My Husband gasped. The cause of that gasp was only too evident. Once again we saw Rollins's ominous gaze fixed with unalterable intent on Ann Woltor's face. What was meant to be an ingratiating smile quickened suddenly in his eyes. "Truly, Miss Woltor," he said, "_tell me_, why don't you get it fixed!" For an instant I thought Ann Woltor would scream. For an instant I thought Ann Woltor would faint, then quicker than chain lighting, right there before our eyes we saw her make her great decision. It was as though her brain was glass and we could see its every working. "All right," said Ann Woltor, very quietly. "All right--you--Damn fool--I _will_ tell you! I will tell everybody!" For the first time in his life I saw Rollins stagger! But Rollins could not remain prostrate even under such a rebuff as this. "Why--er--thank you--thank you very much," he rallied with his first returning breath. "Shall I--shall I call the others?" "By all means, call them quickly," said Ann Woltor. "Oh, Ann!" I protested. "I mean it," she said. Her face was strangely quiet. "The time has come--I've made up my mind at last." From the door of the porch we heard Rollins's piping voice. "Mr. Brenswick! Mr. Keets! Kennilworth! Allan John!--Come on! Miss Woltor's going to tell us a story!" With vaguely responsive interest, the people came trooping in. "A story?" brightened the Bride. "Oh, lovely--what is it about?" "The story of my broken tooth," said Ann Woltor, very trenchantly, "told by request--Mr. Rollins's request," she added. With a single comprehensive glance at my tortured face--at my Husband's--at Ann Woltor's, Claude Kennilworth turned sharply on his heel and started to leave the room. "What, don't you want to hear the story?" piped Rollins. "No, not by a damn sight," snapped Kennilworth. "But I want you to hear it," said Ann Woltor, still in that deadly quiet but absolutely firm voice. George Keets's lips were drawn suddenly to a mere thin white line. "One has no desire to intrude, Miss Woltor," he protested. "It is no intrusion," said Aim Woltor. For a single hesitating moment her sombre eyes swept the waiting group. Then, without further break or pause, she plunged into her narrative. "I am the May Girl's mother," she said. "I ran away from the May Girl's father. I ran away with another man. I don't pretend to explain it. I don't pretend to condone it. This is not a discussion of ethics but a mere statement of history. All that I insist upon your understanding--is that I ran away from a legalized life of incessant fault-finding and criticism to an unlegalized life of absolute approval and love.