“Of a certain other lady?” appended his friend with perfect coolness. “I don’t blame you for wondering about her. But never mind now. I want to tell you about my wedding. It was unique in the history of the Chesapeake, I promise you.” His laugh had a ring of heartiness that surprised his listener. “Tom,” he went on, “I’ll be frank with you. I’ve been in more than one crooked path in my time, but I’m through with that sort of thing. Thank Heaven!”
The other’s amazement found expression. “I swear I don’t know you. What’s come over you?”
“Love,” said Danton simply. “Madge’s love, and all that it means. She says she has told you of that tearing down the flag matter last year. That proved to me and to her that I owned her—I’d known for a long time that she owned me, you understand—but after that affair she sent me away, and I, in revenge, went after—I was a cad, I know. Well, I hope I’ll never be again.”
“About your wedding, old man?”
“I’m coming to that—and I’ll skip the long story between. Last Saturday, after Madge met you and Betty on the road, she galloped to Sandywood Station, and sent me a reply to the wire I’d sent you.”
“A bit cool, that.”
“I’ve got it my pocket now. Here!” He read the bluish slip, smiling faintly the while.
Charles Danton
The Club, Baltimore.
Impossible to come, but understand. She promises to be West Wind eight o’clock Sunday night, ready.