ion was moving out, with greetings in low voices,
and with many a smiling nod, the banker caught sight of Lyman, and
made a noise as if puffing out a mouthful of smoke. His wife, who was
slightly in front, glanced back at him.

"That wretched Lyman," he said, leaning toward her.

"Where?" she asked.

"Over at the right, but don't look at him. Everybody is staring at
us."

"Where is Eva?"

"You ought to know," he answered.

"She is coming, just behind us."

They passed out. Lyman saw Zeb Sawyer standing at the door. He bowed
to Mr. and Mrs. McElwin and continued to stand there, waiting for the
young woman. She came out. She said something, and catching the
expression of her face Lyman thought she must have remonstrated with
him. But she permitted him to join her, and they walked away slowly.
Lyman overtook them.

"Pardon me," he said to her, paying no attention to Sawyer, "but do
you realize the scandalous absurdity of your action at his moment?"

"Sir!" Her graceful neck stiffened as she looked at him.

[Illustration: outside the church]

"Don't you know that it is not in good form to receive the attentions
of an old lover so soon after marriage?"

She stopped, jabbed the ground with her parasol and laughed. But in a
moment she had repented of her merriment. "I wish you would go away,"
she said. "You have already caused me tears enough."

"What, so soon? The beautific smile, rather than the tear should be
the emblem of the honeymoon. But this is not what I approached you to
say. I wish to ask when I may expect a visit from you."

"I, visit you!"

"Yes. To ask me to sign the petition to the Court."

"I ask you now, sir."

"There!" said Sawyer, walking close beside the young woman.

"In the name of the love you bear this man?"

She looked at him with a blush. "In the name of my father, my mother
and myself," she said.

"Oh," said he, "you are not the simple-minded beauty I expected to
find. I suspect that your flatterers have not given you a fair chance.
It is difficult to look through the dazzle and estimate the
intelligence of a queen."

"Really! You come with a new flattery. My father's money--"

"Miss, or madam, your father is a pauper in comparison with the man
who loves nature. He is a slave, living the life of a slave-driver. He
is proud of you, not because you are a woman, but because you are, to
him, a picture in a gilt frame."

"I just know everybody is looking at us," she said.