"Do you think I'm going to stay all night?" snapped the old gentleman. "I'm—I'm damned if I do!"
Every one was rushing for the doors. The bride took time for a few words with the latest arrival.
"How late you are, Mr. Van Pycke!" she cried, grasping his hand. "I'm so sorry we must be going. Catching a train, you know. By the way, Buzzy, we're sailing for the Azores day after to-morrow. When you're in Paris, be sure to look us up. Thank God, I'm never coming back to New York. Now you know why I don't care a snap what people say or think about my wedding guests. Good-bye, my dear. Good-bye, Mr. Van Pycke. Thanks, so much, for the roses you sent up to-day. Be sure we get the right sleigh, Bellows. Come, Mary, dear, kiss me. I know you'll look me up when you come to Paris."
She enveloped the pretty Miss Downing in her arms, kissed her warmly, and then rushed off into the hall, where the crowd was being shooed out into the storm ahead of her.
Bosworth observed that Miss Downing was not attired for the street.
"You're not going?" he asked quickly.
"Not till to-morrow," she said. "I'm staying overnight."
"Bosworth," put in Mr. Van Pycke, in deadly tones, "where is your cab?"
"Stuck in the snow, dad. My sleigh will be back in half an hour. Take off your coat. Miss Downing won't mind our staying here a while longer. She—"
"Not another minute, sir!" snapped Mr. Van Pycke. "You don't know what I know. You—"