“Are we alone?” she demanded with proper melodramatic accent.

“We are,” the bride answered, “Winthrop and Mr. Mead have gone out for a smoke.”

“Then I want you to tell me if I’m fading at all.  I’ve been looking at it upstairs, in a little two-by-three mirror, and taken that way, by inches, it looks awful.  Tell me what you think?” She removed the veil and presented her damaged face for her friend’s inspection.  There was not much improvement to report, but the always optimistic Patty did what she could with it.

[Illustration:  SHE SWOOPED UNDER THE LARGE CENTER TABLE, DRAGGING PATTY WITH HER.]

“The left cheek,” she pronounced, “is really better, less swollen, less—­Oh!  Kate, here they come.”

Miss Perry began to readjust her charitable gray chiffon veil.  It was one of those which are built around a circular aperture, and as the steps in the hall came ever closer she, in one last frantic effort succeeded in framing the most lurid of her eyes in this opening.  Casting one last look into the mirror, she swooped under the large center-table, dragging Patty with her, and disposing their various frills and ribbons under the long-hanging tablecover.

“If they don’t find either of us,” she whispered, “they’ll go away to look for us.”

She had no time to say more, and Patty had no time to say anything before the door opened and presented to their limited range of vision, two utterly strange pairs of shoes and the hems of alien trousers.

“I hope you will excuse me, Miss,” began the molasses gentleman, so full of his entrance speech that he said the first part of it before he noticed that the room was empty.  And then turned to rend his fellow adventurer, who was laughing at him.

“Didn’t Horace tell us,” he stormed, “that she was here, and wasn’t you going to say how you had saw her in the original ‘Black Crook?’”

“I seen her all right,” said his more grammatical friend, with heavy emphasis.

“Do you see her now?” demanded the irate molasses traveler.

“I do not, but I’ll set here ’til she comes.”

They both sat.  Not indeed until the arrival of Ruby Mandeville, but until Hawley and Mead made their appearance, and made it, too, very plain that they had not expected and did not enjoy the society of the travelers.

“Where are the ladies?” asked Hawley.

“Search us,” responded the travelers.

“They must have gone to their rooms,” said the bridegroom.  “If these gentlemen don’t object to our waiting here,” he went on with a fine and wasted sarcasm.

“Set right down,” said the genial sarsaparilla man, and to further promote good feeling he tendered his remaining “Ruby Mandeville” cigar.

“Your friend,” said he affably, “does he always wear them goggles?”

“Always,” answered Hawley.  “Eats in them, sleeps in them.”

“Born in them,” supplemented Mead savagely.