"Yes," said the vision gaily, "yes—Mrs. Theodore Kent!"
And then the two girls were in each other's arms, laughing and chattering, and weeping a little, too, after the manner of girls—especially when there has been marriage and giving in marriage since their last meeting.
They had not seen each other for more than three years, for although Charlotte had been in America several times during that period, she had merely joined her family in New York for brief reunions, and had then hastened back to Paris where she was studying singing. They looked at each other curiously after that first embrace, and, when they were seated in Sheila's sunny sitting-room, they fell at once into confidences covering those three separated years. It was Charlotte, of course, who had food for conversation, but Sheila, as the bride, was the heroine of the occasion, even to Charlotte's broader mind. Marriage may not fulfill the ideals of high romance, but it can always cast a halo.
"Well," said Charlotte at last, when she had heard the tale of Ted's perfections and achievements, "well, I'll wait and see what you two make of it before I give up my liberty."
"You wouldn't be giving up your liberty if you married the man you loved," protested Sheila staunchly.
"Oh, I don't know about that! Suppose I married a man who resented my music?"
"But he wouldn't—if he loved you!"
"Oh! Then Ted doesn't mind your writing?"
"Of course not!" Sheila assured her. "Why, I was writing when you came!" And she held up the inky finger.
Charlotte surveyed the finger with evident respect: "That's right! I'm glad you aren't going to be submerged by marriage. I was afraid you might be. And really, Sheila, you have talent. The 'F—— Monthly' would never have taken that story of yours if it hadn't been exceptionally good. I know Mr. Bennett, the associate editor, and his standards——"