Apron-Strings Part 8

"Yes," a.s.sented Sue, obediently; "yes, I--I suppose we have." Her eyes fell before her mother's look. Again it was as if a small child had been surprised in naughtiness.

Now from the Church sounded the voices of the choir. The burring bell had summoned to more, and still more, practice of tomorrow's music, and a score of boys, their song coming loud and clear from the near distance, were rendering the Wedding March from "Lohengrin."

A curious, and instant, change came over Farvel. His laughter stopped; he retreated, and fumbled with one hand at his hair. "Oh, that--that----" he murmured under his breath.

"Alan!" Wallace went to him.

"It's nothing," protested Farvel. "Nothing."

Sue made as if to open the library door. It was plain that, ill or troubled, Farvel was eager to get away.

"Wait," said her mother.

Wallace turned the clergyman toward the door leading to the Church.

"Come, old man," he urged. "Let's go right in. That's best."

Farvel permitted himself to be half-led. But he paused part way to look back at the quartette of ladies standing, silent and watchful, at the center of the room. "It's all right," he a.s.sured them, smiling wanly at Hattie. He tried to speak casually. "Let me know when you're ready to rehea.r.s.e." Wallace had reached out to draw Farvel through the door. It closed behind them.

Sue made as if to follow the two men. But once more her mother interposed. "Susan!" And then in explanation, "I wouldn't--they'll want to be alone."

Now, as if silenced by an order, the choir stopped in the middle of a bar.

"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Balcome. "Positively tragic!" She gathered up the dog and sank upon the sofa.

"Of course, you saw what did it," observed Mrs. Milo.

"What?" asked Hattie, almost challengingly.

"The wedding-march." And when that had sunk in, "Wallace knew. Didn't you hear what he said? He wanted Mr. Farvel to--to conquer the--the--whatever it was he felt. I'll wager" (Mrs. Milo permitted herself to "wager" under the stress of excitement, never to "bet") "that he's broken his engagement, or something of that sort."

Hattie stared resentfully.

"Engagement?" repeated Sue.

Mrs. Milo's blue eyes sparkled with triumph. "Well, it wouldn't surprise me," she declared.

Sue's color deepened. "Why, of course, he isn't," she answered defensively. "He'd say so--he wouldn't keep a matter like that secret.

It isn't like him--a whole year."

Her mother smiled at her fondly. "There's nothing to get excited about, my daughter."

"But, mother, it's absurd."

Mrs. Milo strolled to a chair and seated herself with elaborate care.

"Well, anyway," she argued, "he carries a girl's picture in his pocket."

In the pause that followed, a telephone began to ring persistently from the direction of the library. But Sue seemed not to hear it. "A picture," she said slowly. And as her mother a.s.sented, smiling, "And--and what did he say when he showed it to you?"

Mrs. Milo started. "Well,--er--the fact is," she admitted, "he didn't exactly show it to me."

"Oh." It was scarcely more than a breath.

Mrs. Milo tossed her head. "No," she added tartly, a trifle ruffled by what the low-spoken exclamation so plainly implied. "If you must know, it fell out of his bureau drawer."

Mrs. Balcome threw out a plump arm across the bending back of the sofa and touched a sleeve of the satin gown covertly. "Hm!" she coughed, with meaning.

But Hattie only moved aside irritably. Of a sudden, she was strangely pale.

Dora entered. "Miss Susan, a telephone summons," she announced.

"Yes--yes,"--absent-mindedly.

When she was gone, Mrs. Milo rose and hastened to Dora, who seemed on guard as she waited, leaned against the library door. "Who is telephoning?" she asked.

Dora's eyes narrowed--to hide their smile. "Oh, Mrs. Milo," she answered, intoning gravely, "the fourth verse, of the thirteenth chapter--or is it the ninth?--of Isaiah." With face raised, as if she were still cudgeling her brain, she crossed toward the vestibule.

"Isaiah--Isaiah," murmured Mrs. Milo. Then, as Dora seemed about to escape, "Dora!--I wouldn't speak in parables, my child, when there are others present." She smiled kindly.

"It is the soloist telephoning," explained Dora; then, so deliberately as almost to be impudent, "A _girl_."

Mrs. Milo showed instant relief. "Oh, the soloist! Such a dear girl.

She sang here a year or so ago. Yes,--Miss Crosby."

Dora out, Mrs. Balcome turned a look of wisdom upon her hostess. "I see," she insinuated, "that we're very much interested in the new minister."

Like that of a startled deer, up came Mrs. Milo's head. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

"If he isn't engaged already, prepare for wedding Number Two."

"_Wedding?_"

Mrs. Balcome tipped forward bulkily. "Sue," she nodded.

Mrs. Milo got to her feet. "Sue! What're you talking about? Why, she never even speaks of marriage."

"Well, maybe she--thinks."

"She doesn't think, either. She has her work, and--and her home."

Mrs. Milo was fairly trembling.

"How do you know she doesn't think? It's perfectly natural."

"I know. And please don't bring up the subject in her presence."

"Why, my dear!" chided Mrs. Balcome, amazed at the pa.s.sion flaming in the blue eyes.

"And don't tease her about Mr. Farvel." That voice so habitually well modulated became suddenly shrill.