ast notion what he was going to
do with his independence, but a boundless delight filled him in the
prospect of it. Whatever life held he was convinced would be good.
Looking down from his slender height on the plump Epstein and the
stocky Bangs, he smiled into the sober face of each, and under the
influence of that smile their momentary solemnity fell from them like
dropped veils.

"Come and see Barbara," Laurie buoyantly suggested. "She wants to say
good-by to you, and to tell you how to tuck me into my crib every night.
She's going to slip away pretty soon, you know. Bob and I have got her
off in an alcove to get a few minutes' rest."

He led them to this haven, of which only fifty or sixty other guests
seemed aware, for the room was but comfortably filled. They found
Barbara sitting in a high-backed Spanish chair, against which, in her
bridal array and her extraordinary beauty, she made a picture that
unaccountably deepened the new depression in Rodney's soul. On her train
by the side of the chair, the Infant Samuel slumbered in peace, like an
exhausted puppy.

Warren, hovering near his wife, shook hands with the new-comers and
responded to their congratulations. Then, slipping his arm through
Laurie's, he drew him across the room to where his sister, Mrs. Ordway,
was languidly talking to several of the bride's old friends. He knew
that Barbara wanted a final and serious word with her brother's
partners. Laurie knew it, too, and winked at the pair like an impish
child as he permitted himself to be led away.

Young Mrs. Warren, whose title was still so new that she looked startled
when they addressed her by it, greeted them warmly and indicated the
sleeping Samuel with an apologetic smile.

"His mother is lost somewhere in the crowd," she explained. "He has had
two glasses of milk, four fat cakes, and three plates of ice-cream; and
he's either asleep or unconscious, I'm not sure which." Her manner
sobered. "I'm so glad to have a moment with you two," she said gently.
"You know what I want to talk about."

"We can guess it." Bangs smiled at her with the odd wistfulness his
smile always took on when he spoke to Barbara. To Bangs, Barbara had
become a temple at whose portal he removed his earth-stained shoes. "You
want us to look after Laurie," he added, quietly. "Well, you bet we're
going to do it."

She smiled again, this time the rare smile that warmed her face like a
light from within.

"Then I shall go a