It was a swell dinner, the finest things to eat I ever had, even there. Miss Whitehall, all in black with her neck bare, and Jack in his dress suit, were such a grand pair I’d have enjoyed the mere sight of them, only for that terrible secret. It wasn’t till the end of dinner—old David gone off into the kitchen—that the thing I’d been waiting for came out. Jack’s face told me it was coming—happiness and pride were shining from it like a light. He’d asked us there—his best and truest friends—to tell us before anyone else, that he and Miss Whitehall were going to be married. They looked across the table at each other—a beautiful beaming look—and Babbitts with his mouth open looked at them, and I looked down at my plate where the ice cream was melting in a pink pool. Then Jack poured champagne into our glasses and raising them high we drank their healths, and then clinked the rims together and laughed, and wished them joy. It ought to have been perfectly lovely and it _would_ have been if that fiendish guilty conscience of mine could only have gone to sleep for a few minutes. And then came the awful and unexpected. I didn’t think he’d dare to do it but he did. Turning to me with his glass in his hand, and his face so kind it made me melt like the ice cream, Jack said: "And there’s going to be another health drunk—Molly’s. Molly Babbitts, the best friend that any man and woman ever had, the person who did the biggest thing in the whole Harland case." He wasn’t going to tell—he knew enough for that, he knew that Babbitts wasn’t on, but he wanted _me_ to understand. I looked at their faces, Jack’s with its grateful message, and Carol’s saying the same, and Babbitts’ red with pride and joy. _Then_ I couldn’t bear it. Feeling queer and weak, I sat dumb, not touching my glass, looking at the plate. "Why, Mollie," said Babbitts surprised, "aren’t you going to answer?" "No," I said suddenly, "not till I’ve told something first." I guess I looked about as cheerful as the skeletons they used to have at feasts in foreign countries. Anyway I saw them all amazed, their eyes fixed staring on me. I stiffened up and set both hands hard on the edge of the table, and looked at Carol. My lips were so shaky I could hardly get out the words: "You’re all wrong—you’ve made a mistake. I didn’t do it for you the way you think—I—I—" I turned to Jack and the tears began to spill out of my eyes, "I did it for _him_." "_Me?_" he exclaimed. "Yes, you. We swore to be friends once and that’s what I am. I saw you were going to tell her. I thought it would ruin you and I knew I couldn’t stop you—so—so—as _I_ didn’t matter—I did it myself before you could." He pushed back his chair all stirred and pale. Carol, with a catch of her breath, said my name—just "Molly," nothing more. But Babbitts, who didn’t know where he was at, cried out: "Did _what_? For Heaven’s sake what’s it all about?"