"Advise Hattie's mother"—Balcome shook a warning finger—"that for a change she'd better tell the truth."
"Oh!"—the shot told. "As if I don't always tell it—always!" Then to
Sue, "Suppose we say that the bridegroom is sick?"
Inarticulate with mirth, Balcome gave Sue a parting pat on the shoulder and started away.
"But, John!"
Astounded at being thus directly addressed, and before he could bethink himself not to seem to have heard, Balcome brought short, silently appealing to Sue for her opinion of this extraordinary state of affairs.
For Sue knew. There was only one thing that could have so moved Mrs. Balcome. "Lady dear," she inquired pleasantly, "how much money do you want?"
"Oh, four hundred will do." And as Balcome dove into a capacious pocket and brought forth a roll, which Sue handed to her, "One hundred, two hundred,—three—four——" She counted in a careful, inquiring tone which implied that Balcome might have failed to hand over the sum she suggested. "And now, Hattie, get your things together. We want to be gone by the time that child comes."
"Oh, mother," returned Hattie, crossly, "you're beginning to treat me exactly as Mrs. Milo treats Sue."
No argument followed. For at this moment a door banged somewhere in the Rectory, then came the sound of running feet; and Mrs. Milo's voice, shrill with anger, called from the drawing-room:
"Susan!"