the
strands and coils of that wonderful hair.

As their eyes met they waved their hands gayly to each other; then
McTeague heard Trina and her mother come up the stairs and go into the
bedroom of the photographer's suite, where Trina was to dress.

No, no; surely there could be no longer any hesitation. He knew that he
loved her. What was the matter with him, that he should have doubted
it for an instant? The great difficulty was that she was too good, too
adorable, too sweet, too delicate for him, who was so huge, so clumsy,
so brutal.

There was a knock at the door. It was Old Grannis. He was dressed in
his one black suit of broadcloth, much wrinkled; his hair was carefully
brushed over his bald forehead.

"Miss Trina has come," he announced, "and the minister. You have an hour
yet."

The dentist finished dressing. He wore a suit bought for the occasion--a
ready made "Prince Albert" coat too short in the sleeves, striped
"blue" trousers, and new patent leather shoes--veritable instruments of
torture. Around his collar was a wonderful necktie that Trina had given
him; it was of salmon-pink satin; in its centre Selina had painted a
knot of blue forget-me-nots.

At length, after an interminable period of waiting, Mr. Sieppe appeared
at the door.

"Are you reatty?" he asked in a sepulchral whisper. "Gome, den." It was
like King Charles summoned to execution. Mr. Sieppe preceded them
into the hall, moving at a funereal pace. He paused. Suddenly, in the
direction of the sitting-room, came the strains of the parlor melodeon.
Mr. Sieppe flung his arm in the air.

"Vowaarts!" he cried.

He left them at the door of the sitting-room, he himself going into the
bedroom where Trina was waiting, entering by the hall door. He was in
a tremendous state of nervous tension, fearful lest something should go
wrong. He had employed the period of waiting in going through his part
for the fiftieth time, repeating what he had to say in a low voice. He
had even made chalk marks on the matting in the places where he was to
take positions.

The dentist and Old Grannis entered the sitting-room; the minister stood
behind the little table in the bay window, holding a book, one finger
marking the place; he was rigid, erect, impassive. On either side of
him, in a semi-circle, stood the invited guests. A little pock-marked
gentleman in glasses, no doubt the famous Uncle Oelbermann; Miss Baker,
in her black grenadine, false curls, and co