“Oh, Berry, Berry!”
“Don’t laugh at me, you dear old silly! I can hardly find words to tell you, but—but”—radiantly—“our luck has turned at last, Charley. You have won!”
She flung herself, tumultuously, into his arms, regardless of Black Dobbins, gazing curiously from a distance, and joyfully fingering the generous crown, and Charley hugged her tight, crying:
“Hurrah! hurrah! Five hundred thousand dollars for you and me, little lovey-dovey, and now you shall be a little queen! I shall deck you out in silks and laces and diamonds, and buy you an automobile, sure; and we shall be as happy as the day is long!”
“We are happy as that now, and we could not be any happier if we had all your father’s millions. All we wish is his good will,” Berry answered seriously; then drawing back from his embrace, she added:
“That old man is staring at us; perhaps thinking we have gone suddenly mad! Sit down and read your letter like a dignified, married man, now.”
He obeyed, and found that all she had said was true.
The suit was won. His father’s lawyers had given up and the case was definitely closed. Senator Bonair indeed had sailed for Europe some time previous, and perhaps his son had seen him somewhere before this. He hoped, fervently, that they might meet and make up their quarrel before the consummation of the senator’s reported engagement to the beautiful belle, Miss Montague. Otherwise it was certain, in the event of the marriage, that Charley would never get a dollar of his father’s money.
“Dear old dad, it is not his money as much as his good will that I covet!” cried the young man, adding:
“Ah, Berry, how glorious it would be to have you in Washington next winter, queening it over my father’s new house instead of hateful Rosalind. You are so lovely, so winning, I predict you would carry society by storm.”