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 "What's the matter, darling?"

"Nothing—I guess I was tired. I'm all right now." She sat up, sniffed, blew her nose vigorously.

"You know it's not too late—if you have any misgivings," Kate suggested, timidly.

"It's no use having misgivings with the silver all marked and everything," Charlotte said, beginning to brush her hair. "I think I'll have a bath if there's enough hot water." She dismissed Kate kindly. And on her wedding day she was herself again.

Clark has done the church very nicely, Kate thought, going up the aisle on Joe's arm. Too much asparagus fern, but those tall baskets of roses at the ends of the pews were impressive. She would have had flowers from the garden, but the decorations were a present from Mr. and Mrs. Driggs. Aunt Sarah was in the front pew, tiny, erect, and disapproving. Tom Green's daughter marrying a nouveau riche nobody! Carrie was crying already; her ostrich feather tickled Kate every time she bent close to whisper. Kate leaned forward, shading her eyes with her whitegloved hands, stealing a downward glance at her kangaroo's child of orchids and maidenhair fern, gift of the groom, far too excited to pray.

The wedding was blotted out for her by Joe's tie, that had slipped up in the back.

Coming down the aisle now, Charlotte firm and composed in white satin, smiling pleasantly, but not too much, because they were still in church. Hoag-