"With what?" gasped the General.
"Mug-makers; alleged artists; after an old photo. Anyhow, it's money in Mrs. Edgar's pocket. One of her biggest customers owes her a lot, she says, and she can't get a cent; needed cash to pay her rent; little boy ill, too. My, but I'm hungry! Can't I eat while I'm being married?"
I felt Helen start; I remembered that I had seen Mrs. Edgar's name among her bills. Poor girl!
And then the wedding; and the practical Cadge surprised us all.
All her soul was shining in her eyes as she said, "I will." She looked upon Pros. with the shy love of a girl who has loved but once. For a brief minute we saw the depth, the earnestness, the affection that in her seek so often the mask of frivolity, and I wouldn't be surprised if more than one tempest-tossed soul envied her peace, her love, her certitude.
The ceremony was short. The giant, who proved to be Big Tom, gave away the bride. As the couple rushed off for a brief honeymoon, the newly made Mrs. Reid—still with the shimmer of tears in her beautiful eyes—tried hard to resume her old manner.
"'Member, Kitty," she called back from the stairway in a voice that trembled, "you can't make that antelope cavort too lively. Brown'll send photographs in the morning."
Soon only Mr. Winship and I were left with Kitty and Helen and the painted Indians.
"What a Cadge!" said Helen languidly, as she walked with us to the door. "But she's the best girl in the world."
I believe she's pretty nearly right. I haven't always done Miss Bryant justice. My mind dwelt upon the lovely picture she had made of trust and happiness; and I wondered whether my own wife would show shining, happy eyes like hers when—In my restless dreams the vision of them lingered, grotesquely alternating with a swaying figure driving a shadowy antelope—a figure that was sometimes Helen's and sometimes little Ethel's—until I waked—