tressing. _Very._"

"As usual," drawled McPherson, "I find I can't agree with you. To me it
seems a blessed release."

"And on Kathrien's wedding day, too!" went on Mr. Batholommey, to whom
McPherson's eternal disagreement had become so chronic he scarce noticed
it. "At least, on the day that _was_ to have been her wedding day! Young
Hartmann waked me out of a sound sleep last night to tell me she had
promised to marry him to-day. And he asked me to be at the house
promptly at eleven. But, of course, now----"

"Of course, now," put in the doctor, "the wedding is going to take place
just the same."

"But----!"

"I argued with Kathrien a whole half-hour this morning before she would
agree to it," went on the doctor. "But at last I persuaded her it was
the only thing to do. If ever she needs a husband's help and advice, now
is the time. And at last I made her understand that. So, she and James
will be married to-day. Just as they planned to. The only difference
will be that they'll come to the rectory for the ceremony."

"It seems almost--shall I say indecorous?" protested Mr. Batholommey.

"The _real_ things of life generally do," replied the doctor.
"Good-morning. I'm going to be so indecorous as to hurry home for a bath
and a breakfast instead of catching cold standing out here on a wet
street discussing other people's business."

He strode on. Mr. Batholommey, murmuring dazedly to himself, took up his
own journey.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE GOOD-BYE

Frederik Grimm turned away from looking down at the pathetically small
figure in the darkened room. His face was expressionless. He had stood
there but a few minutes. And his eyes, riveted on the still, white
little form, had not softened nor blurred with tears.

Wearily he descended the gallery stairs into the living-room, where the
morning sunlight was already turning the desk bowl of roses into a riot
of burning colour.

He was halfway across the room, toward the door, when he was aware that
Kathrien had risen from the desk chair and was looking at him. Her look
was cold and devoid of pity as she surveyed him. But as he halted,
hesitant, the sunlight fell full on his face. And in the visage that had
seemed so vapidly blank to McPherson, she read much.

The cold glint died from her eyes and she stepped forward with hand
outstretched.

"Frederik," she said gently.

He came haltingly toward her. He held out his hand to meet hers. But he
could not touc