She has so
little--don't you see?--of what a woman needs these days. She has grown up
so badly. Oh, if you'd only let her alone. It was such a bad, bad time to
choose." She went to her father and kissed him. "Well, it's over now," she
said, "and we'll make the best we can of it. I'll tell her you're sorry and
quiet her down. And to-morrow we'll try to forget it has happened."
* * * * *
For Roger the morrow went by in a whirl. The wedding, a large church
affair, was to take place at twelve o'clock. He arose early, put on his
Prince Albert, went down and ate his breakfast alone. The waitress was
flustered, the coffee was burnt. He finished and anxiously wandered about.
The maids were bustling in and out, with Deborah giving orders pellmell.
The caterers came trooping in. The bridesmaids were arriving and hurrying
up to Roger's room. That place was soon a chaos of voices, giggles, peals
of laughter. Laura's trunks were brought downstairs, and Roger tagged them
for the ship, one for the cabin and three for the hold, and saw them into
the wagon. Then he strode distractedly everywhere, till at last he was
hustled by Deborah into a taxi waiting outside.
"It's all going so smoothly," Deborah said, and a faint sardonic glimmer
came into her father's hunted eyes. Deborah was funny!
Soon he found himself in the church. He heard whispers, eager voices, heard
one usher say to another, "God, what a terrible head I've got!" And Roger
glared at him for that.
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