"My office is calling me," he said. "I'm needed there at once. I shan't be able to go to the wedding."
The sight of the happiness fading from her flowerlike face filled him with shame. It was the first time in his life that he had lied to her and he was half sorry now that he had done so. But he must go through with it now, and if there was apology in the kisses he pressed on her reproachful eyes it was not confessed.
"I am going to the wedding just the same," declared Pauline.
"Of course, you are," he agreed heartily. "Farrell will be back with the car by five o'clock."
"But who will chaperon me?" she objected, woman-like, to her own decision. "It would look absurd to take Margaret, and Owen isn't invited."
"You will not need a chaperon going over—provided Farrell gets back," he said as he took his hat from the table.
"You mean you don't believe Farrell will get back!" she exclaimed. "You are treating me like a child. You don't want me to go to the wedding just because you can't go."
"Now, don't, don't," he pleaded, as she started to leave the room. "I don't mean anything of the kind. I mean Farrell is the only man who can drive the large car or the roadster safely. There is no reason in the world why he shouldn't get back."
"And how am I to come home?" she demanded, turning again toward him.
"I will call for you in the runabout on my way from New York. Perhaps even I shall be able to arrive in time to greet the happy pair," he added cheerfully. "You'll make my excuses."