“Then we’ll be out of this town on the three o’clock train this afternoon,” she said. She went on with her plans, while he, growing more accustomed to his privilege, caressed her as he would. “You shall have your way,” she said, “in everything except the wedding-journey. That’s got to be a long one—I won’t come back here till people have forgotten all about this Corliss mix-up. I’ve never been abroad, and I want you to take me. We can stay a long, long time. I’ve brought nothing—we’ll get whatever we want in New York before we sail.”
He agreed to everything. He had never really hoped to win her; paradise had opened, dazing him with glory: he was astounded, mad with joy, and abjectly his lady’s servant.
“Hadn’t you better run along and get the license?” she laughed. “We’ll have to be married on the way to the train.” “Cora!” he gasped. “You angel!”
“I’ll wait here for you,” she smiled. “There won’t be too much time.”
He obtained a moderate control of his voice and feet. “Enfield—that’s my cashier—he’ll be back from his lunch at one-thirty. Tell him about us, if I’m not here by then. Tell him he’s got to manage somehow. Good-bye till I come back Mrs. Trumble!”
At the door he turned. “Oh, have you—you——” He paused uncertainly. “Have you sent Richard Lindley any word about——”
“Wade!” She gave his inquiry an indulgent amusement. “If I’m not worrying about him, do you think you need to?”
“I meant about——”
“You funny thing,” she said. “I never had any idea of really marrying him; it wasn’t anything but one of those silly half-engagements, and——”
“I didn’t mean that,” he said, apologetically. “I meant about letting him know what this Pryor told you about Corliss, so that Richard might do something toward getting his money back. We ought to—”