There are lots of questions I’m going to ask Alfred after I’m married to him—­Mr. Carter didn’t know anything about anything and I never cared to ask him, but I wonder how you know when—­

“Oh, you Molly,” came a hail in Tom’s voice from the gate, just as I was making up my mind to try and think up something to wither the doctor with, and he and Ruth Chester came up the front walk to meet us.  I wondered why I was having a party in my house when being alone in my garden with just a neighbor was so much more fun, but I had to begin to enjoy myself right off, for in a few minutes all the rest came.

I don’t think I ever saw my house look so lovely before.  Mrs. Johnson had put all the flowers out of hers and Mrs. Cain’s garden all over everything and the table was a mass of soft pink roses that were shedding perfume and nodding at one another in their most society manner.  There is no glimmer in the world like that which comes from really old polished silver and rosewood and mahogany, and one’s great-great-grandmother’s hand-woven linen feels like oriental silk across one’s knees.

Suddenly I felt very stately and grand-damey and responsible as I looked at them all across the roses and sparkling glasses.  They were lovely women, all of them, and could such men be found anywhere else in the world?  When I left them all to go out into the big universe to meet the distinctions that I knew my husband would have for me, would I sit at salt with people who loved me like this?  I saw Pet Buford say something to Tom about me that I know was lovely from the way he smiled at me; and the judge’s eyes were a full cup for any woman to have offered her.  Then in a flash all the love-fragrance seemed to go to my head—­Tom’s mixing of that julep had been skilful, too—­and tears rose to my eyes, and there I might have been crying at my own party if I hadn’t felt a strong warm hand laid on mine as it rested on my lap and Doctor John’s kind voice teased into my ears:  “Steady, Mrs. Peaches, there’s the loving-cup to come yet,” he whispered.  I hated him, but held on to his thumb tight for half a minute.  He didn’t know what the matter really was, but he understood what I needed.  He always does.

And after that everybody had a good time, the ginger barber and Judy as much as anybody, and I could see Aunt Bettie and Mrs. Johnson peeping in the pantry door, having the time of their lives, too.

That dinner was going like an airship on a high wind, when something happened to tangle its tail feathers and I can hardly write it for trembling yet.  It was a simple little blue telegram, but it might have been nitro-glycerin on a tear for the way it acted.  It was for me, but the ginger barber handed it to Tom and he opened it and, looking at me over his full—­after many times emptied—­glass, he solemnly read it out loud.  It said: 

  “Landed this noon.  Have I your permission to come to Hillsboro
   immediately?  Answer.  Alfred.”