I have an idea I had better go to New York and try what
can be done there. I got along well enough with the girl herself; and
perhaps, though it's not likely, Mrs. Grove has some influence."
"Of course, I can't stop you," Claire said; her hand strayed over his,
on the piano. "I'm simply enraged at myself, Lee. Why, I should let him
go with cheers--except where I was sorry for him--but I can't. He is
such a sweet child; and, you see, he was all mine."
"I can't leave before Thursday." He considered. "I'll have a wire sent
to the Groves, say something regretful and polite about you--measles."
"Don't bother," she returned.
Peyton came stiffly up to them. "I happened to mention, Claire, that we
had some champagne left, and it created the intensest excitement. I
told them it would do no good, that you were keeping hold of it; but
they insisted on a look at the bottles."
"Get them, Peyton," she replied unhesitatingly. "I was keeping it, but
perhaps for now. This is a very appropriate time for you and me, and
the last of the cases left over from our wedding."
An expression of pain tightened his mouth; he turned away without
further speech. "We'll have it in the dining-room," Claire announced;
"big glasses filled with ice." They gathered about the bare table, and
Peyton Morris ranged the dark green bottles, capped in white foil, on
the sideboard.
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