r Cavanaugh to perform this rite for us."

Cavanaugh, who sat opposite John and Tilly, actually paled, and then he
flushed. He was silent for a moment, glancing appealingly first at
Whaley, then his wife, and finally at Tilly, as if for succor from
overwhelming disaster.

"Why, I--I'm not a good hand at it," he stammered. "I don't believe in
doing things half-way, especially on what you might call a gala occasion
like this. Brother Whaley, in my opinion--and I'm sure all the rest feel
the same--you are the man who is best qualified for the job. I know I'd
enjoy hearing you do it to-night more than I would to sit and listen to
my own voice."

"Why not let Tilly do it?" a young wag farther down the table asked,
merrily. "Any bride these days ought to be thankful to get a square meal
on the first day of her married life, if never afterward."

"You will all excuse me, I know," Tilly said, simply, and with a sweet,
half-forced smile.

Thereupon her father, who was getting the opportunity he wanted, cleared
his throat, tapped on his plate for silence, and with lowered head
prayed long and unctuously. He touched on the duties of the newly
married to God and the Church, that they might be examples for the
generations who were to follow them. He hinted--and John knew what was
meant--that there were young men of the present age who were indifferent
to the full meaning of a Christian life and its forms, and upon all such
delinquents he implored the mercy of a long-suffering and patient God.

John's eyes were on his plate. He imagined that every one present was
taking note of the veiled rebuke to him. How odd that he should hate
Tilly's father so profoundly and feel like striking the cold face
between the spiritless eyes. How strange that he should feel almost the
same toward that silent, didactic copy of her husband, his
mother-in-law, who now seemed to be weighing so judiciously the subtle
charges against him, the new member of the family!

The prayer was over; a great clatter swept from end to end of the
tables. Everybody was eating, proffering food, laughing, and jesting in
munching, mouthful tones. Suddenly, and before she had turned up her
plate, John felt Tilly's little hand steal into his.

"Never mind what he said." She smiled as she pressed his fingers. "That
was in him. It has rankled a long time and he had to get it out."

"It doesn't matter," John responded, defiantly. "He has the upper hand
and he uses it li