do you think I brought her?"

"Oh!--Well, in that case, please don't let me interfere." She went
out, banging a door.

"Now! Now!" pleaded Mrs. Milo, lifting entreating hands.

Balcome entered. He was a large man, curiously like his wife in type,
for he had the same florid stoutness, the same rather small and pale
eye. His well-worn sack suit hung on him loosely. He carried a large
soft hat in one hand, and with it he continually flopped nervously at a
knee. As he caught sight of the two women, he twisted his face into a
scowl.

Mrs. Milo, all smiles, and with outstretched hands, floated toward him
in her most graceful manner. "Ah, Brother Balcome!" she cried warmly.

Balcome halted, seized her left hand, gave it a single shake, dropped
it, and stalked across the drawing-room head in air. "Don't call me
brother," he said crossly.

Dora, going libraryward, stopped to view him in mingled reproval and
sorrow.

"Well, what's the matter with you?" he demanded. "Eh? Eh?"

She shook her head, put her finger-tips together, and directed her gaze
upon the ceiling. "'For ye have need of patience,'" she quoted.

"Well, of all the impudent----" began Balcome, giving his knee a loud
"whop" with the hat.

"Hebrews," interrupted Dora; "--Hebrews, tenth chapter, and
thirty-sixth verse."

Balcome nodded. "I guess you're right," he confided. "Patience.
That's it." And to Mrs. Milo, "Say, when do we rehearse this
tragedy?"--Whereat Dora cupped one hand over her mouth and fled the
room.

Mrs. Balcome was stung to action. "Hear that!" she cried, appealing to
Mrs. Milo. "A father, of his daughter's wedding!"

"Oh, sh!" cautioned Mrs. Milo.

Balcome glared. "Let me tell you this," he went on, as if to the room
in general, "if Hattie's going to act like her mother, she'd better
stop the whole business today." He sat down.

"Now, Brother Balcome,"--this pleadingly.

"Don't call me _brother_!" shouted Mr. Balcome.

That shout, like a shot, brought Mrs. Balcome down. She plumped upon
the sofa. "Oh, now you see what I have to bear!" she wailed. "Now,
you understand! Oh! Oh!" She buried her face in the coat of the
convenient Babette.

Mrs. Milo hastened to her, soothing, imploring. And Balcome rose, to
pace the floor, flapping at his knee with each step.

"Now, you see what _I_ have to bear," he mocked. "My only daughter
marries, and her mother brings that hunk of hydrophobia to rehearsal."

At t