. Ebbett paused and sent a cloud of cigar smoke outward. His voice
abandoned the lecture-room professionalism into which it had fallen.

"But, as you say, that is all academic. Perhaps the bride has youth and
humor enough to leaven the whole lump."

Much less abstruse were the thoughts of Eleanor Kent: she of the violet
eyes, as she listened to Mary Barrascale's eulogy of Eben Tollman on the
day before the wedding. Eleanor could not forget moments which had
seemingly escaped Mary's observation: moments when Conscience, believing
herself unnoticed, allowed a look of fright to come to her eyes and a
line to circle her lips.

"When you told me in your letter that he was so much older than you,"
declared Mary, her enthusiasm bubbling as the three engaged themselves
over the last details of packing, "I simply couldn't bear it,--but he
isn't old at all. He's simply charming, and he has _such_ a rare
distinction of manner. I feel as if I were talking to a Prime Minister
whenever we have a chat."

"Thank you, dear," said Conscience, quietly, and the happy serenity of
her eyes seemed genuine--except to Eleanor.

"Of course, at one time," Mary rushed on, "we all thought that you had
decided to marry Mr. Farquaharson--and he sounded well worth while from
what you told us. It only shows what an easy thing it is to make
mistakes. How did you find out yourself, dear?"

Eleanor Kent thought she saw Conscience wince and close her eyes for an
instant as though in a paroxysm of pain, but her question came gravely:
"How did I find out what?"

"Why, that he was the sort of man that--well, that his mixing up in that
Holbury scandal indicated."

The girl who was to be married rose from the trunk over which she had
been bending and averted her face, but her voice was evenly calm as she
answered:

"I fancy the reports we had of that were exaggerated."

A sudden fire snapped in the violet eyes of Eleanor Kent and her cheeks
burned under a rosy gust of anger.

"Mary," she announced with spirit, "Mr. Farquaharson was a friend of
Conscience's and I have no doubt he still is. I don't think either of us
knows anything about him that gives us the right to criticize him. Have
you read his book?"

"Why, no. Of course, I didn't mean to say anything--"

"Well, I advise you to read that book." Stuart's champion tossed her
head with the positiveness of conviction. "It's not the kind of novel
that a rake could write. It's straight and clean