look as a bride."

"Oh, you mustn't do that!" exclaimed Nora in horrified tones. "It's
dreadfully unlucky. Didn't you know it?"

"I am not superstitious," laughed Grace. "I fail to see why trying on
one's wedding gown beforehand should bring bad luck. I am surely going
to do it when it comes, just to prove the fallacy of the superstition."

"I wish you wouldn't." Nora's dark brows met in a troubled frown.
"Perhaps it _is_ foolish in me to feel like that about it. But I do. I
suppose it's because I'm Irish. The daughters of Erin have always been a
superstitious lot. Don't ever tell Hippy that I admitted even that much.
He would tease me for a week about it."

"It shall remain a dark secret," gayly assured Grace. "As it is, I may
continue to consider myself as lucky till the gown puts in an
appearance. After that, look out for trouble. You'd better stay to
luncheon to-day, Nora, so as to be here when the great trying-on moment
dawns."

"Thank you. I will." Nora's lately-clouded face brightened. "I'll leave
Hippy to lunch in solitary state. I'll telephone him to that effect. It
will teach him to appreciate his blessings." Nora dimpled roguishly as
she tripped to the hall to acquaint Hippy with the fell prospect in
store for him. She returned to the living-room with the mirthful
information: "He says he resigns himself to his fate, but that he will
prepare for my triumphal home-coming this evening. That means he will do
something ridiculous. The last time I left him to his own folly, he
decorated the dining-room with all sorts of absurd signs--'What is home
without the Irish?' 'In memory of my late lamented guardian,' and 'Not
gone for good, but merely gadding.'" Nora giggled as she recounted these
pleasant tokens of welcome.

"You and Hippy will never grow up," Mrs. Harlowe declared indulgently.
"You play at keeping house like two children."

"I think it's lovely," nodded Grace. "When I start on my pilgrimage I'm
not going to think that I shall ever grow into a staid, stately married
person. I'm going to keep the spirit of youth alive until I'm old and
gray-headed. Did I dream it, Nora, or did I see you lay your work bag on
the hall settee? I hope it's a reality. These are busy times, you know.
I'm a hard-working individual. So is Mother. If I see someone else
blissfully idle it has a bad effect upon me."

"Don't worry, I brought my work. I am still in the throes of that lunch
cloth I'm embroidering for Miriam. I'