l
so much! You've been wonderful--quite turned my head! But I _must_
hurry!"

Out in the quiet, pretty street the sense of pursuit fell away from her
and she was smiling derisively at herself when she reached Sarah
Farraday's house and passed through the side garden to the studio. An
hour with old Sally would be good for her.

Sarah was tenderly dusting her severe-looking upright piano and putting
away a pile of lesson books, and turned gladly to greet her. "Jane, dear!
Why, how did you get away so early? Didn't they serve tea? I was just
_sick_ about not going, but the little Macey girl has had so many
interruptions and is so far behind, and she does want to play at my
recital, so that I felt I couldn't put her off again. How did your paper
go?"

"Oh, well enough. They were very nice about it."

"I know they loved it. I want to read it!" She closed the music cabinet
and came to take the typed manuscript. "Why, _Jane_! What's the matter?"

"I don't know, Sally--Yes, I do know! It's--it's Mrs. Wetherby, and every
one else! She acts as if--every one acts--" it made her angrier still to
feel the color mounting hotly in her cheeks.

"Well, Jane, _dear_," a faint, sympathetic flush warmed her small, pale
face, "isn't that perfectly natural? Of course, I suppose it teases you,
but you know how happy every one is about it."

"But there isn't anything to be happy about--yet!"

"Then it's just because you have--have held things off, dear, that's all.
And I think Marty has been awfully faithful and patient--for _years_!
Ever since you were tiny kiddies!" She looked anxiously at her best
friend's mutinous face. "I'll tell you," she said, brightly, "let's run
around to Nannie's for a moment! She'll just be giving the 'Teddy-bear'
his oil rub. I'll run through the house and get my things--you wait out
in front!"

Nannie Slade Hunter (Mrs. Edward R.) was their second-best friend and
they had been among her bridesmaids two years earlier. A few minutes of
brisk footing through the fading November afternoon delivered them at the
Hunters' new, little house and in the nursery of their little son.
Sarah's knowledge of schedule had been correct. Nannie, in an enveloping
pinafore, her sleeves rolled high, her hands glistening, was anointing
her infant with the most expensive olive oil on the market. The house was
furnace heated and a small electric stove was radiating fierce warmth,
and her cheeks were blazing. Jane and Sarah flun