it seemed scarcely decent for Marie to speak of her as a
bride. Perhaps that accounted for the color. No sentiment was
involved here. This was what made the arrangement possible. Sentiment
involved caring; and, as Monte had once said, "It's the caring that
seems to make the trouble." That was the trouble with the Warrens.
How she cared--from morning till night, with her whole heart and soul
in a flutter--for Chic and the children. In a different way, Marjory
supposed, Teddy cared. This was the one thing that made him so
impossible. In another way, Peter Noyes cared.

She gave a quick start as she thought of Peter Noyes. She turned away
from the mirror as if--as if ashamed. She sprang to her feet, with an
odd, tense expression about her mouth. It was as if she were looking
into his dark, earnest eyes. Peter had always been so intensely in
earnest about everything. In college he had worked himself thin to
lead his class. In the law school he had graduated among the first
five, though he came out almost half blind. His record, however, had
won for him a place with a leading law firm in New York, where in his
earnest way he was already making himself felt. It was just this
quality that had frightened her. He had made love to her with his lips
set as if love were some great responsibility. He had talked of duty
and the joy of sacrifice until she had run away from him.

That had been her privilege. That had been her right. She had been
under no obligation to him then; she was under no obligation to him
now. Her life was hers, to do with as she saw fit. He had no business
to intrude himself, at this of all times, upon her.

Not daring to look in the mirror again, she called Marie to adjust her
hat and veil.

"It is half past ten, Marie," she announced nervously. "I--I think
Monsieur Covington must be waiting for us."

"Yes, mademoiselle."

Her ears caught at the word.

"Marie."

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"I wish--even after this--to have you always address me as
mademoiselle."

"But that--"

"It is my wish."

It was a blue-and-gold morning, with the city looking as if it had
received a scrubbing during the night. So too did Monte, who was
waiting below for her. Clean-shaven and ruddy, in a dark-gray morning
coat and top hat, he looked very handsome, even with his crippled arm.
And quite like a bridegroom! For a moment he made her wish she had
taken Marie's advice about her hair. She wa