I was the "best man" and Guiseppe gave her away in the crypt of the Jesuit Church. We came home and dressed—all four of us—and went up to Delmonico's to dinner.
We made something of a sensation as we threaded our way between the tables to our place. Guiseppe, in evening clothes, with all his campaign medals, looked like the veriest nobleman. Nina was wonderful. Usually she was gay beyond words when taken to a restaurant, but this evening she was very solemn and a little pale. Of course a number of people recognized Norman and gossip started in vigorously. But of this Nina was unconscious. Her solemnity went deeper than that. When the cocktails were brought, she refused hers.
"Why not?" Norman asked.
A little blush started in her cheeks, fought its way to her temples and down her throat.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"I'm married now," she stammered. "Good women don't drink cocktails."
We both glanced about and saw that if Nina's statement had been audible, it would have caused a protest:
"Why—there's Mrs. Blythe over there," Norman said. "She built a church. She's drinking a cocktail—she's awfully good."
"No, she ain't," Nina insisted doggedly. "She's painted herself. She's a sporting girl."
Norman looked very solemn. It was several seconds before he spoke.