Luke made a low bow, scraping his chair back from the table. "I'll go ahead and get reserved seats and mother can come when she's ready," he proposed. Mrs. Faithful beamed with triumph. "That's my son! Get them far enough back, the pictures blur if I'm too close." "I'll do the dishes," Mary said, briefly. "Go and get ready." "I'd wipe them only Gay is coming so early," Trudy explained, glibly. "I'd rather be alone." Mary was piling up the pots and pans. "Now, deary, if you don't feel right about mother's going," her mother resumed a little later as she poked her head into the kitchen, "just say so. But I certainly want to see that town burnt up; and besides, it's teaching Luke history. Dear me, your hair is dull. Why don't you try that stuff Trudy uses?" "Because I'm not Trudy. Good-bye." "You're all nerves again. I'd certainly let someone else do the work." "I need a vacation." "That means you want to get away from us. Well, I try to keep the home together. Leave that coffeepot just as it is, I'll want a drop when I get back." Waddling out the door Mrs. Faithful left Mary to assault the dishes and long for Steve's return. "I wonder why the great plan did not make it possible for all folks to like their relatives?" she asked herself as she finally hung the tea towels on the line; "or their star boarder?" Then she became engrossed in the way the newly set out plants had taken root. Bending over the flower beds she was hardly conscious that darkness had fallen over the earth--a heavenly, summer-cool darkness with veiled stars prophetic of a blessed shower. She repaired to the porch swing to dream her dreams of fluffs and frills, arrange a dream house and live therein. It should be quite unlike the Gorgeous Girl's apartment--but a roomy, sprawling affair with old furniture that was used and loved and shabby, well-read books, carefully chosen pictures, dull rugs, and oddly shaped lamps, a shaggy old dog to lie before the open fireplace and be patted occasionally, fat blue jugs of Ragged Robin roses at frequent intervals. Perhaps there would be a baby's toy left somewhere along the stairway leading to the nursery. When one has the cool of a summer's night, a porch screened with roses and a comfortable swing, what does it matter if there are unlikable persons and china-shop apartment houses? Had Mary known what was taking place in the front parlour it would not have jarred her from her dreams. For Gaylord, resplendent in ice-cream flannels, and Trudy, wearing an unpaid-for black-satin dress with red collar and cuffs, were both busier than the proverbial beaver planning their wedding. It was to be an informal and unexpected little affair, being the direct result of the Gorgeous Girl's demands as to settling her household.