As
they stood talking with the bride, two of Richard's friends standing
near by, former close associates in the life of the clubs he was now too
busy to pursue, exchanged a brief colloquy which would mightily have
interested the subject of it if he could have heard it.
"Who are these?" demanded one of the other, gazing elsewhere as he
spoke.
"Partner or manager or something, in that business of Rich's up in
Eastman. So Belden Lorimer says."
"Bright looking chap--might be anybody, except for the wife. A bit too
conscious, she."
"You might not notice that except in contrast with the new Mrs.
Kendrick. There's the real thing, yes? Rich knew what he was doing when
he picked her out."
"Undoubtedly he did. The whole family's pretty fine--not the usual sort.
Watch Mrs. Clifford Cartwright. Even she's impressed. Odd, eh?--with all
the country cousins about, too."
"I know. It's in the air. And of course everybody knows the family blood
is of the bluest. Unostentatious but sure of itself. The Cartwrights
couldn't get that air, not in a thousand years."
"Rich himself has it, though--and the grandfather.
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