Her long cape was in the entrance-hall and as she disappeared into its dark folds he gave a sigh of relief and put on his Burberry and cap. “Now, what do you think it is?” she demanded as they strolled down the avenue. “My faculty for guessing has dried up these last weeks.” “I found my grandmother’s wedding-gown in the attic and it is such a dream of beauty that I decided then and there to be married in it. And then we all decided to have the wedding the night of the party. Midnight. Nobody to have a hint of it till I sail down that stair. Of course, if you like the idea,” she added, suddenly tactful. “But we all thought the picture would appeal to that fine artistic taste of yours.” He was silent for a moment, then replied with a shrug: “Good idea. Something to remember. It will be rather theatrical, of course.” “Call it dramatic. I mean to get all the drama out of life I can.” “You do? I suppose you don’t mean what most women would by that, but perhaps you’ll explain just what you do mean. There’s nothing very dramatic in being prosaically married and living in West Twelfth Street.” “Oh, you can’t plan drama too far ahead. But I’ve always known I was cut out for it. In a not too pleasant way I’ve had a lot of it already. I fancy I draw it like a magnet——” “And I’m to be the chorus, I suppose!” “Of course there’s nothing dramatic about you, Eustace dear, or I shouldn’t be marrying you, but——Oh, my goodness! Great heavens!” “What’s the matter? Do you see drama approaching down the perspective of this damp avenue? I vote we get out of it——” “There’s something—I never thought of till this minute.” “Well? What is it?” “I’m afraid you won’t like it.” “I probably shan’t.” Bylant was in a thoroughly bad humor. “Well, I must come out with it. My grandmother wanted me to ask the man I married to take my name. I wouldn’t promise because I never intended to marry—but, well—I find I don’t like the idea of giving up my own name.” “Sounds like the Lucy Stone League. Continue to call yourself Gita Carteret, by all means. We’re used to it.” “But wouldn’t you be willing to take the name of Carteret?” “I would not!” exploded Bylant. “I may be an ass but I’m not an emasculated ass. And Bylant, I’d have you know, is as old and honorable a name as Carteret. It came over from Holland before a Carteret was ever heard of——” “Oh, of course! I understand,” said Gita hurriedly. “A few months ago—but I do now. But wouldn’t you be willing to call yourself Bylant-Carteret?” “I would not!” “Well, that’s that. At least I’ve done my duty and asked you. And you don’t mind if I remain Gita Carteret?” “Don’t care a hang.” “I never saw you cross before. Do you think we’ll squabble? It would be rather exciting.” “Not in our sort of—alliance. Nor have I any intention of doing anything so undignified. I’m sorry I let go, but it hits a man on the raw to be asked to give up his name.”