Alpha Book

Walraven pulling his mustache, a picture of
helpless perplexity.
"I wonder if I have put my foot in it?" he thought, as he looked
across the long room to where Blanche stood, the brilliant center of a
brilliant group. "She is very handsome and very clever--so clever that
I don't for the life of me know whether I made love to her or she to me.
It is too late now for anything but a wedding or heavy damages, and of
the two evils I prefer the first."
Mrs. Walraven's dinner-party broke up very late, and Blanche Oleander
went home with her cousin.
"A pert, forward, bold-faced minx!" Miss Oleander burst out, the moment
they were alone in the carriage. "Guy, what on earth did you mean by
paying her such marked attention all evening?"
"What did Carl Walraven mean by paying _you_ such marked attention all
evening?" retorted her cousin.
"Mr. Walraven is no flirt--he means marriage."
"And I am no flirt--I mean marriage also."
"Guy, are you mad? Marry that nameless, brazen creature?"
"Blanche, be civil! Most assuredly I will marry her if she will marry
me.


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