In the weeks which followed, Roger found the peace of his home so interrupted and disturbed by wedding preparations that often retreating into his den he earnestly told himself he was through, that a man with three grown daughters was a fool to show any sympathy with the utter folly of their lives.

Yield an inch and they took a mile! It began one night when Deborah said, "Now, dearie, I think you had better make up your mind to give Laura just the kind of wedding she likes." And Roger weakly agreed to this, but as time wore on he discovered that the kind of wedding Laura liked was a thing that made his blood run cold.

There seemed to be no end whatever to the young bride's blithe demands.

The trousseau part of it he didn't mind.

To the gowns and hats and gloves and shoes and trunks and jaunty travelling bags which came pouring into the house, he made no objection.