The score or more of young people in the bridal party met at Grace Church on the afternoon before the event to get the details of their marching and countermarching in order. Lola was there to overlook putting them through their paces, but she left the details of straightening out the chattering, rollicking bridesmaids and groomsmen to Elise and Hazard. Rutledge soon learned his role and stood to it like a schoolboy when he was ordered, but he spent most of the time in sympathetic talk with the bride-to-be. That night when the other girls who filled the house were scattered to their rooms and Elise and Lola were snuggled up in bed, Lola put her arm around her friend and began to say what was on her mind. "I think it’s very rude to refuse to answer a civil question, don’t you, Elise?" Elise was thinking of something else, but she heard enough of what Lola said to answer "yes" in an absent-minded way. "That would be so with any question. But if it was about a matter of importance the refusal to answer would be more than rude, it would be—exasperating, don’t you think?" "What are you talking about?" Elise asked. "And if it were a matter of the very greatest importance," Lola continued, "and by every right and custom an answer of some sort was due, and one was flatly told there was _no answer_, then such unpardonable rudeness should be resented, and self-respect would _demand_ that the question be not repeated." "Lola DeVale," said Elise, turning to face her, "in the name of sense, have you gone daffy?" "I agree with Mr. Rutledge," said Lola in the same monotone, as she in turn faced away from Elise, "self-respect forbids." "Here," exclaimed Elise, "turn back over here and say all that again." "Haven’t time," said Lola with a yawn. "I must be getting my beauty-sleep. Good night." Elise was quiet half a minute. "Of all the silly people!"—she stirred Lola up with a poke in the ribs—"when did he tell you that?" "I’m not divulging any confidences," said Lola. "And what, pray, are you divulging?" asked Elise. "My opinion that a civil question demands an answer of some sort—a good round ’no,’ if nothing else—not the dismissal one gives a telegraph messenger." "There you go again—-and I don’t understand; but you said something of ’self-respect’?" "I’m glad he has it. A man’s not made for a woman to wipe her feet on, even if he does love her." "For goodness sake, Lola, quit making riddles. Just what do you think you are talking about?" "Do you mean to tell me," demanded Lola, turning toward her, "that Mr. Rutledge did not ask you to marry him and that you didn’t tell him there was _no answer_,—that you didn’t treat him with contempt, with indifference, with just about as much consideration as you would a clerk who gave you a hand-bill of a cut-price sale? There now!"