A wonderful day followed, many wonderful days. Doctor Gregory's great touring car and his livened man were at Mrs. Dimmick's door when they got back, an incongruous note in little Quaker Bridge, still gasping from the great storm.
"Your car?" Rachael said. "You drove down?"
"Yesterday. I put up at Valentine's--George Valentine's, you know, at Clark's Hills."
"Oh, that's my nice lady--gray haired, and with three children?" Rachael said eagerly. "Do you know her?"
"Know her? Valentine is my closest associate. They meet us in town to-morrow: he's to be best man. You'll have to have them to dinner once a month for the rest of your life!"
The picture brought her happy color, the shy look he loved.
"I'm glad, Greg. I like her immensely!"
They were at the car; she must flush again at the chauffeur's greeting, finding a certain grave significance, a certain acceptance, in his manner.
"Wife and baby well, Martin?"
"Very well, thank you, Mrs. Breckenridge."