"Well," she hesitated, awkwardly, "he is rather vain."
Baptiste was thoughtful. Rev. McCarthy was vain.... He must be praised if one was to get along with him.... Make him think he was a king. His Majesty, Newton Justine, sounded very well as a title. All he needed now, then, was a crown. If necessary for peace in the family he would praise him, although it was not to his liking.
Jean Baptiste had little patience with people who must be praised. In his association he had chosen men, men who were too busy to look for or care for praise. But he failed to reckon then that he was facing another kind of person, one whom he was soon to learn.
His Majesty, Newton Justine, arrived on schedule the next morning, very serious of expression, and apparently tired into the bargain. Baptiste recalled when he saw him what he had been advised with regards to making him think he was a king. "Well," sighed Baptiste, "providing 'His Majesty' is not a despot, we may be able to get along for a day or two."
Later, when convenient, Baptiste attempted and was apparently successful in making the matter so plain that despite his reputed dislike for fair reasoning, the Elder was compelled to call his daughter and say:
"Now, Orlean, you have heard. Are you in love with this man?" The melting smile she bestowed him with was quite sufficient, so seeing, he continued:
"And do you wish to become his wife?" She looked down into her lap then, turned her hands in childish fashion, and replied in a very small voice:
"Yes."
"Then, that settles it," said the Elder, and thereafter made himself very amiable. By the morrow arrangements had been completed for a simple little home wedding, and at two o'clock, the ceremony was performed.
And when the bride and groom had been kissed according to custom, a storm without broke of a sudden, and the wind blew and the rain fell in torrents. So terrible became the storm that the piano, which some one played loudly, as if to shut out the roar of the storm outside, could hardly be heard. And in the meantime, so dark did it become that at two thirty the lights had to be turned on, the people could hardly distinguish each other in the rooms. Nor did the storm abate as the afternoon wore on, but continued in mad fury far into the night and the guests were compelled to leave in the downpour and wind.