Rex relaxed his strained body into a more easy and even less graceful posture.
“Then she isn’t going to be married?” he said, with a sigh.
“You meant well,” said Tab, flopping into a chair, “and I know of no worse thing that you can say about a man than that he ‘meant well!’ But it isn’t true. She’s not going to be married. Where did you get hold of this story, Baby?”
“I heard it,” said the other vaguely.
He was a boyish looking young man with a pink and white complexion. His face was so round and cherubic that the appellation of ‘baby’ had good excuse, for he was plump of person and lazy of habit. They had been school fellows and when Rex had come to town at the command of his one relative, his uncle, the sour Mr. Jesse Trasmere, to take up a torturous training as an architect, these
