Part 23 (1/2)
They walked on in silence. Then shyly the girl turned her head. Oh, most a.s.suredly, she was desirable. Clumsy as had been his declaration, Mr.
Magee resolved to stick to it through eternity.
”I'm sorry I spoke as I did,” she said. ”Will you forgive me?”
”Forgive you?” he cried. ”Why, I--”
”And now,” she interrupted, ”let us talk of other things. Of s.h.i.+ps, and shoes, and sealing-wax--”
”All the topics in the world,” he replied, ”can lead to but one with me--”
”s.h.i.+ps?” asked the girl.
”For honeymoons,” he suggested.
”Shoes?”
”In some circles of society, I believe they are flung at bridal parties.”
”And sealing-wax?”
”On the license, isn't it?” he queried.
”I'll not try you on cabbage and kings,” laughed the girl. ”Please, oh, please, don't fail me. You won't, will you?” Her face was serious. ”You see, it means so very much to me.”
”Fail you?” cried Magee. ”I'd hardly do that now. In ten minutes that package will be in your hands--along with my fate, my lady.”
”I shall be so relieved.” She turned her face away, there was a faint flush in the cheek toward Mr. Magee. ”And--happy,” she whispered under her breath.
They were then at the great front door of Baldpate Inn.
CHAPTER XII
WOE IN NUMBER SEVEN
Inside, before the office fire, Miss Thornhill read a magazine in the indolent fas.h.i.+on so much affected at Baldpate Inn during the heated term; while the mayor of Reuton chatted amiably with the ponderously coy Mrs. Norton. Into this circle burst the envoys to the hermitage, flushed, energetic, snowflaked.
”Hail to the chef who in triumph advances!” cried Mr. Magee.
He pointed to the door, through which Mr. Max was leading the captured Mr. Peters.
”You got him, didyu?” rasped Mrs. Norton.
”Without the use of anesthetics,” answered Magee. ”Everybody ready for one of Mr. Peters' inimitable lunches?”
”Put me down at the head of the list,” contributed the mayor.
Myra Thornhill laid down her magazine, and fixed her great black eyes upon the radiant girl in corduroy.