I might as well come out
with it. I wouldn't for anything on earth have her know that I've spoken
to you--yet--not till after I've spoken with her--but--well, there's my
cards on the table, Pelz."
Mr. Pelz held out a slow and rigid arm, one hand gripping, the other
cupping Mr. Feist at the elbow.
"It's the finest compliment I could pay to any man on God's earth to say
it, Feist, but if it's got to be that my little baby girl has grown up
to an age where she--"
"She's already a year older than me when I married you, Roody."
"If it's got to be, then there's one man on earth I can give her up to
with happiness. That man is you, Feist."
Into this atmosphere so surcharged that it had almost the singing
quality of a current through it entered Miss Bleema Pelz, on slim silver
heels that twinkled, the same diaphanous tulle of the photograph
enveloping her like summer, her hair richer, but blending with the
peach-bloom of her frock, the odor of youth her perfume.
"Bleema darling, you're just in time!"
"Hello, moms!"--in the little lifted voice trained to modulation, and
kissing Mrs. Pelz in light consideration of powdered areas. "Hello,
dads!"--tiptoeing and pursing her mouth into a bud.
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