s the fact that for three days--with the exception of an hour or
two, on the evening after that horrible day of her visit to the
Cresslers' house--she had seen nothing of her husband.

"Landry says," continued Page, "that it is awful--down there, these
days. He says that it is the greatest fight in the history of La Salle
Street. Has Mr. Jadwin, said anything to you? Is he going to win?"

"I don't know," answered Laura, in a low voice; "I don't know anything
about it, Page."

She was wondering if even Page had forgotten. When she had come into
the room, her first glance had been towards her place at table. But
there was nothing there, not even so much as an envelope; and no one
had so much as wished her joy of the little anniversary. She had
thought Page might have remembered, but her sister's next words showed
that she had more on her mind than birthdays.

"Laura," she began, sitting down opposite to her, and unfolding her
napkin, with laborious precision. "Laura--Landry and I--Well ... we're
going to be married in the fall."

"Why, Pagie," cried Laura, "I'm just as glad as I can be for you. He's
a fine, clean fellow, and I know he will make you a good husband."

Page drew a deep breath.

"Well," she said, "I'm glad you think so, too. Before you and Mr.
Jadwin were married, I wasn't sure about having him care for me,
because at that time--well--" Page looked up with a queer little smile,
"I guess you could have had him--if you had wanted to."

"Oh, that," cried Laura. "Why, Landry never really cared for me. It was
all the silliest kind of flirtation. The moment he knew you better, I
stood no chance at all."

"We're going to take an apartment on Michigan Avenue, near the
Auditorium," said Page, "and keep house. We've talked it all over, and
know just how much it will cost to live and keep one servant. I'm going
to serve the loveliest little dinners; I've learned the kind of cooking
he likes already. Oh, I guess there he is now," she cried, as they
heard the front door close.

Landry came in, carrying a great bunch of cut flowers, and a box of
candy. He was as spruce as though he were already the bridegroom, his
cheeks pink, his blonde hair radiant. But he was thin and a little
worn, a dull feverish glitter came and went in his eyes, and his
nervousness, the strain and excitement which beset him were in his
every gesture, in every word of his rapid speech.

"We'll have to hurry," he told Page. "I must be dow