* * * * *
On the spur of the moment and because the same precipitate decisions
that determined Louis Latz's successes in Wall Street determined him
here, they were married the following Thursday in Greenwich,
Connecticut, without even allowing Carrie time for the blue twill
traveling suit. She wore her brown velvet instead, looking quite modish,
and a sable wrap, gift of the groom, lending genuine magnificence.
Alma was there, of course, in a beautiful fox scarf, also gift of the
groom, and locked in a white kind of tensity that made her seem more
than ever like a little white flower to Leo Friedlander, the sole other
attendant, and who during the ceremony yearned at her with his gaze. But
her eyes were squeezed tight against his, as if to forbid herself the
consciousness that life seemed suddenly so richly sweet to her--oh, so
richly sweet!
There was a time during the first months of the married life of Louis
and Carrie Latz, when it seemed to Alma, who in the sanctity of her
lovely little ivory bedroom all appointed in rose-enamel toilet trifles,
could be prayerful with the peace of it, that the old Carrie, who could
come pale and terrible out of her drugged nights, belonged to some
grimacing and chimeric past. A dead past that had buried its dead and
its hatchet.
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