the fluffy blue tulle she was wearing. The shaded light just over her head
brought a shimmer of red in her sleek brown hair. What lips she had, what a
bosom. She drew a deep breath and smiled at him.

"What are you doing to-morrow night?" her father asked her.

"Oh, dad, my love, we have every evening filled and crammed right up to the
wedding," she replied. "No--the last evening I'll be here. Hal's giving his
ushers a dinner that night."

"Good. I want to talk to you, my dear." He felt his voice solemn, a great
mistake. He saw the quick glance from her luminous eyes.

"All right, father--whenever you like."

Much embarrassed Roger left the room.

The few days which remained were a crowding confusion of dressmakers, gowns
and chattering friends and gifts arriving at all hours. As a part of his
resolve to do what he could for his daughter, Roger stayed home from his
office that week. But all he could do was to unpack boxes, take out
presents and keep the cards, and say, "Yes, my dear, it's very nice. Where
shall I put this one?" As the array of presents grew, from time to time
unconsciously he glanced at the engagement ring upon Laura's finger. And
all the presents seemed like that. They would suit her apartment
beautifully. He'd be glad when they were out of the house.

The only gift that appealed to his fancy was a brooch, neither rich nor
new, a genuine bit of old jewelry. But rather to his annoyance he learned
that it had been sent to Laura by the old Galician Jew in the shop around
the corner. It recalled to his mind the curious friendship which had
existed for so long between the old man and his daughter. And as she turned
the brooch to the light Roger thought he saw in her eyes anticipations
which made him uneasy. Yes, she was a child of his. "June in Paris--"
other Junes--"experiments"--no children. Again he felt he must have that
talk. But, good Lord, how he dreaded it.

The house was almost ready now, dismantled and made new and strange. It was
the night before the wedding. Laura was taking her supper in bed. What was
he going to say to her? He ate his dinner silently. At last he rose with
grim resolution.

"I think I'll go up and see her," he said. Deborah quickly glanced at him.

"What for?" she asked.

"Oh, I just want to talk to her--"

"Don't stay long," she admonished him. "I've a masseuse coming at nine
o'clock to get the child in condition to rest. Her nerves are rather tense,
you know."