“Be a man!” he whispered sharply. “I warned you not to marry Diane, I warned you to keep away from this; but now you’re in it. For God’s sake, shield her! Be a man!”
Faunce shook off the old man’s touch.
“Let me alone! I tell you she’s safe. It’s false, every word of it; he simply can’t have come back!”
The doctor said no more, but made a sign, warning him. Diane and Fanny came down-stairs together, the bride in her traveling-dress. Her filmy veil, floating on the edge of her wide-brimmed hat, obscured the pallor of her face. The doctor took her hand, patting it benignly.
“Good-by, my dear! Your father’s got the enemy in the dining-room, rice and all. You’ll have to run for it!”
He felt the quivering of her fingers in his clasp, and saw the unnatural brightness in her eyes.
“You never wished me joy!” she whispered back.
“Haven’t I? Then I do, my dear, I do—a thousand times!”
He went down with her to the motor, and he and Fanny stood watching it go off. Then they turned and looked at each other. “Do—do you think it’s true?” she whispered in an awed voice.
The doctor fenced.