“Oh, then he’s married some one who loves him for himself alone, I know. That faithful sleek-headed girl from his home town. Won’t Christine be angry when she hears it! She always likes her old loves to pine a long time before they console themselves. Let us go and tell her. Or is she away still?”
A rather sad smile lit up Hickson’s countenance as he followed his sister to her motor. “I think she knows it,” he said.
Nancy put her hand on his arm. “Oh, dear, darling Ned,” she said. “Get in and drive home with me and tell me all about it. I knew he really never cared for Christine. She dazzled and distressed him in about equal proportions. And yet I doubt if Miss—Whatever-Her-Name-Was—will be very exciting—”
“It is not Miss Lane, who, by the way, I like and admire very much,” said Ned, firmly.
“Who is it? Some one I know?”
“Yes, you know her.”
Something in his extreme solemnity transferred the idea to her.
“You don’t mean that Christine—”
He nodded. “I was at their wedding yesterday.”
“And where are they?”