I sat where I was on the floor and stared into the fire. Don't tell me
the way of the wicked is hard; the wicked get all the fun there is
out of life, and as far as I can see, it's the respectable "in at ten
o'clock and up at seven" part of the wicked's family that has all the
trouble and does the worrying.

"If we could only keep it hidden for a few days!" I said. "But, of
course, the papers will get it, and just now, with columns every day
about Miss Patty's clothes--"

"Her what?"

"And all the princes of the blood sending presents, and the king not
favoring it very much--"

"What are you talking about?"

"About Miss Jennings' wedding. Don't you read the newspaper?"

He hadn't really known who she was up to that minute. He put down the
tray and got up.

"I--I hadn't connected her with the--the newspaper Miss Jennings,"
he said, and lighted a cigarette over the lamp. Something in his face
startled me, I must say.

"You're not going to give up now?" I asked. I got up and put my hand on
his arm, and I think he was shaking. "If you do, I'll--I'll go out and
drown myself, head down, in the spring."