“Poor father,” she said, in a pitying way.  “If Edith had only let you alone.”

“I certainly didn’t do much good.”

“Of course you didn’t—­you did harm—­oh, so much more harm than you know.”  Into the quiet voice of his daughter crept a note of keen regret.  “I wanted to make her last days in this house a time she could look back on, so that she’d want to come home for help if ever she’s in trouble.  She has so little—­don’t you see?—­of what a woman needs these days.  She has grown up so badly.  Oh, if you’d only let her alone.  It was such a bad, bad time to choose.”  She went to her father and kissed him.  “Well, it’s over now,” she said, “and we’ll make the best we can of it.  I’ll tell her you’re sorry and quiet her down.  And to-morrow we’ll try to forget it has happened.”

* * * * *

For Roger the morrow went by in a whirl.  The wedding, a large church affair, was to take place at twelve o’clock.  He arose early, put on his Prince Albert, went down and ate his breakfast alone.  The waitress was flustered, the coffee was burnt.  He finished and anxiously wandered about.  The maids were bustling in and out, with Deborah giving orders pellmell.  The caterers came trooping in.  The bridesmaids were arriving and hurrying up to Roger’s room.  That place was soon a chaos of voices, giggles, peals of laughter.  Laura’s trunks were brought downstairs, and Roger tagged them for the ship, one for the cabin and three for the hold, and saw them into the wagon.  Then he strode distractedly everywhere, till at last he was hustled by Deborah into a taxi waiting outside.

“It’s all going so smoothly,” Deborah said, and a faint sardonic glimmer came into her father’s hunted eyes.  Deborah was funny!

Soon he found himself in the church.  He heard whispers, eager voices, heard one usher say to another, “God, what a terrible head I’ve got!” And Roger glared at him for that.  Plainly these youngsters, all mere boys, had been up with the groom a good part of the night....  But here was Laura, pale and tense.  She smiled at him and squeezed his hand.  There was silence, then the organ, and now he was taking her up the aisle.  Strange faces stared.  His jaw set hard.  At last they reached the altar.  An usher quickly touched his arm and he stepped back where he belonged.  He listened but understood nothing.  Just words, words and motions.

“If any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

“No,” thought Roger, “I won’t speak.”

Just then he caught sight of Deborah’s face, and at the look in her steady gray eyes all at once he could feel the hot tears in his own.

At the wedding breakfast he was gay to a boisterous degree.  He talked to strange women and brought them food, took punch with men he had never laid eyes on, went off on a feverish hunt for cigars, came back distractedly, joked with young girls and even started some of them dancing.  The whole affair was over in no time.  The bride and the groom came rushing downstairs; and as they escaped from the shower of rice, Roger ran after them down the steps.  He gripped Sloane’s hand.