Then Aunt Isabelle came back and found that the need for the aromatic
spirits was over, and together the loving hands hurried Constance into
her going away gown of dull blue and silver, with its sable trimmed wrap
and hat.

"If it hadn't been for Aunt Frances, how could I have faced Gordon's
friends in London?" said Constance. "Am I all right now, Mary?"

"Lovely, Con, dear."

But it was Aunt Isabelle's hushed voice which gave the appropriate
phrase. "She looks like a bluebird--for happiness."

At the foot of the stairway Gordon was waiting for his bride--handsome
and prosperous as a bridegroom should be, with a dark sleek head and
eager eyes, and beside him Porter Bigelow, topping him by a head, and a
red head at that.

As Mary followed Constance, Porter tucked her hand under his arm.


"Oh, Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
Your eyes they are so bright,
That the stars grow pale, as they tell the tale
To the other stars at night,"

he improvised under his breath. "Oh, Mary Ballard, do you know that I am
holding on to myself with all my might to keep from shouting to the
crowd, 'Mary isn't going away. Mary isn't going away.'"