Both are exquisitely happy. Neither can say aught that displeases or hurts the other. For Esther it is the dawn--the glorious sun rising out of a winter night. She never had a lover before.
With George Harpwood it is the crowning of an edifice built with infinitely more pains than the David Lockwin Annex.
The noise of all this is abroad. "The wedding will be private," says Mrs. Grundy with sorrow. "But the Mrs. Harpwood that is to be will this winter entertain on a lavish scale. She is devoted to Harpwood's political aspirations."
"That man Harpwood, if he gets to Congress this winter, will begin a great career. I wouldn't be surprised to see him President," says one bank cashier to another.
"Well, he's marrying the woman who can help him most. The labor people are all on her side."
"When shall the day be, Esther?" the friend of her sorrows asks.
"Let it be the last Thursday of next month at 6 o'clock," she replies, and is far more peaceful than when David Lockwin asked her to marry him far on in the long ago, for on that night she cried.
"I suppose the number of guests should be small," he notes.
"Only our nearest friends. A Thursday, dear, at 6 o'clock."
The neighborhood is agog. The servants outdo each other in gossip. There are household arrangements which are to turn a gloomy abode into a merry dwelling-place.