suspicion, and we must do the properly conventional thing.”
“I don’t mind their knowing that I am a Bohemian, and what I am, that thou art also,” he had whispered; and then in the next breath he had turned to receive the congratulations of an elderly lady who had known Agnes from infancy, and wished to tell him what a pretty baby she had been, “Contrary to the proverb,” he had said proudly, “that handsome infants grow up to be far from pretty. Come, Agnes, after such a compliment, you ought to let me depart from this bower of beauty and enjoy myself.”
“Without me?” cried Agnes, in mock alarm, to the great amusement of Nora, who stood near by.
“No, indeed, not without you; I think that you are needed out there on the lawn to chaperone your sister and my brother, who seem to be enjoying themselves in shameless comfort seated in chairs, while we have had to stand here for ages.”
Just then the best man, Mr. Moffit, came forward to say that word had been sent by him to Mr. and Mrs. Weston, requesting their immediate presence in the dining-room. Then Agnes realized that her father and mother were no longer in the “bower,” as Ralph called it, and suddenly she felt a little tired, and she admitted that she was hungry; and, leaning on her husband’s arm, she entered the dining-room, while an orchestra stationed on the rear piazza played the “Lohengrin” wedding march; and a murmur of admiration ran around the room as the
