III
At ten o’clock on the morning of August first a tall, bronzed young man presented himself at the office of Cyrus Girard, Inc., and sent in his card to the president. Less than five minutes later another young man arrived, less blatantly healthy, perhaps, but with the light of triumphant achievement blazing in his eyes. Word came out through the palpitating inner door that they were both to wait.
“Well, Parrish,” said Van Buren condescendingly, “how did you like Niagara Falls?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” answered Parrish haughtily. “You can determine that on your honeymoon.”
“My honeymoon!” Van Buren started. “How—what made you think I was contemplating a honeymoon?”
“I merely meant that when you do contemplate it you will probably choose Niagara Falls.”
They sat for a few minutes in
