Sue entered noisily. She did every thing noisily.
“Come here, Susan.” Dr. Lake caught her in his arms, but she slipped through them, moving to Tessa’s side, seating herself upon the rug, and resting both hands in Tessa’s lap.
“I was reading the other day”—he stooped to smooth Sue’s flounce—“of a fellow who fell dead upon his wedding day, as soon as the knot was tied. Perhaps it was tied too tight and choked him. Suppose I drop dead, Susan, will you like to be a bewitching young widow so soon? Whom would you find to flirt with before night?”
“Gerald, you are wicked!”
“Probably this bridegroom had heart disease. I haven’t heart disease, except for you, my Shrine, my Heart’s Desire.”
“Isn’t he wretched, Tessa? He tells me all kinds of stories about people dying of joy!”
He bent forward, drawing her towards him backward, and with both arms around her, kissed the top of her head and her forehead.
“You mustn’t do so before folks,” said Sue shaking herself free.
“Mystic isn’t folks! She is my guardian angel.”
“I know that you would rather have married her.”