The Strange Proposal Read Free Page A

upon her, in her lovely halo hat, and she looked up and smiled, and there was no scorn in her smile as he had feared. Yet she had in no way put herself in his debt. She had held her own. His eyes drank in her delicate beauty hungrily against a time of famine he feared might be swiftly coming. He would never forget her nearness, the soft fragrance that came from her garments, the natural loveliness of her. He tried to summon her name from his memory, where it hovered on the edge of things and evaded him. Was it Helen? But that was not the type of name for such a girl as this.
    Then the elevator door clanged back and they stepped into the big room smothered in ferns and palms and flowers, and there in a distant arbor that seemed almost like an orchid-hung hammock in one of his own Florida forests, the bride and groom were taking their places, Camilla smiling up at Jeff so joyously that John’s heart gave another leap. Would such joy ever come to him?
    He looked down at the girl by his side, and their eyes met and something flashed from one to the other, a gleam that thrilled them both.

Chapter 2
    C
ome,” said the girl, with a certain possessiveness in her voice, “we must go over and stand by them, you know.” She put her still ungloved hand on his and led him across the room. Behind them the elevator clanged again and opened its doors to let the green-clad bridesmaids surge in with the ushers, and the reception was upon them in full blast. But somehow John didn’t mind. His heart was leaping in new rhythm, and a song was in his heart.
    “Hold this for me, please, while I put on my glove,” said Mary Elizabeth, handing over her little pearl purse as if she had been used to having him all her life for an escort.
    He took the purse shyly in his bronzed hands. He was not accustomed to holding such trinkets for ladies. Not that he didn’t know plenty of ladies, but he had always shied out of paying them much attention. And yet, he liked the feel of her purse in his hand, and while he watched her putting on the glove so expertly, he grew bold enough to gently prod the purse till he had located the ring, a great ox of a stone, he told himself as he carefully appraised its value. He could never get her a ring like that, he thought to himself dismally in one of the intervals of the passing throng of guests. Even if he succeeded beyond his hopes he couldn’t. That ring had been bestowed by some millionaire of course, and she had been weighing its worth, and perhaps its owner. He frowned so hard that Uncle Warren Wainwright asked his wife afterward if that best man wasn’t a rather stern-looking fellow. But his wife said no, she thought he was splendid looking, so nice and tanned and well built, so he said he guessed he must have been mistaken. Uncle Warren was like that, always ready to concede to his wife’s opinion. He had made his money in spite of doing that.
    The long procession of gushing or shy friends had surged by at last and the bridal party was seated around the bride’s table at the “throne end” as Jeffrey called it, of the banquet hall.
    “There,” said Mary Elizabeth as John seated her, “isn’t this nice and cozy? You didn’t know we were going to sit together, did you?” John sat down beside her, feeling like a prisoner on parole.
    There was comparative privacy where they were, amid the cheerful laughter and talk of the rest of the wedding party. The wedding roses, the tall candles, all made it a fairyland, and they carried on their little private conversation there between themselves, the girl continually ready with her sparkle and smiles. And nobody wondered that the attractive best man was absorbed in the lovely maid of honor.
    Quite suddenly, it seemed, the wedding supper was over. John found his heart sinking. Soon the beautiful links would be broken, and when would he ever see her again? He tried to make some plans, say something to her about it, but the glamour of her presence somehow dazed