"Jack! Come on!" called Desboro; and, as that gentleman sauntered into view with Cynthia on his arm, something in the girl's delicious and abashed beauty convinced her host. He stretched out his hand; she took it, looking at him out of confused but sincere eyes.
"Is it all right to wish you happiness, Cynthia?"
"It is quite all right—thank you."
"And to drink this H. P. W. to your health and happiness?"
"That," she said laughingly, "is far more serious. But—you may do so, please."
The ceremony ended, Desboro said to Jacqueline, deprecatingly:
"This promises to be a jolly, but a rather noisy, dinner. Do you mind?"
And it was both—an exceedingly jolly and unusually noisy dinner for four. Jacqueline and Cynthia both consented to taste the champagne in honour of this occasion only; then set aside their glasses, inflexible in their prejudice. Which boded well for everybody concerned, especially to two young men to whom any countenance of that sort might ultimately have proved no kindness.
And Jacqueline was as wise as she was beautiful; and Cynthia's intuition matched her youthful loveliness, making logic superfluous.