lous of all this.'

'It would be difficult to explain,' said Conroy.

'Then you'd better not be at my wedding,' Miss Henschil laughed.

'After all we've gone through, too. But I suppose you ought to leave me
out. Is the day fixed?' he cried.

'Twenty-second of September--in spite of both his sisters. I can risk it
now.' Her face was glorious as she flushed.

'My dear chap!' He shook hands unreservedly, and she gave back his grip
without flinching. 'I can't tell you how pleased I am!'

'Gracious Heavens!' said Nurse Blaber, in a new voice. 'Oh, I beg your
pardon. I forgot I wasn't paid to be surprised.'

'What at? Oh, I see!' Miss Henschil explained to Conroy. 'She expected
you were going to kiss me, or I was going to kiss you, or something.'

'After all you've gone through, as Mr. Conroy said,'

'But I couldn't, could you?' said Miss Henschil, with a disgust as frank
as that on Conroy's face. 'It would be horrible--horrible. And yet, of
course, you're wonderfully handsome. How d'you account for it, Nursey?'

Nurse Blaber shook her head. 'I was hired to cure you of a habit, dear.
When you're cured I shall go on to the next case--that senile-decay one
at Bourne-mouth I told you about.'

'And I shall be left alone with George! But suppose it isn't cured,'
said Miss Henschil of a sudden. Suppose it comes back again. What can I
do? I can't send for _him_ in this way when I'm a married woman!' She
pointed like an infant.

'I'd come, of course,' Conroy answered. 'But, seriously, that is a
consideration.'

They looked at each other, alarmed and anxious, and then toward Nurse
Blaber, who closed her book, marked the place, and turned to face them.

'Have you ever talked to your mother as you have to me?' she said.

'No. I might have spoken to dad--but mother's different. What d'you
mean?'

'And you've never talked to your mother either, Mr. Conroy?'

'Not till I took Najdolene. Then I told her it was my heart. There's no
need to say anything, now that I'm practically over it, is there?'

'Not if it doesn't come back, but--' She beckoned with a stumpy,
triumphant linger that drew their heads close together. 'You know I
always go in and read a chapter to mother at tea, child.'

'I know you do. You're an angel,' Miss Henschil patted the blue
shoulder next her. 'Mother's Church of England now,' she explained. 'But
she'll have her Bible with her pikelets at tea every night like the
Skinners.'

'It was Naaman an