They gathered, a sober, black-dressed group, in the cold and dreary parlor, Ferd Eastman looking almost indecorously cheerful and rosy, in his checked suit and with his big diamond ring glittering on his fat hand.  There was no will to read, but Billy had ascertained what none of the sisters knew, the exact figures of the mortgage, the value of the contents of Mrs. Lancaster’s locked tin box, the size and number of various outstanding bills.  He spread a great number of papers out before him on a small table; Alfred, who appeared to be sleepy, after the strain of the past week, yawned, started up blinking, attempted to take an intelligent interest in the conversation; Georgie, thinking of her nursing baby, was eager to hurry everything through.

“Now, about you girls,” said Billy.  “Sue feels that you might make a good thing of it if you stayed on here.  What do you think?”

“Well, Billy—­well, Ferd—–­” Everyone turned to look at Mary Lou, who was stammering and blushing in a most peculiar way.  Mr. Eastman put his arm about her.  Part of the truth flashed on Susan.

“You’re going to be married!” she gasped.  But this was the moment for which Ferd had been waiting,

“We are married, good people,” he said buoyantly.  “This young lady and I gave you all the slip two weeks ago!”

Susan rushed to kiss the bride, but upon Virginia’s bursting into hysterical tears, and Georgie turning faint, Mary Lou very sensibly set about restoring her sisters’ composure, and, even on this occasion, took a secondary part.

“Perhaps you had some reason—–­” said Georgie, faintly, turning reproachful eyes upon the newly wedded pair.

“But, with poor Ma just gone!” Virginia burst into tears again.

“Ma knew,” sobbed Mary Lou, quite overcome.  “Ferd—­Ferd—–­” she began with difficulty, “didn’t want to wait, and I wouldn’t,—­so soon after poor Grace!” Grace had been the first wife.  “And so, just before Ma’s birthday, he took us to lunch—­we went to Swains—–­”

“I remember the day!” said Virginia, in solemn affirmation.

“And we were quietly married afterward,” said Ferd, himself, soothingly, his arm about his wife, “and Mary Lou’s dear mother was very happy about it.  Don’t cry, dear—–­”

Susan had disliked the man once, but she could find no fault with his tender solicitude for the long-neglected Mary Lou.  And when the first crying and exclaiming were over, there was a very practical satisfaction in the thought of Mary Lou as a prosperous man’s wife, and Virginia provided for, for a time at least.  Susan seemed to feel fetters slipping away from her at every second.