Edith was radiant at the news.
"I do hope they're not going to grudge themselves a good long wedding
trip!" she exclaimed.
"They're going abroad," said Roger.
"Oh, splendid! And the wedding! Church or home?"
"Home," said Roger blissfully, "and short and simple, not a frill. Just the
family."
"Oh, that's so nice," sighed Edith. "I was afraid she'd want to drag in her
school."
"School will be out by then," he said.
"Well, I hope it stays out--for the remainder of her days. She can't do
both, and she'll soon see. Wait till she has a child of her own."
"Well, she wants one bad enough."
"Yes, but can she?" Edith asked, with the engrossed expression which came
on her pretty florid face whenever she neared such a topic. She spoke with
evident awkwardness. "That's the trouble. Is it too late? Deborah's
thirty-one, you know, and she has lived her life so hard. The sooner she
gives up her school the better for her chances."
The face of her father clouded.
"Look here," he said uneasily, "I wouldn't go talking to her--quite along
those lines, my dear."
"I'm not such an idiot," she replied. "She thinks me homely enough as it
is. And she's not altogether wrong. Bruce and I were talking it over last
night. We want to be closer, after this, to Deborah and Allan. Bruce says
it will do us _all_ good, and for once I think he's right. I _have_ given
too much time to my children, and Bruce to his office--I see it now. Not
that I regret it, but--well, we're going to blossom out."
* * * * *
She struck the same note with Deborah. And so did Bruce.
"Oh, Deborah dear," he said smiling, when he found a chance to see her
alone, "if you knew how long I've waited for this big fine thing to happen.
A. Baird is my best chum in the world. Don't yank him gently away from us
now. We'll keep close--eh?--all four of us."
"Very," said Deborah softly.
"And you mustn't get too solemn, you know. You won't pull too much of the
highbrow stuff."
"Heaven forbid!"
"That's the right idea. We'll have some fine little parties together. You
and A. Baird will give us a hand and get us out in the evenings. We need
it, God knows, we've been getting old." Deborah threw him a glance of
affection.
"Why, Brucie," she said, in admiring tones, "I knew you had it in you."
"So has Edith," he sturdily declared. "She only needs a little shove. We'll
show you two that we're regular fellows. Don't you be all school and we
won't be all home. We'll jump out of our skins and be young again."
* * * * *
In pursuance of this gay resolve, Bruce planned frequent parties to
theaters and musical shows, and to Edith's consternation he even began to
look about for a teacher from whom he could learn to dance. "A. Baird," he
told her firmly, "isn't going to be the only soubrette in this family."
One of the most hilarious of these small celebrations came early in June,
when they dined all four together and went to the summer's opening of "The
Follies of 1914." The show rather dragged a bit at first, but when Bert
Williams took the stage Bruce's laugh became so contagious that people in
seats on every hand turned to look at him and join in his glee. Only one
thing happened to mar the evening's pleasure. When they came outside the
theater Bruce found in his car something wrong with the engine. He tinkered
but it would not go. Allan hailed a taxi.
"Why not come with us?" asked Deborah.
"No, thanks," said Bruce. "I've got this car to look after."
"Oh, let it wait," urged Allan.
"It does look a little like rain," put in Edith. Bruce glanced up at the
cloudy sky and hesitated a moment.
"Rain, piffle," he said good-humoredly. "Come on, wifey, stick by me. I
won't be long." And he and Edith went back to his car.
"What a dear he is," said Deborah. Allan put his arm around her, and they
looked at each other and smiled. It was only nine days to the wedding.
Out of the street's commotion came a sharp cry of warning. It was followed
by a shriek and a crash. Allan looked out of the window, and then with a
low exclamation he jumped from the taxi and slammed the door.