“No, not sorry, exactly,” said the girl; “but, indeed, Ted, it is going to make so much talk. If we only had a girl with us, or if you had a best man, or if we had witnesses, as they do in England, and a parish registry, or something of that sort; or if Cousin Harold had only been at home to do the marrying.”
The young gentleman called Ted did not look, judging from the expression of his shoulders, as if he were having a very good time.
He picked at the food on his plate gloomily, and the girl took out her handkerchief and then put it resolutely back again and smiled at him. The youth called the waiter and told him to bring a directory, and as he turned to give the order Van Bibber recognized him and he recognized Van Bibber. Van Bibber knew him for a very nice boy, of a very good Boston family named Standish, and the younger of two sons. It was the elder who was Van Bibber's particular friend. The girl saw nothing of this mutual recognition, for she was looking with startled eyes at a hansom that had dashed up the side street and was turning the corner.
“Ted, O Ted!” she gasped. “It's your brother. There! In that hansom. I saw him perfectly plainly. Oh, how did he find us? What shall we do?”
Ted grew very red and then very white.
“Standish,” said Van Bibber, jumping up and reaching for his hat, “pay this chap for these things, will you, and I'll get rid of your brother.”
Van Bibber descended the steps lighting a cigar as the elder Standish came up them on a jump.
“Hello, Standish!” shouted the New Yorker. “Wait a minute; where are you going? Why, it seems to rain Standishes to-day! First see your brother; then I see you. What's on?”
“You've seen him?” cried the Boston man, eagerly. “Yes, and where is he? Was she with him? Are they married? Am I in time?”
Van Bibber answered these different questions to the effect that he had seen young Standish and Mrs. Standish not a half an hour before, and that they were just then taking a cab for Jersey City, whence they were to depart for Chicago.