“We’re going to take an apartment on Michigan Avenue, near the Auditorium,” said Page, “and keep house. We’ve talked it all over, and know just how much it will cost to live and keep one servant. I’m going to serve the loveliest little dinners; I’ve learned the kind of cooking he likes already. Oh, I guess there he is now,” she cried, as they heard the front door close.

Landry came in, carrying a great bunch of cut flowers, and a box of candy. He was as spruce as though he were already the bridegroom, his cheeks pink, his blonde hair radiant. But he was thin and a little worn, a dull feverish glitter came and went in his eyes, and his nervousness, the strain and excitement which beset him were in his every gesture, in every word of his rapid speech.

“We’ll have to hurry,” he told Page. “I must be down there hours ahead of time this morning.”

“How is Curtis?” demanded Laura. “Have you seen him lately? How is he getting on with⁠—with his speculating?”

Landry made a sharp gesture of resignation.