“Little love, I’ve been thinkin’, maybe ye’d better not go. Maybe ye’d better stay here and wait for me.”
“I’ll wait for you, just as close to those dreadful trenches as they’ll let me come!” she said, fiercely.
She summoned the family and told them the news. She wished to be married on the morrow and sail with her boy on Saturday.
“But you’ve got no clothes!” protested Max.
“We’ll be married to-morrow at five, Max; here or in a church, whichever you say.”
“Here, of course,” said Wally.
“We don’t want any fuss, or people, or excitement. I will pack to-night so that Larry and I may have the whole day free to-morrow,” said Isabelle, with a quiet authority that silenced them all.
For once Max let her have it her own way. She had always dreamed of Isabelle’s wedding as a big fashionable event. It was like her daughter to do it this way. She actually went off for the entire day with her lover, coming back only in time to dress.
There were no guests except Miss Watts and Martin Christiansen. Major O’Dell, whose orders took him back on the ship with them, acted as best man for Larry. Just as she was hurrying downstairs, Isabelle met Wally, waiting for her. He slipped a box into her hand and said brokenly:
“Little secret between us, Isabelle. I know you’re going to be happy with this chap, but I’m frightened,—it’s all such a gamble!”