The Wedding of the Season
Mrs. Radigan pulled off her gloves, tossed her hat on the drawing-room table, threw her coat at her maid, and sank into a deep chair.
"Well, thank Heaven, it is all over," she said, "that we got through it alive, and now we shall see something in the papers besides the Bumpschuses and the Nocastles and all those tiresome people."
She called for tea, and when it came Pearl Veal would have made it for her but her sister waved her away firmly.
"You must rest, my dear," she said. "Quiet your nerves with a smoke and offer up silent thanksgiving that you are living at this minute."
She seemed to think that Pearl should be on the verge of collapse, which amused me greatly, for when I passed a cigarette to my fiancée I saw that her hand was as steady as a church with the match. Then she smiled at me and gave her head a slight inclination toward Sally.
"No one was hurt," she said. "The police arrangements were excellent, only it took so many men to get Ethel and the Duke safely into the carriage, that we were left unguarded for a moment."
"It's a wonder you were not killed," said Mrs. Radigan.
Pearl laughed. I never knew a girl so brave as she. Had she just come from a Lenten service instead of the wedding of the season she could not have been more unruffled. But Mrs. Radigan was bent on making the most of the adventure, as she does of all adventures, exaggerating, finding pleasure in dances, and getting excitement out of dinners. Her teacup was arrested in midair, and over its top she eyed her sister solicitously.