“Cyril doesn't think so. Indeed, Kate, I've had a hard struggle to convince him that the guests wouldn't think it the most delightful experience of their lives if they should come and find the ceremony over with and the bride gone.”
“Well, you remind Cyril, please, that there are other people besides himself concerned in this wedding,” observed Kate, icily.
“I have,” purred Bertram, “and he says all right, let them have it, then. He's gone now to look up proxy marriages, I believe.”
“Proxy marriages, indeed! Come, come, Bertram, I've got something to do this morning besides to stand here listening to your nonsense. See that you and Cyril get here on time—that's all!” And she hung up the receiver with an impatient jerk.
She turned to confront the startled eyes of the bride elect.
“What is it? Is anything wrong—with Cyril?” faltered Marie.
Kate laughed and raised her eyebrows slightly.
“Nothing but a little stage fright, my dear.”
“Stage fright!”
“Yes. Bertram says he's trying to find some one to play his rôle, I believe, in the ceremony.”