Truly a strange situation! Her wedding hour approaching, and no possibility of the wedding ceremony being performed, unless by some means her lover should be restored to her.
Mechanically, almost unconsciously, she leaned down and with her fingertips brushed at some white marks on the plain moss-green carpet.
“What’s that?” asked Whiting.
“I don’t know. Chalk, it looks like.”
“Oh, Elsie, dear, please don’t worry about ‘clues’ and such things just now. Listen to me. We must make some plans to follow if Kim doesn’t show up in time. If he does, there’s no harm done; but for the sake of your own dignity do think what you’ll do if he isn’t here at four o’clock. And before that! We ought to call in the invitations,—at once. You can’t have people coming to the church and going away again!”
“I don’t care what they do!” she cried, passionately. “Oh, Kimball, I want you!”
She flung herself into a chair and gave way to tears at last.
Mrs. Webb and Henrietta came in, and seeing them, Elsie controlled herself.
“You have succeeded, Henrietta,” she said with a scathing look; “you were determined I should not marry Kimball, and you have succeeded in—postponing it,—that’s all! The wedding will yet take place! You can’t keep him hidden for ever!”
“Elsie! What nonsense!” exclaimed Whiting. “You know Miss Webb couldn’t have done this thing!”