There's going to be a wedding--right
here." And I looked round the long salon, with everything draped for the
summer departure. Joe whisked the cover off one chair, his man took off
another. "I'll have the women-folks down in two minutes," he cried. Then to
the man: "Get a move on you, Billy. Stir 'em up in the kitchen. Do the best
you can about supper--and put a lot of champagne on the ice. That's the
main thing at a wedding."
Anita had seated herself listlessly in one of the uncovered chairs. The
wrap slipped back from her shoulders and--how proud I was of her! Joe
gazed, took advantage of her not looking up to slap me on the back and to
jerk his head in enthusiastic approval. Then he, too, disappeared.
A wait followed, during which we could hear, through the silence, excited
undertones from the upper floors. The words were indistinct until Joe's
heavy voice sent down to us an angry "No damn nonsense, I tell you. Allie's
got to come, too. She's not such a fool as you think. Bad example--bosh!"
Anita started up. "Oh--please--please!" she cried. "Take me away--anywhere!
This is dreadful."
It was, indeed, dreadful. If I could have had my way at just that moment,
it would have gone hard with "Mrs.
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