version. They were a very merry little company, entering into the joy
of being together with all their hearts, and deeply thankful for the
opportunity to gather once more in the same spirit of friendly affection
that had characterized all their meetings.

It was well toward midnight when the party broke up.

"Mayn't I take you home in my car, Grace," pleaded Tom. Grace stood for
the moment, a little detached from the others, arranging the veil over
her hat.

"Oh, no, Tom," she made quick answer. "It is late. You mustn't go to
that trouble. David is going to take Anne and I in his car. Hippy, Nora,
Reddy and Jessica are going home in Hippy's machine."

Tom's face fell. "May I come to see you to-morrow afternoon, then?"

"Yes, do. Miriam and David are coming over for a while," returned wily
Grace. Her one idea was to avoid being alone with Tom. His sole idea was
to be alone with her. His pride, however, would allow him to go no
further. He had been rebuffed twice in rapid succession.

"Thank you. I'll drop in on you then," he said, trying to summon an
indifference he did not feel.

After his aunt's guests had departed with much merriment and laughter,
Tom turned to go upstairs. He was sure Grace did not intend to be
unkind. It was not her fault if she did not love him. He had determined,
however, to plead with her once more. Then, if she still remained
obdurate, as he feared she might, he would give up all hope of her,
forever, and go his lonely way in the world.

CHAPTER XV

THE NEW YEAR'S WEDDING

It was New Year's, and Anne Pierson's wedding night. At half-past seven
the ceremony linking her life forever to that of her school-day friend,
David Nesbit, was to be performed in the beautiful old stone church on
Chapel Hill which, in company with her chums, she had faithfully
attended during her years spent in Oakdale.

Anne had, at first, steadily refused to countenance the idea of a church
wedding. She was a quiet, demure little soul, who, aside from her work,
detested publicity. It was Mrs. Gray's wish, however, to see the girl
she had befriended married in the church which bore the memorial window
to the other Anne, her daughter, who had died in her girlhood. So Anne
had yielded to that wish.

Although Grace was Anne's dearest friend, she had insisted that Miriam
should be her maid of honor. Privately she had said, "I'd rather be a
bridesmaid wi