“Where are you going to live?”

For the first time Mary’s air of assurance left her.  “He is hoping his grandfather will want us at Huntersfield——­”

“He can keep on a-hoping,” said Bob Flippin.  “I know the Judge.”

Mary flared.  “We can find a little house of our own——­”

Her father laid his hand on her shoulder.  “Look at me, daughter,” he said, and turned her face up to him.  “Our house is yours, Mary,” he said.  “I don’t like the way you did it, and I hate to think what will happen when the Judge finds out.  But our home is yours, and it’s your husband’s.  As long as you like to stay——­”

And now Mary sobbed—­a little slip of a thing in her father’s arms.  All the long months she had kept her secret, holding it safe in her heart, dreading yet longing for the moment when she could tell the world that she was the wife of Truxton Beaufort, whom she had adored from babyhood.

“I would have married him, Dad, if—­if I had had to tramp the road.”

Truxton came on the noon train.  He drove at once to Huntersfield with his mother, was embraced by the Judge, kissed Becky, and suddenly disappeared.

“Where’s he gone?” the Judge asked, irritably.  “Where has he gone, Claudia?”

“He will be back in time for lunch,” said Mrs. Beaufort.  “May I speak to you in the library, Father?”

Becky, from the moment of her aunt’s arrival, had known that something was wrong.  She had expected to see Mrs. Beaufort glowing with renewed youth, radiant.  Instead, she looked as if a blight had come upon her, shrivelled—­old.  When she smiled it was without joy; she was dull and flat.

It was a half hour before Aunt Claudia came out from the library.  “My dear,” she said, finding Becky still on the porch, “I have something to tell you.  Will you go up-stairs with me?—­I—­think I should like to—­lie down——­”

Becky put a strong young arm about her and they went up together.

“It’s—­it’s about Truxton,” Aunt Claudia said, prone on the couch in her room.  “Becky—­he’s married——­”

"Married?"

“Married, my dear.  He did not tell me until—­last night.  He wanted me to be happy—­as long as I could.  He’s a dear boy, Becky—­but—­he’s married——­” She went on presently with an effort.  “He has been married over two years—­and, Becky—­he has married—­Mary Flippin.”

"Aunt Claudia——­“

“He married her in Petersburg—­before he went to France with the first ambulance corps.  They decided not to tell anyone.  Mary took Truxton’s middle name.  When the baby came, Truxton was wild to write us, but Mary—­wouldn’t.  She felt if he was here when it was told that we would forgive him——­ If anything—­happened to him—­she didn’t want him to die feeling that we had—­blamed him——­ I must say that Mary—­was wise—­but—­to think that my son has married—­Mary Flippin.”

“Mary’s a dear,” said Becky stoutly.