"Right as the mail!" a.s.sured Clare, ironically again, and borrowing an expression learned from Hull.

"Ah! Thank you!--Susan, Miss Crosby is not Miss Crosby at all. She is married.--I'm so glad your husband has found you, my dear."

"Found? You--you don't mean----" There was a frightened look in Sue's eyes.

Her mother misunderstood the look. "Yes, lucky Mr. Farvel," she said, beaming. Then with precision, since Sue seemed not to comprehend, "Mrs.--Alan--Farvel."

"I--see."

"Didn't I practically guess that Mr. Farvel was married?"

"Married,"--it was like an echo.

"And I was right!"

"Yes, mother,--yes--you're--you're always right."

"Mr. Farvel, we congratulate you!--Don't we, dear?"

"Congratulations."

Something in Sue's face made Farvel reach out his hand to her. She took it mechanically. Thus they stood, but not looking at each other.

Once more Mrs. Milo was playfully teasing. "Why shouldn't we all know that you had a wife?" she twittered. It was as if she had added, "You bad, bad boy!"

"Yes," said Sue. "Why not? Rectors do have them. There's no canon against it." She laughed tremulously, and dropped his hand.

Clare tossed her head. "There ought to be!" she declared.

At that, Mrs. Milo threw out both arms dramatically. "Oh! Oh, dear!"

she cried. "I've just thought of something!"

"I'll bet!" Clare turned, instantly apprehensive.

"Save it, mother!" begged Sue, eager to avert whatever might be impending; "--save it till we get home. Come! Mr. and Mrs. Farvel will have things to talk over." And to the clergyman, "We'll take Mr.

Balcome and go on ahead."

"Now wait!" bade Mrs. Milo, gently. "Why are you so impetuous, daughter? Why don't you listen to your mother? Why do you take it for granted that I want to make Mrs. Farvel unhappy?"--this in a chiding aside.

"I don't, mother."

"Indeed, I am greatly concerned about her. She believed her husband dead, poor girl. And now"--with a sudden, disconcerting turn on Clare--"what about your engagement?"

"I'm--I'm not engaged!" As she sprang up, the girl pressed both hands against the wine-colored velveteen of her skirt, hiding them. "I never said I was! Oh, I wish you'd mind your own business!"

"Mother! Mother!" pleaded Sue. "It was you who said it. Not Miss--Mrs. Farvel. Don't you remember?"

"How _could_ I be engaged?" She was emboldened by Sue's help. "I knew he wasn't--dead."

Farvel laughed a little bitterly. "You mean, no such luck, don't you, Laura?" he asked. "Well, then,--I've got some good news for you."

"What? What?"--with a sudden, eager movement toward him.

"When five years had pa.s.sed, and no word had come from you, though we all felt that you were alive, your brother--in order to settle the estate--had you declared legally dead. And naturally, that--that----"

"I'm free!" She put up both hands, and lifted her face--almost as if in prayerful thanksgiving. "I'm free! I'm free!" Then she gave way to boisterous laughter, and fell to walking to and fro, waving her arms, and turning her head from side to side. "I'm dead, but I'm free!

Oh, ha! ha! ha!--Well, that _is_ good news! Free! And _you're_ free!"

"No, I am not free," he said quietly. "But it doesn't matter."

"You are free," she protested. "Anyhow, I'm not going to let any of that nonsense stand in my way. And don't you--church or no church.

Life's too short." Her manner was hurried. She caught at Farvel's arm. "We're both free, Alan, so there's nothing more to say, is there?

Except, good-by. Good-by, Alan,----"

Mrs. Milo interrupted. "But the child," she reminded. "Your daughter?"

"Daughter?" Sue turned to Balcome, questioning him, and half-guessing.

"Yes, my dear. Isn't it lovely? Mr. and Mrs. Farvel have a little girl."

"That's the one," Balcome explained, as if Clare was not within hearing. He jerked his head toward the hall. "The one that called her Auntie."

"Auntie?" Mrs. Milo seized upon the information. "You surely don't mean that the child calls her own mother Auntie?"

Clare broke in. "I'll tell you how that is," she volunteered. "You see"--speaking to Sue--"I've never told her I'm her mother. She thinks her mother's in Africa; her father, too. Because--because I've always planned to give her to some good couple--a married couple. Don't you see, as long as Barbara doesn't know, they could say, 'We are your parents.'"

"But you couldn't give her up like that!" cried Sue, earnestly.

"No," purred Mrs. Milo. "You must keep your baby. And, doubtless"--this with the ingratiating smile, the tip of the head, and the pious inflection--"doubtless you two will wish to re-marry--for the sake of the child."

"No!" cried Clare. "No! No! _No!_"

"No, Mrs. Milo," added Farvel, quietly. "She shall be free."

"No, for Heaven's sake!" put in Balcome. "Don't raise another girl like Hattie's been raised."

Mrs. Milo showed her dislike of the remark, with its implied criticism of her own judgment. And she was uneasy over the turn that the whole matter had taken. Farvel married, no matter to whom, was one thing: Farvel very insecurely tied, and possessed of a small daughter whose mother repudiated her, that was quite another. She watched Sue narrowly, for Sue was watching Farvel.

"But the little one," said the clergyman, turning to Clare; "I'd like to see her."

"Sure!" She was all eagerness. "Why not?--Yes."

"Where is she?"

"Out of town. At Poughkeepsie. She boards with some people."

"Ah, good little mother!" said Sue, smiling. "Your baby's not in an Inst.i.tution!"

Clare blushed under the compliment. "No, I--I shouldn't like to have her in an Orphanage."