th,
Shine on ye both on your love's perfect day."

As the last line was reached, Mrs. Batholommey raised her hand in a
signal to stop.

"That's better. Now, children--not too loud. Remember, this is a very
_quiet_ wedding. You're to be here at noon to-morrow. You mustn't speak
as you enter the room, and take your places near the piano. Now we'll
sing as though the bride were here. I'll represent the bride."

Mrs. Batholommey pointed at Kathrien's door as she spoke, and started
toward it with subdued but undeniable enthusiasm.

"Miss Kathrien will come down the stairs from her room, I suppose--and
will stand--I don't know where--but you've got to stop when I look at
you. Watch me now----"

Bending her knees, she stood bobbing up and down in time to the
children's singing, until she caught the step, then started down the
stairs, unconsciously raising and lowering her dress skirt to emphasise
the rhythm of the song.

Across the room she marched, head bent and eyes cast down, while the
children repeated the familiar verse over and over.

Having marched herself into a corner she halted and faced the little
singers. At that moment, however, Frederik entered, and the rehearsal
was over for the day. Mrs. Batholommey quickly left her role of bride
and dismissed the chorus with many warnings and instructions.

"That will do, children. Hurry home between showers and don't forget
what I've told you about to-morrow!"

While she busied herself helping them into their rubbers and
waterproofs, Frederik puffed at a cigarette in silence and was seemingly
without the slightest interest in what was going on around him. A great
change had taken place in his demeanour since his uncle's death. He had
come into his own. The place, and everything, including Kathrien
herself, would be his. He did not even try to veil his feeling of
mastership. Walking over to his uncle's desk-chair, he sat down and
began to pull off his gloves, looking at the children a trifle
superciliously.

Mrs. Batholommey felt it necessary to explain, and murmured with
deprecatory haste:

"My Sunday-school children. I thought your dear uncle wouldn't like it
if he knew there wasn't going to be _any_ singing during the marriage
ceremony to-morrow. I know how bright and cheery _he_ liked everything,"
she purred. "If he were alive it would be a church wedding! Dear, happy,
charitable soul!"

As she spoke she handed the children their umbrellas and, exchanging