"So soon?" the merchant repeated. "What do you mean by so soon? Won't it be time to go?"
"Oh, yes, I suppose so."
"And where do I come in?" asked the girl.
"You can go if you insist," said Witherspoon, "but there are matters that he and I must arrange at once. We've got to fix up some sort of statement for the newspapers; can't keep this thing a secret, you know, and a tailor must be consulted. Your clothes are all right, my son," he quickly added, "but—well, you understand."
Henry understood, but he had thought when he left New Orleans that he was well dressed. And now for a moment he felt ragged.
"When shall we have the reception?" Ellen asked.
"The reception," Henry repeated, looking up in alarm.
"Why, listen to him," the girl cried. "Don't you know that we must give a reception? Why, we couldn't get along without it; society would cut us dead. Think how nice it will be—invitations with 'To meet Mr. Henry Witherspoon' on them."
"Must I go through that?" Henry asked, appealing to Mrs. Witherspoon.
"Of course you must, but not until the proper time."