“Is that so? Then your sister and I agree already.”
“A happy omen for the future,” exclaimed Joe, then his face darkened. “If Marjorie Langdon has been nasty to you, my darling, I’ll cut her acquaintance.”
The look she gave him was ample reward. “Ah, Joe,” she said, a trifle sadly, “I fear your loyalty will be taxed to the breaking point if you marry a poor, nameless nobody like me.”
“Never!” he vowed with lover-like ardor. “And, dearest, within a few years, by the terms of my grandfather’s will, I shall inherit eight thousand a year.”
“What!” Her surprise was genuine; Joe had never before spoken of his prospective inheritance.
“I didn’t know about it myself until Christmas,” went on Joe. “We can be married tomorrow if you say so; I’ll get mother to advance me some money, and father will come across when he once meets you.”
“And your sister?”
“Oh, Pauline can go hang. Who cares for her opinion?” contemptuously.
“I do, for one,” calmly meeting his perplexed stare. “I most earnestly desire her friendship.”
“You don’t know Pauline,” dryly, remembering his treatment at his sister’s hands. “I don’t think she will add to our joy of living.”