The conversation wandered into personalities and back again, as a conversation may three days before a wedding, but Patty was not entirely won over to Hawley’s view of his responsibility for having with unprecedented dexterity and precision planted a smashing “right” on the bridge of his friend’s nose in the course of an amicable “bout.”

“And the oculist chap says,” Winthrop urged, “that he simply must not be allowed to use his eyes.  I’m the only one who takes any interest in him or has any control over him, and to abandon him now would be an awful responsibility.  Can’t you see that, dear?  If we stay at home to take care of him he will understand why we’re doing it, and he’d vanish.  Do let me put him into a motor mask and attach him to the procession.”

“Well, of course, Win,” Patty answered, “of course we must have him if you feel so strongly about it.  It’s a pity,” she ended mischievously, “that he dislikes me so much.”

“That’s because you dislike him.  But just wait till you know one another.”

“I will,” she answered with a spirit which promised well for the future.  “I’ll wait.”

And Winthrop was so touched and gratified by her complaisance that he had no alternative, save to duplicate it, when the following evening brought him this communication: 

“Kate Perry and I were playing golf this morning.  And, oh!  Win, it seems just too dreadful!  I banged her between the eyes with my driver.  I can’t think how I ever did it.  She’s not fit to be seen.  Awful! worse than Mr. Mead can possibly be.  She can’t stay here and she can’t go home to Washington.

“So, now, if you will consent, we shall be four instead of three.  Let me take poor Kate.  She can wear a thick veil and sit in behind with Mr. Mead, in his goggles, and leave the front seats for us.  They’ll be company for one another.”

Winthrop questioned this final sentence.  A supercilious, spoiled beauty—­a beauty now doubly spoiled and presumedly bad tempered—­was hardly an ideal companion for the misanthropic Mead.

* * * * *

The wedding took place in the morning and the beginning of the honeymoon was prosaic enough.  Winthrop and Patty sat in the front seat of the throbbing touring car, while hysterical bridesmaids and vengeful groomsmen showered the requisite quantities of rice, confetti and old slippers upon them.

It was at the New York side of the ferry that a shrouded female joined them, and it was at the Hoboken side of the river that a be-goggled young man was added unto her.  The bride rushed through the formula of introduction:  a readjustment of dress-suit cases and miniature trunks was effected, and the disguise which the bridegroom had predicted was complete.  The most romantic onlooker would not have suspected them of concealing a honeymoon about them.

It was nearly six o’clock when at last they reached their destination, the little town of Rapidan, in New Jersey, and stopped before the Empress Hotel.  Hawley had visited Rapidan once before, as a member of his college glee club, and he had recalled it instantly when Mead’s disfigurement made sequestration imperative.