“And a glass-scratching diamond souvenir from the million-dollar bride,” added Polly with a wicked glance at Constance.

“Are we positive that he has won a bride?” demanded Courtney, gathering courage from the fact that Polly was not crushed.

“I don’t know myself,” boasted Johnny with an assumption of masculine masterfulness which he knew he could never maintain.  “Will you marry me, Constance?”

“I decline to discuss that in public,” declared Constance with well-feigned haughtiness.

Johnny kissed her, anyhow, and the mob cheered.

“Listen!” ordered Constance.

The little clock above Loring’s desk struck four.