"If these prove the wrong ones, or less than wholly pledged to her welfare, may they wither away!" said Bruce with such entire earnestness that there was nothing singular in the words, nor in the gesture with which he held out his firm brown hands. Rob raised her head from her mother's lap, "Let's get commonplace at once!" she cried. "I refuse to remain at such an altitude another moment. Mardy, what's for lunch?" There was ample, fortunately, for even the newly betrothed proved to be unromantically hungry. During the course of luncheon it suddenly flashed upon Mrs. Grey that that night the family, which included the Baldwins, Dr. Fairbairn, and Myrtle Hasbrook, had been invited to the little grey house to listen to the reading of Basil's first novel, of which he had written the final chapter two days before. "It ought to be good," said Bruce. "He worked on it under the stimulus of his newly married bliss." "Like the man in Stockton's story, 'His Wife's Deceased Sister,'" added Rob. "I hope he won't share that unfortunate author's fate. Wouldn't it be queer if Basil had written one of the six best selling books occurring in the list of sales in each city in the country in varying heights in the column, but always one of the six?" "O Phaebus, forbid, Rob!" cried Bruce. "Basil isn't forced to write for money; he can afford to do good work." "We will have our dearest people here tonight, and we will not only hear Basil's novel, but let them share our new happiness," suggested Mrs. Grey with a smiling look for Bruce's implied criticism. "That will be a good way of announcing it," said Bruce, taking his hat. "I've got to go now to join the doctor. Mayn't I tell him myself?" "Yes, and come with me to tell Wythie and Basil; it isn't fair to leave them to learn about it with the others--nor Cousin Peace. What a pity Prue is away!" said Rob, jumping up to go with Bruce. "I'll just look in a moment upon Cousin Peace on my way home from Wythie's, Mardy. And oughtn't I order a stirrup cup for our friends?" "A stirrup cup, Rob?" repeated her mother. "Yes, why not, if I am going to ride away from Green Pastures to Gretna Green? Only we may not quite elope," said Rob. "I mean nothing more startling than some refreshments, Mardy." "Oh dear, oh dear," sighed Mrs. Grey in pretended distress. "The moment a girl is engaged her memory for details fails. Is it possible, Roberta, that you have forgotten that you and I made cake all yesterday afternoon, ordered cream, and prepared for the celebration of Basil's novel?" Rob laughed, and hastily ran away; she really had completely forgotten, and it was embarrassing. She went from Wythie's raptures and Basil's profound delight, to Cousin Peace's not less genuine though quieter pleasure, and to little singing Polly's unexplained tears--"Singing Polly," they called the child often now, for her voice was becoming daily a more wonderful possession.