Neither was it his Uncle Arthur's. That was the most
comforting part of all.
Corinne's voice calling over the banisters: "Is that you, Jack?"
met the two young men as they handed their hats to the noiseless
Frederick. Both craned their necks and caught sight of the Wren's
head framed by the hand-rail and in silhouette against the oval
sky-light in the roof above.
"Yes, and Garry's here, too. Come down."
The patter of little feet grew louder, then the swish of silken
skirts, and with a spring she was beside them.
"No, don't you say a word, Garry. I'm not going to listen and I
won't forgive you no matter what you say." She had both of his
hands now.
"Ah, but you don't know, Miss Corinne. Has Jack told you?"
"Yes, told me everything; that you had a big supper and everybody
stamped around the room; that Mr. Morris gave you a ring, or
something" (Garry held up his finger, but she wasn't ready to
examine it yet), "and that some of the men wanted to celebrate it,
and that you went to the club and stayed there goodness knows how
long--all night, so Mollie Crane told me.
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