Part 28 (1/2)

”Right as the mail!” a.s.sured Clare, ironically again, and borrowing an expression learned from Hull.

”Ah! Thank you!--Susan, Miss Crosby is not Miss Crosby at all. She is married.--I'm so glad your husband has found you, my dear.”

”Found? You--you don't mean----” There was a frightened look in Sue's eyes.

Her mother misunderstood the look. ”Yes, lucky Mr. Farvel,” she said, beaming. Then with precision, since Sue seemed not to comprehend, ”Mrs.--Alan--Farvel.”

”I--see.”

”Didn't I practically guess that Mr. Farvel was married?”

”Married,”--it was like an echo.

”And I was right!”

”Yes, mother,--yes--you're--you're always right.”

”Mr. Farvel, we congratulate you!--Don't we, dear?”

”Congratulations.”

Something in Sue's face made Farvel reach out his hand to her. She took it mechanically. Thus they stood, but not looking at each other.

Once more Mrs. Milo was playfully teasing. ”Why shouldn't we all know that you had a wife?” she twittered. It was as if she had added, ”You bad, bad boy!”

”Yes,” said Sue. ”Why not? Rectors do have them. There's no canon against it.” She laughed tremulously, and dropped his hand.

Clare tossed her head. ”There ought to be!” she declared.

At that, Mrs. Milo threw out both arms dramatically. ”Oh! Oh, dear!”

she cried. ”I've just thought of something!”

”I'll bet!” Clare turned, instantly apprehensive.

”Save it, mother!” begged Sue, eager to avert whatever might be impending; ”--save it till we get home. Come! Mr. and Mrs. Farvel will have things to talk over.” And to the clergyman, ”We'll take Mr.

Balcome and go on ahead.”

”Now wait!” bade Mrs. Milo, gently. ”Why are you so impetuous, daughter? Why don't you listen to your mother? Why do you take it for granted that I want to make Mrs. Farvel unhappy?”--this in a chiding aside.

”I don't, mother.”

”Indeed, I am greatly concerned about her. She believed her husband dead, poor girl. And now”--with a sudden, disconcerting turn on Clare--”what about your engagement?”

”I'm--I'm not engaged!” As she sprang up, the girl pressed both hands against the wine-colored velveteen of her skirt, hiding them. ”I never said I was! Oh, I wish you'd mind your own business!”

”Mother! Mother!” pleaded Sue. ”It was you who said it. Not Miss--Mrs. Farvel. Don't you remember?”

”How _could_ I be engaged?” She was emboldened by Sue's help. ”I knew he wasn't--dead.”

Farvel laughed a little bitterly. ”You mean, no such luck, don't you, Laura?” he asked. ”Well, then,--I've got some good news for you.”