"Deb, Deb, don't stop me! They are waiting. It is late now!"
The bride-elect, pale with fright, struggled in her sister's strong hands, which held her fast.
"Where is Mr Breen?" demanded Deb.
"Waiting at his house—waiting for me—"
"I must send for him."
"Oh, Deb, not now, when everything is settled, and they have had all the expense and trouble—"
"Will you fetch him, Rose, if I let you go? For one minute only. No, I won't stop it. I can't, of course; but I must go with you, Rose—I MUST."
"Oh, Debbie, WOULD you? Oh, how I wish I had known before! Yes, I'll run and bring him. We must drive faster, that's all. Oh, Deb, how happy this will make us! But—"
"Run away and fetch him—ask him, with my compliments if he will be so good—and I will get my hat on while you are gone."
How she managed it was a mystery, but by the time the bridegroom appeared, Deb was in her best walking costume, hatted and veiled, with a pair of new pale-coloured gloves in her hand.