Just one week after the event, I opened an official envelope, extracted a check, gazed at it with a superior smile and tendered it to Clara by the tips of my fingers.
"Three thousand dollars!" cried Clara, without contrition, "three thousand dollars—oh, George!"
There it was—three thousand dollars, without a shred of doubt. Womanlike, all Clara had to say was:
"Well, was I right about the wedding presents?"
Which remark I had not foreseen.
We shut up house and went to town next day and began the rounds of the jewelers. In four days we had expended four-fifths of our money—but with what results! Everything we had longed for, planned for, dreamed of was ours and everything harmonized.
Two weeks later as, ensconced in our city house, we moved enraptured about our new-found home, gazing at the reincarnation of our silver, a telegram was put in my hand.
"What is it?" said Clara from the dining-room, where she was fondling our chaste Queen Anne teaset.
"It's a telegram," I said, puzzled.
"Open it, then!"