"Nonsense," Mrs. Stanhope interrupted. "Our family does not have small weddings, Charles. There will be dozens of friends who will want to see you married." She looked over at Tracy, evaluating her figure. "Perhaps we should see that the wedding invitations are sent out at once." And as an afterthought, "That is, if that's acceptable to you?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." There was going to be a wedding. Why did I even doubt it?

Mrs. Stanhope said, "Some of the guests will be coming from abroad. I'll make arrangements for them to stay here at the house."

Mr. Stanhope asked, "Have you decided where you're going on your honeymoon?"

Charles smiled. "That's privileged information, Father." He gave Tracy's hand a squeeze.

"How long a honeymoon are you planning?" Mrs. Stanhope inquired.

"About fifty years," Charles replied. And Tracy adored him for it.

After dinner they moved into the library for brandy, and Tracy looked around at the lovely old oak-paneled room with its shelves of leather-bound volumes, the two Corots, a small Copley, and a Reynolds. It would not have mattered to her if Charles had no money at all, but she admitted to herself that this was going to be a very pleasant way to live.

It was almost midnight when Charles drove her back to her small apartment off Fairmount Park.

"I hope the evening wasn't too difficult for you, Tracy. Mother and Father can be a bit stiff sometimes."

"Oh, no, they were lovely." Tracy lied.

She was exhausted from the tension of the evening, but when they reached the door of her apartment, she asked, "Are you going to come in, Charles?" She needed to have him hold her in his arms. She wanted him to say, "I love you, darling. No one in this world will ever keep us apart."

He said, "Afraid not tonight. I've got a heavy morning."

Tracy concealed her disappointment. "Of course. I understand, darling."