mentioned that she had met someone new but she spared him the details. She was certain, she wrote, that he would soon find a younger, prettier, altogether better girl than she had been. In no time they would be operating his dreamed-of inn in Bath, complete with household "staff of five." When she sealed the letter, she felt both saddened and relieved.
Then Laura drew another piece of stationery. For the first time, she wrote to Peter Whiteside and revealed the depth of her involvement with Stephen. Always before, she had discreetly mingled word about him into the news of other people she knew at Contontic. And yet Whiteside must have sensed something.
"More about this wonderful young man," he had written back once. "What about the divinity student?" Whiteside had asked on another occasion after Laura had purged any mention of her romance from her correspondence.
What did Whiteside know about love between a young man and a younger woman?
Laura thought huffily. This is none of his business.
"What about the young Fowler fellow?" Peter had written a third time.
So now she told him everything. If he did not like it, she concluded, he could bloody well find another pen pal. She mailed this letter at the same time as the note to Edward and enjoyed a robust sense of accomplishment.
A response from Peter Whiteside came back like a yo-yo.
"Laura," he wrote. "You are very young and very impressionable. I daresay you've had only one other serious romance. Are you certain that this is in your best interests?”
She read the letter twice and took it to be smug and condescending. She crumpled and burned it. Then Laura burned the rest of Peter Whiteside's letters. She felt free of him. Emancipated. But she continued to simmer.
At length, she penned one final correspondence to him, complete with a tone which she took to be the match of his.
"In response to your question," she wrote, "am I certain this is in my best interests?
My response, sir, is yes. Very definitely. Laura."
Then she cut off communication with Peter Whiteside. Completely.
Laura Worthington and Stephen Dobbs Fowler were married on August 28, 1937, by the Reverend Adrian McFarlane at the Lawrenceville chapel. Dr. Nigel Worthington came from England for the occasion, was a houseguest of the Fowlers in Bala Cynwyd, and was more than suitably impressed with both Stephen and his family. For their part, Stephen's parents were absolutely enraptured by the noble English physician and his mild eccentricities.
The wedding was small upon the insistence of Stephen and Laura. Only the immediate families. Stephen's younger brother was the best man and Barbara Worthington was the maid of honor. There were only thirty guests, but Laura was not spared the usual inane remarks which make any wedding complete.
Stephen's brother, in an odd moment to Laura: "You don't have a younger sister back home, do you?"
One of Stephen's aunts: "There's nothing wrong with having a romance with a religious man. I'm sure he didn't make the physical demands upon you before marriage that most men make."
And, of course, from Barbara, with a twinkle in her eye: "Some summer romance! You pick off the most eligible bachelor at Lakeside, then marry him so no other girl can borrow him next summer!"
"Sorry," answered Laura. They exchanged a hug.
"Who says I can't be borrowed?" asked Stephen, overhearing their chatter. He embraced his wife from the back, kissed her on the side of the neck, and, when no one was looking, brushed his hand across her backside.
"I thought you were a gentleman," she chided sotto voce .
"Only before marriage," he answered. "An animal ever after." There was champagne on his breath.
"Fabulous," she replied.
"By the way," he asked, "who is Peter Whiteside?"
The name came to her as a surprise, particularly from her husband's lips. For a second she had no response. "Who's Peter Whiteside?" he repeated. "I want to know."
"Why do you want to know?"
"Ah, ah," he chided.
Then Laura drew another piece of stationery. For the first time, she wrote to Peter Whiteside and revealed the depth of her involvement with Stephen. Always before, she had discreetly mingled word about him into the news of other people she knew at Contontic. And yet Whiteside must have sensed something.
"More about this wonderful young man," he had written back once. "What about the divinity student?" Whiteside had asked on another occasion after Laura had purged any mention of her romance from her correspondence.
What did Whiteside know about love between a young man and a younger woman?
Laura thought huffily. This is none of his business.
"What about the young Fowler fellow?" Peter had written a third time.
So now she told him everything. If he did not like it, she concluded, he could bloody well find another pen pal. She mailed this letter at the same time as the note to Edward and enjoyed a robust sense of accomplishment.
A response from Peter Whiteside came back like a yo-yo.
"Laura," he wrote. "You are very young and very impressionable. I daresay you've had only one other serious romance. Are you certain that this is in your best interests?”
She read the letter twice and took it to be smug and condescending. She crumpled and burned it. Then Laura burned the rest of Peter Whiteside's letters. She felt free of him. Emancipated. But she continued to simmer.
At length, she penned one final correspondence to him, complete with a tone which she took to be the match of his.
"In response to your question," she wrote, "am I certain this is in my best interests?
My response, sir, is yes. Very definitely. Laura."
Then she cut off communication with Peter Whiteside. Completely.
Laura Worthington and Stephen Dobbs Fowler were married on August 28, 1937, by the Reverend Adrian McFarlane at the Lawrenceville chapel. Dr. Nigel Worthington came from England for the occasion, was a houseguest of the Fowlers in Bala Cynwyd, and was more than suitably impressed with both Stephen and his family. For their part, Stephen's parents were absolutely enraptured by the noble English physician and his mild eccentricities.
The wedding was small upon the insistence of Stephen and Laura. Only the immediate families. Stephen's younger brother was the best man and Barbara Worthington was the maid of honor. There were only thirty guests, but Laura was not spared the usual inane remarks which make any wedding complete.
Stephen's brother, in an odd moment to Laura: "You don't have a younger sister back home, do you?"
One of Stephen's aunts: "There's nothing wrong with having a romance with a religious man. I'm sure he didn't make the physical demands upon you before marriage that most men make."
And, of course, from Barbara, with a twinkle in her eye: "Some summer romance! You pick off the most eligible bachelor at Lakeside, then marry him so no other girl can borrow him next summer!"
"Sorry," answered Laura. They exchanged a hug.
"Who says I can't be borrowed?" asked Stephen, overhearing their chatter. He embraced his wife from the back, kissed her on the side of the neck, and, when no one was looking, brushed his hand across her backside.
"I thought you were a gentleman," she chided sotto voce .
"Only before marriage," he answered. "An animal ever after." There was champagne on his breath.
"Fabulous," she replied.
"By the way," he asked, "who is Peter Whiteside?"
The name came to her as a surprise, particularly from her husband's lips. For a second she had no response. "Who's Peter Whiteside?" he repeated. "I want to know."
"Why do you want to know?"
"Ah, ah," he chided.
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