The veterans who extended the invitation were unaware that for Wayne the day was fraught with sad and bitter memories that made his participation in any gala occasion painful and his interest forced. On that day, only two short years before, his wife, the beautiful young mother of his little Doris, had sacrificed her life to save another's child from drowning. She had loved little children. It had been her dream to rear a large family. She had proved how great was her love but she had left behind her only one child--a little girl, less than a year old. The bereft father idolized the child but his heart ached with grief and loneliness. The loss of his bride and the shattering of all their bright dreams of the future was to the young veteran a more terrible wound than any he had endured in France. Except for little Doris he would have given way to complete despair. She, too, mourned for the lovely lady whose caresses were so tender and who murmured such loving words. But little Doris' mother would never come to her again. She would have to be happy now in the nurse's arms. Choking back his own sobs Harris Wayne told this to the child again and again. Doris could not understand. She did not want the nurse. She wanted her mother. No one but Wayne, himself, could comfort her. He was compelled, therefore, to devote himself to her childish moods. As a result there had grown up between the two such a bond of sympathy and affection that now, when Doris was nearly three years old, he lived solely for her and was uneasy every minute she was out of his sight. "She is all alone there in that great house," he would say when chided about his nervousness. "It is not as if she had brothers and sisters to play with and grow up among. It is unnatural for a child to thrive in solitude, cared for only by servants. She must have the companionship of someone not a hireling; one who is actuated by love, not gold." But the thought of marrying again and supplying his darling with a step-mother was repugnant. The memory of his shattered romance and lost bride was too keen and poignant, for one thing, and for another he was afraid, for Doris' sake. The woman he chose might not possess those deep maternal instincts that would make Doris happy and transform the solitude of that great mansion into a children's paradise. So Harris Wayne did not re-marry, and the nurse said little Doris was spoiled. "Oh, the child is safe enough," the nurse remarked in reply to the butler's question when she appeared in the servant's dining room that evening to partake of the wedding feast. "She was just falling asleep. She thinks I've gone to fetch her a glass of milk." "There's a storm coming," announced the chauffeur-bridegroom. "I hope that banquet keeps up so late Mr. Wayne will 'phone me not to come for him. I don't like driving in a thunder storm."