s arm,
across the lawns to the silk marquee where the wedding breakfast was
served. Before them, walking backward, were a dozen little girls from the
village school, all in white, strewing roses from beribboned baskets, and
singing, "Behold! The bride in beauty comes!"

"Well, I'm glad it's all over," said Theresa as she settled back in a
chair in the private car that was to take them to Wilderness Lodge, in
northern Wisconsin for the honeymoon.

"So am I," Ross disappointed her by saying. "I've felt like a damn fool
ever since I began to face that gaping gang."

"But you must admit it was beautiful," objected Theresa pouting.

Ross shut his teeth together to keep back a rude reply. He was
understanding how men can be brutal to women. To look at her was to have
an all but uncontrollable impulse to rise up and in a series of noisy and
profane explosions reveal to her the truth that was poisoning him. After
a while, a sound from her direction made him glance at her. She was
sobbing. He did not then know that, to her, tears were simply the means
to getting what she wanted; so his heart softened. While she was thinking
that she was looking particularly well and femininely attractive, he was
pitying her as a forlorn creature, who could never inspire love and ought
to be treated with consideration, much as one tries to hide by an
effusive show of courtesy the repulsion deformity inspires.

"Don't cry, Theresa," he said gently, trying to make up his mind to touch
her. But he groaned to himself, "I can't! I must wait until I can't see
her." And he ordered the porter to bring him whisky and soda.

"Won't you join me?" he said.

"You know, I never touch anything to drink," she replied. "Papa and Dr.
Massey both made me promise not to."

Ross's hand, reaching out for the bottle of whisky, drew slowly back. He
averted his face that she might not see. He knew about her mother--and
knew Theresa did not. It had never entered his head that the weakness of
the mother might be transmitted to the daughter. Now--Just before they
left, Dr. Massey had taken him aside and, in a manner that would have
impressed him instantly but for his mood, had said: "Mr. Whitney, I want
you never to forget that Theresa must not be depressed. You must take the
greatest care of her. We must talk about it again--when you return."

And _this_ was what he meant!

He almost leaped to his feet at Theresa's softly interrupting voice, "Are
you ill, dear?"