"I'll be a waiter, too," said Hollis. "That will be best fun of all. I'm
glad you didn't hire anybody, Marjorie."
"I wouldn't; I wanted to be primitive and do it all ourselves; I knew
Morris would be grand help, but I was not so sure of you."
"Are you sure of me, now?" he laughed, like the old Hollis who used to go
to school.
After that Marjorie would not have been surprised if he had called her
"Mousie."
"Morris, what do you want to be a sailor for?" inquired Hollis, arranging
the white rose in his button-hole anew.
"To sail," answered Morris seriously. "What do you want to be a salesman
for?"
"To sell," said Hollis, as seriously, "Marjorie, what do you want to be
yourself for?"
"To help you to be yourself," she answered promptly, and flew to the
front door where there was a sound of shouting and laughter. They were
all there, every one of the little home-made company; and the waiters
ushered them into the kitchen, where the feast was spread, with great
ceremony.
If Linnet had not been somebody's wife she would have danced around and
clapped her hands with delight; as it was she nearly forgot her dignity,
and exclaimed with surprise and pleasure sufficient to satisfy those who
were in the secret of the feast.
Linnet was in her gray travelling suit, but the dash of crimson this time
was in both cheeks; there was a haziness in her eyes that subdued the
brightness of her face and touched them all. The bridegroom was handsome
and proud, his own merry self, not a trifle abashed before them all on
his wedding day, everything that he said seemed to be thought worth
laughing at, and there was not a shadow on any face, except the flitting
of a shadow ever and anon across Morris Kemlo's blue eyes.
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