“Written in all the colors of the rainbow and without the tiresome pen and ink,” remarked Miss Drawling. It was a surprise even to the Schwarmers. They were highly delighted—at least Mr. and Mrs. Schwarmer. Miss Adelaide was inhaling the fragrance of a rose which she had brought in from the dewy garden. She said nothing; but the guests were enthusiastic in their praises—especially of the dexterity which had been displayed.
“A warm welcome, indeed,” was the fiat of the college bred Miss Hannibal—“written in letters of fire; and such letters! So graceful and serpentine! and some of them quite new! Your own invention or modification without a doubt. Surely I have never seen anything in the shape of letters so perfectly unique!”
After the fiery welcome there was a fountain.
“Guests are supposed to be thirsty,” remarked Dr. Orison. “That was a happy thought of yours, Mr. Bombs.”
“And you must have patterned it after the famous old Italian fountains,” added his wife—“the royal ones that were filled with wines of all kinds and colors and sparkle and spirit also. You are a genius, Mr. Bombs.”
After that there were palm trees and Highland tartans, which were duly praised and commented upon.
Then came the sun—the last of the fixed fireworks. Then the rotating ones—the firewheels and finally the whole solar system. After this there was an intermission of half an hour during which the guests were regaled with rare wines, cakes and cigars.
Young Bombs shied away from the flattering spectators and went over to the secluded corner where Adelaide was sitting. He had a full goblet of wine in one hand and a choice Havana cigar in the other. He did not go because he was especially or magnetically drawn or wanted her society, but because he wanted no society. It had been something of a strain on his nerves to see that everything went off right and was effectively and harmoniously arranged, and the end was not yet. He was in no mood to listen to extravagant praise, and he knew where he would not get it.
Adelaide still had the rose in hand and was enjoying its beauty—bestowing loving looks and lips upon it as well and inhaling its fragrance.
“Nothing but a rose,” said Bombs, after he had seated himself leisurely at her side and taken a sip of wine.