knows of it. We'll have to tell them how we managed to
keep it a secret for so long, and why,--and all that. And then
everybody will want to know who the bridesmaids are to be."

"I believe I'd like to know that myself, as long as I'm to walk out of
the church ahead of them--provided I don't get lost."

"Helen Grossman is to be the maid of honor. I believe I'll ask Jean
Robertson, Eloise Grant, Harriet Noble, Mayme McMurtrie, Ellen
Boyland--"

"Are we to have no guests?"

"--and Effa Samuels. Won't it be a pretty set of girls?"

"Couldn't be prettier."

"And now, who is to be your best man?"

"Well, I thought I'd have Tom Ditton," a trifle confusedly.

"Tom Ditton! I thought you did not approve of him," she cried. "You
certainly did not when he came to see me so frequently."

"Oh, he isn't such a bad sort, after all. I'd just as soon have him as
any one. Besides, he's an expert at it. If it was left to me, I'd much
rather sit behind the pulpit until it is all over. People won't miss me
while they've got you to look at."

"We could be married so quietly and prettily if it were not for Aunt
Elizabeth," pouted Miss Vernon. "She insists on the church wedding, the
teas and receptions and--"

"All that sort of rot," he interjected, as if fearing she might not
express herself adequately. "I like your Aunt Elizabeth, Grace, but
she's--she's an awful--"

"Don't say it, Hugh. I know what you mean, but she can't help it. She
lives for society. She's perfectly crazy on the subject. Aunt Elizabeth
made up her mind we should be married in church. I have talked myself
black in the face--for your sake, dear--but it was like trying to
convert a stone wall. She is determined. You know what that means."

"No wonder she's a widow," growled Hugh Ridgeway sourly. "Your father
served you a mighty mean trick, dear, when he gave you over to her
training. She might have spoiled you beyond redemption."

"Poor father! He loathed display, too. I've no doubt that is why he left
me in her care until I reached the age of discretion. She was not always
like this. Father's money has wrought the change. Aunty was as poor as a
church mouse until father's death put her at the head of my
household--it was mine, Hugh, even if I was only six years old. You know
we could live pretty well on forty thousand a year."

"You'll have a million or so when you're twenty-three, dear, and I'll
venture to say your aunt has saved something in all these y