temper; then had suddenly broken down, and, exclaiming wildly:
"'Ow about _'im_?" had thrown her apron over her head, and left the
room, sobbing.

"_How about him? How about him?_"

Each turn of the wheels reiterated the question as she drove to Shiloh
to pick up Miss Ann; then on to the church where the Professor waited.

_How about him_? But _he_ had left her to do that which she felt to be
right, and she was doing it.

Nevertheless, Martha's wild outburst had brought the Boy very near; and
he seemed with her as she walked up the church.

Her mind wandered during the reading of the exhortation. In this
nightmare of a wedding she seemed to have no really important part to
play. The Boy would burst in, in a minute; and a shaft of light would
come with him. He would walk straight up the church to her, saying:
"We have jolly well had enough of this, Christobel!" Then they would
all wake up, and he would whirl her away in a motor and she would say:
"Boy dear; don't exceed the speed-limit."

But the Boy did not burst in; and the Professor's hands, looking
unusually large in a pair of white kid gloves, were twitching
nervously, for an emphatic question was being put to him by the old
clergyman, who had emerged from his hiding-place behind the
Prayer-book, as soon as the exhortation was over.

The Professor said: "I will," with considerable emotion; while Miss Ann
sobbed audibly into her lace pocket-handkerchief.

Christobel looked at the Professor. His outward appearance seemed
greatly improved. His beard had been trimmed; his hair--what there was
of it--cut. He had not once looked at her since she entered the church
and took her place at his side; but she knew, if he did look, his eyes
would be kind--kind, with a magnified kindness, behind the convex
lenses. The Boy had asked whether she loved the Professor's mouth,
eyes, and hair. What questions the amazing Boy used to ask! And she
had answered----

But here a silence in the church recalled her wandering thoughts. The
all-important question had been put to her. She had not heard one word
of it; yet the church awaited her "I will."

The silence became alarming. This was the exact psychological moment
in which the Boy should have dashed in to the rescue. But the Boy did
not dash in.

Then Christobel Charteris did a thing perhaps unique in the annals of
brides, but essentially characteristic of her extreme honesty.

"I am sorry," she said, in a