Mrs. Dodge had returned to her bread which had spread in a mass of
stickiness all over the board.

"Where's Fanny?" she asked, glancing up at the noisy little clock on
the shelf above her head. "Tell her to hurry, Jim. You're late, now."

Jim passed his hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven chin.

"You might as well know, mother; Fan isn't going."

"Not going?" echoed Mrs. Dodge, sharp dismay in voice and eyes. "Why,
I did up her white dress a-purpose, and she's been making up ribbon
bows."

She extricated her fingers from the bread and again hurried across
the floor.

Her son intercepted her with a single long stride.

"No use, mother," he said quietly. "Better let her alone."

"You think it's--?"

The young man slammed the door leading to the stairway with a fierce
gesture.

"If you weren't blinder than a bat, mother, you'd know by this time
what ailed Fan," he said angrily.