Up went Barry's two hands, and with them Neil's and Paula's.
“What about you, miss?” asked Paula, turning wrathfully toward Phyllis.
Phyllis walked quietly to Barry's side.
“Barry,” she said, giving him her hand, “I have decided to be married to-morrow. I shall wire mamma.”
Barry answered her only with his eyes.
“By Jove!” said Paula, “you Britishers are the limit, for stolid, unemotional people. Here am I shouting my head off like a baseball fan, to get this thing put through, and you quietly walk up and announce that everything's fixed but the band.”
The wires to London that afternoon were kept busy, a message going to Mrs. Vincent from each member of the party, but it was felt that that from Phyllis to her mother was really all that was necessary.
“Dearest Mamma—Barry and I are to be married tomorrow. English law makes London impossible, as Barry has only five days. I am very happy, feeling sure you approve. Our dearest, dearest love.
“Phyllis.”
A long wire also went from Barry to Mr. Robertson, the minister of the little church, where they had spent such a delightful hour that morning, but this wire Barry showed to no one.