“There, there, dear child, don't look so horror-stricken. There probably never was a man yet who wouldn't have fled from the wedding part of his marriage if he could; and you know how Cyril hates fuss and feathers. The wonder to me is that he's stood it as long as he has. I thought I saw it coming, last night at the rehearsal--and now I know I did.” Marie still looked distressed. “But he never said--I thought--” She stopped helplessly. “Of course he didn't, child. He never said anything but that he loved you, and he never thought anything but that you were going to be his. Men never do--till the wedding day. Then they never think of anything but a place to run,” she finished laughingly, as she began to arrange on a stand the quantity of little white boxes waiting for her. “But if he'd told me--in time, I wouldn't have had a thing--but the minister,” faltered Marie. “And when you think so much of a pretty wedding, too? Nonsense! It isn't good for a man, to give up to his whims like that!” Marie's cheeks grew a deeper pink. Her nostrils dilated a little. “It wouldn't be a 'whim,' Mrs. Hartwell, and I should be _glad_ to give up,” she said with decision. Mrs. Hartwell laughed again, her amused eyes on Marie's face. “Dear me, child! don't you know that if men had their way, they'd--well, if men married men there'd never be such a thing in the world as a shower bouquet or a piece of wedding cake!” There was no reply. A little precipitately Marie turned and hurried away. A moment later she was laying a restraining hand on Billy, who was filling tall vases with superb long-stemmed roses in the kitchen. “Billy, please,” she panted, “couldn't we do without those? Couldn't we send them to some--some hospital?--and the wedding cake, too, and--” “The wedding cake--to some _hospital!_” “No, of course not--to the hospital. It would make them sick to eat it, wouldn't it?” That there was no shadow of a smile on Marie's face showed how desperate, indeed, was her state of mind. “I only meant that I didn't want them myself, nor the shower bouquet, nor the rooms darkened, nor little Kate as the flower girl--and would you mind very much if I asked you not to be my maid of honor?” “_Marie!_” Marie covered her face with her hands then and began to sob brokenly; so there was nothing for Billy to do but to take her into her arms with soothing little murmurs and pettings. By degrees, then, the whole story came out. Billy almost laughed--but she almost cried, too. Then she said: