“Dearie, I don't believe Cyril feels or acts half so bad as Bertram and Kate make out, and, anyhow, if he did, it's too late now to--to send the wedding cake to the hospital, or make any other of the little changes you suggest.” Billy's lips puckered into a half-smile, but her eyes were grave. “Besides, there are your music pupils trimming the living-room this minute with evergreen, there's little Kate making her flower-girl wreath, and Mrs. Hartwell stacking cake boxes in the hall, to say nothing of Rosa gloating over the best china in the dining-room, and Aunt Hannah putting purple bows into the new lace cap she's counting on wearing. Only think how disappointed they'd all be if I should say: 'Never mind--stop that. Marie's just going to have a minister. No fuss, no feathers!' Why, dearie, even the roses are hanging their heads for grief,” she went on mistily, lifting with gentle fingers one of the full-petalled pink beauties near her. “Besides, there's your--guests.” “Oh, of course, I knew I couldn't--really,” sighed Marie, as she turned to go up-stairs, all the light and joy gone from her face. Billy, once assured that Marie was out of hearing, ran to the telephone. Bertram answered. “Bertram, tell Cyril I want to speak to him, please.” “All right, dear, but go easy. Better strike up your tuning fork to find his pitch to-day. You'll discover it's a high one, all right.” A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous “Good morning, Billy,” came across the line. Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly apprehensive glance over her shoulder to make sure Marie was not near. “Cyril,” she called in a low voice, “if you care a shred for Marie, for heaven's sake call her up and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and pink ribbons, and pink breakfasts--and pink wedding cake!” “But I don't.” “Oh, yes, you do--to-day! You would--if you could see Marie now.” “What do you mean?” “Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's nonsensical talk with Kate a little while ago, and she's ready to cast the last ravelling of white satin and conventionality behind her, and go with you to the justice of the peace.” “Sensible girl!” “Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty guests coming to the wedding, and twice as many more to the reception. Honestly, Cyril, she's broken-hearted. You must do something. She's--coming!” And the receiver clicked sharply into place. Five minutes later Marie was called to the telephone. Dejectedly, wistful-eyed, she went. Just what were the words that hummed across the wire into the pink little ear of the bride-to-be, Billy never knew; but a Marie that was anything but wistful-eyed and dejected left the telephone a little later, and was heard very soon in the room above trilling merry snatches of a little song. Contentedly, then, Billy went back to her roses.