to your school, when I'm sixteen." It was as if she looked forward to a
pilgrimage to a shrine! It was impossible not to see the worship in her
face; Eleanor saw her smile made Edith almost choke with bliss. But,
like herself, the Bride had nothing to say. Eleanor just sat in sweet,
empty silence, and watched Maurice, twisting old Rover's ears, and
answering Mrs. Houghton's maternal questions about his winter
underclothing and moths; she caught that wink at Edith, and the
occasional broad grin when Mrs. Houghton scolded him for some
carelessness, and the ridiculous gesture of tearing his hair when she
said he was a scamp to have forgotten this or that. Looking at the
careless youth of him, she laughed to herself for sheer joy in the
beauty of it!

But Edith's plan for barn conversation with Maurice fell through,
because after supper, with an air of complete self-justification, he
said to his hosts, "_Now_ you must hear Eleanor sing!"

At which she protested, "Oh, Maurice, no!"

The Houghtons, however, were polite; so they all went into the studio,
and, standing in the twilight, with Maurice playing her accompaniment,
she sang, very simply, and with quite poignant beauty, the song of
"Golden Numbers," with its serene refrain:

"_O sweet, O sweet content!_"

"Lovely, my dear," Mrs. Houghton said, and Maurice was radiant.

"Is Mr. F. your father?" Edith said, timidly; and while Eleanor was
giving her maiden name, Edith's terrified father said, in a ferocious