There were those, notably among the Jabberwocks, who felt that in availing herself of the age-old solution of handing her burdens over to a man to bear, Joan had rather hauled down her colors. Perhaps she felt so herself, after the first glow of relief was over.

But if she needed solace, she got it in the radiant, incredulous, blissful attitude of Archibald. He could not believe the marvelous thing that had happened to him. A dozen times a day he was obliged to glance at the ring he had given her (a solitaire inevitably, small but of good water) to make sure that he was not dreaming.

He began at once, following the example of the birds about him, to prepare for the coming event; "twigging" as Joan called it to herself, amusedly. He was as mysterious about it, and quite as obvious, as any robin darting about with a straw in its beak. He called her to the telephone frequently to ask such questions as how many drawers a "chiffoneer" ought to have; and when she asked him why he wanted to know, the reply was a joyous, "Never you mind!"

He listened with the stealth of a Sherlock Holmes for any expressions of preference on her part, putting them secretly down in a note-book; and Joan grew afraid to mention any object, no matter how unlikely, for fear it would become part of the procession of packages which Ellen reported as filing daily past her door to the room upstairs.

"A rocking-chair come this morning," Ellen would report. "Golden oak, all carved! Yesterday it was one them new-fangled electric-lamps with brass chain hanging down like fringe. Real tasty. The day before it was a statute."

"Heavens, Nellen—Not a statue!"

"Sure! A nigger woman brandishin' a spear. I poked a hole in the wrappin's to get a good look at it."

(Joan had once unguardedly envied the Carmichaels their rare old bronzes.)

She was touched but alarmed, and decided that she would better hasten the wedding if only to put a stop to this indiscriminate twigging.

Others were almost as pleased with the engagement as Archibald; her father, for one, who had not expected quite so early a release from parental responsibility. Joan, while a creditable child, had proven a rather difficult one, especially since his marriage.

"Not that it is quite such an—er—ambitious arrangement as I could have wished, Dollykins,"—(a ducal alliance would have been more in accord with Darcy inclinations). "But young Blair is an excellent fellow, an excellent fellow. And after all, in this world virtue is the thing that counts!" He appeared to indicate that in the next world things might be arranged more satisfactorily.

Ellen was as proud of this unexpected dÉnouement as if it were an egg of her own hatching.

"I didn't believe you had the gumption!" she said unflatteringly. "I thought you was too highminded to know a real man when you seen him.—And now, praise the day! you'll be needin' your mamma's furniture back again."

"Oh, but, Nellen darling, what will you do without it?"

"Me?" The old woman's face fell. "Why, I kind o' thought you'd be takin' me along with the furniture. Unless I'm too stiff and plain to be makin' you a fancy servant like you're used to nowadays!"—she tossed her head angrily.

Joan hugged her. "I'd rather have you than all the fancy servants in the world, and you know it. But I thought you preferred being an independent modiste in lodgings. And then—you see, dear, I'm not quite sure whether Archie can afford a servant."

She had not so far been able to bring him down from the clouds long enough to discuss ways and means.

"Sho! He can afford me all right. I'll save him money—And you don't suppose he's going to let you spoil them white hands of yourn with housework and cookin'? Not if I know Mr. Archie!..."

The Misses Darcy were almost tearful with gratification, and received Archie with the sort of romantic respect younger girls accord to heroes of the matinÉe.

"What did I prophesy?" cried Miss Virginia. "Only one season out, and already—! Such a beautiful name too,—'Mrs. Archibald Blair.' Not a Kentucky or Virginia one, of course. However, there are other States, Maryland, or South Carolina, or even Massachusetts. Where did you say he was from, precious girl?"

"Louisville."

The sisters exchanged startled glances. "Louisville? But that's impossible. We do not know his people!"

"He hasn't any people."

It was Miss Euphemia who recovered herself first. "So much the better," she murmured. "I mean—Not that one would wish them to have died, of course! But really, you know, in-laws—"

"And so often I think a self-made man—" Miss Iphigenia took up the parable. "So many of our Southern families seem to run largely to girls nowadays. What I mean is, a little good red blood—"

"Sister!" murmured two shocked voices. Everybody blushed.

"I'm afraid Archie isn't even a self-made man, yet," smiled Joan, mentally struggling to fill in the gaps. "I shall have to help make him."

"Ah, yes! A woman's touch, as dear papa used to say—"

Joan reflected that the late Mr. Darcy must have known a good deal about the power of a woman's touch....

Her friend Emily's congratulations were something on the same order, though more frankly expressed. There was a wholesome attitude of frankness always between the two girls.

"I think it's dear of you, Joan," she exclaimed, "and so brave!"

"Just why 'brave'?"

Emily answered, despite embarrassment, "Why, to marry a man without antecedents, without position, and without money, seems to me very brave. I know I should never have the courage to do it, even if I cared for him. In fact, I should be mighty careful not to care for him!—But then I've never had your spirit of independence."

"Perhaps because you've more to lose," said Joan quietly. "If either of us is brave, I think it's poor Archie."

She often thought of her lover so; tenderly, even lovingly, but as "Poor Archie!..."

Effie May was the only one of Joan's immediate environment who seemed to look with any doubts upon a situation she herself had largely brought to pass.

"Look here, girlie," she said once abruptly. "You don't love that boy. At least you ain't in love with him—and there's a difference. Why do you do it, anyhow?"

Joan, taken by surprise, was not immediately ready with her reply.

"Is it because you want to get away from me?" asked the other.

Still Joan was not ready to answer, and Effie May sighed. "You needn't have gone so far as that," she said, "I'd have fixed it for you somehow—I'm not going to forget what you've done for me, Joan. Not telling, treating me just as if—it was all right. You're a bigger woman than you know you are," she added, gravely. "I'll make it up to you some day, see if I don't."

Joan gave her a quick, straight look. "If you mean money, Effie May, and I think you do, we'd better come to an understanding at once. I'm keeping my counsel about—about your affairs; I'm helping you commit a fraud, you know—entirely on my father's account. For myself—that's another matter. I appreciate your kindness, I know you have meant to do your best, but—"

"But you're done with me?" finished the other.

"Yes. I shall only see so much of you hereafter as is necessary to keep Father from suspecting anything. As for your money,"—the girl's voice shook—"neither I nor my husband will ever touch a cent of it under any circumstances. Do you understand? We do not forget how it was—earned."

The other sighed again. "Well, dearie, don't forget that it was earned, good and plenty!—And I've done you one good turn already," she remarked sotto voce, as the girl turned away to greet her fiancÉ.