"Yes," assented Sue, obediently; "yes, I—I suppose we have." Her eyes fell before her mother's look. Again it was as if a small child had been surprised in naughtiness.
Now from the Church sounded the voices of the choir. The burring bell had summoned to more, and still more, practice of tomorrow's music, and a score of boys, their song coming loud and clear from the near distance, were rendering the Wedding March from "Lohengrin."
A curious, and instant, change came over Farvel. His laughter stopped; he retreated, and fumbled with one hand at his hair. "Oh, that—that——" he murmured under his breath.
"Alan!" Wallace went to him.
"It's nothing," protested Farvel. "Nothing."
Sue made as if to open the library door. It was plain that, ill or troubled, Farvel was eager to get away.
"Wait," said her mother.
Wallace turned the clergyman toward the door leading to the Church.
"Come, old man," he urged. "Let's go right in. That's best."
Farvel permitted himself to be half-led. But he paused part way to look back at the quartette of ladies standing, silent and watchful, at the center of the room. "It's all right," he assured them, smiling wanly at Hattie. He tried to speak casually. "Let me know when you're ready to rehearse." Wallace had reached out to draw Farvel through the door. It closed behind them.
Sue made as if to follow the two men. But once more her mother interposed. "Susan!" And then in explanation, "I wouldn't—they'll want to be alone."