t the
bundles. "And what, may I ask, are all these?"

"These?"

"You heard me."

"Well, this--for, oh, she must have the best welcome that we can give
her, the darling!--this----"

"All cooked up for Mr. Farvel's benefit, I suppose," interjected Mrs.
Balcome.

"Of course. Who cares anything about the child!" Sue laughed.

"Oh, your mother has told me of your aspirations,"--this with scornful
significance.

"Mm!--This is socks--oh, such cunning socks--with little turnover cuffs
on 'em!" Sue's good-humor was unshaken. "And this is sash ribbon.
And this is roller skates." She lifted one package after the other.
"And a game. And a white rabbit. And a woolly sheep--it winds up!"
She gave it to Hattie. "And a hat--with roses on it! And rompers--I
do hope she's not too big for rompers! These are blue, with a white
collar. And 'Don Quixote'--fine pictures--it'll keep. And look!"--it
was a train of cars. "Isn't it a darling? I could play with it
myself! Just observe that smokestack! And--well, she can give it to
her first beau. And, behold, a lizard! Its picture is on the box!"
She waved it. "Made in the U. S. A.!"

Mrs. Balcome had been watching with an expression not so irritable as
it was wearied. "You are pathetic!" she said finally. "Simply
pathetic!"

"Look!" invited Sue, holding up a duck. "It quacks!"

But Mrs. Balcome had turned on Hattie, and caught the sheep from her
hand. "You!" she scolded; "--for the child of that--that----"

Hattie held up a warning finger. "Don't criticize the lady before
Wallace," she cautioned.

Slowly Wallace straightened, and came about. "Well," he said quietly,
"I guess that's the end of it." He went to Sue, holding out a hand.
"Sue, I'm going----"

"Go to mother, Wallace. I'll see you later."

"Hattie! Hattie!" importuned her mother. "Tell him not to go!"

"No," said Hattie, firmly. "I was willing to do something wrong--and
all this has saved me from it. I've never cared for Wallace the right
way. He knows it. I was only marrying him to get away from home."

"Hear that!" cried Mrs. Balcome.

"No,--you don't love me," agreed Wallace.

"I don't believe I've ever loved you," the girl went on; "only--believe
me!--I didn't know it till--till I came here."

"I understand." Out of a pocket of his vest he took a ring--a narrow
chased band of gold. "Will--will you keep this?" he asked. "It was
for you."

"Some other woman, Wallace, wil