ve a lot to do to it yet before
it's finished, so I can't afford to be idle, either."

Repairing to the summer house, the three women fell to work with
commendable energy on their self-imposed tasks. It was a glorious
midsummer morning and the picturesque pagoda at the foot of the garden
proved an ideal retreat. Despite her sturdy declaration that she could
not afford to be idle, more than once Grace's embroidery dropped from
her hands as her gray eyes dreamily drank in the beauty of the
riotously-blooming garden of old-fashioned flowers, the close-clipped,
tree-decked lawn and the thousand and one details that made her
childhood's home seem daily dearer now that she was so soon to leave it.

"Wake up, Grace," playfully admonished her mother, her eyes chancing to
rest on her daughter's rapt face. "If my ears do not deceive me, I think
I heard the doorbell. Perhaps it is the expressman."

"I hope it is." Hastily dropping her embroidery to the rustic bench on
which she was seated, Grace rose and set off in a hurry toward the
not-far-distant house. It was several minutes before she returned, her
radiant face registered the news that the long-looked-for express
package had materialized.

"At last!" was her jubilant cry when half way across the lawn. "No more
work for me until after luncheon. Come up to the house, both of you. The
grand try-on is about to begin. We'll just have time for it before
luncheon. Kindly go to the living-room and obtain front seats for the
performance." Having delivered this merry injunction, Grace turned and
went back to the house.

Laying aside their work in obedience to the prospective bride's command,
Mrs. Harlowe and Nora proceeded in leisurely fashion to the house, there
to await Grace's pleasure.

"Go on into the living-room, Nora," said Mrs. Harlowe as they stepped
into the hall. "I must see Bridget about luncheon. I'll return
directly."

Left to herself, Nora went over to the piano. Her fingers wandering
lightly over the keys, almost unconsciously she dropped into the
plaintive prelude of Tosti's "Good-bye." Why that particularly pathetic
farewell to summer and love should have occurred to her at such a time
she did not know. Whether it had been superinduced by her rooted
superstition against Grace's determination to try on her wedding gown
beforehand, or whether her emotional temperament had sensed the stirring
of far-off things, Nora could not explain.

Very softly she sang the