"Oh, no, dear. We're going to have a home of our own, you know—our home."
"No, I didn't know." Helen's lips showed a decided pout.
"But you'll like it, dear. You just wait and see." The man spoke with determined cheeriness.
"But I can't like it better than your old home, Burke. I know what that is, and I'd much rather go there."
"Yes, yes, but—" Young Denby paused to wet his dry lips. "Er—you know, dear, dad wasn't exactly—er—pleased with the marriage, anyway, and—"
"That's just it," broke in the bride eagerly. "That's one reason I wanted to go there—to show him, you know. Why, Burke, I'd got it all planned out lovely, how nice I was going to be to him—get his paper and slippers, and kiss him good-morning, and—"
"Holy smoke! Kiss—" Just in time the fastidious son of a still more fastidious father pulled himself up; but to a more discerning bride, his face would already have finished his sentence. "Er—but—well, anyhow, dear," he stammered, "that's very kind of you, of course; but you see it's useless even to think of it. He—he has forbidden us to go there."
"Why, the mean old thing!"
"Helen!"
Helen's face showed a frown as well as a pout.