Page:Glitter (1926).pdf/156

Royce" . . . "Say, they're stopping here!" . . . "Probably got the wrong place, no luck, boys, no luck" . . . "Well, don't tell her if she has. Let's kill the fatted calf and have her in" . . .

Upon entering the room whence emanated these peculiar comments, Jock perceived a group of his mates struggling for points of vantage at the front windows. He joined them.

A monstrous limousine, painted creamy white and agleam with polished nickel, was drawn up at the curb outside. A chauffeur in uniform presided at the wheel, and in the tonneau, like a glittering jewel in a showcase, sat Yvonne. She was leaning forward, looking inquiringly at the house, and she wore garments that matched her equipage . . . a white wrap of ermine, and a white toque against which her hair flamed conspicuous as blood on snow . . .

These things Jock noted in the fraction of a second. Another second, and he was yanking the front door open, taking the porch steps in one jump, crossing the sidewalk. "Yvonne!"

For a while that was all he could say; her name, over and over again. So many words beat at his lips at once, and impeded each other, and locked each other in. "Yvonne!" . . . He took both her white-gloved hands and held them in a grip that must have hurt her. He devoured her with his eyes. "Oh, Yvonne——"

She smiled at him, that remembered smile that carved a long, dreamy dimple deep in one cheek. "You didn't forget me, Jock Hamill?" And presently she laughed aloud and said, "Why don't you say something?"

"I can't," Jock told her. "I'm too crazy-happy. I just want to look at you——"

Then questions came in a swift stream. When had