It is
enough to say that Dudley Pickering was definite. He left no room
for doubt as to his meaning.
'Dudley!'
She was in his arms. He was embracing her. She was his--the latest
model, self-starting, with limousine body and all the newest. No,
no, his mind was wandering. She was his, this divine girl, this
queen among women, this--
From the drawing-room Roscoe Sherriff's voice floated out in
unconscious comment--
Good-bye, boys!
I'm going to be married to-morrow.
Good-bye, boys!
I'm going from sunshine to sorrow.
No more sitting up till broad daylight.
Did a momentary chill cool the intensity of Dudley Pickering's
ardour? If so he overcame it instantly. He despised Roscoe
Sherriff. He flattered himself that he had shown Roscoe Sherriff
pretty well who was who and what was what.
They would have a wonderful wedding--dozens of clergymen, scores
of organs playing 'The Voice that Breathed o'er Eden,' platoons of
bridesmaids, wagonloads of cake. And then they would go back to
Detroit and live happy ever after. And it might be that in time to
come there would be given to them little runabouts.
I'm going to a life
Of misery and strife,
So good-bye, boys!
Hang Roscoe Sherriff! What did he know about it! Confound him!
Dudley Pickering turned a deaf ear to the song and wallowed in his
happiness.
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