"Best of it!" scoffed Edith. "Well, if Oliver thinks for one minute that I am going to throw open my house to his precious Madge Tompkins he's greatly mistaken. Ruth is having a large bridge party Thursday—ten tables. This affair has simply got to be kept quiet until after that. Breck Sewall is coming up from New York to spend Sunday. You all know he's paying marked attention to Ruth, and the Sewalls—Heavens!—they're particular to a degree! Oh, we mustn't let a single word of this miserable affair leak out—not a single word! Oh, when I think of it, I just want—"
"Come, come, Edith," interrupted Alec. "Gently, dear. Gently, you know."
"Well, if any of you expect me," Edith went on, "to have that common person here, I must tell you that I can't—I simply can't! I'm not in a condition to endure it. I—"
"Now look here, dear," Alec said soothingly, "no one expects you to. Everything will be exactly as you wish."
Oh, he would have stopped the sun from rising if Edith had requested it. I've never witnessed such dog-devotion as Alec shows to Edith. He can't be five minutes late to an appointment with her, without telephoning a plausible excuse, or sending a special messenger. She has him wonderfully trained. You ought to see him run around and put down windows, raise shades, carry chairs or rush upstairs for her work-bag which she forgot and left on her bureau just before dinner.
At about five o'clock that afternoon Malcolm, who had been haunting the station all day in the hope of meeting Oliver and his companion, and hurrying them quietly into a closed carriage as soon as possible, burst in upon us, all excitement.
"What in the world is the matter now?" exclaimed Ruth.
"Have they come?" asked Alec.
"Has any one heard of it?" gasped Edith.