took them. Tod rubbed the grains of rice from his damp hands.
“Begorra, bhoys, we’d betther be movin’,” he said. “Wud ye let Lou be havin’ it all tu himself down there?”
Steve followed slowly in the wake of eager feet. Four hours agone he had stood up in the church very near to Maiden and had heard the great words whereby Danny and Suse had pledged themselves. But he had looked at none but Maiden, so that Danny might be forgiven for calling him a “silly rotter” when he forgot to hand over the ring, and finally dropped it under the front seat where Lou sat. Lou had picked it up, with a little suggestive movement, and his bold eyes full on Maiden’s. And Maiden had grown red and white, and spoken no word at all to Steve when he took her out of the church, trying to tell her that he envied, not Danny, but Danny’s state, and so mixing himself that Maiden’s wicked laughter called up Lou. It was since that moment that Steve had been giddy with fear and hate. For over-well he knew Lou Birot.
There were cut cabbage trees about the Town Hall, and tall sweet-scented koradis, and little dark corners where Tod had planted chairs. Tod was M.C.; and there were three violins and an accordeon and a long tableful of supper on the platform. Danny was utterly
