“Hello, every one!” said his big, reassuring voice.  “How’s Mother?  Hello, Aunt Sanna—­and Miss Page, too!  Well, this is fun, isn’t it?  Yes, Miss Babbie, I’ve heard of Sally, Sally Borroughs, as she is now—­”

“What!  Married?” said every one at once, and Mrs. Toland, making an impressive entrance with Richie, sank into a deep chair and echoed:  “Married?”

“Married, Mother dear,” said Jim.  “They found me in Dad’s office at five o’clock; Keith’s father, a fierce sort of man, was with them, and was for calling the whole thing off.  Sally was crying, poor girl, and Keith miserable—­”

“Oh, poor old Sally!” said Barbara’s tender voice.

“You should have brought her straight home to me!” Mrs. Toland added severely.

“Well, so I thought at first.  But they had their license, which would be in the morning papers anyway, and Sally had done the fool thing of mailing letters to two girl friends when she left here this morning—­”

“She left me a mere scribble, pinned to her pin-cushion,” said her mother, magnificently.  “Just as any common actress—­”

“Oh, Mother! it wasn’t pinned to her cushion at all!” Barbara protested.  “She had no pincushion, she has a pin tray.”

“I hardly see how it matters, Babbie; it was on her bureau, anyway!  Just like a servant girl!” Mrs. Toland persisted.

“Well, anyway, it seemed best to push it right through,” said Jim, “especially as they persisted that they would do it again or die—­ or rather, Sally did!”

“Oh, Jim, don’t!” wailed Sally’s mother.  “Poor, deluded child!”

“I don’t mean that Keith wasn’t fiery enough,” Jim hastened to say.  “He’s a decent enough little fellow, and he’s madly in love.  So we all went up to the French church, and Father Marchand married them—­”

“A child of mine!” said Mrs. Toland, stricken.

“Keith’s father and I witnessed,” pursued Jim, “and we both kissed the bride—­”

“Sally!  And she was such a dear sweet baby!” whispered Mrs. Toland, big tears beginning to run down her cheeks.

“Ah, Mother!” Constance said soothingly, at her mother’s knees.

“Sally’s of age, of course,” Jim argued soothingly, “and one couldn’t bring her home like a child.  The thing would have gotten out, and she’d have been a marked girl for life!  There’s really no reason why they shouldn’t marry, and the boy—­Keith, that is, put her into a carriage quite charmingly, and they drove off.  They’ll go no farther than Tamalpais or the Hotel Rafael, probably, for Keith has to be back at work on Monday, and I made him promise to bring Sally here on Sunday night.”

“And what will they live on?” Mrs. Toland asked stonily.

“That isn’t worrying them.  Sally has—­what?  From those bonds of her grandfather’s?”

“Three hundred a year,” Mrs. Toland said discouragingly.

“And Keith gets fifty-five a month.  That’s eighty—­h’m!” pursued Jim.