ough his thinness was so extreme it was like emaciation;
but his eyes were clear and quiet, and the look he gave her was
strangely gentle. Cora frowned and turned away her head with an
air of annoyance. They came near each other in the convergence at
the doors; but he made no effort to address her, and, moving away
through the crowd as quickly as possible, disappeared.

Valentine Corliss was disclosed in the vestibule. He reached her
an instant in advance of Mr. Lindley, who had suffered himself to
be impeded; and Cora quickly handed the former her parasol,
lightly taking his arm. Thus the slow Richard found himself
walking beside Laura in a scattered group, its detached portion
consisting of his near-betrothed and Corliss; for although the
dexterous pair were first to leave the church, they contrived to
be passed almost at once, and, assuming the position of trailers,
lagged far behind on the homeward way.

Laura and Richard walked in the unmitigated glare of the sun; he
had taken her black umbrella and conscientiously held it aloft,
but over nobody. They walked in silence: they were quiet people,
both of them; and Richard, not "talkative" under any
circumstances, never had anything whatever to say to Laura
Madison. He had known her for many years, ever since her
childhood; seldom indeed formulating or expressing a definite
thought about her, though sometimes it was vaguely of his
consciousness that she played the piano nicely, and even then her
music had taken its place as but a colour of Cora's background.
For to him, as to every one else (including Laura), Laura was in
nothing her sister's competitor. She was a neutral-tinted figure,
taken-for-granted, obscured, and so near being nobody at all,
that, as Richard Lindley walked beside her this morning, he
glanced back at the lagging couple and uttered a long and almost
sonorous sigh, which he would have been ashamed for anybody to
hear; and then actually proceeded on his way without the slightest
realization that anybody had heard it.

She understood. And she did not disturb the trance; she did
nothing to make him observe that she was there. She walked on with
head, shoulders, and back scorching in the fierce sun, and allowed
him to continue shading the pavement before them with her
umbrella. When they reached the house she gently took the umbrella
from him and thanked him; and he mechanically raised his hat.

They had walked more than a mile together; he had no