"That's one point, evidently, on which you and Miss Combs are not in agreement."
Peggy pondered. "Priscilla might ask him to her wedding. I don't know. But it's certain he didn't ask her to his."
Young Mr. Kennedy's start was unmistakable. "You don't mean he's married?"
"Yes indeed. There was quite an account of it in the papers. But if you didn't know his name, you wouldn't remember."
"No, I wouldn't remember," agreed Mr. Kennedy. All at once he was beaming. "I shall be glad when the next two years are up, Mrs. Wylie," he cried boyishly. "I have a hunch that you and I are going to be great friends."
A moment later he joined Priscilla, and from that time on followed her about like her shadow, and the observant Peggy smiled approval. She was not in the least discomfited by Graham's reference to high explosives. The most dangerous things in the world, in her estimation, were misunderstandings.
At ten o'clock the bride went upstairs to change to her little going-away suit with the Eton Jacket, that made her look hardly older than the Peggy Raymond who entered college. And then the good-bys began. "We'll be back in a few days," said Peggy as she kissed each one, but even that assurance failed to give comfort. For though Peggy and Graham were coming back for twenty-four hours, they were to sail on the sixth. Peggy's friends returned her smiles bravely, but there was hardly one who did not struggle to keep back the tears.
They crowded out on the porch to see her go. Some one hurled an old shoe as the taxi-cab glided away. Peggy leaned from the window to wave her hand, and then the darkness swallowed her up.