As they entered their suite
the bride took her sweeping skirts in either hand and executed a pas
seul down the long parlor.
"I was a success!" she cried. "You were proud of me. I could see it.
And even at the table, although I talked nearly all the time to Mr.
McLane, I never mentioned a book."
She danced over and threw her arms about his neck. "Say you were
proud of me. I'd love to hear it."
He gave her a bear-like hug. "Of course. You are the prettiest and
the most animated woman in San Francisco, and that's saying a good
deal. And I've given them all a mighty surprise."
"I believe that is the longest compliment you ever paid me--and
because I made a good impression on some one else. What irony!"
She pouted charmingly, but her eyes were wistful. "Now sit down and
talk to me. I've scarcely seen you since we arrived."
"Oh! Remember you are married to this old ruffian. You'll see enough
of me in the next thirty or forty years. Run to bed and get your
beauty sleep. I promised to go to the Union Club."
"The Club? You went to the Club last night and the night before and
the night before that. Every night since we arrived--"
"I haven't seen half my old cronies yet and they are waiting for a
good old poker game. Sleep is what you want after such an exciting
day.
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