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Out and in. Toward morning she slept. Actually, sweetly, and deeply, as
if she could never have done with deep draughts of it.
She awoke to the brief patch of sunlight that smiled into their
apartment for about eight minutes of each forenoon.
Alma was at the pretty chore of lifting the trays from a hamper of
roses. She placed a shower of them on her mother's coverlet with a kiss,
a deeper and dearer one, somehow, this morning.
There was a card, and Mrs. Samstag read it and laughed:
Good morning, Carrie.
Louis.
They seemed to her, poor dear, these roses, to be pink with the glory of
the coming of the dawn.
* * * * *
On the spur of the moment and because the same precipitate decision that
determined Louis Latz's successes in Wall Street determined him here,
they were married the following Thursday in Lakewood, New Jersey,
without even allowing Carrie time for the blue-twill traveling suit. She
wore her brown-velvet, instead, looking quite modish, a sable wrap, gift
of the groom, lending genuine magnificence.


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