And Bush, Darroch, those other people—might they not also have walked in Gethsemane? Was this what the papers meant by their humorous accounts of "divorce mills"? She had received an especially vivid impression of Mr. Darroch and never would forget him. His case had come just before her own. He had spoken in a nasal, penetrating voice and she heard plainly every word when he testified. He was a short middle-aged man whose young wife, after ruining him by her extravagance, had run away with a tall traveling salesman. Even after that Mr. Darroch had offered to forgive her and take her back. But she wouldn't come. Then finally he divorced her, as the reporter put it, with record-breaking speed.
The day after her decree was granted Georgia Talbot Connor and Mason Stevens went by automobile to Crown Point, Indiana, where, with Albert Talbot and Leila Frankland as witnesses, they were presently assured by a justice of the peace that they now were man and wife.
She was compelled to cross the state line for the ceremony because the laws of Illinois forbade her remarriage within a year; and she thought that she had waited long enough, the state legislature to the contrary notwithstanding.
The party of four, when they returned to Chicago had a bridal dinner in a private room, with white ribbons and cake. When it was finished Georgia kissed L. Frankland for the second time in their lives. The first time was in the automobile on the way back from Crown Point.
"Good-bye, Al," she said to her brother. "You must come to see us in Kansas City soon."
"Yes, indeed," said Stevens.
"I certainly will," promised Al.
"And mama," she spoke a little wistfully, "tell her we'd like her to come too if she would. Tell her, Al."
"Yes, all right."
"I'll send you something every week for her. Maybe, I'm not sure, maybe I'll keep on working."