“My parents left for Vail on a plane this morning. We can be married tomorrow in Paris. Not all of us, but some of us. "One of us has got to die," he panted. He caught the smirk. "Mr. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. Yours?" The stranger hesitated. Wood, softening her asperity. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor.
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