Mona did look sweet. The occasion brought a look of shyness to her face, which was as becoming as it was unusual. Roger stood by, proudly gazing at her, as he was, in turn, congratulated and chaffed by the men.
Dinner was announced, and Jim Kenerley offered his arm to Mona, while Adele followed the pair with Roger. The orchestra played the wedding march, and Channing, who stood next to Patty, escorted her. The rotation of the table seats had been changed for the occasion, and Adele and Jim sat opposite one another with their guests of honour at their right hands. The others sat where they chose, and Channing deftly manœuvred to place Patty next to Kenerley, as he dropped into the chair at her left.
“Who’s the great little old Machiavelli!” he said, chuckling. “Didn’t I arrange that just about right! You see, if I put you next to Kenerley, you won’t give him all your undivided attention, as you would, with any of the others.”
“Well, if you aren’t the piggy-wig!”
“I am, as far as you are concerned. I cheerfully admit it. And I’ve practically got you all to myself for the whole dinner time. You can’t get away! Oh, joy!”
“Why is it such a feat? How do you know that I’m not equally crazy with joy to sit by you?”
“Oh, Patty! If I could believe that! What things you do say to a fellow! Do you mean it?”
“Considering I’ve only known you a few days, I couldn’t really mean it. You see, I make friendships very slowly. Moreover, I never mean anything I say at dinner. Table talk is an art. I’m proficient in it, and I know the rules. And the first one is, never be sincere.”
“Yes, I know that, too. But after dinner, say, out on that moonlit corner of the veranda——”
“There isn’t any moon now.”