the case it would be a pity to
distract the prompter's attention, but it was a greater pity that the
few hours he had to spend with her should be wasted in idle waiting.

Several people who had glanced up admiringly at the handsome stranger
when he took his seat, watched with interest his growing impatience. It
was evident that he was anxiously waiting for some one, from the way he
alternately scanned the entrance, looked at his watch and referred to
the programme. When Mrs. Blythe's name on it was reached he leaned
forward, clutching the back of the chair in front of him impatiently
till the chairman came to the front of the stage.

The next instant such an audible exclamation of surprise broke from him
that several rows of heads were turned inquiringly in his direction. He
felt his face burn, partly from having attracted so much attention to
himself, partly from the surprise of the moment. For following the
chairman came not the dainty little Mrs. Blythe in her love of a new
gown and the big plumed hat, but Mary herself. There was such a pounding
in Phil's ears that he scarcely heard the chairman's explanation of Mrs.
Blythe's absence, and his announcement that Miss Ware had brought a
message from her to which they would now listen.

Several curious emotions possessed him in turn, after his first
overwhelming surprise. One was a little twinge of resentment at her
speaking in public. Not that he was opposed to other women doing it, but
somehow he wished that she hadn't attempted it. Then he felt the anxiety
and sense of personal responsibility one always has when a member of
one's own family is in the limelight. No matter how competent he may be
to rise to the occasion, there is always the lurking dread that he may
fail to acquit himself creditably.

Phil had been thinking of Mary as he saw her that last morning in Bauer,
all a-giggle and a-dimple and aglow, romping around the kitchen with
Norman, till the tinware clattered on the walls. But it was a very
different Mary who faced him now, with the old newspaper in her hand and
the story of Dena's wrongs burning to be told on her lips. It is proof
of how well she told it that her opening sentence brought a hush over
the great audience and held it in absolute silence to the end. And yet
she told it so simply, so personally, that it was as if she had merely
opened a door into Diamond Row and bidden them see for themselves the
windowless rooms, the mouldy walls, the sli