# The Precipitancy of Ven Vleck

Extracted from Ainslee's, March 1906, pp. 88–96. Title illustration may be omitted.
THE PRECIPITANCY OF VAN VLECK
By HENRY C. ROWLAND
The first person to board the ship after she had been docked was Mr. Doremus Van Vleck; but, then, Mr. Van Vleck was a privileged person with the officials of the line. Once aboard, he brought to bay a first-cabin steward and purchased a dollar's worth of obligingness.
“Stand here beside me,” requested Mr. Van Vleck, “and as the passengers leave the ship point out Miss Laroque. Then wait a bit, as it is possible that I may need your services.”
“I'm not sure as I know the lady, sir,” replied the steward; “leastwise, | ain't sure as how the lady I have in mind might not be her.”
“In that case,” replied Mr. Van Vleck, “you had better call in the services of an expert diagnostician. Here is the fee; now go and identify Miss Laroque before she leaves the ship, and then return and point her out for me.”
“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll get the stewardess to 'elp me, sir.” And, laying his nose to the ground, the steward harked away.
As is so frequently the case after paying for a service, it was presented gratis. The passengers had already begun to leave the ship, and as Mr. Van Vleck stood upon the upper deck passing mental comments hardly flattering to the struggling vanguard of those who must always be first, his critical eye was drawn to a girl who appeared to have stepped too near the mouth of the flume and been drawn into the current. Just in front of her there was a portly Chicago drummer; undoubtedly a large and elaborate drummer, representing a thriving manufacturing plant which sold millions and millions of patent toothpicks soaked in oil of cloves or cinnamon, a sample of which the representative chewed as he walked down the plank. He would push petulantly ahead until he trod on the heels of those in front of him, when he would say: “Pahdon me,” without shifting the angle of the toothpick; then he would step back and place his two-hundred pounds of low-grade tissue on the foot of the girl, and as he felt her shrink the fat voice would say: “Pahdon me,” while the tone said: “It is really such a bore to be so polite, but, then, it is a case of noblesse oblige!”
“Fat swine!” thought Mr. Van Vleck angrily, and figured his chances of being able to get down in time to be of service as a rampart for the girl, but there were too many people behind to make this possible. Then he examined the girl more closely, and his righteous rage gathered way as he noticed that she was very charming and undoubtedly well-bred. There was nothing telepathic in his scrutiny, as it never occurred to him that this young person might be the quarry on the trail of whom he had despatched the steward, for he had already formed his idea of that young lady, and he was not in the habit of shifting his ideas to adjust them to mere facts.
As Mr. Van Vleck watched the procession in gradually rising anger, he became conscious of a new factor within his cycle of interest. Behind the lady came an Austrian Jew, whose outward and visible jewelry could scarcely fail to be seen even through the thickness of a five-pound note laid across the eyes of the inspector. He was a tall, powerful, weather-beaten, able-bodied sort of Jew, who looked as if he might have taken his life in his hands more than once in buying from illicit traders of precious stones in those parts of the world where such are to be found. He was no cringer, this Jew, and presently, when the toothpick man stopped suddenly to light a cigar, delaying traffic while the wind blew his matches out, the Jew edged his way carefully past the lady and then went on down the plank, without any especial reference to the convenience of the drummer, who in the shock of contact dropped his cigar and stepped upon it.
“Good!” exclaimed the delighted Mr. Van Vleck, in so loud a tone that the girl heard him and looked up in surprise. Her big gray eyes met his, and both smiled involuntarily, each knowing that the other had observed the incident.
“Gad!—what a beauty!” said Mr. Van Vleck to himself. The charge of the sinewy Jew, who was now favoring the irate drummer with a Mephistophelian grin, had opened the course to traffic; the girl dropped her eyes with a tinge of color on her cheek, and as she passed on down, the appreciative eyes of Mr. Van Vleck followed her admiringly. Then he started and almost dropped his stick, for right in her wake there came an elderly maid bearing a light dressing-bag, on the end of which was stamped in small black letters, “C. L.”
“C. L.—Camille Laroque!” exclaimed Mr. Van Vleck beneath his breath, while his heart gave a most ill-ordered thump. “How extraordinary! It can't be! Why, she is a slip of a girl just out of a convent-school——”
“There goes the lady, sir! That's her—with the helderly party. There, sir! 'Arf-way down the plank!”
“Not so loud!” exclaimed Mr. Van Vleck angrily; but the voice of the steward had carrying power, and had already reached the ears of the girl, who turned and looked up in surprise. Again her eyes met those of Mr. Van Vleck; they clung for an instant inquiringly, and then a wave of color swept the long look away, while the young man once more felt as if an alarm-clock had been sprung within him.
“I employed you to point the lady out to me, not to everybody within hail,” he said severely. “A man with a voice like yours should wear an automobile exhaust-muffler. Now come with me, and we will see what is to be done.”
Followed by the steward, he made his way to the wharf, where he found the girl looking about her expectantly. Mr. Van Vleck approached and removed his hat.
“Miss Laroque?” he inquired. The girl bowed assent, and appeared slightly embarrassed. The evidence of this emotion placed the young man more at ease.
“I am Doremus Van Vleck,” he began; then, as he noticed her startled expression and swift change of color, continued: “Your guardian, Judge Ravenelle, was delayed by the freshets on his way North, and will not arrive in New York until this evening. He wired me from Washington, asking me to have my cousin, the Reverend Mr. Stiles, meet you in his place, but I have taken the liberty of appropriating the privilege myself. You see, I am rather well-known here at the dock, and can probably get you clear more quickly than could Mr. Stiles.”
“You are most kind,” she replied, in a tremulous voice. Her eyes flashed up to his and dropped again. “I trust that you have not been inconvenienced.”
Mr. Van Vleck thought that he had never before heard his language spoken with such a delicious hint of a foreign accent.
“It is a pleasure,” he assured her; “and now, if you will excuse me for a moment, I will look after your luggage, and then we will go to the house of my aunt, where you are to stop, you know.”
Looking after the luggage is not difficult when one's family has for years retained the services of a customs-inspector. The usual rites being duly observed, Mr. Van Vleck led the way to the two electric hansoms which were awaiting him. Carefully placing the matronly French “maid” in one of these, and having assured her in her own tongue that she was in no danger of being crushed by the fall of a tall building in that part of the city to which they were going, he assisted Miss Laroque into the other, and calmly placed himself at her side.
For a moment neither spoke; the girl, awaiting in fluttering expectancy the next high-handed maneuver of this authoritative young man, who had so scandalized her convent code of ethics, and Mr. Van Vleck being silent through the attempt to formulate certain remarks of a delicate character, for the setting forth of which he had that morning witnessed the sunrise for the first time since the hunting season.
“I hope, Miss Laroque,” he observed, “that, considering the peculiarly personal relative positions which we occupy, you will not consider me indelicate in the informal way in which I have come to meet you.”
She threw him a swift, inquiring glance, puzzled, and a bit frightened at the cold formality of his tone, so different from the unaffected cordiality of his first greeting.
“Indeed,” she replied, the slightest quiver in her sweet voice, “it is most considerate of you. It is far less trying to make your acquaintance here than in a drawing-room surrounded by curious people, who—who——”
“Who were waiting to see how we impressed each other,” he supplied.
“Yes,” she answered eagerly; “dowdy old relatives, who would peer and smirk and smile at every word which we might say. Oh, I have been dreading that part of it!”
“I am very glad,” replied Mr. Van Vleck, “that you are more at your ease alone with me than you would be in the presence of others——”
“I liked you,” she interrupted, with girlish naiveté, “when I looked up and saw how pleased you were when that great swarthy Austrian pushed that vilain trades-person out of my way.”
“Wasn't he a beast—that animal in front of you!” exclaimed Mr. Van Vleck, drawn from his prearranged formality by a sympathetic impulse. “I am glad that you are so ready to like me,” he continued, “because I was afraid that the fact of my having been chosen as your husband might have prejudiced you against me.”
“But why?” she answered, in surprise. “I should think that would be all the greater reason for my thinking well of you.”
“Then you do not resent having a husband selected for you, without any consultation of your own wishes?” he asked in surprise.
“Indeed, why should I? Surely my guardian would not have selected an improper person for me to marry.”
“But how do you know—or how did your guardian know—that you might not be in love with some other man when the time came for you to marry?”
“Pardon, mon ami, but we were not speaking of love; we were speaking of marriage.” The fair head, with its fine-spun tendrils of gossamer hair, was turned from him, and as Mr. Van Vleck regarded her curiously, he could see a flush creeping under the little ear.
“But do you not consider love as indispensable to marriage?” he exclaimed, and then regretted the words, for he could see that she was blushing furiously, and apparently too embarrassed to reply. He tried to cancel his question.
“Pardon me—I should not have asked you that. I forget that such questions are not discussed in institutions such as you have quitted. You see, Miss Laroque, in this country the ladies decide such matters for themselves.”
“How very indelicate!” she murmured beneath her breath.
“It is all in the point of view,” replied Mr. Van Vleck. “I think that I begin to comprehend your position. You have regarded your marriage to me as something preordained, and as inevitable as the change of the seasons. It has never occurred to you to question the choice made for you.”
“But why, then, should I?” she asked, surprise banishing her embarrassment. “Surely it would be foolish for a young girl to question the judgment of those who are older and wiser, and to whom she owes everything!”
“But I might have been disagreeable or dissipated——”
“Then, you would not have been chosen for me by my guardian.”
“Or deformed and ugly——”
“That would have been the same; then, I knew that you were—were—not that——” The pretty lips had narrowly escaped a pleasing word, and the flushed face was turned away, until all that Mr. Van Vleck could see was the contour of a cheek, the curve of a long eyelash, and the extreme tip of a retroussé nose.
“But you had never seen me,” he began, with a poorly disguised complacency.
“No doubt that was the reason,” she replied quickly, “my guardian sent me a picture of you, taken when you were in college—but, then, one can tell so little from a photograph.” Her positive little chin was tilted slightly upward.
“I had taken it for granted,” said Mr. Van Vleck, ignoring her closing comment, “that you would resent having your husband chosen for you without reference to your own—own—inclinations, and that you might have formed a preconceived dislike——”
“Just as you have done!” The words came as quickly as the flash of the long gray eyes, which for an instant met his, leaving him startled and confused.
“Why do you think that?” he asked, with a clumsy effort to gain time.
“You must find me very stupid, mon ami! I do not think it; I am certain of it! In fact, you have been telling me so since you placed me in this automobile!”
“But is it not natural that a man should wish to make his own choice?” he asked, blundering into frankness when he found himself stripped of indirect method.
“That is for you to decide; I know very little of men. But since that is the case, it seems to me that your course is very simple. There is no law which can compel you to marry against your desire. Why did you not go directly to my guardian when he was here, and tell him that you did not wish to marry me?”
Mr. Van Vleck had never before realized the immense amount of space that could exist between two people in the same electric hansom.
“I am afraid that I have given you a wrong impression,” he began. “It was not that I objected to marrying you——”
“Monsieur is so kind,” she murmured.
“But rather that I feared you might not wish to marry me——”
“And so modest.”
“Or that you might have formed some other attachment——”
“There is such abundant opportunity in a convent.”
“That it was rather on your account——”
“Can you ever forgive my ingratitude?” Her oval face was turned to him, and as the dusky-gray eyes looked deep into his, and the expressive lips were pursed together in a smile of subtle irony, Mr. Van Vleck was quickly conscious of a strange and sudden impulse—a new impulse—which did not conform to any of his well-ordered theories, and filled him with a strange bewilderment. He found himself confused and unable to proceed.
“Myself, I have been most absurdly lacking in such reflections!” she exclaimed, throwing out both pretty hands in a deprecating gesture. “I have been childishly content to leave the decision of these things to those whose knowledge of the world placed them in a position to decide. But I can feel for monsieur”—her sweet voice softened—“and all that he must have suffered!”
“Oh, I say!” cried Mr. Van Vleck, with an involuntary squirm of humiliation. “Please don't make me seem such an utter idiot! I've boggled the whole thing. I thought that you'd probably come over here hating the very thought of me——”
“But why should I?” There was a childish innocence in the question, which the curve of the red lips belied. “I had always thought of you as high-spirited and handsome and clever——”
“Oh, don't, please!” groaned the miserable Mr. Van Vleck. “What a horrible come-down——”
“Now you are dashing off in another direction, before you are sent.” She carefully gathered up the reins of power in both strong and delicate little hands. “Why do you persist in rushing off—in the wrong direction—to meet the issue so long before it arrives? Why do you not wait until the situation has presented itself?' Her tone was sympathetically curious.
“I—I'm sure I don't know,” replied the miserable Mr. Van Vleck. “You see, I studied the whole thing out from your point of view, as I thought.”
“Are you in love with any one!” she asked abruptly.
“Am I——? Eh—no!” he managed to answer, and then a sudden thought struck into him with the chill of a stiletto. “I—I—was afraid that perhaps you might be. Are you?” he asked.
She laughed in a light, rippling way, that impressed Mr. Van Vleck as wonderfully musical and quite different from the laugh of any woman which he had ever heard before.
“I? No, indeed! You are the first man with whom I have ever been tête-a-tête. Do you know, I was quite alarmed until I saw——”
“What a duffer I am!” said Mr. Van Vleck sadly.
“No—what a boy you are! Tell me”—she leaned slightly toward him, with a charming air of confidential interest—“have you ever been in love?”
Mr. Van Vleck felt his face becoming very hot. “Oh, come!” he answered protestingly. “That's not fair, you know. But I've never been really out-and-out in love!' he added honestly.
She was silent a moment, and Mr. Van Vleck was warmly conscious that her wise, inexperienced eyes were studying him carefully, and looking far beneath the surface. He wished that something would happen—something which did not concern this demure beauty at his side, and which would enable him to show her that he was not such a fool as he appeared to have done his utmost to make her believe.
“If you are not in love with any one,” she remarked finally, “I do not understand why you should be so antagonistic to the marriage which was arranged years ago by your uncle and my father.”
“But I am not!” protested Mr. Van Vleck, with absolute honesty. “I was simply opposed to the idea of marrying a girl who had no particular interest in me, and might very possibly be fond of some other man.”
“But you were not expected to marry her until you had been given ample opportunity to become acquainted; then, if you had not found her congenial, you need not have married her at all. It would have made a great difference in your worldly fortune, of course——”
“And in hers.”
Her eyes met his in a startled way, then dropped to the pavements in front of them. She was silent for a moment.
“I have done you a great injustice,” she said slowly. “I did not think of that. In hers, of course! I think that I begin to understand.” She turned to him frankly, and there was the faintest quiver to her voice. “You yourself are opposed to our marriage—opposed to marrying at all, we will presume—but, reflecting that, while you were willing to accept the loss of fortune, it would mean an equal loss to me, your only hope was that I might be equally opposed to the marriage, either through some other attachment or through natural dislike to a mariage de convenance. Finding that I have accepted the situation, you are ready to sacrifice yourself.” The fair head drooped.
Again that new and potent impulse shook Mr. Van Vleck to the depths of the frank nature underlying his acquired form. An insidious voice whispered in his ear to avail himself of this gratuitous tribute to his traits, but something deeper rejected the unearned gift with scorn.
“I hate to keep on disillusioning you,” he answered stubbornly, “but I am afraid that there was nothing so decent in my attitude. I fancy it was more a sort of boy's vanity than anything else. I simply objected to being married out of hand, without any say in the matter; and I thought that of course you would feel the same way, so I came down to meet you, with the idea that we might join forces and try and get the whole thing called off. For your sake, I was in hope that we might manage to do so without the tremendous loss——”
“But how about yourself?” she demanded. “Are you willing to accept such a loss?”
“Personally, I had not thought much about the money part of it. You see, I am fairly well provided for——”
“But so am I,” she interrupted. “I am sure I do not know what I should do with such a vast amount of money.” She pondered for a moment, while some strange premonition of ill crept over the restless soul of Mr. Van Vleck.
“Since we feel as we do on the subject,” she began slowly, “I fail to see the use of letting the affair proceed further. I—will—see my guardian to-night, and tell him that we have decided that we do not wish to marry this autumn—at all, I should say—and I will carry out the plan which I had conceived of visiting a friend in Surrey. Perhaps I may remain here a fortnight, just to see this marvelous city, and during that time I should be most pleased to see you if you care to call.” She turned to him with a cordial smile. “I can never thank you enough for your frankness and delicacy,” she added. “It has averted a most unhappy condition, has it not?”
For some inexplicable reason, her words brought no cheer to the troubled spirit of Mr. Van Vleck. He glanced covertly at the graceful figure at his side, then at the winsome beauty of the charming face, and felt that from his point of view the result of the dialogue was far from gratifying. He wondered dumbly at the odd internal tumult which the presence of this fair stranger had produced, and found himself very loath to have it cease. His eyes fell upon a familiar object, and he saw to his dismay that they had. turned into the street of their destination.
“I say, Miss Laroque,” he exclaimed involuntarily, “we are almost at the house——”
“Then we have arrived at our conclusion just in time,” she replied, smiling brightly.
“But—but I don't feel as if I'd given you the right—that you quite understand. I say,” he continued, with a swift inspiration, “it's very early, and perhaps Aunt Bernice may not be up. What do you say to a spin through the park?”
The girl's eyes sparkled. “It would be a lark! But would it be—proper? You know we are no longer fiancé——”
“Then, let's not break it off until we get back. You can't tell—perhaps when we have looked into the matter more carefully, we may decide that—it—er—would be just as well to let things——”
“But that is quite impossible,” she began, with decision, when Mr. Van Vleck threw up the trap overhead.
“Go through the park—all around,” he ordered, adding: “We have an hour yet.”
“But Laure, my maid!” exclaimed Miss Laroque.
“Her hansom is to follow us,” replied Mr. Van Vleck. “The airing will do her good after being shut up aboard that ship for a week.”
There was a moment's silence.
“It is wonderful, this city!” exclaimed the girl, glancing with excited awe at the strange sights about her.
“It is, indeed,” replied Mr. Van Vleck. “And it is so entirely different from anything in Europe that it makes its influence felt upon the people who live here. It is quite impossible for a person of continental education to comprehend our point of view.”
“So I should imagine,” replied Miss Laroque demurely.
“It is, in fact,” pursued Mr. Van Vleck, “hardly safe for an American, and—we will say—a person of French associations, to attempt to settle any subject under discussion until each has been brought to see the position of the other.”
“Unless one is willing to admit the conclusion of the other.”
“Even in that case it is wiser to leave the point in question open, because there is a possibility that the person deferred to might not be quite sure of his own ground.”
“But that would only occur,” said Miss Laroque, “in the case of a very young and inexperienced person.”
“Not necessarily,” replied Mr. Van Vleck warmly. “It might be the result of a very sensible argument advanced by the other person.”
“But of course,” observed Miss Laroque, “the American point of view is advanced and progressive, and much more adapted to this country.”
“Not in all cases,” replied Mr. Van Vleck. “It is no doubt more practical in finance and politics, and all that sort of thing, but not as regards the conduct of the individual. In that respect we have much to learn.”
“If all Americans were as liberal as yourself,” murmured Miss Laroque, “what a Utopia this country would soon become!”
“I am always ready to learn,” admitted Mr. Van Vleck.
Miss Laroque's long gray eyes stole a quick glance, then fell with demure modesty upon the tips of her little boots.
“In fact,” pursued Mr. Van Vleck, “my conversation this morning with you has taught me a great deal.”
“You are most polite.”
“It's awfully good of you to say so, but it seems to me that I've been a downright cad!” declared Mr. Van Vleck.
“Indeed, you have been exceedingly kind and considerate. If you had not shown me the situation from your point of view, just think how terrible it might have been—we would undoubtedly have been married this autumn.” She was studying the passing vehicles as she spoke, and Mr. Van Vleck admired the graceful poise of her head as one might admire a priceless jewel in a show-case, or the gold pieces seen through the little window of the paying-teller.
“You did not think that so terrible a little while ago,” sadly observed Mr. Van Vleck. “I am sorry that you should feel so after becoming better acquainted.”
“But it is not that. A husband in the abstract is quite different from one in person; also, the element of personal choice did not enter the question to embarrass me before, because all that had been done for me. I see it differently now. You are right; I shall not marry any man whom I do not—love.”
A pang of bitterest jealousy tore away the last shreds of the personal pride remaining to the thoroughly miserable Mr. Van Vleck.
“Do you know,” he began painfully, “that since my talk with you I am convinced that your previous attitude was the correct one. My views were childish and silly. Don't you think that you could forget having heard them at all?”
Something in the eagerness of his voice brought her breath a trifle faster.
“I am afraid that would be impossible,” she answered slowly; “because I have already accepted your views as the proper ones to hold. I had never thought of the matter as you presented it.”
“But I assure yon——” he began.
“You have already assured me. Nothing which you could say now could prevent me from appreciating the horror of marrying a man who did not—care for me.”
“No man living could help caring for you!” burst impetuously from the utterly demoralized Mr. Van Vleck.
“And for whom I did not care.” These last words seemed whispered to the side cushions of the cab.
“But don't you think—suppose that you had married me as was first planned—if I hadn't come down here this morning and made a mess of the whole thing—do you think that, under those circumstances, you could have—have——”
“Have loved you? It would have been your fault if I had not. You see, mon ami, I was already prepared to love you. I had been told so much that was good of you——”
“And to think that I should have gone and spoiled it all!” exclaimed the now thoroughly wretched Mr. Van Vleck. They were nearing the gates on their homeward way, and the slight time left to them filled him with desperation.
“Considering the ridiculous failure which I have made of my argument, I do not wonder that you hold me in contempt,” he began.
“But that is simply your own absurd idea. You have made no failure of your argument, and I do not hold you in contempt. In fact, your argument has been so successful that I am quite converted; and for the tactful way in which you have accomplished this I hold you in very high esteem.”
“But I would much prefer that you were not converted!” exclaimed Mr. Van Vleck hopelessly. His eyes resting with moody apathy upon the street in front, he failed to catch the quick gleam which flashed from the long gray eyes of the girl.
“But why?” she asked innocently, although her more rapid breathing might have betrayed to a closer observer than the melancholy Mr. Van Vleck a certain underlying guile. “I fail to see any reason why your views should have undergone a change.” The long lashes swept up, permitting her a near scrutiny of the strong, aristocratic features of the young man at her side; then, at the sight of something which seemed gathering about the fine mouth and eyes, she caught her breath quickly and drew away in fluttered apprehension.
“That,” said Mr. Van Vleck, with an air of stubborn resolution, “is because you are unable to see yourself as you appear to me. I went down to the steamer expecting to meet an awkward, callow, convent-school girl; horribly shy, frightened, and dreading to see me, and instead I met—you! I felt very sorry for this girl, whom I expected to find, and wanted to try to reassure her and put her at her ease. It seemed to me to be a horribly trying thing for a girl to be sent over here to marry a man whom she had never seen, and I felt really sorry for her.”
“And now?”
“Now I feel sorry for myself.”
“It was kind and thoughtful of you,” she murmured.
“Of course there was a personal element in it; but it was not on that account that I went down there. That could have been easily adjusted afterward. Then, when I met you, and saw how—how different you were from the girl whom I had expected to meet, it—it rather—well, I was afraid that you would think that I was presuming on my subsequent proprietorship; and, you see, I felt obliged to show you that that was not my motive, and so I blundered around and said a lot of nonsense, which—which——”
“Which was all perfectly true!”
“Very possibly. I'm an awkward animal when taken by surprise.”
“You are one whom a woman would trust——”
“Like a faithful dog!”
“When you are content to be yourself——”
“Which I'm afraid is not very often! But you must let me finish,” he continued doggedly. “After we started, and you talked to me, everything was changed. I have never met a woman like you, who seemed to make me natural, in spite of myself, and made me ashamed of all affectation. You seemed to look right through me—and be laughing at me, but not in a disagreeable way; as if you knew and understood, and I knew that you knew that I under—— Oh, pshaw! now I'm getting all tangled up again! But you see what I mean—you understand, do you not?”
The honest appeal in his voice struck a delicate overtone in the sensitive nature of the girl.
“I—I—think that I do.”
“Then perhaps you can understand how it is that, although I—we—have never seen you—I have only known you for about an hour—I can't help loving you. Do you mind my telling you?”
The flushed face of Miss Laroque was pressed against the smooth cushions at the side of the cab. Mr. Van Vleck gazed in keenest apprehension at the averted girlish figure.
“Please forgive me! I did not mean to—to bother you.” With an instinctive, if somewhat contradictory, effort at atonement, his strong hand closed over the little one at his side. There was a moment's pause.
“Are you angry?” he asked abruptly.
“Non, mon ami.” The answer was barely audible.
“Frightened?”
“Non, mon amt,”
“Unhappy?”
“Non—mon ami.”
“Happy?”
There was no reply whatever. The fresh face was still buried in the cushions. There was a comparatively long silence, which was broken by the tentative voice of Mr. Van Vleck.
“Don't you think that a spring wedding is nicer than one in the autumn—dear?”
There was a long silence, followed by a whispered “Oui—mon cher.”
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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