of annoyed disappointment gave way to one of confident relief. “But then, _that can_ be changed,” she finished serenely. Billy opened her lips, but she shut them without speaking. After a minute she opened them again. “You might consult--Cyril--about that,” she said in a quiet voice. “Yes, I will,” nodded Mrs. Hartwell, brightly. She was looking pleased and happy again. “I love weddings. Don't you? You can _do_ so much with them!” “Can you?” laughed Billy, irrepressibly. “Yes. Cyril is happy, of course. Still, I can't imagine _him_ in love with any woman.” “I think Marie can.” “I suppose so. I don't seem to remember her much; still, I think I saw her once or twice when I was on last June. Music teacher, wasn't she?” “Yes. She is a very sweet girl.” “Hm-m; I suppose so. Still, I think 'twould have been better if Cyril could have selected some one that _wasn't_ musical--say a more domestic wife. He's so terribly unpractical himself about household matters.” Billy gave a ringing laugh and stood up. The car had come to a stop before her own door. “Do you? Just you wait till you see Marie's trousseau of--egg-beaters and cake tins,” she chuckled. Mrs. Hartwell looked blank. “Whatever in the world do you mean, Billy?” she demanded fretfully, as she followed her hostess from the car. “I declare! aren't you ever going to grow beyond making those absurd remarks of yours?” “Maybe--sometime,” laughed Billy, as she took little Kate's hand and led the way up the steps.