was still on the heights of self-surrender and exalted sacrifice the next morning. It was still all for love and the world well lost, with her. But she decided not to tell her family of the change in her plans until Cousin Abby's letter should have arrived, settling beyond doubt whether or not Cousin Abby herself was coming.
She had not long to wait. Cousin Abby's reply came promptly, almost by return mail. Cousin Abby would be delighted to come. She was not only glad to be of service to them, but she was pleased, she was sure, that dear Susanna was going to improve her wonderful talent and make a great name for herself. She could come now, any time; just as soon as they wanted her. And she signed herself devotedly theirs, Cousin Abby Herford.
Sister Sue winced a little and bit her lip over the "wonderful talent" and the "great name." But instantly she scornfully asked herself what was a wonderful talent or a great name compared to love—real love? True, at the same time she put both her hands to her ears as if to shut out an insistent something that was clamoring to be heard. And she hurried very fast to tell her family that she had given up her career, and that she and Martin Kent were going to be married in July.
Sister Sue did not wait to tell her family all at once to-day. She took them as she found them, one or two at a time; and she gave her information hurriedly, almost feverishly, with little catches of her breath in her throat.
Their manner of receiving it was characteristic in each case.
Her sister May clasped her hands to her breast and drew an ecstatic sigh with her gaze on the ceiling as she cried: "Oh, Sister Sue, how perfectly lovely! And you'll have a church wedding, of course, and I'll be maid of honor! What shall I wear? Oh, you lucky girl! I think Martin Kent is positively the handsomest man I ever saw, and so do all the girls. They're simply crazy over him! Sue, Sister Sue, what shall I wear?" But Sister Sue was already halfway down the stairway: Gordon's clear whistle of the latest bit of ragtime had sounded from the hall below.
Gordon received the news of Sister Sue's coming marriage with a smile and a shrug.
"I expected as much. All right, Sis, I wish you joy. He's a lucky dog all right, all right!"
It was two days before Sister Sue found a chance to tell her father. When he was not away, or at the telephone, or closeted with some man in the library, he was so irritable and so obviously concerned with his own affairs, that she did not like to broach the subject. And when she did tell him she had to repeat her words before she penetrated his absorbed absent-mindedness. Even then she elicited only an abstracted "Yes, yes; well, I'm glad, I'm sure," as he got up to go into the library.
It was left for Gordon to precipitate matters by saying that same night at the dinner table:
"Oh, by the way, Sister Sue, of course Cousin Abby is n't coming now, I take it."
"But she is," smiled the girl. "I've had a letter, and she'll come at any time, and be glad to."
"You bet she would!" Gordon was still smiling. "But of course she won't have to, now. We don't need her."
"No, of course not," interposed May; "for of course you'll live here, Sue. You said you were going to."
"You bet she's going to live here," cut in Gordon with a sly laugh.
"Certainly I'm going to live here." Sister Sue's chin had lifted a little. Her eyes were meeting Gordon's challenging glance with a flash of vague annoyance. "Martin said he would n't think of taking me away."
"You bet he would n't!" chuckled Gordon, again mischievously. But when his sister's eyes flashed another questioning glance of annoyance toward him, he shrugged his shoulders and repeated: "Oh, well, we don't need Cousin Abby now, anyway."
"But I've just told you she is coming," declared Sister Sue, with some spirit. "We asked her, and she's accepted. We've got to have her. Besides, I want her. There's all the shopping and the dress-making, and I shall want some time to myself after I'm married; and—"
"Will you have the bridesmaids wear pink or blue?" interrupted May eagerly.
"Oh, you women!" cried Gordon disgustedly, with the blasé air of a man of forty. Then, appealingly to his father: "Dad, say something, can't you? We don't need Cousin Abby here, do we? Do we, Dad?" he repeated, as his father still continued to gaze abstractedly at the empty plate before him.
"Eh? What? Cousin Abby? Need her? How should I know?" he frowned irritably. "Ask your sister Sue. I—I've got other things to think of," he finished as he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.