"I say, Len; I say, Marjorie, can I come in?" And in he walked, spotless and engaging, in a white sailor suit with baggy long trousers, his hair still wet from being tortured into corkscrew curls. "I'm all dressed for the party," he announced; "I'm not going to bed at all to-night."
Marjorie tried to draw him into her lap, but he eluded her with a resentful wiggle, and walking up to Leonard, whacked him on the thigh and looked up with a sly, beseeching glance which said, "Whack me back. You play with me. You notice me. I love you."
His eyes were on a level with Leonard's pistol; he put his little pink face close to it lovingly, but drew back again, puckering up his small nose.
"Oh, Leonard, you smell just like a poor man!" he exclaimed.
Leonard grinned. "You never got as near as this to any poor man who is half as dirty as I am, old dear."
"You've got just half an hour to dress for dinner, and we're due in the church at eight," said Marjorie.
She paused in the doorway, a slim figure in a crumpled white dress.
Leonard stared at her blankly, and then put out a bony arm and drew her to his side.
"It's awfully tough on you, honey, to have it this way; no new clothes or anything fixed up, and," he added, smiling and closing his eyes, "coming away across the ocean full of dirty little submarines to a bridegroom smelling like a poor man! Jove! I want a bath!"
"Just as I was about to take the liberty of remarking myself," old Nannie said. She was standing in the doorway, her arms akimbo and her sleeves rolled up. "Captain Leeds, it's all ready."