"But when you're going to be happy--as I suppose you think you are--you ought to let other people join in. Here's a chance of a little fun--" "There's nothing funny about being married," Helen said in her deep tones. "Depends who--whom--you're marrying, doesn't it?" Miriam asked, and looking at Mildred Caniper once more, she found that she need not be afraid, for though the expression was the same, its effect was different. Notya looked as though she could not rouse her energies to active disapproval; as though she would never say her rare, amusing things again, and Miriam was reminded of the turnip lanterns they had made in their youth--hollowness and flickering light within. The succeeding days encouraged that reminder, for something had gone from Mildred Caniper and left her stubbornly frail in mind and body. Rupert believed that hope had died in her but the Canipers did not speak of the change which was plain to all of them. She was a presence of flesh and blood, and she would always be a presence, for she had that power, but she approached Mr. Pinderwell in their thoughts, and they began to use towards her the kind of tenderness they felt for him. Sometimes she became aware of it and let out an irony with a sharpness which sent Helen about the house more gaily and persuaded her that Notya would be better when summer came, for surely no one could resist the sun. John's soft heart forgave his stepmother's coldness towards his marriage and his bride, and prompted him to a generous suggestion. He made it shyly and earnestly one night in the drawing-room where Mildred Caniper sat under the picture of Mr. Pinderwell's lady. "Notya," he began, "we want you to come to our wedding, too. Just you and Rupert and Daniel. Will you?" She looked faintly amused, yet, the next moment, he had a fear that she was going to cry. "Thank you, John." "We both want you," he said awkwardly, and went nearer. "I'm glad you have asked me, but I won't come. I'm afraid I should only spoil it. I do spoil things." She smiled at him and looked at the hands on her knee. "It seems to me that that's what I do best." He did not know what to say and, having made inarticulate noises in his throat, he went quickly to the schoolroom. "Go to Notya, some one, and make her angry. She's being miserable in the drawing-room. Tell her you've broken something!" "I won't," Miriam said. "I've had too much of that, and I'm going to enjoy the unwonted peace. You go, Helen." "Leave her alone," Rupert advised. "You won't cure Notya's unhappiness so easily as that." "When the summer comes--" Helen began, cheerfully deceiving herself, and John interrupted. "Summer is here already. It's June next week."