“Aren’t you going to invite Doris?” remarked John, in a bantering tone; for he knew, as did everyone else in the room, how slight was the probability that she would accept.
“Why certainly!” replied Marjorie, with a sly twinkle in her eye. “Too bad there isn’t room for Roger!”
“Here!” protested Roger. “I’m not going to stand for that. I—”
“Well, we’ll excuse you this time,” laughed Marjorie.
“Tell us about your house, old man,” suggested John; “before you get absorbed again.”
“Nothing much to tell,” replied Roger. “Just an ordinary two-story bungalow type, about as big as a pumpkin-shell. ‘He put her in a pumpkin-shell, and there he kept her very well!’ But wait till it’s all furnished.”
“And how are you getting along?” inquired Mrs. Hadley.
“Beautifully!” answered Doris, her eyes shining with anticipation. “We’re going to have it all fixed and ready for ourselves when we come home.”
“Doesn’t it sound too funny to hear Doris talking about ‘coming home’—to her own home!” laughed Marjorie. “And such a short time ago we were getting ready for that dance where she and Roger met each other. In fact, I feel responsible for this match. It was really all my doing—”
“Jack wouldn’t agree to that!” interrupted John. “He always claims the credit for himself.”