minded, and if what a
man chooses to write, indicates what he thinks, he's that sort himself."

At this defense from an unexpected quarter, a light of gratitude kindled
in the face of the bride-to-be.

When the day set for the wedding had worn to dusk, Conscience escaped
from the guests and made her way slowly to her unlighted room. Her knees
were weak and she told herself that this was the natural stage-fright of
the altar--but she knew that it was more than that.

As she reached for matches the sound of voices beyond the door arrested
her, and the challenge of her own name held her attention.

"She's _perfectly_ lovely," declared Mary Barrascale, whose speech ran
to superlatives, "and she's _radiantly_ happy, too. To think that she's
being married and we're still in college."

Conscience straightened where she stood near the window. She raised her
palms to her temples and stepped back unsteadily until she could lean
against the wall. Before her eyes rose a vision of the college
campus--another of the care-free dormitory, then the picture dissolved
into another and she found herself trembling. Memory was playing tricks
and very softly a voice seemed to whisper in her ear, as it had actually
whispered long ago in response to these same regrets, "Does it hurt as
much as that, dearest?"

She became vaguely conscious of Eleanor's voice again, low pitched and
tense.

"I should think, Mary, you would see the truth. You chatter about how
happy she is--and she's almost going mad before your eyes. It's
ghastly--positively ghastly."

"What in heaven's name do you mean?" Mary's question broke from her in
amazement.

"I mean that anyone who wasn't deliberately trying to be deceived ought
to see what all this radiant happiness is worth. She's sick with doubt
and misgiving. If you ask me I believe it's because she still loves
Stuart Farquaharson--and besides I don't believe he was ever given a
fair chance." The girl halted and then broke into silent tears. "She's
letting them make a sacrifice of her--and I'm utterly ill with the
thought of it."

Conscience leaning weakly against the wall, let both hands drop
nervelessly at her sides. "I don't believe ... he was ever given a fair
chance." Her lips shaped the words she had just heard in a soundless
echo.

Was that true? she asked herself, accusingly, and her brain was too
confused for a just answer. An avalanche of new doubts rushed down upon
her, crushing her reason. S