You'll discover it's a high one, all right." A moment later Cyril's tersely nervous "Good morning, Billy," came across the line.
Billy drew in her breath and cast a hurriedly apprehensive glance over her shoulder to make sure Marie was not near.
"Cyril," she called in a low voice, "if you care a shred for Marie, for heaven's sake call her up and tell her that you dote on pink roses, and pink ribbons, and pink breakfasts--and pink wedding cake!" "But I don't." "Oh, yes, you do--to-day! You would--if you could see Marie now." "What do you mean ?" "Nothing, only she overheard part of Bertram's nonsensical talk with Kate a little while ago, and she's ready to cast the last ravelling of white satin and conventionality behind her, and go with you to the justice of the peace." "Sensible girl!" "Yes, but she can't, you know, with fifty guests coming to the wedding, and twice as many more to the reception.

Honestly, Cyril, she's broken-hearted.

You must do something.

She's--coming!" And the receiver clicked sharply into place.
Five minutes later Marie was called to the telephone.

Dejectedly, wistful-eyed, she went.