She put her arms about him and kissed him tenderly. He felt that she had grown into a woman over night.
“It’s all right, dear. I’m not frightened. I’m sure!”
“Lord, but I’ll miss you!”
“Dear old Wally—dear old Wally!” she said very close to tears.
It was a simple brief ceremony, this wedding. They were all a little solemn with the thought of what this world in dissolution might hold for these radiant young lovers. Larry O’Leary’s face was something to remember, when Isabelle plighted him her troth, and there was a sudden womanly dignity in Isabelle’s bearing that made the eyes smart.
But later, at the wedding supper, no one could resist the boyish happiness of Larry. He swept them all into his joyousness, and when the time came for their farewells, there were no tears, only good wishes and high hopes.
In the motor car on the way to the hotel, Larry’s arm held Isabelle close.
“Wee wife,” he said, softly; “wee wife.”
There was no need of words, their happiness was folded round them like a cloak. They dined in their sitting room, as merry as larks.