The Girl in the Mirror Read online

  THE GIRL IN THE MIRROR

  by

  ELIZABETH JORDAN

  Author of "The Wings of Youth," "May Iverson--Her Book,""Lovers' Knots," etc.

  Illustrated by Paul Meylan

  "Well, Princess," he said at last, still trying to speaklightly]

  New YorkThe Century Co.1919

  Copyright, 1919, byThe Century Co.

  Copyright, 1919, byToday's Housewife

  Published, October, 1919

  TO

  MRS. HENRY FERRE CUTLER

  WITH HAPPY MEMORIES OF FLORENCE

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I BARBARA'S WEDDING 3

  II RODNEY LOSES A BATTLE 26

  III LAURIE MEETS MISS MAYO 47

  IV A PAIR OF GRAY EYES 66

  V MR. HERBERT RANSOME SHAW 90

  VI LAURIE SOLVES A PROBLEM 99

  VII GRIGGS GETS AN ORDER 112

  VIII SAMUEL PLAYS A NEW GAME 124

  IX AN INVITATION 138

  X THE LAIR OF SHAW 151

  XI A BIT OF BRIGHT RIBBON 162

  XII DORIS TAKES A JOURNEY 180

  XIII THE HOUSE IN THE CEDARS 196

  XIV LAURIE CHECKS A REVELATION 216

  XV MR. SHAW DECIDES TO TALK 240

  XVI BURKE MAKES A PROMISE 258

  XVII LAURIE MAKES A CONFESSION 270

  XVIII A LITTLE LOOK FORWARD 285

  XIX "WHAT ABOUT LAURIE?" 296

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  "Well, Princess," he said at last, still trying to speak lightly _Frontispiece_

  FACING PAGE

  "You see, what we were going to do isn't done much nowadays" 64

  "There is someone outside that door!" she whispered 116

  "What you been doin' to yerself?" he gasped 264

  THE GIRL IN THE MIRROR

  THE GIRL IN THE MIRROR

  CHAPTER I

  BARBARA'S WEDDING

  The little city of Devondale, Ohio, had shaken off for one night atleast the air of aristocratic calm that normally distinguished it fromthe busy mill towns on its right and left. Elm Avenue, its leadingresidence street, usually presented at this hour only an effect ofwatchful trees, dark shrubbery, shaded lamps, and remote domestic peace.Now, however, it had blossomed into a brilliant thoroughfare, full oflight, color, and movement, on all of which the December stars winkeddown as if in intimate understanding.

  Automobiles poured through the wide gates of its various homes andjoined a ceaseless procession of vehicles. Pedestrians, representingevery class of the city's social life, jostled one another on thesidewalks as they hurried onward, following this vanguard. Overwroughtpolicemen barked instructions at chauffeurs and sternly reprimandeddaring souls who attempted to move in a direction opposite to that thecrowd was following. For the time, indeed, there seemed to be but onedestination which a self-respecting citizen of Devondale might properlyhave in mind; and already many of the elect had reached this objectiveand had comfortably passed through its wide doors, down its aisles, andinto its cushioned pews.

  The Episcopal church of St. Giles was the largest as well as the mostfashionable of Devondale's houses of God, but it had its limitations. Itcould not hold the entire population of the town and surroundingcounties. The chosen minority, having presented cards of admission atthe entrance, accepted with sedate satisfaction the comfortable seatsassigned to it. The uninvited but cheerful majority lingered out in thefrosty street, forming a crowd that increasingly blocked the avenue andthe church entrance, besides wrecking the nervous systems of trafficmen.

  It was an interested, good-humored, and highly observant crowd, pressingforward as each automobile approached, to watch with unashamed curiositythe guests who alighted and made their way along the strip of carpetstretching from curbstone to church. Devondale's leading citizens werehere, and the spectators knew them all, from those high personages whowere presidents of local banks down to little Jimmy Harrigan, who wasBarbara Devon's favorite caddie at the Country Club.

  Unlike most of his fellow guests, Jimmy arrived on foot; but the crowdsaw his unostentatious advent and greeted him with envious badinage.

  "Hi, dere, Chimmie, where's yer evenin' soot?" one acquaintance desiredto know. And a second remarked solicitously, "De c'rect ting, Chimmie,is t' hold yer hat to yer heart as y' goes in!"

  Jimmy made no reply to these pleasantries. The occasion was too big andtoo novel for that. He merely grinned, presented his card of admissionin a paw washed clean only in spots, and accepted with equal equanimitythe piercing gaze of the usher and the rear seat to which that outragedyouth austerely conducted him.

  There, round-eyed, Jimmy stared about him. He had never been inside ofSt. Giles's before. It was quite possible that he would never findhimself inside of it again. He took in the beauty of the great church;its blaze of lights; its masses of flowers; its whispering, waitingthrong; the broad white ribbon that set apart certain front pews for thebride's special friends, including a party from New York. Jimmy knew allabout those friends and all about this wedding. His grimy little earswere ceaselessly open to the talk of the town, and for weeks past thetown had talked of nothing but the Devons and Barbara Devon'sapproaching wedding. Even now the townspeople were still talking of theDevons, during the brief interval before the bridal party appeared.

  In the pew just in front of Jimmy, Mrs. Arthur Lytton, a lady herecognized as a ubiquitous member of the Country Club, was giving a fewintimate details of Miss Devon's life to her companion, who evidentlywas a new-comer to the city.

  "You see," Mrs. Lytton was murmuring, "this is really the most importantwedding we've ever had here. Barbara Devon owns most of Devondale, andher home, Devon House, is one of the show places of the state. Shehasn't a living relative except her brother Laurie, and I fancy she hasbeen lonely, notwithstanding her hosts of friends. We all love her, sowe're glad to know she has found the right man to marry, especially aswe are not to lose her ourselves. She intends to live in Devon Houseevery summer."

  The new-comer--a Mrs. Renway who had social aspirations--was politelyattentive.

  "I met Laurence Devon at the Country Club yesterday," she said. "He'sthe handsomest creature I've ever seen, I think. He's really _too_good-looking; and they say there's some romantic story about him. Do youknow what it is?"

  Her friend nodded.

  "Mercy, yes! Every one does."

  Observing the other's growing attention, she went on expansively:

  "You see, Laurie was the black sheep of the family; so the Devons leftall their great fortune to Barbara and put Laurie in her care. Thatinfuriated him, of course, for he is a high-spirited youngster. Hepromptly took on an extra shade of blackness. He was expelled fromcollege, and sowed whole crops of wild oats. He gambled, was alwa
ys indebt, and Barbara had to pay. For a long time she wasn't able to handlethe situation. They're both young, you know. She's about twenty-four,and Laurie is a year younger. But last year she suddenly put her mind onit and pulled him up in a rather spectacular way."

  Mrs. Renway's eyes glittered with interest.

  "Tell me how!" she begged.

  The raconteur settled back into her pew, with the complacent expressionof one who is sure of her hearer's complete absorption in her words.

  "Why," she said, "she made Laurie a sporting-proposition, and heaccepted it. He and she were to go to New York and earn their living forone year, under assumed names and without revealing their identity toanybody. They were to start with fifty dollars each, and to be whollydependent upon themselves after that was gone. Laurie was to give upall his bad habits and buckle down to the job of self-support. For everydollar he earned more than Barbara earned, she promised him five dollarsat the end of the year. And if he kept his pledges he was to have tenthousand dollars when the experiment was over, whether he succeeded orfailed. He and Barbara were to live in different parts of the city, tobe ignorant of each other's addresses, and to see each other onlytwice."

  She stopped for breath. Her friend drove an urgent elbow into her side.

  "Go on!" she pleaded. "What happened?"

  "Something very unexpected," chuckled Mrs. Lytton. (For some reason,Barbara's friends always chuckled at this point in the story.) "Barbara,who is so clever," she went on, "almost starved to death. And Laurie,the black sheep, after various struggles and failures fell in with sometheatrical people and finally collaborated with a successful playwrightin writing a play. Perhaps it was partly luck. But the play made atremendous hit, Laurie kept his pledges, and Barbara has had to pay hima small fortune to meet her bargain!"

  The hearer smiled sympathetically.

  "That's splendid," she said, "for Laurie! But is the cure permanent, doyou think? The boy's so young, and so awfully good-looking--"

  "I know," Mrs. Lytton looked ominous. "He is straight as a string sofar, and absorbed in his new work. But of course his future is on theknees of the gods, for Barbara is going to Japan on her honeymoon, andLaurie will be alone in New York the rest of the winter. Barbara foundher husband in New York," she added. "He's a broker there, RobertWarren. That's what _she_ got out of the experiment! She met him whileshe was working in the mailing-department of some business house, forseven dollars a week--" Mrs. Lytton stopped speaking and craned her headbackward. "They're coming!" she whispered excitedly. "Oh, dear, I hope Isha'n't cry! I always _do_ cry at weddings, and I _never_ know why."

  From the crowd outside there rose a cheer, evidently at the bride'sappearance. The echoes of it accompanied her progress into the church.

  "The mill people adore Barbara," whispered Mrs. Lytton. "She built a bigclub-house for them two years ago, and she's the president of most oftheir clubs."

  In his seat behind her, Jimmy Harrigan, who had given his attention tothe conversation, sniffed contemptuously. If the dame in front was goin'to talk about Miss Devon, why didn't she tell somethin' worth while? Whydidn't she tell, fer ins'ance, that Miss Devon played the best golf ofany woman in the club, and had beaten Mrs. Lytton to a frazzle in amatch last month? An' why didn't she say somethin' about how generousMiss Devon was to caddies in the matter of skates and boxing-gloves andclothes? And why didn't she say what a prince Laurie Devon was, insteadof all dat stale stuff what everybody knew?

  But now Mrs. Lytton was exclaiming over the beauty of the bride, andhere Jimmy whole-heartedly agreed with her.

  "How lovely she looks!" she breathed. "She's like Laurie, so stunningshe rather takes one's breath away! Oh, dear, I'm going to cry, I know Iam! And crying makes my nose actually purple!"

  The excitement in the street had communicated itself to the dignifiedassemblage in the church. The occupants of the pews were turning intheir seats. The first notes of the great pipe-organ rolled forth.Friends who had known and loved Barbara Devon since she was a littlegirl, and many who had known her father and mother before her, lookednow at the radiant figure she presented as she walked slowly up theaisle on her brother's arm, and saw that figure through an unexpectedmist.

  "What a pair!" whispered Mrs. Renway, who had a pagan love of beauty."They ought to be put in one of their own parks and kept there as apermanent exhibit for the delight of the public. It's almost criminalnegligence to leave that young man at large," she darkly predicted."Something will happen if they do!"

  Mrs. Lytton absently agreed.

  "The bridegroom is very handsome, too," she murmured. "That stunning,insolent creature who is acting as matron of honor, and looking bored todeath by it, is his sister, Mrs. Ordway, of New York. The firstbridesmaid is another New York friend, a Russian girl named SonyaOrleneff, that Barbara met in some lodging-house. And _will_ you look atthe Infant Samuel!"

  An expression of acute strain settled over the features of Mrs. Renway.She hurriedly adjusted her eye-glasses.

  "The _what?_" she whispered, excitedly. "Where? I don't see any infant!"

  Mrs. Lytton laughed.

  "Of course you don't! It's too small and too near the floor. It's athirty-months-old youngster Barbara picked up in a New York tenement.She calls him the Infant Samuel, and she has brought him here with hismother, to live on her estate. They say she intends to educate him. He'scarrying her train and he's dressed as a page, in tiny white satinbreeches and lace ruffles. Oh, _don't_ miss him!"

  A little ripple stirred the assemblage. Three figures in the longadvancing line of the bridal party held the attention of observers. Twowere the bride and her brother. The third, stalking behind her, with hertrain grasped in his tiny fists, his round brown eyes staring straightahead, and his fluffy brown hair flying out as if swept backward by aneternal breeze, was obviously the Infant Samuel Mrs. Lytton hadmentioned.

  From a rear pew the Infant's mother watched her offspring with pride andshuddering apprehension. It was quite on the cards that he mightsuddenly decide to leave the procession and undertake a brief sideexcursion into the pews. But Samuel had been assured that he was "takinga walk," and as taking a walk happened to be his favorite pastime hekept manfully to this new form of diversion, even though it had featuresthat did not strongly appeal to him. His short legs wabbled, and histiny arms ached under the light weight of the bridal train, butSomething would happen if he let that train drop. He did not know quitewhat this Something would be, but he abysmally inferred that it would beextremely unpleasant. He held grimly to his burden.

  Suddenly he forgot it. The air was full of wonderful sounds such as hehad never heard before. His eyes grew larger. His mouth formed the "O"that expressed his deepest wonder. He longed to stop and find out wherethe sounds came from, but the train drew him on and on. With anunconscious sigh he accompanied the train; bad as things were, theymight have been worse, for he knew that somewhere in advance of him,lost in a mass of white stuff, was the "Babs" he adored.

  When the train stopped, he stopped. In response to an urgent suggestionfrom some one behind him, he dropped it. In obedience to an equallyurgent inner prompting, he sat down on it and gazed around. The walk hadbeen rather a long one. Now the big house he was in was very still, savefor one voice, saying something to Babs. It was all strange andunfamiliar, and Babs seemed far away. Nothing and nobody looked natural.Samuel became increasingly doubtful about the pleasure of this walk. Thecorners of his mouth went down.

  A flower fell into his lap, and looking up he saw Sonya Orleneff smilingat him. Even Sonya was a new Sonya, emerging from what Samuel dimly feltto be pink clouds. But the eyes were hers, and the smile was hers, andit was plain that she expected him to play with the pink flower. Hepulled it to pieces, slowly and absorbedly. The task took some time.From it he passed to a close contemplation of a pink slippered footwhich also proved to be Sonya's, and then to a careful study of a blackpump and black silk sock that proved to be Lawwie's. Lawwie was smilingdown at Samuel, too, and Wobert was st
anding beside Babs, sayingsomething in a voice that wabbled.

  Samuel sighed again. Perhaps by and by Lawwie would take him out for areal walk in the snow. All this pink-and-white display around him mightbe pretty, but there was nothing in it for a small boy. He gazedappealingly at Sonya, who promptly hoisted him to his fat legs. The manat the railing had stopped talking to Babs and the walk was resumed,this time toward the door. Again that especially precious part of thewhite stuff was in Samuel's keeping.

  The sounds that now filled the air were more wonderful than ever. Theyexcited Samuel. His fat arms waved, and the light train waved with them.A compelling hand, Sonya's, quieted them and it. There was absolutelynothing a little boy could do in this queer walk. Gloomily but sedatelythe Infant Samuel continued his promenade.

  "Here he is," murmured Mrs. Lytton to her friend. "You can see him now,can't you?"

  Mrs. Renway gurgled happily. She could.

  "Rodney Bangs, the playwright who collaborated with Laurie, is sittingin the front pew," continued her informant, "and the fat little bald mannext to him is Jacob Epstein, the New York manager who put on theirplay."

  At the same moment Epstein was whispering to his companion, as the twowatched Barbara and her husband start down the aisle in the first littlejourney of their married life.

  "Say, Bangs, if ve could put this vedding into a play, just like theydone it here, ve could vake up Broadvay a little--ain't it?"

  Bangs nodded, vaguely. His brown eyes were alternately on the bride andon his chum and partner, her brother. He was conscious of an odddepression, of an emotion, new and poignant, that made him understandthe tears of Barbara's women friends. Under the influence of this, hespoke oracularly:

  "Weddings are beastly depressing things. What the public wants to see issomething cheerful!"

  Epstein nodded in his turn. His thoughts, too, were busy. Like many ofthose around him, he was mentally reducing the spectacle he was watchingto terms that he could understand. A wedding conducted on this scale, heestimated, probably represented a total cost of about ten thousanddollars. But what was that to a bride with thirty or forty millions? Itwas strange her family had left them all to her and none to the boy,even if the boy had been a little wild. But the boy was all right now.He'd make his own fortune if life and women and the devil would let himalone. He had made a good start already. A few more successes like "TheMan Above" would make Epstein forget several failures he had already andunwisely produced this season. If he could get Bangs and Devon to startwork at once, on another good play--

  Epstein closed his eyes, lent his Jewish soul to the spell of the music,and dreamed on, of Art and Dollars, of Dollars and Art.

  A little later, in the automobile that whirled him and Epstein out tothe wedding-reception at Devon House, Rodney Bangs briefly developed thewedding theme.

  "I suppose the reason why women cry at weddings and men feel glum isthat they know what the bride's in for," he remarked, gloomily.

  Epstein grunted. "You an' me is bachelors," he reminded the momentarilycynical youth. "Ve should vorry!"

  "What I'm worrying about is Laurie," Bangs admitted.

  Epstein turned to him with awakened interest.

  "Vell," he demanded, "what about Laurie? He's all right, ain't he?"

  "His sister has always kept a collar and leash on Laurie," Bangsreminded him, "and Laurie has needed them both. Now she's off for Japanon a four-months' honeymoon. The leash and collar are off, too. It'sgoing to be mighty interesting and rather anxious business for us tosee what a chap like Laurie does with his new freedom. His nature hasn'tchanged in a year, you see, though his circumstances have," he added,slowly. "And all his promises to Barbara are off. His year of probationis over."

  Epstein grunted again. He was fond of saying that he loved Bangs andLaurie as if they were the sons he had never had; but he was not givento analysis of himself or others, and he had little patience with it.His reply showed a tolerance unusual in him.

  "Vell, ve keep an eye on him, don't ve?" he predicted.

  Bangs frowned.

  "We'll have to do it mighty carefully," he muttered. "If Devon catchesus at it, he won't leave us an eye to keep on anything!"

  Epstein grunted again.

  "Ve keep him busy," he suggested, eagerly. "Start him right avay onanother play. Eh? That's the idea!"

  Bangs shook his head.

  "That's it," he conceded. "But Laurie has decided that he won't workagain, just yet. He says he's tired and wants a few months' rest.Besides, he thinks America will declare war before the winter's over.He's going to volunteer as soon as it does, and he doesn't want anyloose ends dragging here, any half-finished plays, for example."

  Epstein looked worried. This was serious news. Without allowing him timeto recover from it, Bangs administered a second jolt.

  "And of course, in that case," he added simply, "I'd volunteer, too."

  Under the double blow Epstein's head and shoulders went down. He knew inthat moment what even he himself had sometimes doubted, that his boastedlove for the boys was deep and sincere. Few fathers could haveexperienced a more poignant combination of pride and pain than thatwhich shook him now. But he remained, as always, inarticulate.

  "Oh, vell," he said vaguely, "I guess ve meet all that if it comes, eh?Ve needn't go to it to-day."

  At Devon House they found the congestion characteristic ofwedding-receptions. A certain line had been drawn at the church.Seemingly no line at all had been drawn in the matter of guests at thereception. All Barbara Devon's proteges were there, and they were many;all the young folks in her clubs; all the old and new friends of hercrowded life. Each of the great and beautiful rooms on the main floor ofDevon House held a human frieze as a background for the throng ofnew-comers that grew rather than lessened as the hours passed.

  As Bangs and Epstein entered the main hall Laurie Devon saw them overthe heads of the crowd and hurried to meet them, throwing an arm acrossthe shoulder of each. He was in a mood both men loved and feared, a moodof high and reckless exhilaration. He liked and approved of his newbrother-in-law. The memory of his own New York triumph was still freshenough to give him a thrill. He was devoted to his partners, and proudof his association with them and their work. But most of all, and thishe himself would loyally have denied, deep in his heart he was exultingfiercely over his coming freedom.

  Laurie loved his sister, but he was weary of leading-strings. Henceforthhe could live his own life. It should be a life worth while, on that hehad decided, and it should continue free from the vices of gambling anddrinking, of which he was sure he had cured himself in the past year. Hehad come into a full realization of the folly of these and of the gloryof the work one loves. He hadn't the least notion what he was going todo with his independence, but a boundless delight filled him in theprospect of it. Whatever life held he was convinced would be good.Looking down from his slender height on the plump Epstein and thestocky Bangs, he smiled into the sober face of each, and under theinfluence of that smile their momentary solemnity fell from them likedropped veils.

  "Come and see Barbara," Laurie buoyantly suggested. "She wants to saygood-by to you, and to tell you how to tuck me into my crib every night.She's going to slip away pretty soon, you know. Bob and I have got heroff in an alcove to get a few minutes' rest."

  He led them to this haven, of which only fifty or sixty other guestsseemed aware, for the room was but comfortably filled. They foundBarbara sitting in a high-backed Spanish chair, against which, in herbridal array and her extraordinary beauty, she made a picture thatunaccountably deepened the new depression in Rodney's soul. On her trainby the side of the chair, the Infant Samuel slumbered in peace, like anexhausted puppy.

  Warren, hovering near his wife, shook hands with the new-comers andresponded to their congratulations. Then, slipping his arm throughLaurie's, he drew him across the room to where his sister, Mrs. Ordway,was languidly talking to several of the bride's old friends. He knewthat Barbara wanted a final and serious wo
rd with her brother'spartners. Laurie knew it, too, and winked at the pair like an impishchild as he permitted himself to be led away.

  Young Mrs. Warren, whose title was still so new that she looked startledwhen they addressed her by it, greeted them warmly and indicated thesleeping Samuel with an apologetic smile.

  "His mother is lost somewhere in the crowd," she explained. "He has hadtwo glasses of milk, four fat cakes, and three plates of ice-cream; andhe's either asleep or unconscious, I'm not sure which." Her mannersobered. "I'm so glad to have a moment with you two," she said gently."You know what I want to talk about."

  "We can guess it." Bangs smiled at her with the odd wistfulness hissmile always took on when he spoke to Barbara. To Bangs, Barbara hadbecome a temple at whose portal he removed his earth-stained shoes. "Youwant us to look after Laurie," he added, quietly. "Well, you bet we'regoing to do it."

  She smiled again, this time the rare smile that warmed her face like alight from within.

  "Then I shall go away happy," she told them. "And there's nothing moreto be said; for of course you both understand that I don't distrustLaurie. How could I, after he has been so wonderful all this year? It'sonly--" she hesitated--"I suppose it's life I'm afraid of," sheconfessed. "I never used to be. But--well, I learned in New York howhelpless we are, sometimes."

  Rodney's nod was understanding.

  "I know," he robustly agreed. "But it's going to be absolutely allright. Be sure of that."

  Epstein added his well-meaning but none too happily chosen bit.

  "Laurie can't get into no scrape ve can't get him out of," he earnestlyassured Laurie's sister.

  Barbara laughed. A circle of new-comers was forming around them.

  "We'll let it go at that," she said, and extended a hand to each man."Good-by. I won't try to thank you. But--God bless you both!"

  Under the influence of this final benediction, Epstein waddled over tothe corner where Warren, very pale, and Louise Ordway, very much bored,stood surrounded by a group that included Sonya Orleneff. Firmlydetaching the bridegroom from this congenial assemblage, Epstein led himto one side.

  "Varren," he said solemnly, "I got to congratulate you all over again.You got von voman in a million--No, you got von voman in eightymillion!"

  Warren laughed, rather shakily. Over the heads of the crowd his eyescaught his wife's and held them for an instant.

  "Make it a million million," he suggested joyously, and led Epstein tothe supper room.

  Laurie was there with Bangs and a group of friends, who, havingpatronized young Devon a year ago, were endeavoring to wipe out thememory of this indiscretion by an excess of friendly attention. Laurie'sbrilliant eyes, filled with the excited glitter they had taken onto-night, saw through the attempt and the situation. Both amused him. Inhis clubs, or anywhere but here, he might have indulged himself to theextent of having a little fun with these people. But not in his ownhome, while he was acting as host at his sister's wedding. Here hismanner was perfect, though colored by the exhilaration of his mood.

  "No," Warren and Epstein heard him say to Mrs. Lytton and Mrs. Renway,"there's nothing I'd like better than to come, thank you. But I'm goingback to New York to-morrow. You see," he added, "this business ofmarrying off a sister, and attending to all the details and seeing thatshe conducts herself properly as long as she's in my care, is a bit of astrain. I've got to get back to town and recuperate."

  "I suppose you will rest your mind by writing another play?" gushed Mrs.Renway.

  Laurie shook his black head.

  "Not a bit of it!" he asserted. "Don't even suggest such a thing beforeEpstein, there. It sounds abhorrently like work."

  Mrs. Renway's curiosity had a brief and losing struggle with her goodbreeding.

  "Then what _are_ you going to do?" she demanded coquettishly.

  The young man pondered, as if considering the question for the firsttime.

  "Well," he said at last, "between you and me, I'm going in foradventure. I intend to devote the next four months to discovering howmuch excitement a worthy youth can crowd into his life if he makes abusiness of going after the gay bird of adventure, and finding it, andputting salt on its tail!"

  The puzzled countenance of Mrs. Renway cleared.

  "Oh, I see," she said brightly, "you're joking."

  Laurie smiled and turned to greet a late guest who had come up behindhim. In the little group that had overheard him, three pairs of eyes metin startled glances.

  "Humph!" said Warren. "Hear that?"

  "Nice prospect for us!" muttered Rodney Bangs.

  Jacob Epstein looked harassed. A little later he joined the throng inthe main hall, and watched the showers of rice fall harmlessly from thepolished sides of Barbara's limousine as the bride and groom werewhirled away from the brilliant entrance of Devon House.

  "She's gone," he said to Bangs as the two men turned and reentered thestill crowded yet suddenly empty house. And he added solemnly, "Believeme, Bangs, on that job she left us you an' me 've got our hands full!"