"Er—why—yes."
Now Ikey nodded, and turned away. "He ain't so sure," he observed sagely, "aboudt de fader."
At this moment, loud voices sounded from the drawing-room—Henry's, expostulating; next, the thin soprano of Peter; then a woman's, "Where is he, I say? I want to see him!" And she came bursting from the house, almost upsetting Ikey.
It was Mrs. Balcome, looking exceedingly wrathful. She puffed her way across the grass, clutching to her the unfortunate Babette, and dragging (though she had just arrived) at the crumpled upper of a long kid glove, much as if she were pulling it on preparatory to a fight. "Mr. Farvel,"—he had risen politely—"I have come to take away the presents and other things belonging to us. Since you have seen fit to turn my best friend out of her home, naturally the wedding cannot be solemnized here."
Farvel bowed, reddening with anger. "Wallace Milo's wedding cannot be solemnized here," he said quietly.
"In-deed!"
Ikey had entered with another box. She received it, scolding as she put down the dog and pulled at the fastening of the package. "Oh, such lack of charity! Such shameless lack of ordinary consideration! What do you care that the wedding must take place at some hotel! And you know these decorations won't keep! And it's a clergyman who's showing such a spirit! That's what makes it more terrible! A man who pretends——" Busy with the box, she had failed to see that Farvel was no longer present. Now she whirled about, looking for him. "Oh, such impudence! Such impudence!" she stormed.
Ikey indicated the package. "De man, he said, 'Put it on ice,'" he cautioned.
"Ice?" Mrs. Balcome stared. "What's in it?"
"It felt like somet'ing for a little girl."