ording
to what Marie had said it was to be. Billy still serenely spoke of it
as a "simple affair," but Marie was beginning to be fearful. As the
days passed, bringing with them more and more frequent evidences either
tangible or intangible of orders to stationers, caterers, and florists,
her fears found voice in a protest.

"But Billy, it was to be a _simple_ wedding," she cried.

"And so it is."

"But what is this I hear about a breakfast?"

Billy's chin assumed its most stubborn squareness.

"I don't know, I'm sure, what you did hear," she retorted calmly.

"Billy!"

Billy laughed. The chin was just as stubborn, but the smiling lips above
it graced it with an air of charming concession.

"There, there, dear," coaxed the mistress of Hillside, "don't fret.
Besides, I'm sure I should think you, of all people, would want your
guests _fed!_"

"But this is so elaborate, from what I hear."

"Nonsense! Not a bit of it."

"Rosa says there'll be salads and cakes and ices--and I don't know what
all."

Billy looked concerned.

"Well, of course, Marie, if you'd _rather_ have oatmeal and doughnuts,"
she began with kind solicitude; but she got no farther.

"Billy!" besought the bride elect. "Won't you be serious? And there's
the cake in wedding boxes, too."

"I know, but boxes are so much easier and cleaner than--just fingers,"
apologized an anxiously serious voice.

Marie answered with an indignant, grieved glance and hurried on.

"And the flowers--roses, dozens of them, in December! Billy, I can't let
you do all this for me."

"Nonsense, dear!" laughed Billy. "Why, I love to do it. Besides, when
you're gone, just think how lonesome I'll be! I shall have to adopt
somebody else then--now that Mary Jane has proved to be nothing but a
disappointing man instead of a nice little girl like you," she finished
whimsically.

Marie did not smile. The frown still lay between her delicate brows.

"And for my trousseau--there were so many things that you simply would
buy!"

"I didn't get one of the egg-beaters," Billy reminded her anxiously.

Marie smiled now, but she shook her head, too.

"Billy, I cannot have you do all this for me."

"Why not?"

At the unexpectedly direct question, Marie fell back a little.

"Why, because I--I can't," she stammered. "I can't get them for myself,
and--and--"

"Don't you love me?"

A pink flush stole to Marie's face.

"Indeed I do, dearly."

"Don't I love you?"

The