“Perhaps not, but she may be useful to me,” quietly. “Oh, Joe, you don’t know what it means to a bride to sever her husband from his family. Please God, you’ll never have that to reproach me with.”
“I was only thinking of you, dearest,” put in Joe, much touched. “Between you and me, Pauline is an awful tartar.” At that moment their carriage turned the corner into S Street and drew up at the curb.
“Your answer, dearest?” Joe’s assurance had departed, and the hand he laid on Kathryn shook. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” he had to bend down to catch the whispered word.
“Soon?” he urged, his voice triumphant with joy.
“Yes,” and the kindly darkness hid the kiss with which they sealed their betrothal.
CHAPTER XV
IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING
Kathryn Allen tore open the note with impatient fingers.
My Darling, [she read],
Pauline tells me Janet Fordyce and Chichester Barnard frequently take tea at the Brown Tea Pot. I don’t know why you asked me to find out, but, sweetheart, your word is law to your devoted