"Manners!" drawled George Keets. "This is no test. Wait—till you see his engagement manners!"
"Oh, she'll 'wait' all right!" sniffed young Kennilworth, and turned on his heel.
Paul Brenswick, searching hard through the shipping news in the morning paper, looked up with a faint shadow of concern.
"What's the grouch?" he questioned.
Standing with her hands on her Bridegroom's shoulders the Bride glanced back from the stormy window to Kennilworth's face with a somewhat provocative smile.
"Well—it was in the mind of God, wasn't it?" she said.
"What was!" demanded young Kennilworth.
"The rain," shrugged the Bride.
"Oh—damn the rain!" cried young Kennilworth. "I wish people wouldn't speak to me! It drives me crazy I tell you to have everybody babbling so! Can't you see I want to work? Can't anybody see—anything?" Equally furious all of a sudden at everybody, he swung around and darted up the stairs. "Don't anybody call me to lunch," he ordered. "For Heaven's sake don't let anyone be idiot enough to call me to lunch."
Even Ann Woltor's jaw dropped a bit at the amazing rudeness and peevishness of it.