He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. Gregory B. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. ’ ‘Your groom? What for?’ ‘Get him to wait outside.
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