o hear
more, returned the receiver to its place and went to satisfy her
friend's curiosity.

"Well?" Mrs. West had emptied her teacup and the soothing effects of
the potion showed in her altered voice.

"Yes, Josephine's there," Persis replied to the elliptical inquiry.
"But I gathered from something that was let drop that maybe she
wouldn't stay long. So if you want a visit with her you'd better not
waste any time."

CHAPTER XXIII

WEDDING BELLS

The wedding dress was finished and a success.

"I guess it'll have to be my valedictory," Persis said with
ill-concealed elation. "I'm never going to beat that if I dressmake
till I'm a hundred." As for Diantha, her ecstasy implied that whatever
the risks attached to the matrimonial venture, they were abundantly
offset by the privilege of arraying one's self in habiliments of such
transcendental charm.

But of the two, the girl's happiness was the least overcast. Diantha
did not realize the pathos of her ability to leave her home without a
pang. Since tears are only the reverse side of joy, the bride who says
farewell to her girlhood dry-eyed is a legitimate object of sympathy.
Diantha's unclouded happiness was significant of all that her youth had
lacked.

But Persis' satisfaction was superficial. Underneath her stubborn
cheer, her genial vivacity, self-reproach was astir. While she
listened to the outpourings of Diantha's ardent confidence and laughed
over the children's naive inquiries regarding the approaching and
stupendous event, she stood a prisoner at the bar of her conscience,
summoned to defend herself against the charge of injustice to a friend.
And the more she pondered the question, the more advisable it seemed
for her to plead guilty and throw herself upon the mercy of the court.

She recalled in extenuation of Thomas's offense that his confession had
been strictly voluntary, prompted only by his own sense of honor. He
might have retained the confidence and friendship he valued above all
else, simply by holding his peace. Moreover his provocation had not
been slight. "She looked so like a kitten," he had said of Annabel.
Persis knew the look he meant, that inimitable blending of challenge
and retreat, shyness and daring so commingled as to be most
provocative. Of course he was no match for Annabel, poor honest Thomas.

"It's the good men they make the quickest work of," thought Persis,
turning restlessly on an uneasy pillow. "It n