"She talks about decency"--Balcome spoke confidentially--"and she brings a pup to rehearsal."

"She brings a darling doggie to rehearsal," translated Sue.

By now, Mrs. Balcome was serenity itself. "A pup at rehearsal," she observed, "is more acceptable than one man I could name."

"Aw," began Balcome, reaching, as it were, for a suitable retort.

Sue put up imploring hands. Hattie had just entered, having changed from her wedding-dress. "Now, wait! This line is busy," she declared.

And to Hattie, "Oh, my dear, why didn't you arrange for two ceremonies!"

"Do you mean bigamy?" inquired the girl, dryly, aware of the atmosphere of trouble.

"I mean one ceremony for father, and one for mother," answered Sue.

Both belligerents advanced upon her. "Now, Susan," began Mrs. Balcome.

And "Look-a here!" exclaimed Balcome.

The sad voice of Dora interrupted. From the vestibule she shook a mournful head in a warning. "Someone is calling," she whispered.

"It's Miss Crosby."

Like two combatants who have fought a round, the Balcomes parted, retiring to opposite corners of the room. Dora, having satisfied herself that quiet reigned, went out.

Hattie stifled a yawn. "What is Miss Crosby going to sing, Sue?" she asked indifferently.

"'O Perfect Love.'"

Balcome wheeled with a resounding flop of the hat. "O Perfect What?"

he demanded.

"Love, Mr. Balcome,--L-O-V-E."

"Ha-a-a!" cried Balcome. "I haven't heard that word in years!"

Mrs. Balcome, stung again to action, swept forward to a renewed attack.

"He hasn't heard the word in years!" she scolded. And Balcome, scolding in concert with her, "I don't think I'd recognize it if I saw it."--"Through whose fault, I'd like to know?"--her voice topped her husband's.

"Please!" A changed Sue was speaking now, not playfully or facetiously, or even patiently: her face was grave, her eyes were angry. "Mrs. Balcome, kindly take your place in the Close, to the left of the big door. Mr. Balcome, you will follow the choir." She waved them out, and they went, both unaccountably meek. Those who knew Sue Milo seldom saw this phase of her personality. Sue, the yielding, the loving, the childlike, could, on occasions, shed all her softer qualities and become, of a sudden, justly vengeful, full of wrath, and unbending. Even her mother had, at rare intervals, seen this phenomenon, and felt respect for it.

Just now, having opened the pa.s.sage door for the choir, Mrs. Milo had scented something wrong, and was cautioning the boys in a whisper.

They came by twos across the room, curving their line a little to pa.s.s near to Sue, and looking toward her with troubled eyes. This indeed was a different Sue, in that strange dress, standing so tensely, with averted face.

When the last white gown was gone, Hattie laid her hand on Sue's arm.

"It's all right," she said gently. "Don't you care."

Sue did not speak or move.

"Dear Sue," pleaded the girl.

Sue turned. In her look was pity for all that Hattie had borne of bitterness and wrangling. And as a mother gathers a stricken child to her breast, so she drew the other to her. "Oh, Hattie!" she murmured huskily. "Go--go far. Put it all behind you forever! From now on, Hattie, they can't hurt you any more--can't torture you any longer.

From now on, happiness, Hattie, happiness!" She dropped her head to Hattie's shoulder.

"There! There!" soothed the younger woman, tenderly. Someone was entering--a girl with a music-roll under an arm. Nodding to the newcomer, she covered the situation by ostentatiously tidying Sue's hair.

CHAPTER III

"Dear Miss Crosby, I'm so glad to see you again!"

Mrs. Milo came hurrying across the drawing-room to greet the soloist.

Miss Crosby shook hands heartily. She was smartly dressed in a wine-colored velveteen, the over-short skirt of which barely reached to the tops of her freshly whitened spats. Her wide hat was tipped to a rakish angle. She was young (twenty-eight or thirty at most, but she looked less) and distinctly pretty. Her features were regular, her face oval, if too thin--with the thinness of one who is underfed. And this appearance of being poorly nourished showed in her skin, which was pallid, except where she had touched it on cheeks and chin with rouge.

A neck a trifle too long and too lean was accentuated by a wide boyish collar of some starched material. But her eyes were fine--not large, but dark and l.u.s.trous under their black brows and heavy lashes. Worn in waves that testified to the use of the curling-iron, her yellow hair was in striking contrast to them. But this bright tint was plainly the result of bleaching. And both hair and rouge served to emphasize lines in her face that had not been made by time--lines of want, and struggle, and suffering; lines of experience. These showed mostly about her mouth, a thin mouth made more p.r.o.nounced by the cautious use of the lip-stick.

"My dear," beamed Mrs. Milo, "are you singing away as hard as ever?"

"Oh, I have a great many weddings," declared the other, with a note that was somewhat bragging.

Mrs. Milo looked down at the long, slender, ungloved hand still held in one of hers. "Ah," she went on, playfully teasing, "but I see you're not always going to sing at other girls' weddings."

Miss Crosby pulled her hand free, and thrust it behind her among the folds of her skirt. "Well,--I--I----" She gave a sudden frightened look around, as if seeking some way of escape.

Sue was quick to her rescue. "Don't you want to wait with the choir?"

she asked, waving a hand. "--You, too, Hattie."

Mrs. Milo seemed not to notice the singer's confusion. And when the latter disappeared with Hattie, she appealed to Sue, beaming with excitement. "Did you notice?" she asked. "A solitaire! She's engaged to be married!"

"Married!" echoed Sue, and shook her head.

"Oh, yes. You're thinking of the Balconies. Well, now you see why I've never felt too badly about your not taking the step."

"You mean that most marriages----?"

"It's a lottery--a lottery." Mrs. Milo sighed.

"But your marriage--yours and father's----"

"My marriage was a great exception--a very great exception."

"And there's Hattie and Wallace," went on Sue. "Oh, it would be too terrible----"

"There are few men as good as my son," said Mrs. Milo, proudly; "--you darling boy!" For Wallace had entered the room.

He came to them quickly. His pale face was unwontedly anxious.

"Is anything wrong?" questioned Sue.

"No," he declared. But his whole manner belied his words. "Only--only there'll be a change tomorrow--an outside minister."