A wistful look came into Mrs. Waddington's face. She seemed to be feeling that luck like that could not hold.
"I, personally," she said, "have had a presentiment right from the beginning that this marriage would never take place."
"Now, that is very curious," said the Rev. Gideon. "I am a strong believer in presentiments."
"So am I."
"I think they are sent to warn us—to help us to prepare ourselves for disaster."
"In the present instance," said Mrs. Waddington, "the word disaster is not the one I would have selected."
George tottered away. Once more there was creeping over him that grey foreboding which had come to him earlier in the day. So reduced was his nervous system that he actually sought comfort in the society of Sigsbee Horatio. After all, he thought, whatever Sigsbee's shortcomings as a man, he at least was a friend. A philosopher with the future of the race at heart might sigh as he looked upon Sigsbee H. Waddington, but in a bleak world George could not pick and choose his chums.
A moment later there was forced upon him the unpleasing discovery that in supposing that Mr. Waddington liked him he had been altogether too optimistic. The look which his future father-in-law bestowed upon him as he sidled up was not one of affection. It was the sort of look which, had he been sheriff of Gory Gulch, Arizona, the elder man might have bestowed upon a horse-thief.
"Darned officious!" rumbled Sigsbee H., in a querulous undertone. "Officious and meddling."
"Eh?" said George.