"When?"
"Yesterday." He hesitated. "Her letters and one or two things—they're done up in a pile."
"I'll get them to her."
"Thank you." He turned. "I say, Bojo, stand by me in this, won't you? I've got to have some one. Will you?"
"All right. I'll come."
At eleven o'clock in a little church up in Harlem he stood by DeLancy's side while the words were said that he knew meant the end of all things for him in the worldly world he had chosen for his own. It was more like an execution, and Bojo had a guilty, horribly guilty, feeling, as though he were participating in a crime.
"Louise looks beautiful," he found the heart to whisper.
"Yes, doesn't she?" said Fred gratefully, with such a sudden leap in the eyes that Bojo felt something choking in his throat.
He waved them good-by after he had put them in the automobile, and took Mrs. Varney and a Miss Dingler, the maid of honor, home in a taxi. It was all very gloomy, shoddy, and depressing.