According to Jean, on the following morning “before they had had a chance to discover that Ray was really married, it was all over and they were gone!”
The house had by no means settled into regular routine, nor grown in the least accustomed to the new order of things, when a diversion was caused by the appearance of Uncle Evarts; all unexpected, as usual, he came for one of his flying visits.
The missing of a train at a junction had compelled him to lie over, and he had found by taking a rather circuitous route he could run down and spend a few hours with them, and hear all about the bride. He was “so sorry” that he could not come in time for the wedding; but business was a terrible tyrant and a man who had a family to think about had to get up and hustle these days. Joe was at it, he supposed. Poor Joe! He wished he could make him understand how sorry he was not to be able to help him through this last scrape. Would he really have to lose the house? Mortgages were dangerous tools for poor people to play with; he himself had steered clear of them; it was always the best way. Uncle Evarts never waited for replies to his questions; in this case his sister-in-law was glad that he hadn’t; she was finding herself unwilling to talk over family matters with him. Next, he attacked the bride:
“So Ray is really married at last? Put it off a number of times, didn’t she? Well, marriage is a kind of lottery; the best we can do is hope that she will never have cause to regret hers. What is the plan? You and Joe going to take them in and look after them until they can stand on their own feet? Forsythe has nothing but his salary, has he? Not even a home of his own. Pretty precarious business to marry under such circumstances.”
When he paused for breath, Mrs. Forman decided that she must give him a crumb of information; it started him afresh:
“Oh, indeed! Going to housekeeping. Well, that’s sensible. A little place of their own, no matter how humble, is better than living on other people. But, didn’t I hear that he had a relative of some sort to support? Oh, a mother; and is she going to live with them? They will need several rooms, then. Where have they found a desirable place? Or haven’t they got so far as that yet?”
Mrs. Forman arose suddenly, ostensibly to close a window where the wind was blowing in; really, to decide just how to answer him. It gave Jean the opportunity for which she longed:
“They are to be at 1200 Dupont Circle, Uncle Evarts.”
“Eh, what?” he said. “I beg your pardon, Jean, I didn’t hear distinctly, 1200 what?”
“Dupont Circle.”